Home Is Where House Is (How Can I Miss You If You Won't Go Away?)
Remix Author: Extrabitter
Original Story: Fallback by Wandering Widget
Summary: House keeps throwing Wilson out, but he keeps coming back.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: House
Elm Terrace
Everything was OK, more or less, when he left House the first time.
He had gone to bed alone and woke some time later to the feeling of House's tongue flicking over the head of his cock and sound of a muffled grunt.
"House? What the hell?" he gasped.
"My people call this a blowjob," House said succinctly and went back to what he was doing. Wilson didn't think anymore, he could only watch House's head bobbing up and down, up and down until his heart reached the edge of its ability to beat and he came in House's willing mouth.
House wiped his hand across his mouth. "I think you should find some place else to live."
It was the strangest eviction notice on record. Every time Wilson tried to figure it out, he remembered the things House could do with his tongue and wondered if he should feel guilty because the memories always got him hard.
When that happened, he showed up at the door that he still thought of as theirs.
"I see that nothing has changed here," Wilson said. In roughly sixteen hours, he'd be married. His brother, Tom, would stand up with him. He'd declined the traditional bachelor party in favor of an evening with his best friend. The people who patted him on the back and called him ‘such a nice, responsible young man' obviously didn't know House very well.
"I moved most of my books into the bedroom that used to be yours," House responded.
His almost-wife's name was Lois. She was a small brunette who made a great first impression. Wilson had known her for almost four months; she wasn't the same woman he'd shacked up with after House threw him out.
"Nice thing about a small girl, you won't have to worry so much about gravity," House said. "Unless she gets fat. How big is her mother?"
"House…" James shook his head in dismay. "Only you—" He couldn't say any more, not with House's mouth covering his.
Wilson couldn't look away; he didn't close his eyes. He was giving this up so he could live the life that he had grown up expecting to live, with a nice wife, a nice dog, maybe some nice kids in a few years. And a house, he and his nice wife would buy a real house, with a fence and a yard. He could see it in his head, his future.
But he could feel House's fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, right now, in this moment.
"You make me crazy." he leaned in, pressing his face to House's chest, filling his lungs with air through the soft fabric of House's t-shirt.
"I do not." House took Wilson's face in his hands and kissed him again, slowly, a little like goodbye. Then they both laughed, as if there was no tomorrow, no wedding, no marriage and no future. All that mattered was tonight, these few hours.
Wilson forced details into sharp focus, so he could remember them: the soft thump of a pillow hitting the floor, the tingle in his feet when House sank his teeth into a nipple, the wave of heat that crashed over his skin as House pushed into him. House knit his fingers through Wilson's and squeezed tight when he came; he always did.
He rolled over and looked at the clock. In roughly fourteen hours, he'd be married. Tom would give a toast and tell some embarrassing story from when he was eight. He'd look for House, and he would let himself remember how perfectly their bodies locked together, this one last time.
"Get some sleep," House said in a normal voice. "You have to get married tomorrow."
"It's already tomorrow. I'm getting married today." House slid an arm around his waist and spooned up against him, but he didn't say another word.
The next thing Wilson sensed was the smell of hot coffee, House's coffee. He'd remember that, too.
A year and a half later Wilson he fled to the peace and quiet of a hotel. He wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up being unfaithful to the woman he married and the man he kept wanting to fuck in one fell swoop. About the only comfort he could take was the idea that he wouldn't have to tell House what happened.
That thought sustained him through several hours and several beers before he gave up and called his friend anyway. He didn't say anything.
"This had better be important," House barked at the silence. "Where the hell are you?"
"Westin," Wilson slurred. "It's… nice."
"It's all the way out in the suburbs." House hung up.
By the time he arrived, Wilson had finished another beer and forgotten about the call.
"I know you're in there, you coward," House shouted. "Open the fucking door."
Wilson had little choice. House's fist hung in the air, ready to strike again. He said nothing before fleeing into the bathroom, the only place he could hide from the contempt that radiated from House's presence.
"You're an idiot," House said as soon as Wilson came back.
"I know." Wilson glanced at the dresser and counted the beer bottles. Damn, had he really finished eight of them? How was he still standing?
"Knowing isn't enough to stop you." House had taken off his jacket and his shoes. He flung himself onto the bed and moved to turn off the lamp.
Wilson stumbled through the darkness and fell forward. He bounced against the soft mattress as he landed. House slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. When they woke, Wilson was sober and House was calm. It was enough to get them back to House's place in one piece.
North Tenth Street
The apartment was empty when he let himself in after work, which sucked. The long, boring day made him hornier than usual. He fidgeted as he scrolled through TV channels in search of something that might provide the visual stimulus to inspire him to jerk off, but it was too early for soft-core porn on HBO, and a random episode of Baywatch wasn't doing anything for him: too much David Hasselhoff and not enough Pam Anderson.
