Lorelai and Wilson: Sockpuppeting! And also, an owl.

[waffleishappy.livejournal.com]

(Warning: tl;dr-ness and excessive use of the phrase 'Chunky Monkey'.)


( Whatever makes you happy // Whatever you want // You're so f*ckin' special // I wish I was special )

( Owl to House, not at all warded, although the owl looks a bit weirded out for some reason. )

Comments

Return note, sent with Mick

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((The return reply comes several hours later, written on the back of a torn-off page of a potion book, and there's... something blue on it.))

Wilson,

Sure.


H.

((There's another piece of torn-out page, with a map scrawled on it, an X marking an empty classroom.))

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Wilson wasn't going to to ask what the blue was. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to know, really, it looked... severely sketchy. The empty classroom, however, thankfully, was not difficult to find at all - he didn't even need a House-elf's help to show him the way. He picked at the sleeves of his sweater, again taking on that nervous stance, like he was that middle school kid all over again, as he walked towards it, mumbling something to himself. He must have looked nine kinds of crazy, walking down the hall, all that talking to himself and... God, what the hell was going to HAPPEN here?

When he approached the classroom, he took a step in, glancing about and... "House?"

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

House hadn't even known what to think when Wilson had owled him out the blue, after expecting having to avoid him for the rest of their lives. He hadn't had the greatest night last night (http://canes-can-kill.livejournal.com/1374.html#cutid1); after going out to Hogsmeade to drink when already fairly drunk, he'd been confronted with some strange angry Irish hobo, and House had promptly piled even more alcohol into his system until he'd passed out. He'd woken, hours later, face-down on the floor of the bar, still quite hungover and convinced that he was going to be alone for the rest of his life. At least his bike hadn't been stolen.

When Wilson walked in the door, House glanced up, briefly unguarded before the walls visibly slammed down, masking any kind of emotion. He was in the middle of standing over a cauldron with a bubbling purple liquid in it, white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the same blue substance that had been on his returning note spattered over his forearms and even a few bits on his face. Taking into the account the rather extreme way his hair was pointing everywhere, the dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes (definitely, very hungover) and the ingredients scattered everywhere - all House needed was a hunchback assistant named Igor and he'd be set.

Setting down the dagger he was using to squish somewhat bean-like objects, House smirked slightly, for all intents and purposes looking rather focused on the potion. "Hello, Jimmy," he greeted, his demeanor perfectly normal, except - if you knew him well - the faint tension in his body language. "Come to see the show? This is like a brand of Extreme Sports that even a cripple can do. The adrenaline rush is amazing."

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Igor was right. This was a scene straight out of some twisted horror movie, between House's scatter-brained appearance and the violet substance frothing inside the cauldron, whatever that was. Some potion. Wilson didn't even know if there was a purple potion that he could think of off-hand. He'd studied the things quite a bit, even, after all - it was one of the more interesting classes. Much less dry than, oh, say, History of Magic or Divination. Not that Wilson would ever take Divination, ever, if not only because House would mock him mercilessly about things like horoscopes. Potions, though. Sure. But, at any rate, yes, this was right out of Frankenstein. With much less black and white and no Boris Karloff to be seen anywhere.

House looked completely focused on the task, and Wilson couldn't help that slightly paranoid feeling that it was simply so House had somewhere to look that was very much not him. The man had a knife in hand, though, and it was enough to make anybody skittish. At any rate, considering how quickly House had left the room the last time Wilson had seen him, the few days of not having seen him anywhere in the school (although, to be fair, Wilson had been avoiding him a bit too), and now, random Potions? That rigid way he held his shoulders as he worked? Oh, yeah. Wilson had screwed up this time, and so very royally.

"You, uh," he started to say, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks as he took a few hesitant steps into the classroom. Oh, God, that potion looked sickly. Boiling in a completely uninhibited fashion and... that couldn't be healthy. For anybody. "You... Potions?" That... wasn't really a sentence, but, hey, he was nervous, and House's whole carefree, Pierre said 'I-don't-care' attitude wasn't helping things much. Of course, neither did the sketchy, bubbling potion. But that was beside the point. "What is this...?"

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

At least Wilson was talking to him, if in an incredibly awkward way. It was an improvement, certainly. But the note Wilson had sent sounded like he wanted to talk about something important - no having to guess what that was. Add that to the hesitant way Wilson was acting, and... yeah, House knew the outcome of this. It was going to be Goodbye House, Hello Again Precious Heterosexuality.

"It's called the Draught of Living Death. Neat name, huh?" The almost-perfect casual front was still firmly in place. "It's meant to make someone sleep for a really, really long time." House didn't make it clear as to whether he was just trying to see if he could make it for shits and giggles, or if he actually had the intention of using it. Knowing his past record for doing insane things when he was depressed, it wouldn't be unusual. Though he could have easily acquired drugs and gone back to using Vicodin or morphine, spending his time in a euphoric haze that lifted away his problems - curiously, he wasn't. There was something stopping him.

So, distraction it was. Which isn't to say he was doing it right. Hell, the Draught of Living Death was a sixth-year-class potion, according to the curriculum, and House had never even attempted to make the simplest, first-year kind. He looked up Wilson briefly before picking up the dagger again, pressing the flat of it against the sopophorous beans. The emotions weighing his stomach down like a lead balloon (good lord, they actually were emotions) didn't exactly help with his accuracy and precision in the whole task.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

The problem hadn't been talking to him, of course, that part he didn't really have a problem with. It was the whole 'content' thing, figuring out what to say and how to say it and... getting up the balls to approach House in the first place. He'd counted eleven times that he had walked up to that door, and, God, it was only about ten feet away from his own, but every time he had gotten anywhere near to knocking, he'd chickened out and disappeared back into his room for a good few hours. He was a helpless case, he really was.

