Chapter Text
As soon as House woke up, his head was throbbing and pounding in his skull. The kind of headache that makes you regret every sip of every drink from the night before. Despite the discomfort, it was a part of his daily routine. He’d always wake up in pain and pop some vicodin, even though it was only temporary relief. He groans as he slowly makes an attempt to stand up from the couch, pain shooting through his leg. His limbs felt unusually heavy and uncoordinated as he lifted himself up.
As soon as he landed on his feet, the room seemed to spin around him. It felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton as he groaned, his own voice sounding muffled in his own ears. He was forced to lean against the couch with his entire body weight until everything stopped whirling around him, as well to make sure he didn't crack his head open. It was frustrating, was he going to feel like this every morning now?
For a moment, everything was a blur. The sun shining in through the apartment window was almost blinding, which didn't do anything to help his aching and spinning head. His empty vicodin bottle was sitting on the floor next to the couch. He glared at it as if it was mocking him. An agitated sigh left his lips as he grabbed his cane and shuffled to the bathroom.
As he made his way towards the shower, his gaze flickered toward the mirror. Once he laid eyes on the brown band-aid stuck on his neck, all of the memories from the night before hit him like a tidal wave. Wilson's teeth sinking into his neck, the blood dripping and staining his shirt, the both of them clinging to each other like they never wanted to be separated.
It was immensely intimate. House sighed again and rubbed his face, like trying to make sure this wasn't some sort of hyper-realistic dream. The embarrassment was overwhelming, he hadn't felt so flustered by something in years. He whimpered. It was unbelievable and horrifying to even think about. It was immensely intimate. House sighed again and rubbed his face, like trying to make sure this wasn't some sort of hyper-realistic dream. The embarrassment was overwhelming, he hadn't felt so flustered by something in years. He whimpered. It was unbelievable and horrible to even think about.
If he hadn't looked in that mirror, he would've chalked it up to some weird nightmare and went on with his day. Hell, he couldn't even believe that happened even with the wound visible on his neck. Every single moment was engraving itself into his head. Every single noise he made, the ecstasy paralyzing his entire body as Wilson frantically sucked at his neck. Most of all, he had been rock hard the entire time. So had Wilson. He ignored the way his stomach flipped as he thought back.
His only question was; Why him? From what Wilson told him he figured he’d been living off animal blood for years, seemingly never drinking from a live human being. There were probably plenty of horny freaks who were into that vampire shit, so why not one of them? The sound of knocking at the bathroom door snapped him out of his head, bringing him back to reality.
“House,” Wilson called out. “We need to talk.” His voice sounded rough, as if he hadn’t slept well. The door clicks open. As soon as Wilson came into view, it was apparent he was sleep deprived.
“You look like shit.” He states it as a fact. Wilson rolled his eyes. He was slumped against the door frame and was alternating between rubbing his eyes and his head. House's statement was unfortunately correct, but he felt worse than he looked. A half empty mug of steaming hot coffee was in his hand. “Did you drink boiling hot coffee?” He questioned.
Wilson sighs as he rubs his temples, he didn't need another thing on his plate. “I don't know if last night can happen again.” He says, the words tasting bitter coming out of his mouth. “Well, it can, but I don't know if it should.” It wasn't true at all, and they both knew it. They both enjoyed it immensely, and Wilson was hoping he’d argue, to say that he wanted it to happen again. Luckily, House wasn't the type of person to brush over something so substantial. He would probably mock him endlessly if it didnt happen again.
“Why not?” House asks blankly, as if it wasn't a big deal. He was examining Wilson's face, looking for any hint of insincerity or conflict. “You most definitely were enjoying yourself.”Wilson's lip twitched as his face contorted in embarrassment while his face flushed. Everything was obviously coming back to him too. “I was drunk. And I don't even know why—”
“You did it because you wanted to,” House interrupted. “It’s that simple.” Turning his attention back to the band-aid, he swiftly tore it off. Two small holes were in his neck. Wilson quickly averted his eyes away, causing a chuckle to leave House's throat. “Seriously? You were the one all over me last night.” He laughs, looking closely at the mark. It was closed already, no blood scabbing over. He literally licked it clean.
“I’m just afraid I won't be able to hold myself back, y’know?” He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. It came out more desperate than he intended to, but it got the point across, and that's all that mattered.