It was clear to Wilson that he'd been hanging out with House too long. He settled for a cold shower, which didn't help either, then he gave up went to bed early. He had no idea how long he'd slept when he heard somebody shuffling in the front room.
"House?" he called out. "I'm back here…"
House appeared in the doorway and flipped the lights on. "What are you doing in bed so early," He said. Wilson pulled back the covers and crooked a finger. "And so naked?"
"Waiting, not very patiently," Wilson said. "Take your clothes off and get over here."
House smiled and raised an eyebrow as he started to undress.
"About time you showed up," Wilson said as House crawled over to him.
"Sorry, I had a date," House confessed, running his fingers through Wilson's hair.
"Guess she didn't put out." Wilson felt House's teeth nipping his neck, biting his shoulder, and let a delicious shiver consume him.
"Nope. You wouldn't be wrong to call it an unmitigated disaster," House said. "But never say never." He pushed Wilson into the mattress, pinning his arms over his head and straddling his hips in a series of movements so fluid that they played as one.
"Why waste your time on a maybe?" Wilson muttered between breaths. "There's a sure thing waiting in your bed."
"You don't have to get sentimental with me," House said. "We both know I'm your safety school. I can live with that." House bent his head to dart his tongue between Wilson's lips, teasing and playful.
Wilson gripped the base of the headboard and didn't bother talking any more. He lost himself in the sensation of his heels pressing against the backs of House's legs, urging him to go deeper and harder. When he slept that night, Wilson dreamed of swimming in the ocean.
When he woke up, he packed his things to leave before House could do it for him.
"At least you know this one's going to get fat," House said the night before Wilson's second wedding. "But I think she's got the height to pull it off, so you won't have to worry so much about a few extra pounds making her all saggy." He chewed his steak with gusto and then took up a forkful of potatoes.
The next almost Mrs. Wilson was Lily, a dark, voluptuous beauty who shone on Wilson's arm.
"Give it up, House. You're not going to scare me out of getting married."
House refilled his wine glass and Wilson's. "My couch is always open if she porks out," he said with a slight chuckle. "You coming home with me?"
Wilson speared a couple of green beans with his fork. "What, and make your girlfriend sleep on the couch? Women are a lot less flexible about that kind of thing than you seem to be."
"Stacy's not the jealous type; that's part of the reason we fit so well together."
"Lily is staying at her sister's tonight. Come back to my place," Wilson suggested. He thought of his arms wrapped around House's back, their chests pressed close together, almost melting into each other. "I mean, if you want to."
"How about I come over in the morning and make you some coffee." It wasn't a question.
As Wilson listened to the rabbi talk about duty, House caught his eye. He was smiling.
Lindsay Place
Wilson knocked on House's door with a sense that the earth had flattened out. He'd spoken to Stacy; he'd come directly from his lawyer's office. He noticed a faint black streak on his pinky, where his fingers dragged over his signature.
He stood out in the hall for what felt like a long time and wondered what he'd find if House let him in.
"What?" House said as he finally opened the door. His voice was rough, almost garbled. He had been crying, or yelling, or drinking. Maybe all three.
"I thought you could use some company," Wilson told him. He dragged a modest sized suitcase into the living room and parked it next to the coat closet. "Thought I could sleep on your couch."
"It's three in the afternoon." House hadn't bothered to get dressed. He was listing dangerously to the left, leaning hard on his new cane. Wilson let his coat drop to a chair and slid an arm around House's waist.
"Perfect time for a nap," he said evenly.
"You're taking me to bed?"
"I'm putting you to bed, and then I can make us something to eat." Wilson lifted House's arm around his neck. They started across the room, a couple of steps at a time; every few seconds, Wilson shifted House's body a little straighter.
House stopped moving and gasped. Wilson shut his eyes in sympathy. By now, he could almost feel House's physical pain as his own. He made a few calculations in his head: four or five steps to the couch versus at least twenty to the bedroom. "Let's rest a while."
"I can make it to the bed," House snarled.
"I know you can," Wilson said. "Not so sure about me."
"She left a real mess," House said. That much was true. The living room looked empty, and it needed to be dusted. "Everything's different now."
Wilson rubbed a hand through his hair, tried to keep himself from yelling. Dealing with House since the infarction was a real struggle, and now he was in it alone. Stacy was gone; Lily was gone. It was just he and House, alone on the couch in this messed up room.
"Not everything," he said after a couple of minutes. He placed his left hand over House's right and hoped he wasn't deluding himself.
"Seems like it's about time you got married again," House said. "What's it been, six months? You must be sick of sleeping on my couch by now."
It was true that they no longer shared a bed, but Wilson felt like he had to protest.
"Although my couch might be more comfortable than that skeleton you've been seeing." House made air quotes around the last word.