Draught of Living Death, though, he'd heard of that one. Supposed to make you sleep longer than a half a bottle of Xanax, apparently. He couldn't help but wonder, vaguely, slightly concernedly, if House was planning on using it on himself. "I don't... think..." Wilson furrowed his eyebrows at the cauldron, starting in a bit closer than a sniper's distance away as he took a few more tentative steps towards House. There was that nervous schoolboy twitch to him, still, making him pull on the sleeves of his dark blue sweater, stretching out the sleeves like he hadn't done since he was ten. "Is it supposed to be purple?"

He was cleverly dodging the issue, why he'd come to this classroom in the first place. All that confidence he'd attempted to muster before, when he'd spoken with that crazy woman with the ice cream (http://jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com/643.html#cutid1), Lorelai or something... It was disappearing faster than he could grab onto it, and he looked like he'd shrunken down considerably in the way his shoulders hunched a bit as he slowly approached House, careful, like a rabbit crossing towards a wolf with considerably large incisors.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

The textbook said that it was supposed to be blackcurrant in the mid-way stage, actually, a darker purple than the one House was currently staring out. This whole potions thing was supposed to be pretty specific, so House tossed in a few more of the ingredients and hoped that it darkened up. This was actually a great way to keep him distracted while Wilson worked his way to dismissing him. "Yep," he muttered in reply. "It changes color, though, so it could still blow up in my face like Hiroshima."

But then again, pretending you were involved in a potions textbook could only go so far when your best friend was in the room with something important clearly on his mind. Sighing sharply and slamming the book closed, House tilted his head slightly, pinning Wilson with his rather diagnostic stare, the same one he wore in the middle of particularly confusing case. God, was Wilson afraid of him? House normally encouraged this in people, but the fact that Wilson was reduced to inching closer as if he were afraid of being struck with sudden gory death... wasn't something House was proud of. Looking a bit disarmed, House went back to looking at his potion. Definitely rather unhealthy looking.

"So," he said conversationally, "Came to talk about the deplorable conditions of the 5th-floor hallways?" If Wilson could avoid, then House could too. Up until a certain point.

((Reposted for typos. I spel grate, YAY.))

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Oh, that was a comforting thought, exploding potions. It already looked strange enough, with the purple slowly turning into a sickly shade of bluish black and starting to smell a bit like rotten eggs. Throwing in the random ingredients, that can't have helped. ...At all. And Wilson wanted to walk closer to speak with him, honestly, but he also didn't want to get himself covered in Draught of the Living Dead.

It wasn't even that Wilson was afraid of House either - God, he had never been afraid of House, not even the first time he'd seen the man, with his whole threatening demeanor. Those few extra inches of height that House had on him. Hell, he had even shaved, back then, and the much less grizzly appearance hadn't detracted at all from that strong of a personality. He couldn't be afraid of House. You didn't get afraid of someone you'd known so long, not unless something huge blew up in said person's life or... they went all dark side or something. It was just... this whole thing between them, right now. This confusing as shit thing that was really leaving him at a lack of anything creative to say, or do.

"The... no," he mumbled back lowly, rubbing at the back of his neck and eying the potion with a bit of wariness. "The hallways hadn't crossed my mind." He was hesitating again, but he couldn't exactly just bring himself to dive into something like this. "I, uh. You know." Eyes finally glancing to House again, pointedly, he frowned a bit, letting his hands fall uselessly to his sides instead. "It was about... what you said. The other day."

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Frowning a little at the potion - good lord, that wasn't pleasant - House promptly threw in some more asphodel, and stood back quickly as blue steam began to pour out of the cauldron and the whole room began smelling rather poisonous and plant-like. That... probably wasn't harmful. Hopefully.

It seemed like all the beating around the bush had finally ended when Wilson brought up the issue of what House had said the other day, though knowing them, it could probably continue indefinitely even while talking about something that mattered. Still keeping a carefully blank mask, House waited until the potion had stopped reacting so explosively, stirring it absentmindedly with the dagger. What could he say to that? 'Yeah, I told you all my flirting was real, what of it?'. 'Get over here and kiss me, right now.'? Wilson looked too nervous for either of those, especially the latter.

In the end, House always went for the option that didn't leave himself open to having hope shattered. "Right," he snorted. "You've come to tell me Thanks, but no thanks, I'm just not that kinda guy." The mocking demeanor vanished, and House's shoulders slumped imperceptibly. What was he doing? Couldn't he just be serious about this? Apparently not, because he started talking again. "Wanna play charades to get the message across? Because talking is going really great for us right now."

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Oh, lord. He was just making it worse. The potion distracted him, for a few moments, and he grimaced at the cauldron, watching the toxic fumes waft up from the liquid inside. He really shouldn't have been making this. This Draught... it was for students higher up in years, as far as Potions experience went, and Wilson was fairly sure House hadn't even attempted first-year potions. Which... Good God, this room was a damned death trap. He'd bet a lot of money that this thing was in danger of exploding at any moment.

The distraction couldn't last that long at all, of course. Wilson was reverting back to his slightly timid glancing all over again, eyes shying away from House's as he fixed them directly onto the dagger, stirring aimlessly into the potion. It was a good thing to fix on - something constant, rhythmic, just moving in that solid swirling motion. ...Something that wasn't those hard, blue eyes, goring into him right now like he was some kind of lab experiment.

"That's not what I was going to say," he replied shortly instead, looking somewhat injured, just for a split second, and he was so not playing the hurt girlfriend in this situation, Wilson, what the HELL. He let out a long burst of breath, and charades were actually starting to sound really good right about now, because House was right: talking was the very opposite of going great - was kind of failing him completely, at the moment, actually. How did someone act out 'I'm done being a stammering dumb-ass for the moment'?

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Any second now, House knew he was just going to give into frustration, kick over the cauldron and damn the consequences. He really didn't deal well with these sorts of situations, or, with any kind of scenario that probably required open emotions and a willingness to discuss them. Between them, with House reverting to sarcasm and Wilson going from stuttering to speaking shortly... oh yeah, this was fun. In a completely non-fun way.

