Change for the Better

By Clarity Scifiroots

Disclaimers apply.

House/Wilson

Teen

SPOILERS: Finale: “Human Error”

Summary: A slash-tastic post-epilogue. (Utter fluff, which is surprising considering the angsty mood I’d started with earlier in the day.)

May!fic 29 of 31

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He knocks on the door a quarter past midnight. He waits patiently even though it takes another two knocks before he hears movement from the other side.

“What are you doing here?” House grouses as he opens the door.

Unperturbed, Wilson brushes past. “Where else should I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, comforting kiddies drowning themselves with booze? Wouldn’t want them driving and getting into an accident.”

Wilson turns as he rolls his eyes. “You know full well they’re fine. Besides, I’m not part of your team.” Wilson holds House’s stare in silence. “I’m your friend.”

It takes a few moments before House huffs and waves the sentiment off. Wilson doesn’t miss the smile quirking House’s lips as he heads toward the kitchen.

“If you’re sticking around, you want a beer?” House calls from the kitchen.

Wilson shrugs off his jacket and hangs it in the front closet. “Sure,” he replies.

As he circles around the couch, he’s caught off-guard by the sight of a guitar laying across the cushions. Its body’s shiny surface reflects the light with a mirror-like perfection. Wilson sits on the edge of couch and gently lifts up the new instrument.

“Gawking is not an attractive look on you,” House remarks. Wilson quickly closes his mouth, completely unaware that he’d been gaping in the first place.

“What are you doing with—” House cuts in before Wilson can finish. “It’s yours.”

Silence.

“What?” Wilson asks.

House limps closer and sets aside the beer bottles and his cane. He rests a hand on the arm of the couch and leans forward. “That,” he says, pointing to the new guitar in Wilson’s hand, “is mine.” He smirks, the motion making the corner of his eyes wrinkle and there’s a spark of real pleasure in his gaze. “You,” he continues, moving so that he can lift the guitar from Wilson’s arms and set it aside; “C’mere.”

Wilson allows himself to be pulled up and follows House to the piano. The old guitar leans against the wall nearby. House lets go of Wilson’s hand to pick up the guitar. After a moment of gazing at the instrument with a look of fond remembrance, he holds it out for Wilson.

Speechless, Wilson lets his fingers curve around the guitar’s neck, his index finger brushing against House’s pinky. He glances up into House’s thoughtful stare.

Eventually House lets go and Wilson holds the guitar on his own; he can’t look down at the instrument now, too wrapped up in the intense blue eyes.

Wilson licks his lips nervously. “Ah, you don’t like change.”

House snorts quietly. “I told you, I changed.”

House’s hands close over Wilson’s and eases the guitar aside. With their hands free, House threads his fingers through Wilson’s. His free hand comes up and caresses the side of Wilson’s neck.

“It’s time for change,” House murmurs, fingers dancing further up Wilson’s neck.

Wilson’s eyelids flutter shut. He breathes deeply, inhaling the humid, sour scent of another person’s exhale and turns his face into the palm of House’s hand. The past few weeks, even months, have been leading up to something. He hadn’t been sure this would be it.

“Are you sure?” Wilson asks, opening his eyes so as to see House’s expression.

“Despite appearances, I haven’t lost my mind,” House says, leaning closer.

Wilson closes his eyes as House’s lips touch his skin, moving over his cheek, the arch of his nose, his chin, and finally capturing his mouth. The kiss is demanding, hungry, and Wilson finds himself freeing both hands so that he can clutch House closer. His fingers dig into the fabric of House’s T-shirt. House frees his mouth and begins nipping a line down Wilson’s neck.

“We’re not leaving, right?” Wilson breathes, heart beating wildly. House hums a request for clarification. “Losing the... mmm. The team... You’re not quitting, are you?” He gasps and tilts his head back so that House has better access. It’s hard to speak, although he somehow manages, “’Cuz I like my job—Jesus!”

“God’s still getting the credit?” House grumbles against Wilson’s skin. He runs the tip of his tongue along Wilson’s jaw. When he reaches the ear, he nibbles on the lobe for a few seconds. He pulls back just enough to say, “No quitting. You’re just moving your ass back here.”

Wilson chuckles. He runs his fingers through House’s hair and turns his head so that he can start the next kiss. No way in hell he’s spending another lonely night in an impersonal hotel room between cold sheets.

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