Sloppy kisses
The first few days in spent in California are mostly rehearsals during the day, preps and dinners with the crew. The nights never change. Both of them come into their room drunk, bicker and go to sleep.
Though Wilson might act sick of House. Deep down he doesn’t hate him, he hates what he feels for him. What he knows is wrong, what he knows is a test, a sign from God that this… House isn’t the right person. The right gender.
But why is love a sin?
15 June. First Show.
W
The lights don’t bother him this time. Something else catches his eye. Someone else.
Please look at me.
Oh my little pretty one, my pretty one.
H
His eyes trail of to Stacey. He’s playing a song about her, but he’s thinking about someone else
Please stop thinking about him.
When you gonna give me some time, Sharona?
Oh you make my motor run, my motor run.
W
He can’t move his eyes. He won’t. Not until Gregory House looks down at him too.
Please look at me.
Gun it coming off the line, Sharona.
Never gonna stop, give it up, such a dirty mind.
H
Stacey has moved on. Truly he knew that. He’s accepted it. But part of him doesn’t want it to be true.
Please don’t stop loving me.
I always get it up for the touch of the younger kind
My-my-my-I-I
woo!
W
Want, desire, need, wish.
This isn’t what he was supposed to feel. This isn’t right.
Please stop thinking this way.
Come a little closer, huh, ah, will ya, huh?
Close enough to look in my eyes, Sharona.
H
He didn’t want to look at her anymore, he wanted to move on. But looking at her was easy, looking at the person he truly desired was hard.
I wish I could look back at you.
Keeping it a mystery, it gets to me.
Running down the length of my thigh, Sharona.
W
And he prays. Prays he stops feeling this way.
But maybe,
also…
That House feels this way too.
Please.
Please.
Please God.
If you exist, tell me if this is wrong.
Please.
An empty beer bottle gets thrown onto the ground. A teary face shuffles through the crowd. Wilson just wants to leave. Leave and go home, wherever that is.
******
W
Hands grasping on the door for support. A click when a wooden cane hits the ground. A familiar face.
It’s like last time. But the roles are switched.
Wilson hears him. Sees him, out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t bother to turn his head. He wants to be mad. He wants to hate House, but he doesn’t.
He’s hurt by him.
Hurt by what he’s making him feel. A feeling sinners have paid for.
But is a moment of happiness worth all that ache?
“Where’d yoush go?”, House is obviously drunk. He can’t stand straight and is slurring all of his words.
“I got tired.”
“You’re lying.”
“You’re drunk.”
“You too.”
Greg’s jeans are muddy, his leather jacket is soaked and his hair is wet.
“You’re dripping water all over the floor”
“You took my car”, House held his hands up.
“You were too drunk to drive anyway.”
“Not when you left.”
…
“So why did you leave?”, he asks again.
…
H
“Were my guitar skills that ba-“
“House-”
“No enlighten me, please! What did I do? You’ve been acting distant all week, like I’ve done something. So wh-“
W
Wilson grasps for House’s jacket. The soaked, wet leather jacket and pulls him in. Their lips press together like animals in agony.
Please don’t pull away.
House tastes like alcohol, like cigarettes, like raindrops.
And now,
like Wilson.
When House’s tongue reaches inside his mouth, Wilson can feel his knees go weak. But when a hand meets his shoulders, pulling him up, he completely loses into its touch.
Don’t let go of me
Teeth sunk into bleeding lips to utter out sounds. Steps taken backwards, sweaty palms supported on the bedside dresser. No matter how out of breath they both are, they don’t let the kiss end. Because if they do, they will have to face what is happening.
Wilson can feel House over him. His body pressing onto his chest. It feels comforting
I’m only this lax with you.
Awareness. A cold hand pressing against his jaw, a finger tugging at his hair and bitemarks left on his bleeding lip. The smell of city air, perfumes and cigarettes. A taste of lingering liquor, rain and himself. He feels like he belongs here. His hands under House’s shirt, groping at his back, his lips swollen and wet.
I want you.
He can’t see anything, doesn’t dare open those eyes because if he does, he knows who he will see. Someone he can’t face right now.
It’s all happening so quick,
so much of it.
Yet I ache for more.
**********
He’s leaning on his good leg. The pain has gotten worse, his head is buzzing and when a hand pulls on his jacket, it all disappears. When Wilson’s lips connect onto his suddenly it’s gone quiet. The pain moves to the back of his mind.
Please don’t stop.
Wilson tastes like mint, like beer, like toothpaste
and now,
like House.
Wilson almost falls, breaking the kiss, but House doesn’t let that happen. Not when he’s been deprived of this contact for so long. House’s hand moves quick grabbing Wilson by the shoulder. His hand is wet and the sleeve of the jacket drip onto the pj’s shirt. His hand is pulling him up, closer to him.
Come close to me
A hand scraping along his back. God, he wanted to feel that. He opens his mouth feeding more aggressively into the kiss. Tongues intertwine and teeth scrape on swollen lips. They both desperately cling onto each other.
With every step taken to balance each other, with ever hand pressed onto furniture to stabilize one another they want more. It’s never going to be enough, not until they can look each other in the eye without remembering this as a regret.
I wish I could have you.
Bruised necks and sloppy kisses. But no matter how many times their mouths trail off, they find their way back, because facing each other is terrifying. No matter the amount of regret. They both want this. They both have each other. House has Wilson.
I have you, right in my hands.
And I still ache for more.