He couldn't stop the way he looked at Wilson hopefully, he really couldn't. Because that had been the opposite of what he'd been expecting to hear, and maybe- no. Smothering that spark of emotion as quickly as he could, House thought over the other options. Surely Wilson couldn't be getting married again this quickly, and he probably wasn't leaving the castle. He'd confirmed he wasn't 'that kind of guy', so that only left one option. "Or maybe it's just that you can't stand the thought of getting involved with a cripple," House smiled sardonically, the expression never reaching his eyes. "I get that. Must be like settling for Cheesewiz after Parisian Camembert, after all those limber young woman."

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

That was just stupid. That was... almost demeaning, or something, and Wilson found himself commenting back with a, "Shut up, House," before he could stop himself. Maybe it was just because he was trying to sort out his thoughts, trying to piece together something that passed as a coherent response in the midst of an empty classroom, noxious fumes wafting through the air and driving him into a state of mild vertigo. He ignored the potion, ignored the sickly steam rising from the liquid inside, and finally just focusing on House, standing across from him, looking more sadistic and frustrated at the same moment than Wilson had seen him for a long time.

"Camembert is..." God, he really wasn't going with this metaphor, was he? "Camembert is hard. And it smells kind of strange. It's only good when it's at room temperature, you know? Plus, you have to have it with bread or something to make it taste good, it's expensive, and, you know, it... it really doesn't keep that long." ...Yes, he was going with this metaphor. He needed counseling. Severe counseling. He was comparing Julie to cheese. "But Cheesewiz..."

He trailed off again, folding his arms and trying to work this out without sounding like a teenage love novel. He might have already been past that point. "Cheesewiz lasts... forever and a half, since it's in that can. And it... you don't need that other stuff to make it taste good, it's fine on its own." Eyes flickering up to House again, as if to gage just how the man was going to react to being compared to cheese in a can, he rubbed a hand across his chin. "And, yeah, it makes you sick if you have too much of it, sometimes, but overall, you gotta like Cheesewiz better, and you think, 'hey, maybe I'm gonna give Cheesewiz a... try'..."

God, this was so stupid. "Look, I have no idea what I'm talking about here, okay?" he finally added, sounding almost frustrated, frowning and rubbing at his brow. "No... clue."

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Pulling a mockingly affronted look when he was told to shut up, House nonetheless went back to his potion and stopped snarking. But even as he began stirring, his focus was pulled away and latching onto Wilson's voice, as if listening was infinitely more important than making sure the room didn't suddenly explode from a potion gone wrong.

That metaphor was... possibly the most ridiculous one House had ever heard. If he wanted to be sarcastic, he could have pointed out that Wilson was, essentially, calling him old and sick-inducing after long periods of time. But at the same time, you couldn't be friends with someone for a decade and not know what they're trying to say, even if their message was wrapped up in a metaphor about cheese. (Incidentally, why was everybody always comparing him to food? First is was curry with Stacy, and now cheese with Wilson?)

Shaking his head in amusement, House couldn't stop the small smile that curled the edge of his lips. Until Wilson said that maybe he was going to give 'Cheesewiz' a try. Then the smile froze, and House looked up, everything from hope to incredulity to relief written all over his expression. Even the fact that Wilson said he had no clue was he was saying, the expression remained.

"You're sounding rather uncertain there, Jimmy," House pointed out quietly, this time not looking away, just watching and searching Wilson's eyes for... anything, really.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

That look was so damn fixed, so hardened that for a minute, Wilson couldn't have looked away if he tried. He paused a moment, as if to try to understand the full weight of his words that he'd just spoken. He'd said something about cheese. Some stuff about Cheesewiz (although if he'd known about Stacy's metaphor, he probably wouldn't have compared House to cheese - that was a bit... strange) and... Good Lord, he'd said he would give Cheesewiz a try, hadn't he? He swallowed a bit, opening and shutting his mouth a few times and managing to look like a fish out of water along the way. Great, so now on top of stammering and horrible dairy metaphors, he had embarrassing loss of control of his muscles to add insult to injury.

"I... know," he finally answered instead, lowly, and glanced away again, to the floor, hands moving to that familiar position on his hips that he had grown so accustomed to. There was no backing out of this now. He had gone from sticking a toe into the water to just cannonballing inside and... Ah. Crap. "It's just... Cheesewiz can be... kind of unpredictable," he added lowly, his voice moving onto a sort of nervous, breathless tone. "And... you know." He really needed to quit this metaphor.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Throwing caution to the wind, House decided to fuck that whole uncertainty thing, he was going for directness. Planting his hands on the table, he leaned forward closer to Wilson with a rather intent look. "So, you're saying I'm unpredictable," he let a slow, very nearly wicked smirk come to life, "And you're sitting there looking like a guppy struck dumb because you have no idea what to do, because you don't know how I'll react, and because you're not even sure if you'll even like it."

As if he were on the same brain-wave, House decided that they really did need to quit the metaphor, because he was sick of being compared to cheese in a can. "We've known each other for ten years, Jimmy, we're hardly blind to our faults. I'm unpredictable and moody and apparently annoying, and you have a rather long history of cheating and fussing over the needy." There wasn't any accusation his voice right then, just honesty and fact, because it needed to be said eventually. "Guess what? I still want this anyway, if you do. Despite how much we piss each other off sometimes, if we've been together for this long, we can make anything work."

Well, that had certainly been a lot more than he'd spoken in the last few days combined, really. And House didn't care if he sounded hopeful or too honest or anything like that. He'd had quite enough of pussy-footing around with metaphors and half-sentences.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

...Well, there it was. Out in the open. Dragged, bound and kicking and screaming into the open, really, and Wilson couldn't help but remain slightly frozen, eyes fixed onto House. Because, honestly, while the cheese metaphor had been going on, he had been able to babble. ...About cheese, yeah, but at least he'd been speaking. With the metaphor tossed into the trash can, conversation stripped down to honesty and fact and nothing but the truth. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying," he admitted lowly, rubbing slowly at his arm and nodding once.

