Stereophonic Silence

Reverberation: Part Four

House gives him a challenging look, which just makes Wilson angrier. He wants to shove House back, push him, punch him… kiss him. Kiss him out of anger like those times where they were rough and brutal with each other; those times when they struggled and fought to get the other to submit until one of them succeeded. Kiss him because even if he's hurt and crushed that House doesn't want more, he still wants House, god he wants him. He wants House to want him. He wants… he wants House to need him and love him. He so damn sick and tired of how unrequited this whole thing is.

"God damn you," Wilson adds in frustration, and he lifts his hands to House's chest to push him back from him so he can escape being cornered between House's body and the bed. His palms press against House's wrinkled shirt and just as he's about to shove him back, House's hand suddenly dashes up and clutches the back of Wilson's neck.

Wilson instantly jerks back in surprise, which makes House clutch his neck tighter, and he pushes House once - and then starts to curl his fingers into House's shirt. He bunches the material in his hands, fists it, twists it, feels himself being tugged towards House. He tugs House in towards him, too, like a magnetic pull, until their bodies are pressed up hard against each other.

Suddenly House's mouth is on his, crushing and kissing, and Wilson lets out a sound of anguish before submitting. He kisses back, hard and angrily, feeling House's stubble grazing and burning against his chin and upper lip, feels House's teeth clashing against his own, feels House's tongue licking against his lips. Wilson opens his mouth wider and lashes his tongue against House's, tasting it as he grips House's shirt even tighter in his hands. His heart is pounding in his chest and his head is rushing with white noise.

He pulls back to gasp for air, only to be pulled straight back in again, House's mouth back on his. The second kiss is even more brutal than the first: savage, unrelenting, unmerciful, leaving Wilson's lips feeling stung and bruised by the time they break away from each other to come up for more air.

Wilson's hands start to shakily claw at House's shirt, latching onto the buttons to push them undone, and House is no less gentle as he yanks Wilson's tie loose. Wilson is still caught between wanting to shove House back as hard as he can, even more so now because he feels angry and upset and bitter, and god how he'd love to slam his fist into House's face or stomach, watch him double over in pain. But god, he wants him, too. It's such a contradictory feeling, one that's making Wilson more and more frustrated by the second.

Wilson manages to get the first button undone, the second, the third, finds himself being urged back with sharp shoves towards the bed by the fourth, and then gives up unbuttoning it altogether and grabs a fistful of House's shirt to yank it over his head. House fights against him, and Wilson grits his teeth as he stares House in the eyes, wrestling with the shirt fisted in his hands again. Come on, he's shouting in his head. Come on, you bastard.

He lets out a gasp as House suddenly kisses him again, more teeth against his lips than anything else. Wilson tries to bite back, determined not to let House get his way here, except House is getting his way because Wilson's hard in his pants, aching to feel House's hands grope and stroke him as angrily as House is kissing him. House reaches between them to grab at Wilson's belt at the same time that Wilson finally gets House's shirt off. He throws the shirt aside, then slaps his hands onto House's back, digs his nails in, hears House hissing as he scratches his nails down House's back. Their mouths are back on each other, consuming and vicious, House threading Wilson's belt free as Wilson starts snatching and scrabbling at the front of House's jeans.

"Oh--" Wilson starts without meaning to when House's hand unexpectedly grabs his dick through his trousers, and he bucks his hips up, also without meaning to. Fuck you, Wilson hisses in his mind. Fuck you, you asshole. With one hand snapping the button of House's jeans undone, Wilson returns the move by groping House through his jeans. He pulls back from the attack of House's mouth on his enough to see House's face, to watch his reaction - and sees utter fury and lust written on House's face. Wilson's not sure what excites him more - House's anger or desire - just like he's not sure why House is doing this, or even what House really wants. The last time they fucked, Wilson ruined it, he was certain he ruined it, by speaking, by wanting more. The silence that followed from House after all this time just confirmed to Wilson that he'd ruined it - so why is House here now?

