Chapter Text
Wilson was off.
Sure he was always acting a little weird, but he looked identical to someone going through withdrawal. He was sweating, had chills, and was visibly anxious. But what could he be withdrawing from?
Wilson was in his kitchen, looking like death himself, and House was on the couch. His brows furrowed as he analyzed Wilson's behavior.
“Wilson.” House started. “Have you been doing drugs?”
His eyes shot open in shock, almost dropping his glass at the question. “What?” He replies, clearly confused by the absurd question. His shoulders were tense.
“Are you?” House presses.
“No, of course not.” Wilson said, going back to pouring his water. His hands shook as he sipped from the cup.
House rolled his eyes, obviously not buying anything. His cane thudded against the hardwood floor as he walked, the floorboards creaking underneath him at every step. Wilson's faint but heavy breaths slowly faded away as he walked into the bathroom. House had no idea what was going on, but he was going to figure it out.
The handle creaked as he twisted it on and sat down on the toilet. The water hitting the shower floor sounded like rain hitting the ground. It helped him think. He didn't know what Wilson was hiding, which was incredibly frustrating. He had to know. Wilson couldn't hide forever.
House tapped his cane on the floor, attempting to decipher what was happening with WIlson. The noise was rhythmic, sounding almost as if it was a metronome. He was conjuring up the most unrealistic reasons on why Wilson was acting the way he was. Despite his earlier denial, drugs weren't ruled out. The way Wilson was acting was similar to someone in the early stages of withdrawal. He would know.
His thoughts were stuck in an endless loop, unable to be controlled. It was as if his brain was a sentient being and the rest of him was separate. His leg throbbed as he stared at nothing, engrossed in his own world. A frustrated look was plastered across his face, what could he need heaps of blood for? Maybe it was some odd kink that he was ashamed of.
His thoughts continued racing until he heard the faint sound of a door clicking shut. His eyes shot open before he got up and shut the water off. A small creak of the bathroom door opening echoed throughout the empty apartment, House dramatically poking his head out the door. Wilson was gone. Perfect.
A smirk grew on his face as he limped toward Wilson's bedroom. If he had nothing to hide, he surely wouldn't mind, right? The closet door flew open before House began investigating the contents inside. Every single shoe box and jacket pocket was empty. He had to be hiding something.
He searched under his bed, examining every crevice of each cabinet and drawer, even looking for loose floorboards. Nothing. A grim expression spread across his face. This could only mean one of two things. There was nothing, or Wilson was really dedicated to hiding something.
The only spot left was the bathroom.
Before entering, he glanced over at the clock. He was late for work. He shrugged, deciding that his roommates' secrets were a greater task than saving a life. It doesn't really matter, though, everyone dies someday. The air felt thick, like sludge as he shuffled into the bathroom. The handle underneath his hand was cold, time seeming as if it was moving in slow motion. An uneasy feeling clouded around him, as if he was about to make a mistake he could never take back. He’d always hated that feeling stirring in his gut, it all being too familiar. Despite his unease, he yanked the cabinet door open. His eyebrows shot up once he laid eyes on the scene in front of him.
Blood.
Blood.
Gallons of the stuff.
“What the hell?” He chuckled in utter incredulity, grabbing one of the blood bags. The plastic crinkled as he observed it, grimacing as his eyes locked on the writing. It wasn't a human's blood, but a pig's. He shuffled to sit on the floor, his cane clanking against the floor once he let it fall. There’s plenty of bags and vials to supply a hospital for weeks.
He grimaced in wry amusement as he read the contents of the vials. These were human. Human blood, preserved as perfect as it could be. His eyes roamed over the various bags which were now scattered all along the floor. He couldn't help but choke out a laugh. What the hell was all of this for? This is what he was hiding?
A few more moments of stunned silence passed as he conjured up a plan. The bags and vials were swiftly placed back into their spots in the drawers, all while thoughts were swirling around in House's brain. No matter what theory he made up in his head, nothing was adding up. Before he knew it, he was already driving to work on his motorcycle. The loud engine hummed in House's ears, but it couldn't drown out his thoughts. Not at all.