He couldn't remember seeing House so open about anything since... God, nearly forever now. Okay, definitely not forever - at least a few months, though, maybe a little longer. Since Stacy had left? He didn't exactly keep track - that would be a bit cruel. Even though he was at that same stage again, that sort of opening and closing of his mouth as he attempted to gather any sort of words, never mind just right ones. Lorelai's words kept sticking in his head, though, even as he felt those last nerves start to make him try to back away. That he wouldn't be so torn over this is he didn't care, somewhat.

"Yeah," he replied finally, and damned the stupid exploding potion, he crossed in, closer, towards the table. And not to make this all chick flick-y or something, but he couldn't help but offer House a half-smile, a halfway paranoid one. House was the one instigating this in the first place, at any rate, and it was a bit... well, stupid, for Wilson to say something along the lines of 'if you're willing' or something. It was awkward enough.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Moving straight from 'Nobody Would Ever Love Me' right to 'Rather Forward', House narrowed his eyes slightly in thought, the pleased smirk staying firmly in place. Wilson still looked incredibly nervous, fidgeting with anything, but was smiling and stepping closer. He knew it was probably rather odd to Wilson, that he was being open for once and telling it like it was, but House persisted. Because Wilson was the kind of guy that appreciated honesty, and House had to force himself to do that, then he would.

"I quit the drugs for you, you know." Huh, that... hadn't been on the list of things to say, actually. It was true, though - yeah, House couldn't refuse any sort of bet, but there had been other reasons. "I thought it might make you happy," he continued, unintentionally speaking more softly than usual. And in hindsight, that sounded a little weird, logically, but he'd thought that since his drug addiction seemed to cause Wilson so much stress, maybe it might be a good thing if he tried out the pills Lily made for him.

Despite his casual confidence, House felt the bare hint of uncertainty reach up and grab him. It was all fine and good that Wilson was agreeing and making the appearance that he was willing, but House couldn't ignore how utterly paranoid the guy looked.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Okay, he couldn't help the paranoia. That wasn't his fault. Much. After three failed marriages, the last of which still fresh on his mind, having only occurred maybe... What, a year ago? Not even? He couldn't even keep track of time anymore, could he? All he could remember was Julie standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing that look of guilt, the same one she'd had when she'd hung up on House for the first time, or when she'd forgotten his last birthday. She hadn't even looked upset. Just... guilty, to have her hand caught in the cookie jar. He remembered a few days on House's couch, that ... prank war, but he couldn't remember a timeline.

Not that a timeline particularly mattered, right now. He'd always used to keep track of things, but he assumed that in a situation like now... well, yeah, an exact date didn't matter. At all. He actually managed to revert back to his previous stupidity again, looking flabbergasted as his eyes locked back onto House at the mention of the drugs. He... Seriously? Quit because of Wilson? When Wilson had spent those few long days cursing Lily for suggesting such a stupid bet? ...Damn. He blinked again, leaning against the table.

"Really?" he replied in a moment of idiocy, looking slightly less tense with the situation, if not just for a moment. Because, really, the lack of drugs? Would... really be a load off his shoulders. Was. A load off his shoulders. House had been struggling with that damned addiction, the Vicodin, his leg, for what seemed like forever now, and then Lily came along with her pain pills and... It was weird. Pain relief without the dependency, or the side effects. Or... detoxing or something.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((*is unspeakably jealous, so she occupies herself until the torrent comes up with tagging and watching hawt Finnish guitarists ala CoB*))

"No, I just like telling huge lies and hearing myself talk," House rolled his eyes, but there was no real barb behind his sarcasm. Wilson would know the mocking denial was just a lot of hot air, just House being House and saying something in effort to clear up the tension. Because as fun as watching Wilson be totally flabbergasted was, it wasn't exactly the look he'd wanted to see resulting in this whole conversation.

He knew what had to be running through Wilson's head right now. It hadn't been that long since Julie had left, hell, it hadn't been that long since he had pushed Stacy away for a second time himself. And he understood the paranoia, he did, because they were both coming off fairly horrendous love lives and history like that couldn't exactly be ignored.

Still. Although House hated taking chances in some things, in other things it was just what he did, how he operated and how he got past all the little annoying things like regrets and hesitation. And Wilson was just looking too goddamn inviting not too, all flustered and half-smiling. "I guess you'd probably go into cardiac arrest if I kissed you right now," House smiled, unable to keep the slight sadness out of his voice, because he was right, Wilson probably would.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

At least it was nice to know he hadn't changed any. At least one of them wasn't babbling like a prepubescent boy trying to work past pulling his crush's hair on the playground to show his affection. Honestly. "Well," he commented lightly, raising both eyebrows shortly and giving House a half-grin. "Long as nothing's changed, and the narcissism's still intact." Because, of all things, if they were really doing this... good God, he especially didn't want to lose that aspect of their interaction. That mindless teasing and the sarcasm and... Yes. He'd miss that.

House's words automatically set him slightly taken aback, just because it was so un-House. He actually laughed a bit, albeit nervously, because... Well, yeah, if he had done that out of the blue, without warning? Of course he would have gone into cardiac arrest. Prompted by overexertion or... general disbelief and shock. Something. But that tone to his voice when he spoke, the one that made him--

No. He was not comparing Greg House to a puppy. He didn't care how woeful that voice got.

"I..." he started to say, and grinned again, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I wouldn't know." His eyes jumped to House, then, half tentative and half... expectant? He didn't even know, anymore, at this juncture. Maybe he was just functioning on autopilot.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((ANOTHER THREE WEEKS OH GOD. *goes insane* He can't help it, he's... something approaching happy :P))

"I'm incapable of change, you know that," House matched Wilson's half-grin with a smirk. "Even when I'm ninety years old I'll still be insulting everyone, and hey, I even got the cane early." He would have liked to say something along the lines of 'And hopefully we'll still be in each others lives', but House wasn't entirely sure if that was romantic or not, or even if he should be attempting romantic when he had no clue how to do it. So he'd settle for continuing the mindless teasing and sarcasm, which worked for him.