Wilson feels another stab of frustration at House, at himself, at this whole fucking situation, and angrily squeezes House's dick through his jeans even harder. He hears House make an angry sound and Wilson barely has time to draw in a breath when House's mouth claims his again in another fierce kiss. Wilson braces his hands against House's chest with the intention of pushing him back, again - but feels House's fingers suddenly no longer yanking at his belt but pulling at his shirt, impatiently fighting with the buttons and Wilson breaks away from the kiss with a gasp of air to glare at House.

God, he wants to hate House for coming here and stirring things up between them like this again. And god, he loves House. And hates that he loves House and hates that he has no idea what House wants from him. And god, he wants House. Wants him so much. Hates him for wanting him, loves him for being here, hates him for making this so confusing, hates how slow House is being with these god damn buttons.

Wilson looks down and starts to shove House's hands away to take over, furiously unbuttoning his shirt, aware of House's quick breathing and aware that House's hands are back down on his trousers. Wilson looks back up to House just as he gets the last button undone, his pants now undone, too, and House doesn't waste time in roughly tugging the shirt from Wilson's shoulders, kissing him hard again, their bare chests now pressed up against each other and god, Wilson's missed the feel of House's skin against his, missed it so much. He bites at House's mouth in frustration, House biting back before House suddenly deepens the kiss, slows it down, right down until the kiss is almost strangely tender. Hard, but tender, the way his mouth moves over Wilson's lips in firm, focused motions, sucking and nibbling, tasting with his tongue. It's almost needy, something House has never done before.

The shift in House's attitude is so abrupt that Wilson has no idea what to make of it -- in fact, he doesn't make anything of it at first, just kisses back just as deeply and needily, losing himself in how much expression House is putting into the kiss. It's not until he feels House's hands start to tenderly touch his chest, with broad open palms over his pectorals, that Wilson snaps out of the moment, and he finds himself not liking how sudden House's change in attitude is, not liking how intimate and unexpected it is. He reaches his hand down between House and himself and gropes House's dick, squeezes hard, which makes House pull back in surprise, startled, as though the feel of Wilson's hand is a dash of cold water thrown on him and breaking him out of a trance.

House makes another angry sound and shoves Wilson backwards, causing him to fall onto the bed, and suddenly House is on top of him, consuming Wilson in another brutal kiss. The weight of House's body on him is intoxicating. Heavy and possessive and utterly suffocating, and Wilson swallows back a whimper at how much he's missed House, slapping his hands onto House's back to grip him close.

Wilson feels something twist in his chest, something fierce and burning and tight, something that makes him feel like he can't breathe. Greg…, he thinks desperately, his hands leaving House's back and snatching at House's hair, at his head. He opens his mouth wide and sliding his tongue against House's in another bizarrely frantic, needy kiss. Wilson squeezes his eyes shut and feels House pressing down even heavier onto him, like House is trying to get under his skin, kissing and kissing and, god, House has never kissed him like this before. Never. Never kissed with so much passion. Wilson has no idea where this is coming from or what's prompting it, and he's not sure he likes it. He's not sure because this is completely unfamiliar and revealing. Revealing of what, Wilson isn't sure. But House certainly isn't holding back and how many times had Wilson wished House would kiss him like this? And now he is, and Wilson doesn't know what to make of it.

He turns his head away to grab a breath of air, his lungs feeling like they're about to burst, and he feels House's mouth, wet and hot, drop to his neck to keep kissing as passionately as he was just kissing his mouth. Wilson grimaces at the sharp burn of House's bristles on his skin, his chin and upper lip burning, too. He keeps twisting and clutching at House's hair, arching his neck, biting back the want to moan or whimper or, god forbid, speak. He can't work out if he wants more or if he wants House to stop. He untangles his fingers from House's hair and drops his hands to House's shoulders to push him away -- or maybe to draw him closer, and House takes that as some kind of cue to pull back from Wilson's neck to crush their mouths together again.

House breaks the kiss again a moment later and pulls back enough to look down at Wilson. Wilson stares back up at him, still clutching House's shoulders, and for a horrifying moment he sees House open his mouth. Like he's about to speak. About to say something. Wilson suddenly seizes up in fear because he doesn't want House to speak, not after the way House kissed him. Not now. Not with how unfamiliar this feels. He watches House run his tongue along his top lip slowly, watches House blink, watches House's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows before he opens his mouth again.