House sneered. “Hold yourself back?” He scoffed, the wrapper of the new band aid crinkling as he opened it. “It’ll be fine. You’ll live.” He said, making eye contact with him through the mirror. Wilson seemed genuine with that stupid troubled look on his face, and it was aggravating. To House, his whole thing seemed more convenient than disruptive. If Wilson wanted blood, he got blood, and House got relief and a bit of pleasure in return. How much better could it be?
“Fine,” he inevitably sighs, his acceptance coming easily. “But I better hear no complaints about blood loss, you brought this on yourself!” House snickers, taking out his razor out of the drawer.
Wilson was just beginning to walk towards the kitchen as House began shaving, but conveniently, he nicked his face on the first swipe. The smell of blood flooded his nostrils instantly, an involuntary groan escaping his throat. It was just a small drop of blood, but it carried a lot of weight to a vampire.
His eyes darted over towards House, who had an interested glint in his eye. Wilson's body was rigid, seeming like he was holding himself back. His pupils were fully blown, along with a sharp tooth slightly poking out of his mouth. The tooth was digging into his lip, almost breaking the skin. It's almost ironic, considering the conversation they had moments ago.
Wilson stared at him as if he was going to pounce on him. Before that happened, though, House took the door handle in his hand and slammed the door shut. His fingers lingered on the cold metal for a moment as if he would let Wilson back in, before turning the lock. The small scrape on his neck was clotting with no hair surrounding the wound anymore. Genuinely, he didn't do it on purpose, but Wilson's reaction to the slightest scratch was intriguing. It was like he was constantly starving, practically going feral at the scent of blood.
His mind was swirling with thoughts again, but it had its advantages. It distracted him from the agony that his leg put him through. All of the puzzles, complexities and problems in his life kept his thoughts off the pain, but not forever. It didn't mean that he never had to suffer. A few minutes of thinking each day didn't get rid of the suffering he went through while trying to do simple things.
He could feel the stickiness of sweat and dried blood on his body, the dirty smell of body odor flooding his nostrils. Yuck. The regret of choosing to shower in the morning was setting in, but he was late for work anyway. House stripped off his clothes, the fabric sticking to his body which was slick with sweat. Due to not having any vicodin in the past twelve hours, his body was going into overdrive.
The hot water running along his body was a relief. Each droplet of water felt as if it was washing away each thought until his mind was blank. From the expression of pure bliss on his face, a person would believe that he hadn’t taken a shower in years.
The feeling of the water rushing down every inch of his body reminded him of the feeling of Wilson's fingers dragging across his body. Every inch he ran his fingers across made sparks fly through his body, although it was through a layer of clothes. His eyes fluttered shut. The memory from last night was so vivid he let a small moan escape his lips, imagining him touching him right there. Consumed in the warmth of his arms while his best friend touches him.“Ugh, shit…” He groaned as his eyes trailed down his body. His cock was throbbing, pressing against his stomach. Moments passed before he inevitably took his cock into his hand.
His hand pumped slowly at first, mostly focused on the steaming hot water pattering on his back. All of his weight was leaned onto his good leg, and it was on the verge of cramping. The hand that wasn't wrapped around his cock pressed against the cold wall in front of him, finally finding his balance. A faint noise escaped from his lips, almost silent as he slowly tightened his grip on his throbbing erection.
He squirmed under his own touch, thrusting his hips forward due to the lack of stimulation he was giving himself. Removing his hand from the wall, he placed it on his chest. His thoughts went back to Wilson. He groaned as he moved his hand faster. The way Wilson touched House the night before wasn't very sexual, rather intimate, but it made his entire body heat up at the mere thought of him touching his body so gently.
Slowly, he moved his hand down to his torso, replicating Wilson's touch by memory. Gently caressing his torso with his fingers, dipping down to his waist and then dragging them up to his ribs. His gasps of pleasure turned into grunts and moans as he quickened his pace. All he could think about was Wilson, and it was driving him insane.
He was thinking about his best friend while touching himself. The best friend that held him like he was his life support. Who caressed him like he was sculpted by God. Thoughts about his best friend were seriously gonna make him cum. He was a complete mess. His lips were parted as he groaned, fully leaning against the wall to support his body. Every stroke brought him closer to the brink of orgasm, which was rapidly approaching. His face was flushed beet red, pre-cum dripping from the tip of his length. Crescent shaped indents formed in his skin due to his tight grip on his hip. The stimulation of the hot water and his rapid strokes were almost overwhelming. A warm feeling started pooling in his stomach as his breaths became more labored. He was close. So fucking close.
“Fuck…!” He hissed, his back arching at the ecstasy coursing through his body. His eyes jammed shut as cum shot from his cock, stroking himself through the orgasm.
