fic: drabble

[rubberbutton]

Title: Baa~aaa!!
Summary: For that stupid challenge that has been going around like the clap. What can I say? I’m a slut. And a sheep. A sheep-slut…a shlut. All are House/Wilson so some degree or another.
Word Count: 10 drabbles, 3,000ish words, I ignored the word limit, like the rebel I am. Most are between 300-500.
Warnings: language. wildly OOC at times, and there is an AU one. I also cheated like crazy, hitting shuffle until I got songs I liked and wouldn’t make me look like a complete moron…I can’t be held responsible for all the pop-punk and disco in my collection.
Notes: Special thanks to

nightdog_writes for letting me play with her toys. …That’s not some kind of kinky euphemism.

I Wanna Be Sedated – The Ramones
Twenty twenty twenty-four hours a day, I wanna be sedated…

Wilson stood in the doorway of House’s office, hands on his hips. “You mind turning it down a bit?” At least that’s what he hoped it sounded like; he couldn’t actually hear himself over the pounding baseline.

House looked at him blankly for a moment, then hit pause. Wilson’s ears continued to ring in the sudden silence. “What?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “I said, can you turn it down a bit? The walls are thin and I’m starting to get a headache. You’re going to ruin your hearing like this.”

“What?” House asked, overly loud. “Sorry, ’fraid I’m a bit deaf!” He pointed to his ears, and then resumed his normal tone. “Punk ceases to be punk under a hundred decibels.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “You can’t expect me to sell out like that.”

Wilson grimaced. “Right, well, how about if you stick it to the Man on your own time?”

“Jimmy, you are the Man,” House countered.

“I’ve always thought so,” Wilson grinned, “but it’s nice to hear you say so.”

House pulled a sour face. “You were supposed to go with some innuendo about me sticking it to you.”

Wilson’s grin widened. “So sorry I didn’t follow the proscribed course of banter.”

House nodded gravely. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”

“For someone encouraging anarchy, you sure like to enforce order,” Wilson observed.

“Shut up or I really will stick it to you.”

Wilson laughed. “Only if you ask nicely.”


Doubting Thomas – Nickel Creek
I’m a Doubting Thomas, can’t keep a promise, oh me of little faith…

“Here.” House pushed a tumbler into Wilson’s hand, forcing his fingers to close around the glass when Wilson seemed disinclined to take it. Wilson looked at it dumbly for a moment setting it on his desk. His eyes were red-rimmed, and House desperately hoped he wouldn’t cry. Why hadn’t anyone ever told him that boys don’t cry? House picked up the abandoned glass and downed the contents. He produced a flask from his blazer pocket and refilled the glass; again he pressed it into Wilson’s hand. “Drink,” he ordered.

“House. It’s three thirty.” Wilson sounded shaky. “And I’m at work.”

“Yes, I can see that,” House said dryly. “Hard at work staring at you ink-blotter.” He paused and then spoke again, this time his voice softer. “You did the best you could.” He took a seat on the edge of Wilson’s desk, mindless of the paperwork now getting acquainted with his ass.

“Right. Well, I’m sure that will be a comfort to her parents.” Wilson looked at the drink in his hand, as if surprised to find it there. This time he emptied the glass, grimacing at the burn. “I should have been more aggressive with the treatments.”

“The cure would have been worse than the disease.” Wilson set the tumbler back down and House filled it again, but Wilson pushed it away. “The time you gave her was time worth having. If you’d been more aggressive she would have spent it wanting to die. And then she would have anyway.”

“Maybe.” House nudged the glass back toward Wilson, who looked from it to House’s face. “I’m maudlin drunk,” he reminded him. “You hate that.”

“You’re maudlin sober,” House countered, “but you never worry about that.”

Wilson laughed sharply. “Touché.” He finished off the waiting shot, and then held the glass out for another. House obliged, watching guardedly as Wilson tipped it back. When Wilson set the tumbler back down with a thump, House stood.

“Come on, buttercup.” He took Wilson’s elbow urging him to his feet. Wilson remained firmly planted in his seat. “Up, up, up. We’re getting out of here.”

I can’t,” Wilson said, vaguely trying to take back his elbow. “I’ve got…things…” The whiskey was rapidly taking effect.

“Jimmy Wilson,” House barked, “If you don’t get your ass up and come with me right now, I’m going to tell everyone you’re shitfaced on the job.” This got Wilson to his feet, looking outraged.

“Not fair! You were the one who got me so,” Wilson protested.

“You need to take responsibility for your actions,” House replied smoothly. “Besides you should know better than to listen to me.” He took firmer hold of Wilson’s arm, steering him toward the door of his office. With deft fingers, he fished Wilson’s keys out of his front pocket, perhaps lingering a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Wilson allowed himself to be led, a process made awkward by House’s cane and Wilson’s slight inebriation. “You’re buying me some lunch and then letting me feel you up in the back seat. Oh shut up.” He forestalled Wilson’s argument. “I already told Cuddy you were leaving.” He paused. “For your pedicure appointment.”