"Wil--"

Before Wilson can stop himself, he tugs House down hard and crushes their mouths back together again, drowning out whatever it was House was about to say. Maybe House is frustrated by this, because Wilson feels House biting at his mouth again, fighting against him, which only makes Wilson more determined to keep House quiet. Grabbing House's hips, Wilson wrestles with him, struggles for a few moments, before he manages to get House onto his back. This seems to anger House --- Wilson sees it in House's eyes, and the kiss Wilson attacks against House's mouth is savage and full of rage again. He feels House's hands scratching at his back, feels House struggling underneath him - this is more familiar. This is the way it was between them those times they fucked with anger, fought over control, fought in silence.

Wilson breaks the kiss and drops his mouth to House's chest, one hand grabbing at House's wrist while the other digs in between their bodies to start tugging House's jeans undone, and House grabs a tuft of Wilson's hair and pulls. Hard enough to make Wilson snap his head back in pain, gritting his teeth to stop a hiss from escaping and before he realises it, he finds himself being shoved off, shoved hard, rolled onto his back with House climbing back on top of him.

Bastard, Wilson thinks angrily. Fucking bastard. They exchange another hard, violent kiss, arching and thrusting against each other, House yanking at Wilson's pants, Wilson yanking at House's. Everything seems to be the way it always was between them whenever they fucked roughly, as House drags Wilson's pants and boxers off his body without any gentleness. House impatiently pushes his jeans off, too, while he's standing up, and then climbs back onto the bed. They resume kissing aggressively, with House's body pressed heavy and naked and hard against Wilson's - oh, god, Wilson thinks to himself as their cocks slide alongside each other and as House's body consumes him once more, oh, god - when the shift in attitude suddenly changes again.

House's kisses get harder, yet strangely tenderer, desperate, needy, passionate, and Wilson finds himself being completely swept up in it. He kisses back with much the same passion, kissing and kissing and kissing, tangling his leg around House's good leg, thrusting up, feeling his chest tighten again. This feeling of passion feels uncontrollable and foreign, and when House pulls back once again to look down at Wilson, looking at him like he wants to say something, Wilson is quick to kiss him again, quick to shut off whatever it is House is insistently wanting to say.

Don't speak, Wilson thinks urgently about House. Don't speak, don't say a word. So strange, seeing the last time he'd wanted House to speak so badly. So badly. Wanted House to make a sound, wanted House to want more, wanted House to want him for more than just sex. And now House is giving it to him, or trying to give it to him, after all this time, for a reason Wilson doesn't understand, and the more House tries to say whatever it is he wants to say, the less Wilson likes what's happening between them.

He rolls House onto his back without breaking away from House's mouth, fighting against House's hands trying to push him back, and he shifts to his knees before straddling House's hips. He grits his teeth and grabs at House's hands as House tries to throw him off, watching the look of utter frustration on House's face. Wilson entwines their fingers together and manages to pin House's hands back against the pillow, holding him there as he leans down to kiss House again - another angry kiss, trying to coax House to fight with him rather than do anything unfamiliar. It works, for a few minutes, until House is kissing him passionately again, and Wilson finds himself drawn into it. Again. Because part of him does want House to want more. He loves House, god damn it.

He pulls away from the kiss with another gasp of air, suddenly desperate for House to fuck him. Maybe if House fucks him, House will be too distracted to say anything. Bracing a hand against House's chest, Wilson lunges forward with his other hand for the bedside drawers and fumbles with the handle, yanks the drawer open and clumsily grabs out the condoms and the lube. He feels House's hands sliding over his chest, in slow stroking motions which makes Wilson bite his lower lip because, god, it feels good when House touches him. Especially like that - slow, sensually, almost affectionately. Except House has never touched him like that before. It's the kind of touch that seems to speak more than words ever could.

Wilson shrugs away from it, confused by what the hell House wants. He peers down at House with a puzzled look on his face as he squeezes a dollop of lube out onto his hand. House watches him and responds to the look on Wilson's face by touching Wilson's thighs, his hips, his stomach, licking his lips like he's about to say something again. Don't speak, Wilson thinks desperately to himself and in a anxious bid to distract House, Wilson moves his left hand behind himself, leaning over House with his other hand braced on the mattress, and touches his anus. He quickly smears the lube around it, strokes it, starts to push his finger into himself with a fierce look of concentration down at House. House stares back up at him, mesmerised.

