House/Wilson Valentine's ficlet for
fallen_arazil
Feb. 14th, 2007 04:17 pmTitle: Be My Valentine
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,100
Summary: In which it is neither Christmas nor Valentine's Day, but House still manages to steal a kiss.
Spoilers: None, but it follows "Insensitive" and refers to a character who appeared in "Needle in a Haystack."
A/N: A belated birthday/holiday/thank-you gift for
fallen_arazil, who asked for: "Mistletoe fic! I don't care if House is using it to annoy people, Wilson's using it to get lucky, or Cameron is using it to try to play matchmaker, so long as it's mistletoe!" (Yeah, that's how belated.) Sort of a sequel to Welcome to Whoville. No beta; feel free to point out anything awkward or painfully unfunny.
House and Wilson sat at a booth in the diner by the hospital beneath an array of pink, white and red paper decorations, finishing up an otherwise pleasant breakfast laid out on pink, white and red doilies. House considered complementing the décor with pink, white and red vomit, except then he probably wouldn't get what he wanted out of the man sitting across the table from him, and that was unacceptable.
"—gonna go home for a couple of hours and get some sleep," Wilson was saying around the final bite of his omelette. "You okay getting back?"
"Yeah." House liberated the last piece of bacon from the plate between them and studied the collection of Cupids and hearts dangling overhead as he chewed. "Is anyone actually turned on by smirking babies with naked butts?"
"Just be grateful it isn't St. Patrick's Day; your French toast and my eggs would've been green." Wilson leaned back, sipping his decaf.
House took a split-second account of him. Full, relaxed, tired, amused; defenses low, spirits high. Time to move. He slid out of his seat, swung around the edge of the table and made himself at home on Wilson's bench, trapping Wilson between him and the window ledge.
Wilson's eyebrows drew together as he put down his coffee. "What are you—?"
House produced the bit of sad, dried shrubbery he'd retrieved from his coat pocket on his way over, its leaves curled and chipped, its berries pale and shriveled.
Wilson squinted, his gaze following the gnarled sprig as House lifted it above their heads. "Is that—mistletoe? Is that the same mistletoe you had at Christmas?"
"I saved it for remembrance."
"That's rosemary."
"Don't be contrary, you'll ruin the mood." House batted his eyelashes. "Jimmy, will you be my Valentine?"
Wilson snorted. "Valentine's Day was yesterday."
House added a bit of a whine to his voice. "But I didn't get to kiss you."
"Two kisses in front of your staff in December weren't enough? And half my dinner last night?"
"Reluctant today, aren't we? You want me to woo you with poetry first? All right, we'll do it your way." He cleared his throat and began to recite loudly enough to turn heads, "Roses are red, your balls are blue—"
"House!" Wilson hissed, scanning the room for disgruntled patrons, though his lips pursed with a suppressed smile.
"Want to shut me up?"
"Yes," he replied, obviously without having thought it through, because when House lowered his arm and leaned in, Wilson arched backwards. "I mean, no! Shouldn't you be doing this with—with—I don't know, Cameron?"
"I was going to use it on Cuddy and the she-devil on wheels who wants to jump her, but I got distracted." As if to demonstrate his short attention span, he tilted his head and swiped the flat of his tongue across Wilson's lips.
Wilson recoiled with a sound of amused disgust, putting a hand on House's chest to keep him at bay. "Julie."
"Well, no wonder your marriages keep tanking. You'd think by now you'd've learned to say the right name when you're making out with someone."
When he finished wiping his mouth with a napkin, Wilson clarified, "The 'she-devil.' Her name is Julie. And we aren't making out."
"Oh my God. You're right." Dropping the mistletoe onto the table, he took hold of Wilson's head with both hands and promptly remedied the situation.
Not even House's palms over his ears, House's thumbs tracing his cheekbones and House's mouth pressing, nibbling and plucking at his lips could stop Wilson from trying to protest; between quick, moist smooches, he managed to get out, "We—can't just—kiss in puh—mmph—publ—"
But he never finished, because on the "l" House caught the tip of Wilson's tongue between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. Predictably, Wilson gave up, shoulders slumping, complaints subsiding into wordless murmurs, and started kissing him back, his fingers flexing over House's heart. Soon House was happily exploring a hot, wet, onion- and coffee-flavored wonderland of tongue and teeth and gums and palate and lips.