His heavy breaths were covered by the sound of water hitting the shower floor as he tried to collect himself. His cock softened in his hand, eventually letting go of himself. That was probably one of the best solo-orgasm’s he’s had, and it was because of his best friend. Hell, Wilson probably heard him, he didn't even process how loud he was being in the moment.
The shower handle creaked as he turned the knob. His mind was still in a post-orgasm haze, but he’d been in there for quite a while. He yanked a towel off a hanger and quickly wrapped it around himself, not drying his hair or body. As his eyes darted over to his cane, he noticed the slick sheet of condensation coating the wood. Of course, how could it not have any condensation? He swiftly grabbed another towel to wipe it down, before throwing it on the floor and limping towards the door.
House paused before he reached for the doorknob, setting down his cane for a moment. He was genuinely contemplating what he would say to Wilson if he caught on. Hell, he’d start believing in God only to pray for him to not have heard anything. A sigh escaped his lips as he pulled the door open and grabbed his cane, limping out of the room.
Wilson was sitting on the couch with a newspaper in hand, looking much more put together than earlier. His hair was brushed, and he had his normal work clothes on. He was sitting there, completely oblivious to what had just happened in the room next to him.
“We’re leaving in fifteen.” Wilson asserted as he flipped through the paper, not even glancing up at House.
House snickered, grabbing his clothes from the couch. “You pissed that I took thirty minutes to shower?” Wilson shrugs. He slips his boxers under his towel before dropping it on the floor. He throws on the remainder of his clothes and heads towards the kitchen.
While Wilson was facing away from him on the couch, House watched him like a hawk. For absolutely no reason, his eyes were constantly on him. Even while spreading peanut butter on toast, he was staring at the back of the man's neck. This resulted in peanut butter spread over his hand rather than the toast, but whatever.
His toast almost falls off the plate as he plops onto the couch with a sigh. Wilsons eyes lock onto one of the slices of toast, moving his hand towards one. House slaps his hand away as he crunches into his bread, crumbs falling onto his lap.
“You’re getting crumbs on my couch.” Wilson grumbles.
House shrugs. “Vaccums exist. At least I think so.” He says, biting into his toast again.
Before they knew it, the bright hospital lights were burning their eyes. Both of them were still atrociously hungover. It was the middle of November, and the air conditioning was still on. Everyone in the building was either shivering, or wearing more than three layers. Including Cuddy, the bundled up woman speed-walking straight towards the two.
“You’re making Wilson late now too?” Cuddy groaned, rubbing her fingers against her temple. “And hungover.” She was basically camping outside of Wilson's office waiting for the both of them. Or at least one of them. Wilson looks at House, seemingly waiting for him to make up an excuse. Which he does, but delivers horribly.
“Sorry!” House exclaims sarcastically, as if he wanted the entire hospital to hear him. “We were up having sex all night. Couldn't have come in any earlier. He could hardly walk!” As he exclaims his obvious lie, he's already walking toward Wilson's office. Wilson puts his face in one of his hands, obviously annoyed by his stupidity. Cuddy looks at him like she knows House was lying and shrugs. They were both sick of his bullshit.
“I need my vicodin, Wilson!” He calls over his shoulder, and Wilson quickly waves Cuddy goodbye.
Wilson's office was almost colder than any other spot in the hospital, probably due to the windows being mysteriously left open the night before. House shivered dramatically as he walked in, plopping down onto the couch. His eyes scanned across Wilson's face, looking for some sort of reaction to his open door and windows.
Wilson stood in the doorway as he looked around his office, his face contorting in befuddlement. “Why are my windows open?” He questions, looking around. A smug smirk was clearly displayed on House's lips as Wilson put two and two together. He glared at him, clearly not amused as he shook his head. He huffed as he strode toward the windows, pulling them shut.
(ok i just took an edible so ignore if some stuff is unorganized)
“Pills.” House reminded him, his expression blank. His fingers were impatiently tapping on the arm of the couch. Wilson's agitated expression faltered, his face softening slightly. He was like a kid asking his mom for medicine. Practically invisible to the human eye, he had a small smile on his face. It was satisfying that someone still needed him, rather than it just being him needing someone. The both of them needed each other equally. Snapping back to reality, he shook away the thought.Obviously, House knew he was thinking about something too closely, but somewhat unaware of it. A series of loud snaps echoed across the room. “No! I won't marry you because I'm in need of your prescription pad.” He mocked Wilson, who was now reaching for the drawer that had said prescription pad. He rolled his eyes at the statement.