He pushes his finger in deeper, squeezing his eyes shut to try and get himself to relax. He focuses on memories of what it feels like to have House deep inside him -- how much it burns, hurts, how good it feels when House's dick hits that spot in him that makes his spine feel like it's melting. He drops his head, controlling his breathing as he awkwardly tries to reach deeper into himself -- and unexpectedly feels House's fingers running through his hair. Almost tenderly.

Wilson snaps his eyes open and nearly jerks back in surprise. He darts his eyes up to House's face, and maybe the look he gives House is uninviting because House drops his hands away with a look of perplexity on his face. Perhaps frustration. Wilson closes his eyes again; he doesn't want to focus on House's face or the way House is looking at him, doesn't want to try and understand why House is looking at him like that, and he starts thrusting his finger in and out. God damn it, this angle is awkward and uncomfortable. He stills his finger, keeps it inside himself as he carefully shifts back until he's sitting up a little more and resumes thrusting his finger in and out -- except sitting like this makes his anal muscles clench tighter and Wilson stops again with an impatient sigh.

"Do you want me to h--"

Wilson jumps at hearing House's voice. He snaps his eyes open again and looks sharply at House, so sharply that House falls silent and almost appears to shrink back against the pillow. For a split second Wilson thinks about climbing off House and forgetting about this whole thing. Getting dressed, making House leave the hotel, making it clear he doesn't want House to ever come back. Because Wilson really can't handle House's sudden desire to talk and acknowledge what they're doing here. He has no idea what's changed, but something has changed, something huge. Something he wasn't prepared for.

House's hand wrapping slowly around his dick jolts Wilson out of his thoughts. He looks down at House's hand and then back at House's face. Now would be a good time to end this. Right now. Before this becomes something Wilson's really not sure he wants. The thing is, he wanted House to break the silence, didn't he? He wanted that. And now House is, and… and…

Wilson swallows hard as House's thumb starts to tease the slit of his cock. He's desperately trying to keep focused on his train of thought, trying to work out what the hell he wants, but the way House starts to stroke him, slowly, firmly, Wilson wants… he doesn't know what he wants, but his body starts to react: his hips begin to thrust, pushing his cock through the tight circle of House's hand, his mind caught between god damn you, stop that and more, please, more.

He slaps his hand onto House's chest in frustration and glares down at him, House glaring right back up at him as Wilson grits his teeth and starts to finger himself in time with the strokes of House's hand on his cock. God damn you, he wants to hiss. God damn you for coming here, for making this so fucking confusing. He draws in a sharp breath, pushing a second finger into himself and, fuck, it hurts. Burns, stings as his anus stretches, but he keeps twisting his fingers in, feeling anger fire up in him as House starts to caress his chest, his neck, his face. Wilson closes his eyes while House's fingers stroke his cheek, sliding his tongue out to taste House's fingers as feels them trace over his lips. He coaxes House's forefinger into his mouth and sucks on it, gasping quietly as House squeezes his dick tighter. He thinks about biting down on House's finger when he hears House moan quietly.

Shut up, don't make a sound, Wilson commands in his mind. Please, don't make a sound. He releases House's finger from his mouth with a sucking sound and opens his eyes to peer down at him, and his chest twists at the way House is looking back up at him. Such an intense stare, too intense; an expression Wilson's never seen on House's face before. Wilson squeezes his eyes shut once more and focuses on the physical, on the way House keeps stroking his cock. He reaches deeper inside himself with his fingers, his arm aching from being twisted behind himself like this. He just wants House to fuck him, now, right now. Wants to fuck House out of anger and frustration, wants to clamp down on all these confusing emotions in himself.

He draws his fingers out and gropes frantically for the condoms on the bedside table. House obviously takes this as a cue to start roaming his hands over Wilson's body again, which just makes Wilson feel angry… and needy… and… and god damn it, stop doing that. His hands are shaky as he rips the condom packet open, even shakier when he scoots back and roughly rolls the condom onto House's dick. He makes a grab for the lube before House manages to get his hands on it. He squeezes a large amount out and slicks House's cock up, shoving House's hands away from himself when he feels them on his chest and shoulders.

