fic: Wilson/House

[rubberbutton]

Title: Wilson/House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG13ish
Summary: Crack flashfic. If you are particularly attached to the idea of the fourth wall, you may want to avoid this one.

“Why is it always House/Wilson?” Wilson sounded deeply aggrieved. He looked up from his bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. “It’s just not fair.”

House, who’d been pouring himself a cup of coffee, poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hommie say what, now?”

“Slash,” Wilson elaborated. “All the fangirls think we’re sleeping together.” He spread the morning paper out over the table, careful not to drag his cuffs through the newsprint.           

“We are sleeping together,” House pointed out. “You’d have to be a moron not to pick up on the raw, animal desire sizzling between us.” He brought his mug over to the table, his choppy gait causing coffee to slosh over the sides of the mug. It was half past nine and he was still in his blue and white pajama bottoms and an undershirt.

Wilson raised an eyebrow in incredulity. “Oh, oh, is that why you fell asleep last night.” House winced; he’d hoped that Wilson would have forgotten that this morning. Apparently not. Wilson grabbed a paper towel from the roll sitting on the table, wiping up the overspill. He got up to throw it away.           

“I was exhausted- I’d been up twenty-four hours with that last case and…” He trailed off. Wilson was giving him an amused look. “There is no excuse; I am a failure as a lover. You should replace me with Cameron.”           

Wilson pulled a face of such horror and revulsion that House was genuinely sorry Cameron wasn’t there to see it. “Ugh. Not even going to dignify that with a response. So, why is it always House/Wilson?” Wilson said, apparently ready to return to the original subject.           

“What would you prefer?” House took a swig of his coffee; Wilson made a damned fine brew.           

Wilson shrugged. “I dunno. Just seems like they could put my name first occasionally.”           

“I’m the main character; of course my name comes first,” House reasoned.            

“Oh please, it’s an ensemble effort.” Wilson rolled his eyes melodramatically. “Where would you be without the witty banter? Watching you play Mario Brothers for an hour is not as entertaining as you might think. Enthralling as those chiseled biceps are.” He reached in the cupboard and got out another coffee mug. “Dammit, House. You only left half a cup.” Wilson brandished the conspicuously empty coffee pot.           

House was unmoved. “Is it my fault if your fancy-assed, Italian espresso maker won’t make more than a decent cup’s worth at a time?” House reached across the table and snagged a piece of Wilson’s toast, realized it was whole wheat after the first bite and replaced it with a disgusted look. “And by witty banter I assume you mean whine about your feelings while shooting me those soulful doe eyes. Yes, like that. Exactly what you’re doing now.” Wilson stood with his hands on his hips, eyes fixed on House, apparently still miffed about the coffee.           

“I do not whine,” Wilson protested indignantly.           

“Bitch, moan, whatever,” House dismissed, suddenly distracted by the comics section.           

“I’m just saying that it could be Wilson/House once in a while, for heavens’ sake.” Wilson paused considering the cosmic injustice. “Or they could come up with one of those cute ship names.”           

“The H.M.S. Buttsecks?” House proposed.           

Wilson returned to his seat, rescuing his rejected toast. “Like the House/Cameron camp is Ham.”           

“I hate Ham,” House said sourly.           

“Everyone hates Ham.” Wilson took a drink of his coffee, mulling it over. “Wouse or something. That’s sorta fun.”           

“Is fun some new street slang for incredibly gay? I never can keep up,” House inquired sarcastically.         

“Homoerotic relationships are inherently gay, House,” Wilson replied mildly. “If you want a non-gay relationship title, you are all kinds of SOL.”

House abandoned the funnies to grab the business section, which just so happened to be the one Wilson had been reaching for. Wilson picked up sports instead. The Flyers were apparently reaching new lows.

 “Why do we need a label? Why can’t we just be ourselves?” House pleaded, more or less completely disingenuous.

 “Since when do you hate labels? You label everyone.” Wilson turned the page. Apparently the temperature was reaching new lows as well.

 House looked unrepentant. “They started it.” He drained his coffee mug and then, while Wilson was preoccupied, finished off Wilson’s as well. “So, it really bothers you that my name always comes first?”           

Wilson folded the paper and looked at his wrist watch. “Bother me? No, not really, I guess. Just so long it’s my name that follows after.” He got up gathering their dishes and taking them out to the kitchen.           

“Good,” House called. “’Cuz I’ve already ordered the engraved wedding invitations. You will be changing your name, right?”           

Wilson emerged again. “House/House? Uh, I think that would just get confusing.”           

House caught Wilson by the wrist before he could go collect his briefcase and pager and pulled him in for a quick kiss. “We’d be Duplex.”

Comments

[rubberbutton.livejournal.com]

Thanks, darlin'. God knows, I can't resist a bad pun.