“I wasn't hoping you’d be my fourth wife.” He retorts, the drawer sliding open.
The drawer opening sounded like music to House ears. He’d gone at least twelve hours without vicodin, but it felt like he’d gone days. He stared intently at the pen in between Wilson's fingers as if he could make his hand move faster.
As soon as Wilson ripped the page out, House leaped forward off the couch, disregarding the pain shooting through his entire left side. He seized the paper before Wilson could withhold it for any of his absurd reasons; Some lecture about addiction or how he’s gonna get arrested one day. Once the paper was in his hand, it was like his leg pain had subsided slightly just from seeing the prescription itself.
He was almost giddy as he left the office, glancing at Wilson before leaving. House took notice of the second cup of coffee on his desk. Another cup of coffee for what? Has he always had this much caffeine? He made sure to avoid lingering for too long, limping down the freezing cold hallway.
“Hair loss, fever, and vomiting blood.” Foreman announces, tossing the patient file onto the table.
“Acute leukemia?" Chase asks, leaning back in his chair.
“No joint or bone pain.” Cameron says, her nose buried in the file. The door opening quickly distracts the three, their heads perking up.
“There's no joint pain until there is joint pain. You guys should know this already!” House declares sarcastically, limping towards his whiteboard. “Leukemia isn't a good diagnosis anyway.”
Chase rolls his eyes, focusing his attention back onto the case. Foreman's expression is neutral, despite House’s attitude. He’d originally agreed with Chase, but he would've been ridiculed even worse than anybody, so he decided to keep it to himself.
“What about gastroparesis?” Cameron starts. “Forceful vomiting could cause a Mallory-Weiss tear, making her vomit blood.”
Chase and Foreman both nodded, seemingly agreeing with her idea. The three of them glanced over to House, collectively preparing for him to spout about their incompetence, but to no avail. He was completely zoned out. Like, fully staring into space and not responsive to any stupid ideas zoned out. His face was neutral, contradicting what was running through his head.
“House..?” Chase asks skeptically. It was like he was talking to a coma patient, no response following his question. His eyes didn't move, and he was completely still.
“House!” Foreman shouts, finally snapping him back to reality. “You good?”
“Yep!” He calls out, hanging his cane on the whiteboard. “It's just you guys’s ineffectiveness to come up with half decent ideas bored me so much, I couldn't bear to listen anymore.” As he says this, he scribbles the symptoms onto the board.
“It's most likely autoimmune. We should get a physical exam and blood tests.” Cameron concludes, closing the patient file..
“But it's not autoimmune.” House says confidently, tapping the marker against the whiteboard. “Get a heavy metals panel and a tox screen, and look for thallium and arsenic. It's heavy metal poisoning."
An unsure expression spread across Foreman's face. “You sure? She works at a daycare.”
“Who knows? Maybe a bunch of infants will come in with heavy metal poisoning next!” He shrugs. “Should we wait for that to happen instead of treating her?” His words were followed by the sound of chairs sliding and footsteps. Once they finally scurried away, he made his way into his office.
His eyes scanned across the drawers in his desk before locking his eyes on one. It slid open and he began rifling through the contents, pulling out a dull scalpel. Honestly, he wasn't sure if it could even reach the dermis, but that wouldn't stop him. As a small test, he pressed the cool steel to his finger.
His finger stung as he gently slid the blade across the skin, white peeking through the separated skin before blood slowly floods the wound. The stinging numbed everything else in his body for a few moments, sighing gratefully. It wasn't as dull as he expected. Perfect.
He hardly put any pressure and it went down to the dermis, which meant he could easily nick a vein for easier blood flow. He’d used that unsanitary scalpel plenty of times, and he’d assumed it would've dulled by now. Luckily enough, it was still sharp. Sharp enough to last a bit longer, before he had to snag another one.
House strode through the hallway, scalpel in one hand along with his cane in the other, to Wilson's office. His finger had a poorly placed band aid around it now, the sticky part on the wound. It would be better if it hurt again when he took it off, it could distract him.
He acted if he was on some top secret mission, scanning every corner he passed by for Wilson. Luckily, he didn't encounter anyone on his way. Though, the nurses did look at him weirdly. Maybe because he was holding a scalpel and walking towards his best friend's office, but it was a hospital, there were scalpels everywhere.
Looking through the window beside the door, he examined the room for any sign of Wilson. It was totally empty, his coffee sitting on his desk next to patient files. He discreetly pulled the door open and shut it behind him. It had only been fifteen minutes since Wilson got his coffee, so there was absolutely no chance he had finished it already. To his relief, the coffee was hardly gone, and still pretty warm.