He hears House make a sound of frustration, feels him struggling again for dominance, grabbing, clawing, trying to shove Wilson off and Wilson snatches House's wrists to fight back against him once he tosses the lube aside. Fighting is good, fighting is familiar; Wilson wants House to keep on fighting with him instead of breaking the silence and as he scoots back up over House's body he leans over to kiss House hard on the mouth. Fiercely, aggressively, biting and sucking, wrestling with House to make him stay on his back. He wants House inside him, wants House to fuck him now and the moment he releases his grip on one of House's hands to reach down behind him to feel around for House's cock, he feels House snatch a tuft of his hair.

Bastard, Wilson hisses in his mind as House twists his hair. Bastard. He kisses him again angrily as he closes his fingers around House's cock, angles it up towards him and swallows back a harsh grunt of discomfort when House thrusts sharply against his perineum. Wilson bites at House's mouth and can't help but whimper when the head of House's dick engages with his anus. He pushes back slowly, breaking the kiss with a pant and presses his forehead against House's because, fuck, it hurts, it hurts. It stings and burns as he eases back gingerly, as House's cock slowly stretches him.

He swallows back another whimper, exhaling sharply and he feels House's hands suddenly clutch at his head. Holding him close, almost tenderly, and Wilson just can't help letting out a grunt of discomfort as House's cock pushes deeper inside him. Oh, god, he's missed this. Doesn't matter how much it hurts, he's missed this, missed this closeness with House and he remembers for a moment why he wanted House to break the silence: because he wanted more of this, wanted this to mean more than just fucking, wanted House to want more.

He presses his mouth against House's, a kiss that turns into an open-mouthed grimace while House kisses and sucks at Wilson's lower lip, and Wilson grunts quietly again the deeper he takes House inside him, right inside until he can feel nothing but a deep sensation of fullness. He lets House clutch him close while he waits a moment to adjust to having House inside him, drawing in even, controlled breaths. Until he pushes back gently - and gasps sharply at the sensation of House's dick rubbing within him. He does it again, carefully, slowly, again and again, drawing in a hitched breath when he feels House thrust back. And again when House gives another small thrust, and another, and another.

Breaking away from the grip House has on his head, Wilson braces his hands on House's chest and pushes himself up. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights back he urge to groan as House's dick slides deeper inside him. He rolls his hips in slow, tense motions, and it's not until House suddenly groans that Wilson realises how this is exactly the same as last time - fucking House on top, wishing, praying, trying his hardest to coax a sound out of House to make him break the silence, just like the sound he made now.

Except Wilson doesn't want House to make a sound, not this time. He wants it to stay silent because at least that's familiar; at least he knows how to handle the silence, even if it isn't enough. He would rather something second best than something he doesn't know what to do with. Wilson opens his eyes and looks down at House, willing him silently to stay quiet. Don't make a sound, don't speak, Wilson pleads. He arches himself up and sinks back down onto House's dick, wanting to clamp his hand over House's mouth when he hears him groan again.

He shifts his weight on House and lets the pace pick up, his mouth twisting open into an expression of helpless pleasure when House's cock pushes and rubs right there, that very spot that makes Wilson's spine feel like it's weakening. Oh god, yes, he thinks, keeping himself angled so that House's dick keeps striking him there, right there. He leans forward and slaps his hands either side of House's head on the pillow, grips the pillow and fists it in his hands as the pace quickens, deepens, hardens.

Greg, oh god, Greg. House grabs him by the hips and starts driving in with sharp strokes, trying to control the rhythm, which Wilson tries to fight against, except he can't because it feels so good and it's all he can do to grab reflexively at his cock to start jerking himself off.

"Oh, god," he hears House pant, a sound that seems as loud as an explosion in the dead of night, and Wilson lifts his hand from the pillow to clamp his hand down on House's mouth. Except the next thrust into him causes him to over-balance and he makes a frantic grab at the headboard of the bed instead, to steady himself. And, god, the moment he regains his balance, he discovers this angle is better, so much better, and he arches his back as he grinds himself down onto House's cock.