His grin grew a little when Wilson went from surprised and unsure to... something that House couldn't quite pin down, but he knew it wasn't a refusal. "That is so an invitation," House replied, apparently flippantly but looking far too intent to be so casual.

Thankfully the table in between them was only about a foot wide, so it wasn't far to lean, even if House's bad leg was pressed against the edge and currently very fucking uncomfortable. But he didn't care right now, so House reached across and twined his fingers into Wilson's collar, pulling him forward gently until they were barely an inch apart. "Gonna have a heart attack now?" He murmured, really hoping Wilson didn't back out suddenly because honestly, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop himself.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

"Yes, except when you're ninety you'll be using weirder insults. Like... 'whippersnapper' or something." Even though Wilson was fairly sure that the elderly didn't use worse like 'whippersnapper' anymore. Or if they even had in the first place. Who the hell came up with that word anyway? It didn't even sound real. "Beating small children with your cane and all that. The parents will love you. Not that they don't already, of course."

Oh, this was getting a bit easier. More comfortable, even, and there was about a square mile's worth of room more in this class, out of nowhere. It wasn't so tense and... lots of 'so', 'so?', 'so...' or something equally articulate.

And, better yet, no more cheese metaphors.

However, there was House's hand, curling around his sweater top, tugging him in close and, "Holy sh--", he went to say, and gave up on the word completely, letting his gaze jump up to meet House's. This close, he could make out every inch of that sharp blue, those damned analytical eyes that he'd never really noticed until now, when they baring down at him, almost predatory. "I... I might," he admitted in a low voice, just automatically submitting to the tug and resisting the strange urge to pull the guy back in.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((Rethreading, because I think the boxes are narrow but have no idea because I have a widescreen, LOL. Also reposted because I can totally string a sentence together.))

House snorted lightly at Wilson mentioning the word 'whippersnapper', because good god, that word was so out of date. He remembered his grandmother using it, but... she had been a bit off her rocker, so that wasn't exactly a fair bit of evidence. The more important thing of his was that Wilson was relaxing enough to banter with him, that the prospect of getting involved with Greg House wasn't so terrifying that it reduced Wilson to a constantly stammering wreck.

Suddenly he didn't care that the potion beside them was probably doing something frightful and making weird sounds, because pulling Wilson in this close made even his mind shut down a little. And even though Wilson was saying that yeah, he might actually die of shock in the next few minutes, House didn't mind that either because Wilson wasn't pulling away. "I don't care," he muttered, smirking slightly before tugging Wilson closer and into a kiss. Just a light touch of lips at first, giving Wilson the chance to freak out and pull away if the urge took him, but growing more daring and nipping lightly at his lower lip. Come on, Jimmy, House thought to himself, Just let this happen, you won't regret it.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Whippersnapper. It was such a stupid-sounding word, and yet he was still here musing over it. Nobody ever used it, even though he would bet anything that House would, for some reason, when he was older. Maybe just to spite all those people who said they had never heard an old person say it in their life. Whatever the reason, the fact remained that... it was 'whippersnapper', and yet he was still here thinking about it. Even though he was fairly sure it was just invented by random young children. But Greg House was about an inch away from his lips and, good God, even his mind was babbling.

Damn the potion and its weird bubbling noises. Wilson ignored it, letting House pull him in for that kiss, the one they'd been dancing around for a few, long moments now. And for someone who was a self-confessed man-ho serial dater, for a split second, he honestly... had forgotten what to do. What did he do with his hands? How does somebody kiss? Gah! He just tried to shut off his stupid thoughts, planting one hand on the table and resting the other one House's shoulder and... Suddenly, things were turning last, 'oh, crap, I'm kissing House' and moreso... 'God, I'm kissing GREG.' Which there was a huge difference in, he swore.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((*is staring at torrent* Why won't download any faster? ;_;))

If House had been able to hear Wilson's mental babbling, he probably would have died of laughter. Or humiliation, that Wilson felt the need to babble internally to possibly protect himself from his perceived weirdness of the situation.

As it was, House found himself in much the same situation. The last person he'd kissed had been Stacy (or Cox, but he couldn't remember it that well, so he wasn't sure it counted). But right now Wilson seemed like an incredibly skittish animal, so House kept it fairly chaste - despite really, really wanting to just snog him silly, as the British people say.

He let the hand that had been gripping Wilson's collar fall until it was resting just above his hip - didn't want to choke the guy, after all - and dropped his forehead to rest in the crook of Wilson's shoulder, shaking slightly in laughter. "Have you been eating Chunky Monkey?"

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

And then before it could start, really, it was over, and Wilson felt House's hand fall to his waist instead. That... huh. How do you respond to that? Because, even right now, Wilson looked almost dazed, staring to the wall behind House as the guy dropped his head onto Wilson's shoulder. Wilson was touching a finger to his lips, briefly, as if he couldn't believe that had just happened, and he needed hardcore evidence.

Only... was House laughing?

Wilson gave a grin right back, followed by a half-embarrassed chuckle. "Uh... yeah," he replied sheepishly, wondering what was more disturbing: that he'd been eating Chunky Monkey or that... House recognized said Chunky Monkey just from the flavor in Wilson's mouth. Heh. The latter was actually kind of amusing.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

House really wanted to ask what woman had pushed Wilson into the decision of coming here. Because by his calculations, it would have taken Wilson a few days longer to make the decision on his own - and he wouldn't randomly be eating ice cream, so the only conclusion was that some woman had taken pity on him, made him eat ice cream (because that's what woman did) and maybe gave him a pep-talk. Ah, he'd ask later. Because for now, he was really kind of comfortable, even though House wasn't a person one would typically associate with any form of physical affection.

"Feeling like you wanna run away?" House asked, his breath tickling Wilson's neck because he hadn't bothered to pull away yet, his tone somewhat dry but actually kind of genuinely curious. Because if Wilson did bolt out of here right now, he'd at least want some warning. House knew he'd certainly found nothing wrong with it, even though it had been on the tamer side of things. There were good things to be said about a little bit of build up and anticipation, really.