By the time House deigned to let go, they were both slightly short of breath. Wilson sat back against the window sill and licked his lips, which were visibly sticky with maple syrup from House's breakfast. "You taste sweet," Wilson said, a smile tugging at the left side of his mouth.
Enjoying the bitter aftertaste of coffee and Wilson, House matched his half-smile. "You say that to all the girls."
"Only the ones I like."
"You like everyone."
"Some more than others." Wilson rubbed his tongue at a stubborn spot on the skin below his lower lip.
"Want me to take care of that for you?" House asked, nodding at Wilson's mouth.
"Thanks, but I think we've treated everyone here to enough of a show."
House feigned surprise. "Dirty mind. I was only going to play Jewish Mommy and wipe your mouth with a napkin dipped in your water glass."
Wilson was supposed to roll his eyes at that, but instead his focus shifted to a point over House's left shoulder. Turning his head, House saw their twenty-something waitress approaching.
"Can I get you two anything else?" she asked.
"Know of any nearby motels?" House asked, at the same time Wilson said, "Just the check, please."
Wilson glared at him through a slight blush that hardly registered against the waitress's. "Just the check," he repeated. "Thanks."
"Sure." She scribbled the tax and total, then tore the bill off the pad and placed it face-down on the table without looking at either of them. "Have a nice day."
"You bet we will," said House. Then, when she'd walked far enough away that he could justify shouting, he added, "You'd think he'd be exhausted after our Valentine's night marathon, but the man's insatiable."
"Time to go, House," Wilson declared, standing. "I would like to be able to eat here again."
House shuffled over obligingly—they hadn't decided who'd be paying yet, after all—and got up, putting his coat on and then holding Wilson's coat open for him. Wilson squinted and turned his head to the side at the gesture before turning to slip his arms into the sleeves. Then he figured it out, lifted his gaze to the ceiling and reached for his wallet.
House swiped the mistletoe back while Wilson counted bills. At Wilson's confused look, he explained, "I'm saving it. Never know the next time it'll come in handy." He continued over Wilson's sigh as they started for the door: "One of us can be Irish on St. Patrick's Day, for instance, and Easter's all about fertility. There's lots of kissing at Purim. And we'll need something to commemorate on Memorial Day..."
They stepped out into the bright, snowy morning.
* * *
x-posted to
house_wilson here
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,100
Summary: In which it is neither Christmas nor Valentine's Day, but House still manages to steal a kiss.
Spoilers: None, but it follows "Insensitive" and refers to a character who appeared in "Needle in a Haystack."
A/N: A belated birthday/holiday/thank-you gift for
House and Wilson sat at a booth in the diner by the hospital beneath an array of pink, white and red paper decorations, finishing up an otherwise pleasant breakfast laid out on pink, white and red doilies. House considered complementing the décor with pink, white and red vomit, except then he probably wouldn't get what he wanted out of the man sitting across the table from him, and that was unacceptable.
"—gonna go home for a couple of hours and get some sleep," Wilson was saying around the final bite of his omelette. "You okay getting back?"
"Yeah." House liberated the last piece of bacon from the plate between them and studied the collection of Cupids and hearts dangling overhead as he chewed. "Is anyone actually turned on by smirking babies with naked butts?"
"Just be grateful it isn't St. Patrick's Day; your French toast and my eggs would've been green." Wilson leaned back, sipping his decaf.
House took a split-second account of him. Full, relaxed, tired, amused; defenses low, spirits high. Time to move. He slid out of his seat, swung around the edge of the table and made himself at home on Wilson's bench, trapping Wilson between him and the window ledge.
Wilson's eyebrows drew together as he put down his coffee. "What are you—?"
House produced the bit of sad, dried shrubbery he'd retrieved from his coat pocket on his way over, its leaves curled and chipped, its berries pale and shriveled.
Wilson squinted, his gaze following the gnarled sprig as House lifted it above their heads. "Is that—mistletoe? Is that the same mistletoe you had at Christmas?"
"I saved it for remembrance."
"That's rosemary."
"Don't be contrary, you'll ruin the mood." House batted his eyelashes. "Jimmy, will you be my Valentine?"
Wilson snorted. "Valentine's Day was yesterday."
House added a bit of a whine to his voice. "But I didn't get to kiss you."