—
The case was boring, as a majority of them were. The team believed she had cancer in her liver, and despite how dumb it was, House didn't argue or make any snarky comments. He just let them do whatever pointless scans and tests they wanted. It obviously wasn't cancer, and he hoped it wasn't cancer. That would mean oncology would get involved, and that meant Wilson would get involved. He couldn't risk anything slipping out of his huge mouth before his interrogation later.
Despite various people noticing that House wasn't acting as he normally was, including Wilson, no one even questioned what was up. Everyone was so used to his antics to the point that he was always acting weird. His lunch break went smoothly, besides staring at Wilson for the entire meal. He managed to control himself, to not question Wilson about everything he found and what in hell he was using all of it for.
The remainder of the day went by as slow as it possibly could. House was checking the clock every five minutes, always responding with a groan. Maybe what he saw was some vicodin-induced hallucination, or it was a dream. His brain wouldn't shut up, which eventually led to… clinic duty? Perhaps the stupidity of patients could drown everything out. The white pills rattled in the bright orange container as he stared, popping three into his mouth and swallowing them dry.
‘Missed periods, tender breasts, and fatigue.’ The clipboard read, a groan escaping Houses lips. God, how obvious could it be.
“Claudia, with missed periods, tender breasts, and fatigue.” House repeated as he walked into the room, practically mocking the symptoms.
“I don't know what it could be.” The woman muttered. “Ive been bloated non-stop, and I keep gaining weight no matter what I do.” House suppressed a groan.
“You know…” He began. “You could’ve just gone to a pharmacy. They have everything you need to test for this.”
A confused look spread across the woman's face. “Really?” She shifted in her seat. “I talked to the cashier, and he just pointed at the section with diapers.”
Oh my god. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, sighing.
“Good news. I know what's wrong with you.” He declared, the woman's face lighting up. “The test is incredibly simple.” A drawer clacks open before he grabs a box and turns around. The woman fumbles as he tosses it towards her, already limping out the door.
“You have a little person inside of you.” He says, the door clicking shut. He groans as he places the patient file in the ‘completed’ document folder. Stupid people do stupid things.
Everything else seemed normal. The team, Cuddy, the patient, but not Wilson. He analyzed him closer than he ever had before, every single one of Wilson's words and movements made him more suspicious of what he was up to. His sluggish movements, items slipping out of his hands, everything fed into House's delusions.
Wilson obviously noticed House gawking at him the entire day, he easily brushed it off. He always had something on his mind, god knows what it could be about now.
“I’m clocking out.” He gratefully mutters at the woman sitting at the desk, placing down his nametag. Before anyone, specifically Cuddy spotted him leaving an hour before he was supposed to, he limped out of the hospital. Wilson got off work in around an hour, which meant an hour of theorizing what the blood could be for.
His leg throbbed in pain as he sped down the highway, eager to get home. Eager to get answers. His thumbs drummed against the handles to a song that wasn't playing. It seemed that everything he thought about today had to do with Wilson. Looking around the apartment wasn't a mistake at all, it was just a burden on his mind.
As soon as he unlocked the apartment door, he darted toward Wilson's bathroom. The cabinet doors flew open once again, as House was silently hoping that it was just a vicodin induced hallucination, but he knew it wasn't. An exhausted sigh left his lips as the blood bags fell into his gaze. It was real. As real as it could possibly be.
His fingers brushed against the cold, liquid filled bags. Disbelief was still plastered across his face, no matter how long he stared at the scene in front of him. The whole day felt like a bad dream, that no matter what, he could never wake up from. He thinks about leaving, leaving Wilson and his blood bags alone. But, nothing could go unanswered, his brain would never let him. Wilson valued his privacy, and House valued Wilson's privacy too.
It felt as if he was sitting there for hours on end. Endless hours of examining the blood with his thoughts going haywire. God knew why he cared so much. It wasn't a new feeling, examining mysteries obsessively until he found an answer, but it was different.
House was sitting there for at least thirty minutes before deciding to get up, hissing in pain once the familiar throbbing of pain thrummed through his leg. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his prescription. He observed the contents, three white pills staring right back at him. Two pills rattled out of the bottle, shortly before he tossed them into his mouth. Relief slowly began flooding through his body, relieving the pain shortly.