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Wilson might not have even answered completely dead-on anyways, because... Good Lord, that woman had been nuts. Babbling about Ben and Jerry's ice cream and how it was going to save us all or something. Lorelai something, he couldn't recall a last name. Not that it mattered right now, even if his own mouth reeked of banana. Not when House's face was still pressed into his shoulder, breath warm and comfortable against Wilson's skin as he leaned against him.

Did he want to run away? He blinked at the wall again, his hand still clasped onto House's shoulder as he frowned, thought of his answer. Because, at first, well... yeah, he'd been ready to bolt faster than a jackrabbit, hadn't he? But in the light of things, right now, with how... suddenly not-awkward this felt, he shook his hand, rubbing at House's shoulder and marveling in the fact that he wasn't flinching away. "No," he added in a low mumble, grinning a bit wider. "Not anymore."

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((*dies* The expression 'Hurrr' makes me giggle like a moron every time. I'm sure this says something about my maturity.))

Feeling Wilson's body language relax, House huffed an almost-laugh of relief. Jesus christ, it was almost ridiculous how much Wilson's acceptance lifted the last few days off his shoulders. At this point in time, he couldn't say he knew exactly where this whole this was going - but he didn't need to know. For once, the present was enough. His leg was telling him that he'd been standing without his cane for far too long, but he ignored it. "Well, sorry to say it, Jimmy," he smirked, his quip slightly muffled, "You're stuck with me now. I'm going to be one of those limpet-like pests you can't get rid of."

His mood lightened and feeling rather mischievous (and, taking to heart his 'limpet' comment), House latched onto Wilson's neck and began sucking hard, his grin almost making the act of giving a hickey impossible. But he was here, and Wilson wasn't pulling away just yet, so he may as well have some fun while he was at it. That, and it would be really funny to see exactly how flustered Wilson got over it.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Where would this be going? Because, while there had been a time where Wilson couldn't think more than a day ahead, back in high school and med school, only because he couldn't think of dealing with medicine, with inevitable death in his patients, for the rest of his life. But, honestly, when you were an oncologist for long enough (particularly one who had been through three failed marriages), you started putting things into perspective, into years and months and how long this and... House's words actually made him feel a little better, in the light of everything. That even if it was being stuck with Greg House for the rest of forever, it was better than... no Greg House at all, he supposed.

Although, of all things to compare yourself to, "A limpet?" he asked curiously, as House started getting that devilish look in his eyes. Wilson missed it, just for the moment, musing on the comment and... A limpet, honestly. The only reason Wilson even knew what the things were was because of recent medical research, trying to prove if the chemicals they released could prevent cancer. He knew they were small, almost like mollusks, cone-shaped shells. He knew they - holy crap - suctioned onto... stuff!

A laugh actually made its way up through his throat, low and short, and it had to have hummed up into whatever wicked things House was attempting to do with his skin. Was he... was he giving him a hickey? Was this high school, and he'd forgotten? And oh, God, that was going to be... difficult to cover up later on, and as if under the realization of that, he let out a slightly indignant splutter, even though he was still grinning.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((LOL Oh shush :P And I have seen the new ep! So will babble with you on IRC XD))

Oh yes, giving hickeys for the fun of it was incredibly high school; but then, so were pranks, PSPs, and most of what made up House's idea of amusement anyway. He could feel Wilson laughing and then sputtering, so he pulled away slightly, swiping his tongue in a broad line over the darkening mark. Standing back, House smirked at his work, and then pulled an overly innocent look at Wilson.

Briefly, he glanced at the potion he'd been ignoring, and ending up staring. It was now violently red. Well, that... couldn't be good.

But House had no idea how to fix it, so he simply grabbed his cane from the desk and leaned on it, beginning to clear the rest of the ingredients away. (Clearing, in this case, involved sweeping everything into one big pile for the house elves to take away). He wasn't doing stuff just to have a reason to be busy, he was just taking some time to think. "So, wanna take me on a date?" House's voice was heavily mocking, but there seriousness there somewhere. "You must be good at that formal date stuff, right? You could buy me flowers, and if you're lucky I might even pretend to like them," he raised a suggestive eyebrow. He wasn't sure if Wilson wanted to actually try a formal date or not, but if he did, House had to dread the outcome. A habitual misanthrope and a three-time divorcee, dressed up and snarking over the food? Good lord.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Actually, Wilson was pretty sure that PSPs were dating back to elementary school a bit, which maybe evened out a bit with the high school somewhat to make an... upper middle-schooler to a freshman in high school. Somewhere. Still, he hadn't had a hickey in... years, not since he'd first been with Julie - very first been with Julie, mind you - and it was going to be odd to be in a position where he wasn't m... well, he probably was still going to be mocked mercilessly for wearing a turtleneck to cover it later, actually. That was probably inevitable.

House pulled away, that evil, evil grin still dotting at his face, and Wilson couldn't help but clasp a hand, mildly self-consciously, against the spot, as if he could feel how red it was probably blossoming at the moment. Heh. He felt randomly scandalous, which he probably shouldn't have been with something as simple as a hickey, but, hey, he hadn't done this whole guy on guy thing since college. Long story. Lots of vodka involved.

"A date?" he repeated blankly, as if he'd forgotten the meaning of the word for a moment. "A date." ...Okay, that... he could do. That, he was an expert at, usually. Knew all the ways to make a girl melt, to get her to open up (er, in more ways than one), where to go... Wilson was a manwhore, basically. Only House wasn't just any woman, wasn't just a date that he could pawn off at a fancy French place or something. Or was he? Er. ... No, he very much wasn't. He'd have to think about that, if they were going to. Although, hell, half of the times they'd hung out had nearly been dates. Six pack, a pizza and a few old movies or something. It was crude, yes, but good times. "Yeah," he finally said with a small laugh, cocking an eyebrow right back at him. "We could do that." And, added jokingly, "How do you feel about carnations again?"

