Bite

"You're not serious."

"Would I joke about a patient's pain?" House tried to look injured.

Wilson wasn't fooled. "Of course you would. Since when do you respect patients?"

House had to cede that point. "Since never, I guess."

"But it was really a piranha bite? In Princeton?"

"Idiot crossed a river at night. On foot. In Belize."

Wilson rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I don't want to know what he thought he was doing, do I?"

"He read somewhere that piranhas are diurnal."

"Ahh, the internet. Makes our lives so much easier."

House ignored him. "And then he left the bite alone for three days’—"

"By which point it was septic." Wilson sighed. "Right."

"And then he panicked, had himself medivac'd out of the country, and wound up here."

"I hear piranha bites are shaped like footballs."

House shrugged. "Kind of. Hey, I saw a bad movie once where a guy got eaten by piranhas."

"Tongan Ninja? You made me watch that with you. I'm forever scarred, by the way." Wilson let his head fall back onto the frame of his chair.

"Okay, your turn, now you tell me something funny about one of your patients."

Wilson opened one eye and glanced at him. "Patients aren't funny."

"C'mon, I came up with piranha guy."

"And I feel so much better now."

"Is that sarcasm? I hardly recognized it. It's such an unfamiliar rhetorical technique."

Wilson snorted. "I learned at the feet of a master."

House briefly debated a blowjob crack, then thought better of it. Besides, he wanted to know what was bugging Wilson. "Oncology always sucks. Why is tonight different from any other night?"

"Was that a Passover pun? You're out of season."

"Spill it."

"It's my grandfather's yahrzeit."

"I thought he was a bastard." House levered himself out of the chair and went to shut his office blinds.

"He was. I was attached to him anyway."

"You have an uncanny tolerance," House muttered, fishing the Wild Turkey out of the file drawer.

Wilson walked over to the coffeepot and rummaged around in the sink. "There's only one clean mug. The rest of these are on their way to developing sentient life."

House shrugged. "I'll make Cameron deal with it tomorrow." He raised a hand to forestall the objections. "She likes to do my dishes. We can share the clean one."

"Why are you still here, anyway?"

"Because my reputation is still worth something to this hospital. Or because Cuddy secretly likes the way I ogle her breasts. You make the call."

Wilson rolled his eyes, though House thought he was a little bit amused even if he didn't want to show it. "I meant, why are you still here tonight."

House shrugged. "Got distracted playing with my GameBoy." He poured a slug of scotch and took the first swig.

Wilson's lips turned up slightly. "Playing with yourself after hours, huh."

"Playing by myself. Playing with myself is different, and arguably more fun, though I try to avoid doing it with the blinds open. Wouldn't want to scandalize anybody."

"Right. You're all about the propriety." Wilson tipped the mug back.

House watched him swallow. Pretty throat. Desire stirred, a low buzz at the base of his spine. Sometimes when Wilson was in a mood like this it wasn't worth even trying to proposition him, but House had a feeling tonight wasn't one of those nights.

Besides, even if sex didn't get Wilson out of this funk, it'd be fun. "Playing with you is even better," he hazarded.

"Everybody ought to have a playmate," Wilson said, agreeably.

Score. For an instant House tried to picture Wilson with Playboy bunny ears and a tail, but failed. He licked his lips, which tasted like whiskey. "Want to play doctor?"

Wilson gave him a dirty look, but he was loosening his tie, which meant House was going to get lucky anyway. "I think I'm a little tired of that one."

"Ah, the difference a comma makes," House said, letting his hand fall between his legs. Just a little pressure, just enough to wake his dick up. Though watching Wilson roll up his sleeves was enough to get him hard anyway.

Wilson walked over to the door, turned the lock, and then rolled House's chair back a few feet from the desk.

"Want to play, doctor?" House asked, for once not minding the way his voice caught in his throat at the sight of Wilson kneeling between his spread knees.

"Careful what you wish for," Wilson said, just before he bent his head. "I might bite."

(764 words; in response to The End