You May Be Right (I May Be Crazy) – Billy Joel
But it just may be a lunatic you’re lookin’ for…

“I am not riding ‘bitch.’” Wilson crossed his arms firmly across his chest, alternating his glare from House to the bike and back.

“What? Is it threatening to your masculinity?” House stowed his cane and tried to hand the helmet to Wilson, but he refused to take it.

“No,” Wilson protested. House gave him a look. “Well…yeah.”

“I don’t know why you’re so worried. Everyone knows you’re my bitch, anyhow,” House reassured him.

“Thanks. Now I really don’t want to ride on that deathtrap.”

“You’re being silly.”

“Okay, then you wouldn’t mind if I drove?”

“You don’t have your license,” House pointed out quickly.

“So if I did, you’d let me?” Wilson asked sweetly.

House paused, clearly considering the probability of this happening. He decided that it was extremely unlikely. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, then teach me,” Wilson replied, his tone reasonable.

“Beg pardon?” House looked as if Wilson had just announced his intention to breed alpacas.

“I want to learn to drive the deathtrap.” Wilson held his hands out for the helmet he’d just declined. “Teach me.” He took the helmet from House’s unresisting hands, pulled it on, and fastened the chinstrap. He looked more than a little ridiculous, business suit, ugly tie, and motorcycle helmet. “Come on, the parking lot’s nearly empty, surely we can manage a few practice laps. This one’s the brake, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Come on, let’s go for a ride…bitch.”


Sugar Daddy – Hedwig and the Angry Inch
I want all the luxuries of the modern age, and every item on every page

“Hey, Wilson, doesn’t this jacket make me look cool?” House struck one pose and then another in the mirror the store had set out for just such purposes. The jacket in question was a rich brown leather, soft to the touch and with that warm leather scent.

Wilson gave him a skeptical look. “Uh. If you mean does it make you look like a man desperately clinging to the last remnants of his youth, then yes.” He was quickly tiring of shopping; House made a rather trying companion. House, or course, ignored him, striking yet another pose and winking at his reflection.

“Oh, come on, buy it for me.” House turned his attention back to Wilson. “Feel it,” he demanded. Wilson ran a reluctant hand down the sleeve of the jacket. “No, really feel it.” House took Wilson’s hand and ran it slowly down his chest. “Isn’t that nice? Mmmm.”

“Stop.” Wilson snatched his hand back. “I don’t think the employees like us fondling the merchandise.”

“You weren’t fondling the merchandise. You were fondling me while I was wearing the merchandise.” House gave the jacket another admiring look.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re too keen on that either.” He smiled softly. “You do look pretty good in leather,” he conceded.

“Come on, buy it for me,” House wheedled. “Early birthday present.”

“You’re birthday was two months ago.”

“Late birthday present, then.” House paused. “Don’t you love me?”

“Don’t even. I’m not going to spend,” Wilson caught the tag and checked it, “Four hundred dollars on leather jacket, when you have three just like it at home.”

“I’ll do that thing,” House said suddenly, grinning wickedly. “You know, Wilson, THAT THING YOU REALLY LIKE ME-” House pitched his voice to carry and enunciated.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Wilson interrupted quickly, shooting a nervous glance at the salespeople who were doing the same to them. “Christ, I’ll buy you the damn coat.”

“Thanks, sugar daddy.”

Send the Pain Below – Chevelle
Much like suffocating (I'll send the pain below)

Wilson was in Boston for a conference. Damn him. House dipped the crust of his pizza in garlic sauce and daubed a greasy smear across his plate with it. The TV was on, but held no appeal, he’d turned the sound down way low, only half focused as VH1 counted down the 100 Hottest Hotties. He picked up his phone, checking to see if he’d missed any messages. It was on and charged, for once, and been he’d been near it all evening, so that was unlikely. He checked anyway. No messages. He ran his fingers over the buttons, and then shut the phone with a resolute snap. It was very nearly midnight. Wilson had probably already shacked up with some young oncologist ingénue he’d inspired. Inspire, that was a new word for fucking he’d never heard before. He made a mental note to use the phrase when Wilson got back. He opened the phone again, staring at the display. Shut again. Open. Shut. He wondered if she was blonde. Wilson had always favored blondes. Ones with cute giggles and great racks.

Without actually making the conscious decision to do so, he opened the phone and punched Wilson’s cell number. He realized what he’d done and thought about hitting ‘end’ but Wilson would eventually ask him why he’d called. Better to leave an obnoxious message. Four rings, five…He waited for the phone to click over to voicemail.