His eyes stayed locked on the clock, waiting impatiently for Wilson to get home. It was 6:09, which meant he should be getting home in a few minutes. He knew Wilson's schedule better than he knew his own. His thoughts just began running wild as his left leg as anticipation began setting in. He’d never felt this way about discovering something, especially about Wilson. Was it more serious than he had been making it out to be? It was as if his subconscious knew something he didn't. The leg shaking immediately halted as he heard the door click open. His eyes darted toward the door despite his attempts to be non-chalant, eyeing Wilson. Almost worse than earlier, he was still sluggish and stumbling as if he was intoxicated.
Wilson hardly glanced in House's direction before walking hastily towards the bathroom. His face was slick with sweat and his pupils were blown wide. House's eyes narrowed. Seriously, what was wrong with this guy?
Despite his urges to follow Wilson into the bathroom, interrogate him and find out what the hell was going on, he stayed put. The couch felt uncomfortable against his body as he waited for him to re-appear from that door. His leg throbbed, the vicodin hardly doing anything anymore. Minutes passed by like hours as he stared at the wall, he could use a distraction, anything, that would keep his mind from going on and on like this.
As soon as Wilson's footsteps got louder, he glanced back over into his direction. He’d hoped that he would come back the same, the sluggish mess he’d seen all day, but he looked much better. He was practically glowing. Seeing his changed state should've smoothed his mind over a little bit, but it just made everything worse. Once he finally got his face out of his hand, he saw Wilson sitting next to him.
“Whats up with the blood bank in your bathroom?” House blurted, staring holes into Wilson. His face went pale. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes scanned House's face for any signs of a cruel joke. He was dead serious.
The silence was deafening. House watched him as if he was a job applicant who lied on his resume. This was supposed to be easy. He interrogated him, Wilson told him what was happening, and he was satisfied. But neither of them could say anything.
Wilson's long, exaggerated sigh broke the silence. “House…” He whimpered, twiddling his thumbs. His eyes darted everywhere besides House's face. “I’m…” He stuttered, “I’m a vampire. Like, literally. I need blood to not go insane, and I can't eat garlic.”
Actualization spread across his face, everything seemed to line up. The pieces of the puzzle were finally connecting, seeing the whole picture. He looked at him like he was crazy, his eyes squinted, looking for any signs of a lie. All of the blood had drained from Wilson's face, making him as pale as a ghost. A vampire, even. Strangely, he had believed every single word Wilson said. The lights felt as if they were burning his skin, they were too bright. He choked out a laugh.
“...Wow,” He chuckled, running his hand up and down his leg. “Cool!”
Shock spreads across Wilsons expression, blinking a few times as if he heard him wrong. “You believe me?” He squinted. “No questions?”
“Oh, plenty of questions.” He says, chuckling. “Too many answers. I’ll get you drunk, then ask all of the questions you could think of.” He pushes himself up off the couch with a grunt and grabs Wilson’s keys.
The overall stress of House figuring out his secret that was supposed to stay hidden away forever was affecting him, and he needed more blood. At least now he didn't have to make up stupid excuses to run away to the bathroom.
“Hold on,” Holding a hand up, he runs to the bathroom. Once he comes back, a small vial of blood is in his hand. “Just in case you don't believe me.” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he screws open the cap and pours the whole thing down his throat. A dramatic, satisfied sigh escapes his lips as he tosses it in the trash. He seemed like he had more color, despite his pale complexion.
“Ooh, me next!” He jokes, spinning the keys in his hand and tossing them to Wilson.
Before the two knew it, they were sitting at a bar with drinks in hand. Four empty glasses sat beside them, with three belonging to Wilson. They were cracking jokes, seemingly forgetting about the events beforehand. They spoke for an hour beforehand, and it was only half- past seven. Nothing was brought up about Wilson being a vampire.
“So, no garlic huh?” He alleged, his eyes roaming over Wilson's slightly intoxicated state. His investigative tone was gone, replaced with genuine curiosity.
