November 24, 2007 -- Late Afternoon

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

For the past week, all during their case, Foreman had been trying to rein House in, demand he pick fellows, try to tell him how to conduct the case, look for a diagnosis, as if he'd respect his Cuddy-given-powers and listen. House had brushed him off (well, until he'd actually been right and his advice actually made sense), thinking that if this was Foreman's idea of retaliation--boss him around in front of his team--then it was pathetic. House wasn't even going to acknowledge it. He intentionally avoided Foreman any other time. After the car ride, and the forced avoidance that followed once they got to work, House realized that it was a tactic he could use. He felt smug about it, imagining Foreman brooding, fuming with possessive jealousy because he'd jerked off to memories of an ex-boyfriend that he didn't even know anymore, hadn't seen since his residency had ended decades ago. But apparently it was enough to get to Foreman; he already felt that possessive over him to get pissed off over something like that, as if people didn't fantasize about ex-partners, or even strangers.

Secretly pleased with himself--it helped that he conned Cuddy into getting the fellows he wanted, too--he'd made Foreman sweat it out. He'd resisted the temptation to knock on Foreman's door and get him so turned on he wouldn't be able to turn him away. He'd masturbated instead, certain that Foreman had jerked off to images of what he'd done in the car. Foreman had gotten so hard then, so horny that he hadn't been able to control himself, and House doubted he'd exercised much control when he was alone. It was all too good.

He sat around for most of Saturday, passing most of the afternoon, considering dropping by Foreman's place just out of curiosity, just to see what the hell Foreman would do. Why not, he thought. He had nothing better to do for the next day and a half and he hadn't had a chance to rub this in Foreman's face at work. He still had a grin on his face when he arrived at Foreman's door, sneaking in with a building resident--the cripple card really came in handy sometimes--and knocked on the door, waiting for Foreman to swing it open.

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[wilson-james-md.livejournal.com]

Leave it to House to call him now, while he was still enjoying the--to put it in terms House would understand--high of a decent date. A date that House hadn't known about, for once. Miraculously. When he'd seen House's cell phone ID appear on his phone's display, Wilson had thought for one teeth-gritting moment that House had uncovered the news of his date after all, but, at the time, he wasn't sure that was even possible. Wilson had just started seeing Amber, shortly after House fired her. They'd just had their second date. Second date in a week. Wilson had kept his lips sealed, hadn't said a word. Not a hint of what was going on; he'd wanted to do this for as long as possible without any House-interference. It turned out, though, that House only cared about a chauffeur service, unless he was waiting to spring something on him while he had him cornered in the car. But, no. No, House would have made a big a spectacle as possible. Stormed into the restaurant and demanded to join them. House wouldn't stew and sit on information to corner Wilson alone if he could make another person squirm and suffer, too. Still, Wilson thought, pulling a right onto the street House should have been waiting. It would have been nice to drop Amber off at her place, go back to his room, and enjoy, in quiet peace, how well the evening had gone. How--

Holy shit.

It took all the control Wilson had not to slam his foot down on the brake pedal, skid the car to a stop, and stare once he'd pulled onto the street. He could feel his eyes automatically widen, as if he needed to take in as much detail as possible to confirm it was all real. House and Foreman--House and Foreman?--were standing--well, House was pinned to his own car. Pressed there. Kissing--kissing--Foreman. Foreman. Kissing Foreman. Kissing Foreman. Jesus, it looked like House was attacking him. This couldn't--it didn't look like--a first kiss. He'd never really studied House kiss, but he'd seen it--happened to, by accident. Years ago, when House was with Stacy, and Wilson would catch them stealing kisses when they thought he wasn't looking. But this--he'd never seen something like this, was sure he'd never had the opportunity. This was...private. Involved. Foreman's hands were under House's coat. Touching. He could see House pushing from here, body pushing into Foreman's, definitely not surprised, or trying to get away. Somehow, Wilson managed to parallel park, creep into the space, without shifting his eyes away. If he looked away, he was almost certain that the sight would vanish, and House would be leaning against the car, pointing and laughing at Wilson for falling for such a wild, seemingly impossible but complicated practical joke.