Right there, he thinks desperately in his mind with the way House's cock is honing right in on that spot, again and again, right… there. The pace rapidly turns into a deep, grinding rhythm, turning Wilson's insides into molten liquid as his orgasm suddenly erupts from within him, hard. He grips the headboard until his knuckles turn white, barely able to keep himself upright as House starts to climax a few moments later. He hears House making sounds, quiet grunts, noises he'd never heard House make before in his life and as much as he wants to shut them out, he's too overridden with sensation to be able to do anything except cling to the headboard.

House slows down, slows to a stop and Wilson sags, breathing heavily, aware of his skin prickling with sweat - and suddenly aware of House's hands on his back, his shoulders, around on his chest. Everywhere. Touching with slow, weary strokes.

Wilson finds himself tensing up again. He licks his lips and chances a quick glance down at House's face, just as House murmurs in a slurred voice, "Wilson…"

"Don't," Wilson abruptly commands.

He sees House swallow in between catching his breath, sees him frown slightly and watches the light catch the beads of sweat on his forehead. He feels House's hands sliding down his back. "Wils--"

"Don't."

Before House can say anything further, Wilson lifts himself off House, feels House's cock sliding out of him, and quickly climbs off, tipping over onto his back. God, what the hell is House doing? What the hell has changed? When did it change? Wilson wipes his face with his hand and silently wills House to say nothing more. He doesn't want to hear it. He can't handle this sudden shift between them because he seriously didn't expect House to be like this. He thought House had come here tonight to do what they'd always done: fuck in silence, without saying a word to each other, during or after.

"Wilson," he hears House say again, almost a pleading tone to House's voice this time. Like House is confused, completely confused by Wilson's reaction.

Wilson tries to ignore him. He rolls onto his side away from House and stares across the room at the window. This is too much, way too much, after House not speaking to him for ages, after Robin, after realising the whole reason he wanted more from House is because he loves him. And doesn't want to love him. Can't help but love him. Wanted House to love him, too, but now… now, he's not so sure. It's so much easier to settle for second best when he doesn't really know what he wants. He's never known what he wants. Because he's never known what would make him happy - because Wilson doesn't even truly know what happiness is, what it feels like, how to get it and keep it.

House's hand suddenly touching his head snaps Wilson out of his thoughts. He tenses up again as House starts to hesitantly stroke his hair. Much the same way as House had done the last time, when Wilson was asleep, and maybe if Wilson had been awake when that had happened, he'd realise where House is coming from right now. In spite of how stiffly he's lying there, though, Wilson closes his eyes and, for a moment, he allows himself to indulge in the way House is touching him. God, yes… He almost, almost starts to shift over onto his back to look at House because as much as he has no clue how to handle House's behaviour, there's a part of him that craves this. So much.

House pulls his hand away before Wilson decides to give in, though. He feels the bed shifting as House sits up and Wilson tries to ignore the twisting in his chest as House stands and silently limps to the bathroom. He hears the light flick on, the faint buzzing of the fluorescent light, followed by the door closing. He lets out a slow, shaky breath and relaxes slightly. God, he doesn't know what to do now. He doesn't know, he has no clue. Whether to just keep ignoring House until House leaves, to maybe silently try and get him to stay, or to just… let the silence be broken. Because that's what he originally wanted, isn't it? He wanted the silence to be broken, didn't he?

Jesus, he doesn't know, he just doesn't know. He jumps when he hears the bathroom door suddenly open and, without meaning to, he lifts his head from the pillow to look over his shoulder at House, and sees him standing there, looking lost. Like he doesn't know what do with himself. House meets his eyes, slowly, and they stare at each other for a long, silent moment.

Wilson is the first to look away. He lays his head back down on the pillow and part of him wants House to take that as a silent invitation to come back to bed, and part of him wants House to take that as a silent command to leave. It's a testament, really, to what Wilson instinctually wants when he feels the other side of the bed dip under House's weight as he sits on the edge of it, and his heart surges in hope that House is going to stay.