"Two kisses in front of your staff in December weren't enough? And half my dinner last night?"
"Reluctant today, aren't we? You want me to woo you with poetry first? All right, we'll do it your way." He cleared his throat and began to recite loudly enough to turn heads, "Roses are red, your balls are blue—"
"House!" Wilson hissed, scanning the room for disgruntled patrons, though his lips pursed with a suppressed smile.
"Want to shut me up?"
"Yes," he replied, obviously without having thought it through, because when House lowered his arm and leaned in, Wilson arched backwards. "I mean, no! Shouldn't you be doing this with—with—I don't know, Cameron?"
"I was going to use it on Cuddy and the she-devil on wheels who wants to jump her, but I got distracted." As if to demonstrate his short attention span, he tilted his head and swiped the flat of his tongue across Wilson's lips.
Wilson recoiled with a sound of amused disgust, putting a hand on House's chest to keep him at bay. "Julie."
"Well, no wonder your marriages keep tanking. You'd think by now you'd've learned to say the right name when you're making out with someone."
When he finished wiping his mouth with a napkin, Wilson clarified, "The 'she-devil.' Her name is Julie. And we aren't making out."
"Oh my God. You're right." Dropping the mistletoe onto the table, he took hold of Wilson's head with both hands and promptly remedied the situation.
Not even House's palms over his ears, House's thumbs tracing his cheekbones and House's mouth pressing, nibbling and plucking at his lips could stop Wilson from trying to protest; between quick, moist smooches, he managed to get out, "We—can't just—kiss in puh—mmph—publ—"
But he never finished, because on the "l" House caught the tip of Wilson's tongue between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. Predictably, Wilson gave up, shoulders slumping, complaints subsiding into wordless murmurs, and started kissing him back, his fingers flexing over House's heart. Soon House was happily exploring a hot, wet, onion- and coffee-flavored wonderland of tongue and teeth and gums and palate and lips.
By the time House deigned to let go, they were both slightly short of breath. Wilson sat back against the window sill and licked his lips, which were visibly sticky with maple syrup from House's breakfast. "You taste sweet," Wilson said, a smile tugging at the left side of his mouth.
Enjoying the bitter aftertaste of coffee and Wilson, House matched his half-smile. "You say that to all the girls."
"Only the ones I like."
"You like everyone."
"Some more than others." Wilson rubbed his tongue at a stubborn spot on the skin below his lower lip.
"Want me to take care of that for you?" House asked, nodding at Wilson's mouth.
"Thanks, but I think we've treated everyone here to enough of a show."
House feigned surprise. "Dirty mind. I was only going to play Jewish Mommy and wipe your mouth with a napkin dipped in your water glass."
Wilson was supposed to roll his eyes at that, but instead his focus shifted to a point over House's left shoulder. Turning his head, House saw their twenty-something waitress approaching.
"Can I get you two anything else?" she asked.
"Know of any nearby motels?" House asked, at the same time Wilson said, "Just the check, please."
Wilson glared at him through a slight blush that hardly registered against the waitress's. "Just the check," he repeated. "Thanks."
"Sure." She scribbled the tax and total, then tore the bill off the pad and placed it face-down on the table without looking at either of them. "Have a nice day."
"You bet we will," said House. Then, when she'd walked far enough away that he could justify shouting, he added, "You'd think he'd be exhausted after our Valentine's night marathon, but the man's insatiable."
"Time to go, House," Wilson declared, standing. "I would like to be able to eat here again."
House shuffled over obligingly—they hadn't decided who'd be paying yet, after all—and got up, putting his coat on and then holding Wilson's coat open for him. Wilson squinted and turned his head to the side at the gesture before turning to slip his arms into the sleeves. Then he figured it out, lifted his gaze to the ceiling and reached for his wallet.
House swiped the mistletoe back while Wilson counted bills. At Wilson's confused look, he explained, "I'm saving it. Never know the next time it'll come in handy." He continued over Wilson's sigh as they started for the door: "One of us can be Irish on St. Patrick's Day, for instance, and Easter's all about fertility. There's lots of kissing at Purim. And we'll need something to commemorate on Memorial Day..."
They stepped out into the bright, snowy morning.