His eyes skimmed over his forearm, remembering each vein from memory. Which veins were superficial if severed, which weren't, and which one he was going to cut. His eyes darted over to the window beside him, slightly paranoid of anyone walking in. What would a person think if they walked in on House bleeding into a coffee cup?
The cool blade pressed against the outer part of his forearm, his eyes focused on his skin. The vein was located in the subcutaneous tissue, and that would probably make a bit of a mess. Despite the thought coming to him, he shrugged and pressed the blade into his skin. He drew in a sharp breath as he sliced through his skin, the gaping wound dripping with blood as soon as the skin was severed. The pain from the wound pulsated to the rhythm of his heartbeat, blood rapidly dripping into the brown liquid. He placed down the scalpel and slammed his hand down onto his desk for balance, his breaths slightly quickening.
Maybe he cut the vein a little more than he’d hoped, but the injury muffled the pain in his leg as he was seemingly only focusing on the bleeding wound in his arm. In fact, it muffled everything. His eyes were locked onto the yellow bubbles of fat, seemingly fascinating to him. It was distracting, and lightheadedness was already hitting him. Since he had lost so much blood from the night before, this wasn’t doing any good for him. A small smile was playing on his face as he grabbed tissues from the corner of the desk, pressing onto the wound.
Wilson could be back from wherever he was at any time, and House really had to get out. He snickered to himself as he grabbed his scalpel and a few more tissues, taping them together around his arm as he imagined the reaction Wilson would have to the bloody coffee. Before he left, though, he dunked the end of the scalpel into the coffee and mixed it around, and limped toward the balcony door.
The tissues poorly tied around his arm with tape were soaked with blood, dripping onto the rug as he limped into the diagnostics department. His breaths were ragged, both from climbing to his side of the balcony area and the rapid loss of blood. He stumbled as fast as he could towards his office, opening that same drawer from earlier.
The contents rattled around as he searched for a bandage. He knew he had one somewhere. His eyebrows furrowed as he searched, fumbling with a different drawer now. Blood was still dripping onto his desk from the drenched tissues. He exhaled a sigh of relief as he grabbed a large square bandage from his drawer. This was the best he was gonna get, cause he wasn't getting stitches.
Before sticking the bandage onto his blood soaked forearm, he watched the wound’s bloodflow, making sure it wasn't enough to soak through. Once he was completely sure, he stuck the bandage on and tossed the bloodied tissues into the trash. He quickly rustled his sleeve down as he heard his office door opening, leaning back in his chair.
“No heavy metal poisoning.” Foreman stated as he walked toward House's desk, placing the test results down. Cameron and Chase were standing behind him, seemingly disappointed by the results. “Vitals are stable.”
House hummed as he grabbed the test results, briefly flipping through the pages. “The patient doesn't work in daycare.” He says, crumpling up the paper and throwing it into the trash. They look at him like he's psychotic. Chase's mouth opened to protest, but before any words came out, Wilson burst through the door. He pushed past the entire team and slammed his hands down on the desk, making House jump in his seat.
“Did you put something in my coffee??” He asked, his breaths heavy with his pupils dilated like he was on drugs. The team was looking in between the both of them, clearly amused.
“Just a little treat.” House grins smugly, clearly amused by Wilson's reaction. His lip twitched in annoyance as he stood up and tossed the coffee into the trash.
“I’ll get you back for this.” He grunts, his face still flushed. Before House could make a smartass retort, he was storming out of the room. Before anyone could respond to what just unfolded, all of their pagers began beeping. They sprinted out of the office, and against House's better judgement, he followed them.
The patient was having a psychotic episode, and was clearly convinced all of the doctors were trying to hurt her. The patient was holding a scalpel, how ironic, and threatening the nurses. One had a needle in hand, a sedative, which was just obvious making her feel more threatened and unable to comply. Everyone seemed like they were frozen in place as she swung the scalpel around, including the team.
“Dont stick that fucking needle into me.” She spat, her eyes anxiously darting around the room. This would be House’s second incident with a scalpel today. He stared at the patient with a look of pity and boredom.
The nurse holding the needle spun around in shock as he took it from her fingers, walking toward the patient. Despite relying on his cane to move, he could still use it as an advantage. As he swiftly approached the patient, he smacked her shin with his cane, creating an opening. Despite the pain from being hit, she still managed to swing the scalpel at him, narrowly skimming his hand. It stung a bit, but managed to stick the needle into the side of her upper arm, and she collapsed seconds after being injected.