“Absolutely none.” Wilson finishes off the remainder of his drink, setting it down on the table with a clink. He raises his hand to flag down the bartender for another drink. He always assumed House wasn't paying, and this most likely wasn't any different, so why not drink as much as he wanted on his own coin?
As Wilson's mouth moved as he spoke, House took notice of his sharper than normal canines. That was definitely different. What else hadn’t he noticed?
“So who turned you?” He asked.
Wilson's expression hardened. “That isn't something I'll answer.” His speech was noticeably more slurred, but he was incredibly serious. He drank often, but his tolerance wasn't the highest. He brought his newly served drink up to his lips, practically emptying half of the cup. A long silence followed the answer, the air thick with tension.
Thinking back, there were plenty of things about Wilson that weren't normal compared to humans. He was always pale, hardly spending any time in the sun, and just acted much differently. At first he had just assumed it was a Wilson thing, but the stash of blood should've made it incredibly obvious, no matter how stupid the vampire thing would've sounded as an idea.
Pressing on the topic will get him absolutely nowhere, considering how blocked off Wilson seemed to that question, so he deemed it useless. “Have you ever drank from a human?” House asks, taking notice of his facial expressions.
Wilson sighed, he knew this question was coming. “Yeah. Plenty of times.” He sighed. “I figured that drinking blood from animals would be easier than attacking people, though.”
House seemed amused by this answer, imagining what Wilson would have looked like while desperately attached to someone's neck, sucking them dry. He quickly shook off the thought in an attempt to avoid unnecessary images forming in his head.
“How does it feel?” He questions, hoping for a drunken rant. Wilson's eyes widened, clearly not expecting this question. His face flushed slightly.
“Um,” he mumbles. “It gives a sense of euphoria, for the other person and the vampire in question. The vampire also has a venom in its saliva that goes into the wound, causing sparks to fly in the pleasure center in the brain of the human. It hurts a little, but mostly dissolves into pressure. It practically mimics an orgasm if you really think about it…” He mumbles the last part, now appearing deep in thought. House chuckles in amusement. That certainly wasn't what he was expecting.
“Oh,” he snaps back, starting up his rambling sequence once again. “Its also incredible for me, too. The blood tastes incredible, depending on the person, but almost always sweet. Same pleasure centers get fired off, but not as much.”
Every single word intrigues House further. He’s already thinking about how he could possibly use this to his advantage, to manage his pain. Again, it was obviously a temporary solution, but it seemed interesting. Speaking of his pain, he really needed some vicodin. The alcohol helped numb it slightly, but it was still throbbing. He reaches into his pocket and opens the bright orange bottle, a groan escaping his lips as he sees one pill. He takes it anyway, the temporary relief flooding through him. Wilson watches him intently as he swallows the pill.
“No more questions?” Wilson asks.
“Nope.” House responds, eyes now focused on Wilson's drink. It's completely gone now. Yikes.
In a moment of clarity, Wilson's slurred speech floods House's ears. “We should go home.” He mutters, rubbing his head.
He nods, flagging down the bartender. Wilson's already stumbling out of the bar as House briefly talks to the bartender. For once, he was putting the drinks on his unpaid tab. He limps behind him as fast as he possibly can, grabbing the keys out of his hand. He’s more sober, not completely, but the cops don't have to know.
The drive home was silent, other than the buzz of the car engine. House can practically feel Wilson's eyes staring into him as he drives, occasionally looking over to make sure he doesn't vomit all over himself. He lied. There were plenty of other questions he would've liked to ask, but he didn't think Wilson was going to get that drunk.
“Thanks, House.” Wilson mumbles, still rubbing his head.
Thanks for what? Getting him drunk? Prying into his secrets? House forces himself to chuckle, frustrated by the entire thing. Maybe he could somehow convince Wilson to drink some blood from him, why not? He rolls his eyes, handicapped by his own thoughts. Today, out of all days, he couldn't stop his thoughts from swirling around in his brain. Pain mixed with overthinking was hardly a good mix, hopefully once Wilson sobers up he can get an early prescription out of him. House groaned, rubbing his eyes. Everything had to come down to Wilson, huh?