Instead, he heard shuffling as the phone was answered, some muffled cursing and a thump House was willing to bet was Wilson’s phone hitting the floor. “’Lo?” Wilson sounded groggy, his voice thickened with sleep.

“I…” House hadn’t been prepared to speak to a real live Wilson. “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

He heard a heavy groan on the other end, then, “House. I have an early seminar tomorrow. Or today. What time is it?”

House stretched, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “What? Not inspiring the next generation of cancer warriors? And by inspiring, I mean-”

“Yes, I got it.” Wilson sounded tetchy. “Does this call have a point?”

House considered. “Nope. Not really. Just calling to say ‘hey.’” Lame, lame, lame.

“Oh.” Wilson’s voice had lost its edge. “Hey, yourself.” There was more shifting on the other end and House pictured Wilson, undershirt rucked up to his ribs, tangled in the over starched hotel sheets. He smiled to himself, just a bit.


Hey Jealousy – Gin Blossoms
Do you thing it’d be alright, if I could just crash here tonight?

“You were wrong about Wendy,” Wilson said, accepting the pickles House had just pulled off his own sandwich. “How much would you like to bet you’re wrong about this too?” He applied them carefully, with an eye toward even coverage, and then replaced the top slice.

“I still maintain there was flirting. After all, you didn’t know she was with Foreman, either.” House took a rather large bite of roast beef on Kaiser. “Just because you failed to score, doesn’t mean you weren’t playing the game,” House managed to get out around the mouthful.

Wilson threw a glance heavenward. “Right. The game. Which is why I haven’t been on one date since the divorce. Not one.” He twisted the cap off his bottle of unsweetened tea.

“So you had no motive in talking to that redhead,” House asked, head cocked to the side.

“Other than to see how she was dealing with her declining mother? No.”

“Riiiiight.” House bit down on an overlooked pickle, made an exaggerated face of disgust. He removed it, using just the barest tips of his fingers and held it out to Wilson, who popped the offending vegetation in his mouth with an audible crunch.

“House, all my dates are with you.” Wilson took a slow sip. “I just keep hoping you’ll put out.” House choked on his sandwich. “You okay?” Wilson asked calmly. “I really hope you’re better at swallowing.”


Don’t Know – The F-Ups
Do not know right now, I don't know.

“You awake?”
“Mmmmf.”
“Great. I’ve been thinking.”
“Mmm mmmmmf.”
“Despite all….this, I’m not gay. I’m not saying this because there’s anything wrong with being gay. There’s not. It’s a quirk of genetics. Like being left handed. So I’m not in denial, I’m just stating fact.”
“…”    
“Hey. Wilson. …HEY! You said you were awake.”
“Shuuuut uuuuup.”
“Aw, you’re cute when you’re sleepy.”
“And you’re obnoxious when you’re…you’re always obnoxious. You do, of course, realize there’s a certain irony in claiming heterosexuality while in bed with another man.”
“You don’t count.”
“…I think I’m offended. I am so not the girl in this relationship- you’re the one who wants a post-coital relationship discussion.”
“Not saying you’re not a man, I’m saying your status as Wilson trumps your status as man.”
“Uh…huh. This conversation just keeps making more and more sense. House. It’s late. I’m tired. We both have to work early tomorrow, well, at least I do. Can this conversation possibly wait?”
“Sure thing, honey. You get your beauty sleep.”
“Thank you so much.”
“…”
“……”
“Really, you’re not gay either.”
“Mmm…was that one time in college…”
“What? Why haven’t I heard about this before? And in extremely sordid detail?”
“Because it never happened. You’re the first man to get into my pants, you lucky, lucky dog.”
“I don’t know, I thought you were pretty easy.”
“House, I can’t help but get the feeling something is bothering you.”
“Yes, many things. How many licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop? Is the Paris-Nicole friendship going to last? And don’t get me started on your freakish affection for Cheetos with peanut butter. Guh.”
“And that neither of us is gay? ’Cause I’m sort of noticing a pattern here.”
“No. Of course not. Well. Let’s consider the Kinsey scale. I’ve got to be, what? A one, maybe two tops. You, well, you’re probably closer to a four. You just dress too nice to be really straight. But still, what are the odds that after a decade of purely platonic friendship we both develop a taste for bratwurst?”
“That’s an unfortunate visual.”
“There’s got to be something that explains this Oktoberfest of Gayness. I guess it’s true that we’re pretty much the only people in each other’s lives. I don’t like friends, and you can’t make them-”
“Excuse me-”
“Emotional intimacy and a lack of options could give rise, no pun intended, to erotic desire, I suppose…”
“So you’re saying you’re only attracted to me out of a mixture of desperation and habit?”
“Basically. Yes.”
“And here I thought it was my natural good looks and sparkling personality.”
“Oh please…hey. You’re not going to sleep, are you?”
“No, I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Because this should be bothering you.”
“I don’t care.”
“That it should be bothering you or about boinking your best bud?”
“Either. Both. I don’t care- not about what this is, or what I am. You’re the one so enamored of labels.”
“I am not. Queer.”
“Yep, I’m a flamer.”
“Twinkle toes.”
“Sleeping now.”