* * *
x-posted to
no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 09:30 pm (UTC)House considered complementing the décor with pink, white and red vomit - such a great beginning. And for some reason I simply loved this line: Full, relaxed, tired, amused; defenses low, spirits high. It's got a wonderful rhythm.
So, you know, if you actually do write a Purim fic, it'll be the first Purim fic I've ever had. Such a neglected little holiday...
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 03:32 am (UTC)Purim fic, huh? I wonder how that might be made to work. *ponders* House with one of those metal noisemakers, oh dear...
no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 09:57 pm (UTC)*dances with joy*
What a wonderful little story! This was just so lovely. And this:
"I saved it for remembrance."
"That's rosemary."
Reminds me of
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:36 pm (UTC)Thank you. "Pesach" is indeed a beautiful and haunting story. Need to read that again; it's been a while. This little bit of fluff doesn't even compare to it, but I think I see what you mean about the connection -- at the end, House lights a memorial candle for Wilson's brother, doesn't he? Such a quiet, sad moment. Here I was just going for the closet Hamlet/Wilson's obscure references/RSL theater joke. Very profound. *g*
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 18th, 2007 05:35 pm (UTC)Isn't it also a ... um ... non-traditional tradition to get drunk on Purim, until one can no longer distinguish between the phrase Arur Haman (cursed be Haman) and Baruch Mordechai (blessed be Mordechai)?
Perhaps Wilson could become inebriated (a reaction to all the stress of the past year?) and let something slip to House.
I mean, who knows what Wilson might say, drunk on Purim wine and stuffed with hamantaschen? Heh.
no subject
Date: Feb. 18th, 2007 06:16 pm (UTC)Will keep a drunken conversation in mind, but after "Untouchable" I think I'm just looking for a sweet little story. Of course, you never know where a story will end up taking you.
no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 10:02 pm (UTC)"Know of any nearby motels?" was my favorite line. Perfectly House. XD
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 10:24 pm (UTC)This is wonderful! Just like House to get Wilson to make out with him in public. With mistletoe. On Valentine's. There should be another holiday for that. Can we name it after you? :-)
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:30 pm (UTC)Thanks for the rec, by the way! So sweet, especially after that scorching version of breakfast you dreamed up.
no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 10:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 11:31 pm (UTC)There needs to be more fics about House molesting Wilson in public. *vigorous nodding*
~Djinn
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 01:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 14th, 2007 11:36 pm (UTC)Oh, this is perfect! What a breakfast.
I especially loved how you had Wilson continue to protest even while House started kissing him--seemed like a very Wilson thing to do--and the next paragraph is one of the best descriptions of kissing I've ever seen.
How nice to share presents with the rest of us!
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 04:15 am (UTC)...Sorry, what? Oh, story! Thanks! It's not quite
*gazes some more*
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 04:32 am (UTC)And yes, that paragraph impressed me greatly--sometimes descriptions of kissing can be very mechanical, and this one was decidedly not.
*squees some more*
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 12:31 am (UTC)House considered complementing the décor with pink, white and red vomit,
And I had just started on my first coffee for that day, thank you so much. However, disaster was averted. And the dialogue was brilliant, with the remembrance and the 'wrong' names and the hotel. Lovely.
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 12:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 04:07 am (UTC)Those two lines from House's poem came to me as I was trying to fall asleep last night. Feel free to come up with any endings you please (and share!). If I think of a decent ending I'll be sure to let you know.
no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 03:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 15th, 2007 08:25 am (UTC)I loved the crumpled piece of misletoe, the details of the curled leaves and withered berries, House's relentlessness in the face of Wilson's embarrassed reluctance, the maple syrup and onions/coffee, switching the House=bitter and Wilson=sweet stereotype. Brilliant.
*is happy*
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:23 pm (UTC)Also I unabashedly stole "plucking" as a kiss-verb from
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 06:38 pm (UTC)I'm just so pleased that someone else is reading Tiger Trap. a) because it deserves a much wider audience and b) because I'm totally obsessed with it myself, and who doesn't love to share their fandoms?
no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 18th, 2007 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 16th, 2007 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Feb. 18th, 2007 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Mar. 5th, 2007 04:27 am (UTC)Fic: Be My Valentine
Date: May. 14th, 2007 12:08 pm (UTC)Sweet and wonderfully sneaky and scheming House.
no subject
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2008 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Aug. 2nd, 2008 03:09 pm (UTC)