“C’mon, let's go.” He says, finally getting out of the car. He honestly has no idea how to deal with Wilson when he's drunk, so hopefully he can just throw him down on his bed and go sleep on the couch. Wilson grabs House's shoulder to get out of the car, but didn't let go once he was on the sidewalk.
“Yikes.” House mutters, guiding the incredibly intoxicated man up the stairs. Wilson was fully leaning onto House's shoulder. The buzz from the alcohol silenced the pain in his leg, so it wasn't too much of a burden. Once they finally reach the door to his apartment, after fifteen long minutes of stumbling, he makes Wilson lean against the wall. He keeps an eye on him as he reaches up to the spot above the doorway, snatching the spare key. Too easy. The door clicked open and the two walked inside. Wilson didn't really walk, just kind of stumbled inside.
Before House could say anything, Wilson grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the wall. His breaths came in heavy, ragged pants. His pupils were blown wide, and his hands were trembling as they gripped on House's shoulders. This was a sight to see. The smell of alcohol flooded his nostrils, and Wilson was flushed.
It was obvious, he wanted blood. No, he needed blood. If he hadn't known he was a vampire, he would've thought he was gonna shove his dick up his ass. Why him though? I mean, he has a whole stash of blood in his bathroom.
“Wilson,” House sighs. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.” He groans, sick of his antics already. His head was aching because of the alcohol. Despite his words, he doesn't attempt to push him off, or anything remotely close.
“I don't—" He gasps. “I need blood, House. Yours. I can smell it. ‘Can basically taste it.” His words practically came out as a plea, both of their bodies almost pressed together.
His face was inches away from House's neck, his hot breath sending shivers down his spine. It didn't seem like a horrible idea, but Wilson was drunk and desperate. Sure, he was curious if what he said earlier was true, but this wasn't a good time. His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Wilson's lips centimeters away from his neck.
House sighed. “Fine.”
Those words caused a flip to switch in his brain. He’d been so patient for all this time, waiting and restraining himself for years to drink blood from his own best friend. To have House completely helpless under him while he sucks him dry. To have House coming apart completely under him. There was no hesitation once he heard those words of confirmation, sinking his teeth into House's skin.
A stinging pain surged through House's body as his teeth sunk into his flesh, letting out a strangled gasp. He cursed under his breath, his body tensing up at the sensation. The pain subsided as soon as it came, though, as it quickly subsided into pleasure. Wilson was completely lost in a dazed frenzy, breathing heavily through his nose. His face was fully buried in the crook of House's neck, eyes closed, reminiscing in the sensation of blood flowing down his throat.
All of the years of repressed need for human blood, House's blood, was flowing out rapidly through every pore as he frantically sucked and kissed at House's neck. He couldn't control himself, not anymore. The feeling of knowing he was fully willing to give him his blood spurred him on further.
“Fuck, Wilson…” He moans, closing his eyes. Wilson groaned in response, running his tongue over the bleeding wound before sinking his teeth back in. It was overwhelming, there was hardly any pain in his body at all. His leg pain had subsided, almost nonexistent, and all he could feel was pleasure coursing through his entire body. The feeling of him sucking on his neck, desperate and clinging to his body like it was his life support. Wilson was right, it did feel like an orgasm. Hell, he felt like he was gonna cum right there. He could feel Wilson's sharp fangs inside of his skin. It was like they were meant to be there for all this time. A whimper leaves his lips as his teeth clamp down on his neck rougher, pushing his fangs in deeper. House's face flushed a bright pink, the sound he made practically echoing in his ears. His best friend was seeing him fall apart to pleasure.
A loud thud echoed throughout the apartment, Houses cane falling to the floor. One hand intertwined in Wilson's hair, pressing his face further into his neck, with the other gripping his shoulder. Wilson's hands were on his waist now, practically preventing him from falling over. They were tightly gripping his sides, surely going to leave bruises in their wake, but that was the least of either of their worries. All Wilson was worried about was getting as much blood as possible at this moment. Years had gone by since he’d drank blood from a sentient being, all of his pent up desire and need coming out in this moment. Even better, he’s taking it out on someone he's needed for years.