The nurses began walking over to the patient to move her back into bed as House limped away, investigating his bleeding hand. It was shallow, and it wouldn't scar.
“Are you okay?” Chase asked, eyeing his bleeding hand. Foreman was staring at him in pure confusion.
“How the hell did our patient get a scalpel?.” He questioned, looking around at everyone in the room.
“Why’d you even do that? You could've gotten stabbed.” Foreman questions. House shrugs in response, glancing up at the clock as he slid the door open. It was around lunch, and he was only worried about formulating another plan to screw with Wilson.
The blood dried from the cool air as he made his way to the hospital cafeteria. He wasnt very hungry, so he’d probably just steal some fries from Wilson. As soon as he entered the room, Wilson's head perked up. Although he was sitting at a table halfway across the cafeteria, it was like Wilson could smell the dried blood as he walked in. Hell, he probably could.
He hides his bloodied hand under his right palm as he sits down next to Wilson. Even though House had just sat down, he noticed something was off. He was sniffing like a dog trying to pinpoint another dog's scent. After thirty seconds of trying to find where the smell was coming from, his eyes locked onto House.
“You smell like blood.”
“I’m a doctor.” He said, stealing some of his fries.
Wilson leaned in slightly closer, narrowing his eyes. “It smells like yours.” His eyes darted across his appearance, looking for any open wounds. Once he laid eyes on the thin, two inch long wound on his hand, his face relaxed. “How’d that happen?”
“My patient suddenly went through a brief episode of psychosis.”
“What’d you put in my coffee?” Despite asking the same question earlier while clearly stressed, he was more relaxed now.
“Red food dye. This is supposed to be lunch, not an investigation.” Wilson rolled his eyes as House grabbed more of his french fries. Of course. There was no way House would mess with him with his newfound knowledge.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” He asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Despite his calm demeanor, he could smell the blood clearer, its scent more prominent than a few minutes ago.
“I didn’t put my patient through psychosis through medication,” he said, with a handful of fries in his mouth. Due to his hand being out of Wilson's view, he took the opportunity to pick at the dried blood. The wound wasn't deep at all because of the scalpel only skimming his hand, only reaching the epidermis. Blood had been beading up at the surface of his skin, and it was clear it had an effect on Wilson. “I did purposefully bleed into your coffee, though.”
“There was a lot of blood in there, House.” He sighed. “How’d you get that much of your own blood?”
House grinned. “You drank it.”
“You’re deflecting.” He said firmly, swatting House’s hand away as he tried to grab some of his sandwich. “That amount had to have come from a vein or something.” Silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.
“Sure I sliced open a vein to bleed into your coffee, but what's the big deal? You drank every last drop.” He questioned, still picking at his hand. His hand was on the table now, and Wilson obviously was affected by the mere scent of House's blood, let alone the sight of it in front of him.
“Where?” Wilson asked, his eyes roaming over all visible skin on House's body to search for any open wounds. Which, there was none.
“The cephalic vein.” He said, pointing to the side of his forearm. Wilson's face contorted with a shocked expression.
“Did you plan this?” He retorted, a light blush creeping up on his face. He knew House’s reopened wound was causing him to feel the way he was, but it didn't necessarily feel bad.
House grins at his pinkened ears and his face, taking note of his heavier breaths. “Blood really does some weird shit to you, huh?” He chuckles, Wilson shifting uncomfortably in his seat. As soon as he was about to make some immensely more mocking comment, his pager beeped. It seemed like it was more annoying than usual, since he was heavily entertained by the situation.
He groaned as he pushed himself out of his seat, gripping his leg. Waving Wilson goodbye, he limped out of the cafeteria. He just waved at Wilson as he left. What the hell was happening with him? He brushed it off, seemingly being in a good mood because of his fresh prescription, popping two more of his pills on the way to the office.
“Our patient has increased fatigue, but the psychosis is gone.” Cameron said, as soon as House walked into the office.
“I still think it's autoimmune.” Foreman stated, observing the patient file.
“Next thing you’re gonna say is that pigs can fly.” House said, tossing his pill bottle up into the air and catching it. The sound of pills rattling was the only noise in the room as the team waited for House to respond. As soon as the bottle clattered to the floor, he moved his attention back towards Foreman. “Thinking isn't going to confirm the diagnosis, go treat it!” Flicking his hand, he shooed them away.