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

House froze a little. Wait, had he actually just confirmed that a formal date might be a good thing? He was useless at formal dates, he just had no idea what to do and how to behave in a decent social manner. There was all those manners that you were supposed to use, and then there was the small talk, and oh god, he'd actually have to make an effort on his appearance. Wait, did he even have nice clothes? Good lord. It was sad that the thought of a date could halt even Gregory House's brain.

But Wilson seemed to take an interest in the idea, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad. And come on, it was Wilson, that wouldn't make for an awkward date, right? They could diagnose the people around them and make subtle, insulting comments about the waitresses. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Everybody knows that carnations are a flower for women," House dismissed. "Come on, I'd at least think you'd buy me a nice cactus, maybe - something with personality, at least." And after the hopefully not too excruciating period of having to behave over a dinner table, they could go back to their old beer, pizza and couch. "And I'm not going to be one of your regular dates, Pimp Master," House teased, waving a particularly odd smelling ingredient at Wilson to emphasize his point. "I don't put out on the first date. Well," he stopped, and looked contemplative, and then smirked, "Not unless you make it worth my while."

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Yes, House HAD in fact suggested a formal date, and the concept of which... Wilson was still trying to wrap his brain around it, really, somewhere between his plotting as to what would be a... semi-appropriate thing that could count as a date for the two of them. Which... What was there to do around here anyway? He was really going to have to work to get something like this to work, wasn't he? Dammit. House. Instilling this idea into his brain.

"A cactus has personality?" Wilson asked incredulously, eyebrow still cocked in intrigue as he looked to House with a laugh. "Oh, damn it all. I'll just get you a venus flytrap and call it a day." No, really. It would fit him. After a pause, he let those full words sink in, about to question the nature of 'Pimp Master' when the putting out was mentioned. And. Holy crap, he had thought ahead, but somehow his mind had... temporarily forgotten... that. And automatically, he jumped to, 'who would TOP?', just for a moment, in a brief time of... purely unadultered curiosity.

He just reverted to lifting his eyebrows shortly, contemplatively, before he shrugged and leaned back against the table, trying not to think to that frothing potion as he glanced the other male over, halfway scandalously. "Guess I'll have to make it worth your while then?" he commented with a grin.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

Whatever Wilson was planning - House could see it in his expression - House was going to leave it all up to him. Because good lord, a date planned by Greg House? Could only go very, very wrong. And Wilson had a hell of a lot more experience at this than he did, so he was quite content to indulge his laziness and not do any work.

"Of course a cactus has personality," House scoffed, "Hell of a lot more personality than flowers." There was reasoning behind his theory, something to do with cacti living a lot longer and flowers only lasting a day or two after removed from the plant, but it all sounded a little too weird to say out loud. Not to mention irrelevant. He had to smirk at the venus flytrap quip though. "Oh, how fitting," he rolled his eyes in amusement. "Get the grumpy intern-eating doctor a temperamental fly-eating plant. How romantic."

It had been a lie, really, when House had said he didn't put out on the first date. A huge lie. House would probably put out for a beer, or even if Wilson looked at him the right way. As it was, that once over that Wilson just gave him? Damn. Deciding he'd had quite enough of hanging around in this room, House left the cauldron behind and walked around the table, giving Wilson's ass a swift smack as he did. "Come on, Wonder Kid," he smirked, "You need to go find some restaurants and I need to shower and get this blue shit off me."

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

A date created by Greg House may or may not have been extremely horrendous. Possibly disastrous, and involving one of those cheap-ass movie theaters where they have to pull up the plywood boards to make the theater a widescreen view, and possibly an attempted handjob. Or maybe it wouldn't be all that horrific at all, considering how nice of a place he'd chosen when shudder he'd taken Cameron out, those few years ago, and that whole corsage thing. He might not have been too bad at the whole 'date' thing at all.

'Flowers have personality!' Wilson moved to retort, but in light of the fact that such an argument would have been... probably the most flamboyant thing he'd done, defending flowers, and this was coming from the guy who had blow-dried his hair daily and... Good God, he PAINTED his TOENAILS. "Venus flytraps could totally be romantic," he replied scoffingly instead, sounding almost indignant.

Wilson didn't have too much time to act reproving. His eyes leapt open and he jumped at the slap, glancing incredulously to House. Good GOD, he had just slapped his ASS. "Getting FRISKY in your old age," he commented with a grin, glancing after House and wondering vaguely as to the use of 'Wonder Kid'. That just... no. Strange. "Okay. So. Restaurants." He could do that. ...If they existed around here. Did they? God, he'd have to research this or something.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

If Wilson had mentioned any of that out loud, House would have acted very insulted. Acted being the key word, here, because he wasn't going to try defending his dating tactics. Dating just wasn't his thing. Plus, cheap places tended to make you focus more on the other person and not the oh-so-fantastic food that more expensive places tended to dish out. The few times he tried actually being romantic, he just got called cheesy, so... yeah, not his thing. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad with Wilson.

"Oh, stop defending flowers," House grouched. "Want to run around in a rainbow flag next? I'm sure everybody in the hallways will love you." Again, his sarcasm wasn't terribly pointed, he was just having fun. Because he'd spent the last few days drunk or not talking, so he needed to make up in bitching time. But venus flytraps, romantic? "Since when did carnivorous plants become romantic? Because that's totally the kind of romantic I could go for," he winked lasciviously.

He snorted lightly at Wilson's reaction to the ass slap, and restrained himself from doing it again just to see if Wilson would jump even more. "Well, lucky for you if I am," he over exaggerated a pointed leer, which... really didn't need to exaggerated all that much, really. "I don't care what restaurant you pick, just book a table and meet me outside the castle tomorrow. I have transport." Which, yes, was his motorbike, and House wondered exactly how much cajoling it was going to take to get Wilson to ride on the 'death trap'.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

Dating not being House's 'thing' was probably one of the largest understatements of this century, actually. Someone so socially... inept? Socially retarded? Something. Yes, Wilson couldn't imagine House's dates being anything but awkward. Even when he'd been with Stacy, he'd never spoke much of dates - they hadn't gone on too many, at any rate. Hell, they'd met in a bar, which wasn't exactly the spitting image of class. Although cheesy, Wilson had no problem with, really. Hell, Wilson kind of liked cheesy. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"I'm not defending flowers," he responded indignantly, sounding slightly defensive, even though... he very much was. Again, though, with the arguing towards his masculinity. Speaking of masculinity. Or lack thereof. "In just a rainbow flag?" he prompted back instead, suggestively. "Could get interesting." ...Dear lord, what was he saying? He was NOT running around in a rainbow flag. Ever. ...It was bad enough that he had mentioned the skirt thing before, and look what had come of that. Fantastic. House was going to try to fill him up with tequila again, wasn't he?