But then House stands up again, and Wilson hears the rustle of jeans being pulled up, followed by the zip. He hears House moving around the room and knows House is pulling his shirt on, his socks and shoes, his coat, and Wilson swallows back the sickening feeling of disappointment that House is leaving.

House, he almost says when he hears the sound of House's footfalls moving towards the door. House, stop. Wait. Please don't go. He grips the edge of the bed and tries to work out what the hell he wants before it's too late, before House is out the door. Because once he's gone… Wilson doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. He just… maybe wants things the way they were. Silent and unacknowledged. Because at least then he had much less of a chance of losing House than he does now.

Except… except…

"House," Wilson finds himself saying when he hears the handle being turned. He lifts his head from the pillow to look at House and sees House standing there with his back to him, the door open ajar. Wilson swallows again. "House?"

For a terrifying moment, Wilson thinks House is just going to leave without a word. But then he turns, slowly, and looks back at Wilson, watching him, waiting expectantly, coldly, for whatever it is Wilson wants to say.

Except Wilson isn't sure what he wants to say. And the look on House's face is so cold, so cold that Wilson feels like shrinking back into the bed covers, as far away from House as possible. Yet, watching House now, watching how hurt he looks, Wilson decides he can't let House leave like this. He can't just let House walk out the door without at least knowing that they'll be okay. Somehow. He just can't.

He swallows again and shifts himself on the bed so he's sitting up more. "I… Don't leave."

House keeps watching him coldly for a moment, the hurt expression on his face making Wilson's insides twist. He's certain House is just going to leave. He's certain of it. But the cold look on House's face slowly drops away and Wilson is struck by how weary House suddenly appears. Weary and old. Like this has been weighing on House's mind just as much as Wilson's. The lines on House's face look deeper, his eyes look tired. His whole posture looks almost frail.

Wilson, in spite of everything that's just happened, is swept up with this sudden urge to somehow comfort House. Seeing House look like that… "Please?" he tries gently.

House sighs and he slowly, very slowly closes the door again. Wilson clutches the bed covers up around him as House limps back to the bed without a sound and sits down on the edge, shoulders slumped, head hanging low. Wilson doesn't know what to say. Perhaps it's best not to say anything because House silently decided not to leave and that's better than nothing. Except… Wilson has this sudden desire to touch House. To reconnect with him somehow.

He wants to ask if House is okay, if he needs anything, but he bites his tongue as he watches House just sit there. House finally stands up again and shrugs out of his coat, tosses it on the floor and sits back down to toe off his shoes. Wilson watches him strip silently and he can't begin to describe the overwhelming sense of relief he feels when House wordlessly climbs back into the bed.

He lies back down as House shifts onto his side, his back to Wilson, and Wilson feels torn between desperately needing to know that House wants and needs him, and gratefulness that this familiar silence has settled between them again. He almost wants to shift up behind House, spoon up behind him and touch him now that Wilson sees just how weary House is.

Looking up towards the lamp on the bedside table, he switches it off so the room plunges into darkness, save for the beams of moonlight streaming through the window, and looks back towards House. It's pitch black to Wilson at the moment because his eyes haven't adjusted to the darkness, so he can't see House. But he listens to House's breathing, steady and even. Just lying here, listening to House's breathing, realising how close he came to House walking out of him, Wilson feels a swell of love for House in his chest, for the fact that House is still here.

He rolls onto his side so his back is facing House, with a slight smile of relief on his face. They might be right back where they started from, right back at square one - with House on one side of the bed and Wilson on the other side, both in stereophonic silence - but at least House is there. At least House still needs him and wants him. That's all that matters.

Wilson closes his eyes, not realising how tired he is until he feels sleep tugging at him. His breathing evens out and his body eventually goes slack as he falls asleep, and he's completely unaware of House now lying on his back and watching him sadly through the darkness. He's completely unaware of House shifting in closer until their bodies are just touching, and he's completely unaware of the soft kiss House drops to the back of his shoulder.

Maybe, when Wilson wakes up, he'll find House asleep on the other side of the bed, no knowledge of House ever being close. Or maybe he'll wake up and find House asleep up against him, with House's arm securely over his body and House's face tucked in against the back of his neck.

Maybe the silence will have broken for good this time.

Maybe.


end.