Promptly after the team left, his thoughts immediately went back to Wilson, wondering what he would do to screw with him next. Well, more like if he would do something. He spun the pill bottle around in his hand as his eyes stayed locked onto absolutely nothing. This was the second time he’d zoned out today, specifically thinking about Wilson. Next thing he knew, he would somehow make up some elaborate theory on how Wilson had a secret crush on him. He chuckled at the thought due to its absurdity. He wasn't sure how long he was zoned out for, but the sound of the door opening snapped him back down to earth.
“We started treating systemic lupus erythematosus with anti-inflammatories, immunosuppressants, and antimalarials.” Cameron starts, sinking back down in her chair. The team seemed relaxed and sure of their diagnosis, and House didn't do anything to mess it up. No random epiphanies, no ranting about their stupidity, he was just sitting there.
“If she dies, dont call me.” House says, stretching his arms. All of the sudden, stinging pain sparked through his arm. He hissed as he took his forearm into his hand, clutching it.
“You okay?” Chase asks, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Cramp.” House responds, his voice strained and grabbing his cane. He swiftly limps out of the room towards the bathroom. The wound must've gotten torn when he stretched, and the vein probably opened again. It throbbed to the sound of his pulse, due to the vein being re opened as well. He was trying to move as fast as he could to prevent it from bleeding through. It was like the bathroom was a mile away as he made his way, moving as fast as he could with his cane.
The bathroom door swung open, House immediately taking notice of the empty room. He rolled up his sleeve and turned the water on, grabbing paper towels along with it. Honestly, he didn't even care if he mistakenly went into the women's bathroom, he just couldn't afford passing out on the floor. The square bandage ripped off some of his hair, revealing an oversoaked piece of gauze under it. Blood was running down his arm, the vein pumping to his heart's rhythm.
He sucked in air through his teeth as he stuck his arm under the cold running water, the vigorous stinging throbbing throughout his arm. His brain felt as if it had short circuited in response to the sudden pain, no thoughts forming in his head. The only thing he was focused on was stopping the mass amount of bleeding coming from his arm. He couldn't have nicked an artery, he was careful to prevent that from happening. Sure, he cut the vein a little more than he wanted to, but he didn't know it was this much.
Paper towels crinkled as he messily folded them together before pressing them onto the wound. The towels were soaked with blood within seconds, and all he could do was put pressure with endless amounts of dry towels.
At least a minute had passed, and the bleeding had slowed down significantly, to the point where he could see the yellow bubbles of fat. There was still blood, but it was flowing out slower, and clotting faster. His eyes skimmed across the room, searching for some sort of towel, something to wipe up the blood. Rather than laying his eyes on a towel, he saw an in-shock Wilson standing in the doorway.
They sat in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other. House chuckled at how ironic the situation was, a literal vampire walking in on him bleeding all over the sink. Within a blink of an eye, Wilson's expression transformed into one of a rabid animal. With no regards for Houses open wound, Wilson grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the handicapped stall.
Wilson's face was already glistened with sweat, his ears appearing that light pink color from earlier. His pupils were blown wide, like he’d been starving. House looked remarkably calm, just staring at him.
His eyes kept darting back and forth from the wound on House's forearm then back to his face, his mouth opening and then closing like a fish out of water. It was blatantly obvious he wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. He wanted to tell House how much suffering he went through trying to resist him today, he wanted to say how bad he just wanted to latch onto his neck every time he saw him, but he stayed quiet. One final sigh left his lips before tearing off the bandage on House’s neck, quickly replacing it with his lips.
Rather than immediately latching onto him, Wilson let his lips rest on his neck. He breathed deeply through his nose, practically smelling the blood under his skin. He could feel House’s rapid pulse beneath his flesh, his skin warm against his lips. Inevitably, he sunk his teeth into the side of his neck.
His breath hitched in his throat as Wilson's teeth pierced his skin, groaning softly. The pain subsided as soon as it came, warmth spreading throughout his body. Wilson’s white lab coat had blood stains on it from his cut, but neither of them cared. His hand reached around and pressed against the back of Wilson's head, urging him to hurry up. He moaned in approval, sucking against his neck steadily but stealthily.
House was squirming under him, shutting his eyes due to the overwhelming sensations. As always, Wilson noticed and grabbed his hips, holding him in place. His grip was tight, almost painful. Their breaths both came out ragged and desperate, occasionally interrupted by low groans or grunts.
