Chapter Text
House woke up groggily, immediately greeted with a pain in his head that seemed to spread to everywhere else in his body the more he awoke. After a few moments of trying to remember why the hell he was feeling this way, he reached out to his nightstand to grab his Vicodin bottle.
As he moved, House noticed that someone else was in his bed. A mess of brown hair could be seen beside him, and before he could react, the person began to stir. House recoiled from the body, only to be met by his best friend, Wilson, slowly pulling himself up and looking around.
The second the two met each others gazes, an expression of both horror and shock covered their faces. Did they..? No, there must be a normal way to explain why Wilson was in House’s bed—House noticed that Wilson was not wearing a shirt, and it only further intensified his surprise.
The thought of Vicodin and even his all-over pain had been abandoned, instead replaced with the need to figure out what happened last night. They had to have been drinking, that would be the only logical answer to explain his aching head. House inhaled—yep, he could strongly smell the odour of whiskey and other mixes of alcohols that hung around the room like a reminder of last night.
“What… Happened?” Wilson’s voice rang out, and House winced at how loud it felt, causing the throbbing in his temples to increase dramatically.
“We drank?” House offered, knowing it was a lousy and completely obvious answer to Wilson’s question. Wilson stared at House blankly, before rubbing his eyes and becoming acutely aware of the fact that his chest was bare. He quickly scanned the room, searching for his shirt—or any shirt, at this point— and finally picked it up off the floor beside him. He slipped it on, not caring about the wrinkles or the stain of some liquor that blemished the top.
“That was helpful,” Wilson finally muttered, wanting nothing more than to just sink into the floor and never re-emerge. “You know what I meant. What happened between… Us?”
House wasn’t paying attention to a word Wilson was saying, his voice just sounding like a distant drone as he stared at the thing that did have his attention. A hickey. On Wilson’s neck.
Was that from me? House asked himself, before shaking his head and averting his gaze to the sheets. No, it was probably some back-alley hooker that Wilson had foolishly given his wallet to. But still, the thought remained in his mind…
Wilson waited for an answer, but when he was met with silence, he exhaled loudly. “This is ridiculous; it’s not like we slept together or anything.” Wilson said, as if to reassure himself rather than make a statement. But did they sleep together? He’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him feel slightly giddy.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” House murmured, the throbbing in his leg beginning; like a swarm of aggravated wasps leaving invisible, but torturous stings on his right thigh. He finally grabbed his bottle of pills, popping two into his mouth immediately before letting out a satisfied sigh.
Wilson stared at him, anxiety and a small sense of exhilaration(?) mixing inside his stomach. “We couldn’t have.” He muttered simply, the words feeling like blatant lies as they left his mouth. “We’re—I’m not gay.” Well, that was just false. But Wilson couldn’t tell House now that he was gay, it wasn’t a good time. And it would only prove that they slept together.
“And you think I am?” House said with a small scoff, wondering why Wilson basically implied he was a homosexual. “If anyone was queer, it would be your silk socks.” Wilson rolled his eyes. House went to pull himself out of bed, before noticing he wasn’t wearing any pants. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Wilson to see him in boxers—he couldn’t care less, Wilson’s seen him in boxers before—, but it presented the question: Where was his pants? And why wasn’t he wearing them? And why would he be in bed, with his best friend, without any pants on? He looked over his shoulder, to Wilson, realization dawning on him in a heavier wave than before. “Oh, my God. We slept together.”
Wilson looked alarmed when House spoke, denials immediately spewing from his mouth. “No we didn’t!” He said quickly. “It makes zero sense, we’re not attracted to men—let alone each other!” They had slept together. Oh. Oh, God. Wilson let out an over-the-top groan, burying his face in his hands.
“I mean, you could have done worse than me.”
“Shut up, Greg.”
House shrugged, taking the opportunity of Wilson looking away to quickly limp to his dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans and putting them on. He noticed that his cane was also nowhere to be found, and he hoped he didn’t somehow lose it on their drunken escapade last night.
He quietly shuffled over to Wilson, sitting next to him on the bed. Wilson raised his head, looking at House with a bashful expression before looking away yet again. “Does this mean we’re…” He started, before shaking his head, as if to get rid of the thought.
“Gay? Probably.” House remarked, not seeming very frightened by the thought; which only increased Wilson’s embarrassment. He was acting way too calm, it was stressing Wilson out!!
“Stop acting so… Nonchalant. There was no way you could’ve seen this coming.”
“Well, I already knew you were a homo.” Wilson’s face flushed at House’s comment, and he had to hide a smirk. House was lying, of course. Even if Wilson had given him signs, House had always been too worried about his own feelings for other men that he wouldn’t have picked up on them.
“No, you didn’t.” Wilson said, but he still felt exceptionally disconcerted. He could tell when House was lying. Yet he still. Felt. Flustered. It was annoying, to say the least.
House paused, before nodding. “Okay, I didn’t, but you are.” He wondered if they were ever going to be able to just laugh about this one day. He doubted it. It was funny, though, and nobody could take that away from House. “Admit it, Jimmy. You seduced me.” House almost laughed, but managed to hold it in as Wilson glared at him.
“Stop making jokes!” Wilson practically screeched, to which House covered his ears. Wilson pouted, clearly not enjoying this as much as House was.
House cautiously removed his hands from his ears. Well, obviously somebody slept on the wrong side of the bed. “Oh, stop being so petulant.” House mumbled, getting up again. He made his way out of the bedroom, to which Wilson followed—like a puppy.
Wilson was about to make some sort of comeback, until House halted when he reached the doorframe of the room. Wilson looked over House’s shoulder to see what caused his abrupt stop, and, much to both their surprises, they saw clothes. Their clothes. House could see his pair of jeans, and suit jacket scattered among the various articles of clothing. His eyes widened, and he smirked.
“So we did sleep together.” House declared, not able to hide his amusement. “Oh, you are so screwed.” He turned around to face Wilson, who was staring at the clothes in panic.
Wilson just walked past House, grabbing his coat from the hallway floor in the process. House watched him, rolling his eyes as Wilson tried to escape his impending doom.
“Don’t think you can walk away from me!” House called out in an oddly feminine voice. “I have your address!” And with that, James had closed the door to House’s apartment. House looked at his watch. 8:32. Well, might as well go into work.