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‘Argument with the wife?’ House says as he enters the DDx room.
It’s past midnight. Taub is sitting at the meeting table, his back to the corridor window, and poring over their case with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. ‘No,’ he says, with a smile that means, piss off.
House helps himself to the coffee jug. ‘I take that as a yes. How’s our patient?’
‘Stable. Lab results came back inconclusive, but I’ve started him on broad-spectrum antibiotics just in case.’
‘Great. What, do you want her to think you’re having another affair?’
Taub looks up at him blankly.
‘Our patient’s not about to kick the bucket anytime soon, so you have no reason to work this late. Why not sleep on the couch? Why stay here?’
‘I guess,’ Taub says, flicking through the case file, ‘I’m just a hard worker.’
House grins like a shark smelling blood. ‘Oh. Oh no she didn’t. She kicked you out, didn’t she?’
‘No. Why are you here this late?’
‘She did! God, what’d you do this time? Hook up with her sister? Her mother?’
Taub grimaces. His eyes ache, and he’s too tired for this. He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Rachel thinks that I’m having an affair with one of my colleagues.’
‘And are you?’
‘Yeah, with the whole team. Sorry we didn’t invite you to the orgy.’
‘I’m disappointed. Thought it would’ve taken you earlier to unionise against me.’
He snorts. House is standing in front of him now, half-lit by the corridor light, striped in shadow where the blinds fall. He’s leaning on his cane, studying Taub with an expression usually reserved for his patients. Taub doesn’t know why he says, ‘Actually, she thinks I’m sleeping with you.’
‘Not only are you a serial cheater, you’re also a queer?’
‘She didn’t say that – not, you know, explicitly. And no, I’m not gay.’
‘But, sweetie, what about us?’ House pouts, coming around to Taub’s side of the table. Taub turns to fully face him, arms crossed and head tilted.
‘You didn’t answer me earlier. Why are you here?’
He shrugs. ‘According to your wife, to get in your pants.’ He nudges Taub’s leg with his cane and winks.
‘You’re not gonna buy me dinner first? I’m not that easy.’
Hooking his cane on the table’s edge, House slides to his knees with a small wince. He recovers quickly, shifting his weight to his good leg, and hiding it by resting the side of his face against Taub’s knee. Taub swallows.
His voice is absolutely not hoarse when he says, ‘House.’
This is just the thing House does to everyone – winds them up, jerks them around. Taub is used to this by now. If House wants to play gay chicken with him, Taub’s determined not to lose. Besides, his own asshole boss on his knees in front of him, that’s an opportunity he can’t pass up on. He darts a sideways glance at the hallway. Brightly lit, but no passers-by. He places his hand on House’s head, scratching a little at the stubble, and tugs him closer. House hums. ‘Thought you weren’t gay. Am I just that irresistible?’
‘Don’t take it personally. I said I’m not gay. Not that I’m not attracted to men.’
‘First Thirteen and now you? Is this thing contagious, or what?’ House’s tongue wets the corner of his lips.
‘Judging from the looks of things, I’d say you’ve caught it, too.’ Taub should stop. He should really, seriously stop. He’s tired, frustrated from the case, frustrated at himself for letting House get to him. But there’s just something about the way the half-light makes House’s face glow, or how Taub can see his pupils blown wide against his blue irises. House on his knees alone is making Taub too light-headed to think.
House smirks and mouths against the front of Taub’s slacks. Instinctively, Taub bucks to meet him with a soft ‘oh’. House rasps, voice gravelly and breath hot against Taub, ‘You like those looks of things, huh.’
House pulls down his fly at a near glacial pace, eyes never leaving Taub’s. He mouths against Taub’s boxers – his stubble pressing through – before unzipping those as well. Taub’s not a jackass, (and he might be getting some cold feet, but who cares?) so he asks, ‘Hey, are you okay with this? I mean, the leg and all –’
Then House is swallowing him down, tongue velvet-hot against the underside of his dick. Really, Taub has no choice but to tighten his grip on House’s scalp and jerk up into his mouth.
‘Shit,’ he slurs. House agrees with a self-satisfied hum, vibrating against him. The wet sounds of House blowing him ring out in the room. The DDx room. Where his colleagues were sitting this afternoon, where anyone could walk in. Taub whines louder when House gives him a little suction and uses his other hand to cup his balls. ‘If only I’d known this is all it takes to get you to shut up. . .’
House pulls off, leaving Taub’s tip on his tongue, teeth lightly scraping the glans. ‘Then we would be having an affair.’
‘House. Don’t.’ His voice sounds almost as wrecked as House’s.
‘You’re considering it.’
Taub pulls him back down, dick brushing against his cheek, and lazily thrusts into his throat. House chokes, but lets Taub have his way, hand cradled at the back of House’s head. House reaches down to palm the tent in his jeans. Taub nudges his hand away with his shoe and slots it between House’s thighs.
House hums his appreciation and sucks down more of him, while grinding on Taub’s foot. ‘I’m so close,’ Taub rasps. House keeps going, swallowing him, all of him, until Taub twitches and comes down his throat, rocking back and forth. The DDx room, the hospital, melting away.
House pulls off and gets up, wincing again. Catching his breath, wiping the spit off his chin, he leans the backs of his elbows on the table.
His eyes are dark and hazy, almost vulnerable, as Taub crowds against him and makes him properly sit on the table. Taub undoes his own tie (gifted by Rachel, though the pang of guilt doesn’t quite register yet), unbuttons his top button, and slides to his knees before House.
‘I knew I should’ve invested in a stool,’ House snarks, and Taub can’t help his grin as he undoes House’s fly.
***
House snaps his fingers in front of Taub’s face. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, our patient is dying. Care to share with the class?’
The team is looking at him. He’s in the same chair as he was in last night, though he’s had a shower, a shave, and a fresh change of clothes in between. Taub clears his throat and says, ‘It might be something resistant to the antibiotics.’
‘The patient had a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. The antibiotics are working, but he’s still getting worse. The infection’s not the main problem,’ Foreman says, raising an eyebrow. ‘We just said that.’
‘Go easy on him,’ House says. ‘He’s having some trouble in paradise.’
‘Blow me,’ Taub says. House gasps melodramatically.
Thirteen says, ‘It might be autoimmune. Weakened immune system would’ve allowed the infection to trigger a mycotic aneurysm. Lupus would explain the muscle pain, and the rash.’
‘Or it could be neurological,’ Chase says, twirling his pen. ‘The infection just exacerbated an aneurysm that was already there. I mean, any infection could explain the other symptoms. As long as we don’t know which one, we don’t know which symptoms belong to which disease.’
‘Very helpful, Chase. We have no idea about anything. Why hold a differential diagnosis at all? Thirteen, order an ANA. Foreman, Chase, do the MRI. Taub. . .’ House squints at him. ‘Go with Thirteen.’
They leave the room. Last to go, Taub pauses at the doorway and glances at House. House nods at him, as if to say, We can talk later, then scrunches up his face.
In the corridor, Thirteen says, ‘So, what’s up with you and House?’
Taub sighs. This is going to be a long day.