Title: Sleeping Man Final Chapter
Pairing: H/W Mildly slashy (boy kissing)
Here is the next entry in the Sleeping Man Final Chapter Open Invitational. Today's guest author is cindy_lou_who8
She has risen to the challenge of writing a slashy ending. Thanks for giving the H/W shippers something to savor, Cindy.
Tomorrow: "The Slashy Epilogue" by deelaundry Even more slash!
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They had been home for a day when Wilson lost it.
House sank into the couch, exhausted from the walk from his bedroom.
He had thought he was dreaming at first, hearing a siren, from his many nights on the streets of Boston. When he'd woken in his own bed, and heard the sound, he realized it was coming from his living room. From Wilson.
House sat there awkwardly, staring at the floor, while Wilson continued to cry. He was quieter now, the keening off to more of a low moan, piqued with hiccupping sobs. House knew that it was just Wilson’s body reacting to all of the stress of the past weeks, that it was a normal response. He himself had been feeling similarly; he just channeled it into his usual annoying charm.
Finally, House uneasily put his arm around Wilson. Wilson leaned into the touch, and clung to House’s long-sleeved t-shirt, his face buried into the front of it. House tried to comfort him, at which he knew he would be no good. It was just not something he was very good at. He patted Wilson on the back gently, shushing him. At first Wilson just cried harder, but finally, the tears began to cease, the sobbing and keening, a distant memory.
After a few more minutes had passed, Wilson pulled himself away from House. He looked at the older man, embarrassed.
“Sorry, I’m just so sorry, House.” Wilson couldn’t make eye contact with House; he just looked at the ground.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. My shirt will dry.” House smirked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
Wilson shook his head. “No, House, I, I thought. . . we’dneverbesitting herelikethisagain.” Wilson’s words came out fast, tumbling over one another, as if he had just finished a marathon, and was using his last breath to get them out. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes once again threatened tears.
House regarded Wilson with curious eyes. And, as during the moment he remembered who he was, in this moment everything was once again clear. Using the little energy and strength he had remaining, he leaned forward toward Wilson, never taking his eyes off of Wilson’s, and kissed him gently on the lips. Wilson, while surprised, returned the kiss with passion and fervor, once again clinging to House’s shirt. The two remained lip locked for several minutes. Tongues exploring, a gentle nip on a lip, until finally House pulled back, breathless and laughing. “Hey, recovering cripple here!” He took a deep breath and once again regarded Wilson.
Wilson, tear-stained, and bruised of lip, smiled. “Well I wouldn’t want to impede your recovery. Let’s get you back to bed.” Wilson stood and stretched and helped House to his feet.
“Hey now, I don’t put out on the first date, so watch where you put your hands!” House laughed as he let Wilson lead him to the bedroom, using him more and more for support; he was steadier than two days ago, but certainly not at full strength.
Wilson got House situated, and made sure he had easy access to his pills and water. He didn’t know where what had just occurred was going to go, and he felt awkward standing there, fidgeting with the items on House’s bedside table. Finally, he turned to leave. “Night, House.”
“You don’t have to . . .go.” House’s voice betrayed the emotion behind those simple words. “Pajamas are in the second drawer.” House made himself comfortable, adjusted the comforter, and closed his eyes. Wilson smiled. He located suitable pajama bottoms and changed into them. He took off his dress shirt, leaving his undershirt on and climbed into bed next to House. “I . . .are . . .you okay with . . . . .” Wilson began to speak.
House silenced him with a kiss. “I’m right where I want to be. Home.”