“I needed this so fucking bad.” Wilson groaned before his jaw tightened, allowing his teeth to sink further into his flesh. A high moan left House's lips, eliciting an approving groan from Wilson's throat. They were in public, and were definitely being a little loud, but that was the last thing either of them were worried about. The lights seemed to grow brighter around them, and he felt like he was floating. He felt high.
Wilson's thumb began rubbing against House's hip in a soothing motion, as if he had some humanity left in his desperate state. The motion evolved into his hand slipping under his collared shirt and roaming across his stomach. A shiver ran down House's spine, groaning helplessly. He realized, even if he wanted to move, he couldn't. Wilson's grip on his hip was strong, and he wouldn't be able to wiggle out if he wanted to.
“Hey.” House said, his voice trembling and gravelly. His grasp on Wilson's hair tightened, pulling him away from his neck. They were both eye level with each other, just staring. “You can't drink blood from anyone else but me. Got it?” Wilson nodded eagerly, a sadistic grin on House's lips.
As House loosened his grip on his hair slightly, he lurched forward, reconnecting his mouth to his neck. He slowly dragged his tongue along the two bleeding incisions, savoring the taste in his mouth. Eventually, his teeth made their way back into the wounds, leisurely sucking blood into his mouth. The pace was slow, but it had its effects. His hand ran up House’s ribs, lightly brushing his nipple deliberately. A small gasp left his lips, looking down at Wilson. He looked slightly humiliated by the noises he was making.
The room started spinning around him once his eyes opened, his mind fuzzy. Every noise sounded muffled and distant, and his limbs felt like noodles. This shouldn't be how he feels. He was going to pass out.
“Wilson.” He whispers, his voice quiet. Wilson doesn't respond, completely lost in his own world of, whatever he seemed to be feeling.
“Wilson!” His tone was stern, pulling his head back by his hair. He was quickly snapped out of his daze as he looked up at House, seeing his disheveled state.
“Shit, I'm so sorry.” Wilson mutters as he helps House over to the toilet beside them, placing him down gently. It was an odd contrast to how he was treating him just a moment ago. Rather than his eyes being shot like a starving animal, they were back to the way they always were. They went back to the way he’d always known them to look, before he discovered this side of him.
House’s eyes were wide, and he was blinking rapidly to bring himself back down from earth. Even though he nearly just passed out, he felt fantastic. It was like he was stoned, it was really nice. Wilson pressed a folded piece of toilet paper to the wound, applying a small amount of pleasure.
“Do you always get hard when you drink blood?” House chuckles, his voice still croaky. Of course he was going to poke fun at Wilson right after he made a mistake. Wilson's face flushed, avoiding eye contact. Although, he wasn't sure if it was from guilt or embarrassment.
“You okay?” Wilson asks, deflecting the question the best he can. He was still pressing the paper to his neck, checking his pulse with the other hand.
“Is your coat okay?” He retorts, his eyes darting down to his bloodied arm, and Wilson's bloody coat. He sighed as he slipped it off, along with removing the toilet paper from the wound.
Wilson quickly composed himself, running his fingers through his hair, wiping off the sweat on his forehead, and smoothing over his shirt. House watched him, still recovering. He scoffed, standing up and then stumbling as pain shot through his leg. Wilson practically leapt forward as soon as he tumbled, but House ended up catching himself.
It was odd to admit, but he’d honestly forgotten about his leg for a good ten minutes. Not the fact that it was damaged all together, but he forgot about the pain. That was a perk.
The next few minutes were a blur. Wilson bandaged his arm, checking if House could still stand every three seconds, and sticking a band aid onto his neck again. He even forced him to go home in his car so he could make sure he didn't topple over. It felt odd. He even stood behind him on the stairs up to his apartment so he could catch him if he fell. It was a bit extra, but Wilson was the vampire expert.
Once they finally made it into the apartment, House collapsed onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. He needed a nap.
“I’m sorry I got carried away.” Wilson mumbled, standing awkwardly beside the couch like it wasn't his house.
“I don't care.” House said, already turning over and tugging a blanket over himself. He could still feel Wilson staring at him, probably with that same look of sympathy he always gave. Finally, he sighed, turning over to look at Wilson. Yep, he had the look on his face. “It's fine Wilson, I'm fine.” The words were unfamiliar coming out of his mouth, and it felt like he almost forgot how to form them altogether.
Wilson's face softened before he nodded, walking towards his room. As soon as his bedroom door clicked shut, a frustrated groan left his lips as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He genuinely felt bad, even though he didn't know what he even felt bad about. His head thudded back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
Silently, he wondered if something had changed between them, before quickly drifting off into sleep.