And... oh, dear, he was even leering and... that was halfway between disturbing and extremely... hot? Maybe not hot. Maybe just disturbing. And extremely so, coming out of House, although Wilson just grinned a bit towards the reaction. "All right, all right," he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck and nodding. "But if my 'transport', you mean that screaming metal death trap... no." It was almost like he was reading the man's mind.

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

"You say you're not defending them, but that defensive body language doesn't lie," House declared. But good lord, the image of Wilson running around in nothing but a rainbow flag? Okay, so the rainbow flag was fairly ridiculous, but take that away, and... he probably shouldn't be thinking about that right now, however fun the idea might be. House glanced downwards briefly. Down, boy. "Do not talk like that," he complained, "I woke up on the floor of a bar this morning, I'm not up to particularly vigorous thinking right now."

Rubbing a hand over his face, uncaring that he was smudging the blue liquid around and making it worse, House glared at the cauldron. He couldn't be bothered cleaning it up. Ah well, he'd just leave it here and hope it didn't randomly explode. Somebody else would clean it up later.

"Yes, yes, we all know you hate my motorbike," House rolled his eyes, beginning to make his way to the doorway and just automatically assuming that Wilson would follow him. It was neither a denial or a confirmation, though, and House left it at that. They sure as hell weren't going to be walking anywhere on this date, if House had any say in it.

[jewboy-wonder.livejournal.com]

...He didn't have defensive body language. ...Did he? Wilson glanced down to himself, folded arms and minutely hunched shoulders and all, and nearly had to hold back a laugh. Well, if that didn't scream defensive, honestly, he didn't know what did. ...Damn. Okay, whatever. Fine. Moving off the topic of flowers, and the fact that Wilson was defending them. He knitted his brow a bit instead, concernedly, trying (and trying pretty hard, actually, to rid his features of that ridiculous, scrunchy-faced, worried grandmother that he always seemed to don whenever House had done something horrid. "You woke up on the floor of a bar?"

The grin was present, twisting up the corners of his mouth before he could stop it as House scrubbed at his face. That blue gunk smudged all across his nose, his cheek, and Wilson had to suppress a wild gig manly, manly laugh giggle. He looked so ridiculous right now and just... really didn't care. It was just so the House that everyone knew and lo... Well, Wilson loved.

Heh. 'Love'. He was going to have to be careful around that word.

"I don't hate it," Wilson replied, sounding mildly defensive again as he followed after House, debating this whole 'transportation' thing. "I just... very much dislike the idea of having to go on it." Only... Wilson didn't have his car here (and even if he did, he wasn't sure it would work on the grounds. Although if House's motorbike was working...), he didn't know how to magically induce any form of magical transportation, Floo powder completely escaped him, walking was totally out of the question. ...Well, shit. They might be needing to use it, wouldn't they?

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

((Since House is going to be abrupt and bugger off to nurse his hangover, and I've had nothing to do for the last few hours and typed up the date post, shall I post it? :D))

Glancing quickly across at Wilson, House rolled his eyes and shrugged minutely. It was probably a good thing that he'd left out the part where he'd woken up next to a zombie that wanted to eat his brains, who knew how Wilson would have reacted then. "If it's one thing you learn off my mistakes, Jimmy, it's that you should never accept the dare of multiple shots of Wizarding alcohol you don't know the name of," he replied flippantly, giving no clue as to why he'd been at the bar in the first place. Hell, Wilson didn't need to know that he'd been pining emo drinking his problems away.

Ugh, he really needed to shower. And take maybe a dozen aspirin or something to kill his hangover, and then sleep for a very long time. "Aw, you doubt my driving abilities?" He whined mockingly, pulling a sad face. He was getting Wilson on that motorcycle.

Once they were outside in the hallway, House tapped his cane on the floor and frowned a little. "Meet me outside at 6pm tomorrow?" It sounded like a question, but it was really more of a statement. For a moment, House dithered slightly, wondering exactly what the proper goodbye was, and then deciding he didn't care. So he simply began walking off in the opposite direction to the Slytherin common room, tossing a smirk and a "Don't get up too too much trouble while I'm not around," over his shoulder at Wilson.

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Yes, if Wilson had known zombies were involved, he probably WOULD have gone Jewish grandmother on his ass. At that point, it just would have been unavoidable. As it was, he still had that anxious look pulling together his eyebrows a bit, and he cleared his throat and forcefully rid of it before it DID move into full-fledged horror mode. "I think I've learned that one without having physical prove of its disastrous tendencies, yes," he commented weakly, glancing to House and hmm. In a bar all day? His mind kept whining, 'why?', but he didn't prod any further. He had more important issues. Like finding a damned restaurant.

"I..." Wilson started to say, and, well, there was no use bullshitting him. "Yes, yes I do. Only because I saw you in that Corvette and you're... dangerous." Goddamn, he was still going to have to ride it, wasn't he?

Ah, yes, proper goodbyes, who needed THOSE anymore? Wilson smiled a bit, even though inside he was... roughly the equivalent of running in circles, flailing his arms. Tomorrow? At six? Oh, lord. "Sure," he said with a nod, hands shoved into his pockets to hide just how fidgety they had just become, and watched House stalk off, with a shake of his head. He needed to go to his own room. Find some way of communicating, talk to people to see if restaurants existed other than the bloody Hog's Head and... well.

...He had a lot of work to do.

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((Posted! XD (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1203563.html)))

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