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.