“You taste fucking incredible.” Wilson moans into his neck, gasping for air. House whimpered at the loss of sensation, but his disappointment was short lived. It seemed as if as soon as he detached his teeth from the wound, they sunken back within seconds. Low groans escaped his throat as he gripped Wilson tighter. It felt better than sex, better than any hooker he’s paid for. It was incredible. The familiar pressure in his groin was building, his cock throbbing. He resisted the urge to grind his pelvis against Wilson's thigh, which was positioned inches away from his crotch.
Sweat dripped down their faces as Wilson became more frantic and desperate. Their bodies were pressed up flush against each other, the sound of clothes shuffling, muffled moaning, and heavy breathing filling the room. He grins against House's neck, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him. Not in a bad way, not at all. It was incredible, seeing House so powerless and vulnerable under him. The satisfaction he felt was undeniable, knowing that no one was able to see him like this. He had to make sure no one could see him in this state. This version of House was reserved for him, only him.
House's grip tightened in Wilson's hair, knuckles white, his head beginning to spin rapidly, his legs felt like they would give out at any second. But for once today, his mind was quiet, only focused on Wilson and the pleasure. He could feel his own erection throbbing hellaciously in his pants because of the erotic scene. Along with his, he could feel Wilson's hard cock against his leg, a satisfied smirk forming on his face. Knowing that Wilson felt the same sent waves of amusement through his body. His feelings were convoluted, a mix of bliss, ecstasy, exhilaration, flooding through him.
A low groan escaped his throat as he detached his mouth from House's neck. “Mine.” He growls, his voice laced with possession and hunger. “All of this is mine.” House moans in response, completely unaware of the lustful noises leaving his mouth. His tongue runs over the wound repeatedly, the wound slowly closing up. Another perk of a vampire's saliva. Their sweaty bodies were still pressed together, and they could feel everything through their clothes. Wilson ran his hands up and down his torso, feeling him flinch and tense up under his touch. Every single reaction he had to his touch was intoxicating.
House's clothes stuck to his skin, both from blood and sweat. His grasp had loosened on both Wilson’s hair and shoulder, leaving them both gasping for breath. His brain was buzzing, he could hardly think. He felt high. Finally, as it was expecting to happen sooner or later, his legs fully gave out. Wilson’s arms darted out to guide him down the wall, House collapsing onto the floor with a soft thud.
They didn't say anything for a few minutes, just sitting in silence as they tried to catch their breath.
“You aren't gonna need those blood bags anymore, huh?” House says, his voice shaking and breathless. His entire body felt weak, considering the loss of blood. The floor felt like it was swaying under him.
Wilson chuckled, seemingly slightly sobered up. “If you let this happen again, I guess I won't.”
House’s eyes darted down to his partially blood stained shirt, grimacing at the sight. There goes his favorite blue shirt. But, it was worth it. He hadn't even noticed Wilson in the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water.
“Dont pass out on me.” He says, handing House the liquid with the sympathetic look on his face coming back. Around ten minutes ago, he looked like a feral animal, now he looked like the same kind eyed oncologist he always had known. He couldn't even chuckle, he was so incredibly drained.
“I’m showering tomorrow.” House said, grabbing at the cuffs of his sleeves as if they were cutting off his circulation.
“Seriously? You look like you got attacked.” Wilson responds, his eyes roaming up and down House's disheveled appearance. Two of the buttons on his shirt were unbuttoned, one hanging on by a thread. He couldn't help but let his eyes roam lower, the bulge in House's crotch making itself known. He averted his gaze to the floor in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up onto his face.
“I did.” He countered, smirking as he grabbed his cane. He stumbled a bit, but inevitably ended up on the couch shortly after. “Also, I need another vicodin prescription!” He shouts, his voice sounding strained. Wilson nodded, logging it in his mental calendar.
It seemed as if nothing between the two had changed, and they both clearly wanted to keep it that way. They needed to keep it that way.
“Good-night House.” Wilson said as he walked toward his bedroom.
“Night, Jimmy.”