I Get a Kick Out Of You – Anything Goes Soundtrack
Fighting vainly the old ennui and I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face.

House heard the metallic click of the dead bolt being turned, but didn’t bother turning to see who’d just let themselves into his apartment. He really hoped that who had brought dinner. “I thought you gave me my key back,” he called not even turning.

“I made a copy first.” Wilson stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He was dressed casually, well, casual for him- a pair of dark blue jeans and gray sweatshirt that he’d probably ironed, and loafers that reminded House of a pair his grandfather had worn.

“So you’re just letting yourself into my apartment now?” House retuned to the book Wilson’s entrance had interrupted. “I thought you were the one who liked boundaries.” He licked a finger and turned the page.

“You broke me of that habit. And I feel so much better for it.” He wiggled his fingers in a vaguely jazz-hands sort of way. “It’s very freeing.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t get here earlier. You missed the Swedish twins.”

Wilson snapped his fingers in disappointment. “Aw. You shoulda called.”


[Note: For this next drabble, nightdog_writes let me borrow her rather wonderful Roman Empire AU. Check out the Annals.]

It’s All Been Done – The Barenaked Ladies
I met you before the fall of Rome…

“James.”

James started; he’d thought the Roman was asleep. A sharp wind gusted against the walls of their tent, sweeping in across the floor. James pulled his blankets up more tightly against his chin.

“Yes, lord?” he asked quietly. The cot creaked as the Roman shifted. “What is it?” He kept his voice low, unwilling to break the relative peace night brought to the camp. He desperately hoped whatever the Roman wanted didn’t require him getting up.

“I was thinking, James.”

“Always, my lord.” James let himself smile warmly, safely hidden by the dark.

The Roman laughed quietly. “You know me well. Very well.” He paused for a long moment, and James wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but he spoke again. “Do you ever think about death?”

“Most mortals do,” James’s voice sounded sleepy even to his own ears. It was comfortable lying here in the dark.

“What do you think about it?”

“What’s there to think?” James was puzzled by the Roman’s line of questions. He was not normally given to such fanciful musings. “We’re dead.”

“No Underworld? No meeting dead loved ones?” Now James was really wondering just how much poppy juice he’d taken with his wine.

“No,” James answered a bit helplessly. “My people don’t think about the next world, much. I don’t think there’s anything.”

“Good.” The Roman sounded satisfied. “Me neither.” James heard him roll over, apparently done with talking. James was hovering on the cusp of sleep when he faintly heard, “Though I wouldn’t mind to running into you again.”


Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) – The Eurythmics
Everybody’s lookin’ for somethin’…

Wilson woke slowly, stretching languorously and rolling over to spoon up against House. He smiled to himself, studying the pattern of sunlight dappling the comforter. He paused. Sunlight. That was odd. It should be dark out. He looked at the clock sitting on the bedside table. 9:43 am, Monday morning. Late, late, late. He was so fucking late. Moving with speed he hadn’t thought possible, he jumped out of bed, scrabbling to find socks, tie, and shoes. Where was his other shoe? He dropped to his knees, checking under the bed. There. Thank God.

“Hey, would you make some coffee, since you’re already up? And hand me my pills. Thanks.” House’s voice was even gruffer than usual; he was rubbing sleep from his eyes and watching Wilson’s frantic antics with interest.

“House!” Wilson sat up on his knees, shoe in hand. “Why the hell didn’t my alarm go off this morning?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I distinctly remember setting it last night. I even remember asking you if there was a certain time you wanted to get up.” Wilson got up and retrieved the alarm clock in question. House propped himself up an elbow.

“Sure you didn’t set it for six o’clock pm, instead of am? It’s an easy mistake,” House suggested mildly, the corners of his mouth quirking up suggestively. 

“Huh, well look at that. It’s is set for six am, but someway, somehow it got turned off.” Wilson pointed to the on/off switch, which was in the rather incriminating off position.

House tsked disapprovingly at him. “Wilson, if you’re going to be so careless about alarm-setting, I can hardly be held responsible.”

“I hate you,” Wilson said simply, handing House the proscription bottle he’d recovered from the dresser. “Do you want a ride to work?”

 

Comments

[rubberbutton.livejournal.com]

And I love you for having Hedwig and the Angry Inch on your iPod.

...Doesn't everybody? :P GLad you liked. I had a lot of fun writing these. It's so nice to write the good parts without bothing with exposition or plot or boring stuff. Bring on the banter!