"Julie is a very attractive woman," Wilson said. "She works very hard to…"
"I've eaten four or five meals with the two of you, and I've never seen her eat anything other than lettuce," House said.
"Only you would mock somebody for sticking to a nutritious diet."
"For a rabbit, maybe." House made a childish face and Wilson shook his head as he stirred sugar into his coffee. "But at least you know she can't gain weight since she maintains a calorie deficit."
"Every time I go on a third date, it seems like you become obsessed with what she's going to look like a few years down the road. Why is that?"
"Because love is blind," House said. "Somebody has to look out for your future. Eventually one of your little liaisons is going to last more than two years. Law of averages. And I'd hate to see a nice guy like you saddled with a fat girl."
Wilson spread a second slice of toast with jam. "So if I were to ask you again, to be my best man, you'd say yes?"
House just looked at him. "Don't you know any better men than me?"
Baker Street
Wilson opened his eyes shortly after sunrise and shifted on the couch. The place was so quiet; House was still sleeping. He couldn't stop himself seeing the things that remained. House had a hard time letting go of the things he loved. The shelves packed with books and mementos took Wilson back to the time when they'd been together, lived together in that cramped apartment, before his first marriage.
Hell. What a lifetime ago.
He sat up. The wood floor was cold under his bare feet. He rose, stretched, and rubbed his hands over his arms. The last time he slept here was in House's bed, the night before he married Julie.
He picked up the blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders and walked into the kitchen.
It rained the night before he married Julie. House was almost certainly high, or low; either way, he wasn't quite himself. They ate in a diner, omelets the size of Rhode Island, and came back here.
Wilson filled the coffee pot with cold water and poured it into House's complicated German coffee machine.
He would have gone back to his own house for a responsible night's sleep, alone. But House asked him to stay, one last time, to say goodbye properly. He actually said the word: goodbye. He'd never done that before.
His kisses were slow and soft, very nearly gentle, as if House was trying to make sure they would last as long as they had to. Wilson had wondered exactly whom House was kissing, but he didn't dare ask for fear that he wouldn't like the answer.
He found the filters in a drawer and measured out four scoops of grounds, adding a fifth for good measure. They both preferred dark coffee.
Wilson covered House's body with his and never broke contact; they simply kept touching each other, moving out of a basic drive until Wilson rested his ear against House's chest to hear his heart beating. House let him; everything seemed to be fine in those hours.
He took two mugs from a cabinet and filled them both.
He didn't love House, and House didn't love him. Love was a baby bird screaming in the nest, struggling to leave it for the first time, understanding that spreading its wings to catch the air made the difference between falling and flying.
Whatever he and House had, it was something else. House was the nest he didn't want to leave, even though he let himself be pushed out when House wouldn't allow him to stay.
Wilson used his shoulder to open the door to House's bedroom. House was still asleep.
Their lips were touching when they woke, that morning. White sheets wrinkled around them as they sat up. House shoved his hands hard against Wilson's chest.
"You should take a shower, Jimmy," he grumbled. "You can't get married smelling… like me."
"Why do we always seem to end up like this when I'm about to walk down the aisle?" House shrugged and reached for his pills. "You only want me when I'm unavailable, that's so fucked up."
"How would you know that? Say I asked you to stop thinking you can be Mr. Respectable Married Guy. If I asked you, would you leave Julie standing at the altar and stay with me?"
Wilson sat down on the edge of House's bed and set the mugs on the nightstand. House was no more than half a foot away.
"Is that what you want?"
"I want you to be happy," House yelled. "I couldn't make you happy for more than a couple of weeks."
Wilson looked down at his feet. House was right. He was going to take a shower, he was going to go back to his apartment and change clothes, and then he was going to marry Julie, as planned.
He felt a hand on his back, and heard a mumbled curse.
"Morning," he said. "I brought you coffee."
"Breakfast in bed? Are you feeling guilty?" House sat up and took the cup that Wilson offered. "Nothing says ‘I'm sorry' like a good blowjob."
Wilson laughed out loud, but stopped himself. "What's in it for me? You're just going to push me away again."
"What if it's for your own good?" House said.
"You always think you're right." The coffee was too hot. Wilson blew over his cup and wished he'd remembered to add sugar. "But then I keep coming back to you, and I don't know what that means." He set his cup back down and took House's from him before he squirmed into the narrow space between House and the edge of the bed.
"I'm one of the lucky few who can learn from experience." House shifted over enough for Wilson to stretch out. They lay there together, not touching, not looking at each other, and not speaking until the clock in the hall struck six times.
"Do you think we could fly?" Wilson asked. "If we tried?"
"You think we should jump off the roof waving our arms in the air like idiots?"
"Something like that, I guess."
"Sure, sounds like fun," House said. He raised himself up and looked down at Wilson's eyes. "Stay out of my pills."
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