deelaundry | Gone the Sun (PG-13)

Posted to housewilsonlol and house_wilson

Title: Gone the Sun
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House, Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Words: 604
Summary: House finds out Wilson's favorite movie from when he was a child.
Notes: Written from a prompt by

bernie_laraemie at

housewilsonlol. Thank you to the wonderful

daisylily for beta.

House grunted unhappily. The unanticipated downside to Wilson finally getting a place on his own was House having to help him unpack. Or, to be more accurate, pretend to help him, but still, wasting House’s precious time.

Wilson didn’t even have the TV hooked up yet, so House couldn’t watch the DVDs he was carefully alphabetizing (using the Cyrillic alphabet, of course) on Wilson’s puny little multimedia shelf.

“Your porn collection is seriously lacking!” he bellowed, hoping to drag Wilson away from his orgy of organizing.

“Some of us,” Wilson said as he entered the room, only one beer in his hand, and damn he was a bastard, “prefer the warmth of a partner in our sexual exper–”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s with all this soft-core crap?” He held up a DVD as a sample. Gorgeous woman with beautiful eyes, luscious lips… wearing a gauzy, flowing, shapeless gown. Ridiculous.

Wilson snatched the DVD away. “When you’re with a woman, and you care about her pleasure instead of just your own –” House groaned because, seriously, he hadn’t signed up for doing something nice (relatively speaking, if he was actually doing it) and getting lectured.

“Then,” Wilson continued, “you indulge in romance and share with her the things she enjoys.” He stopped and looked at the cover tenderly. “Julie let me have anal after watching this movie.”

“How big was the strap-on?”

In the haze of happy memory, Wilson barely even glared. “Her ass was so tight; oh god.”

Yeah, yeah. House pulled out another case, with another artful cover. “And your excuse for this one?”

Wilson looked up and smiled. “Catherine thought it was a poignant, moving love story. Best blowjob of my life.”

“Do you have one from every woman you’ve ever dated? I want to finish with this some time before the next millennium.” His eyes caught on the cover of another case, decidedly different from the others. “And which lovely filly was into this?”

At the DVD’s appearance, Wilson’s posture tensed and his face gained a slight flush. “That’s different; it’s not –”

“Different, huh?” House twirled the case in his hand a few times. “You don’t mean it’s your soft-core, do you? Got a thing for teenaged boys?”

“They’re all older than me!” Wilson protested, and in a flash, House saw the answer. In the summer of 1982, Taps had been on HBO all the time. Little Jimmy Wilson, newly introduced to the wonders of puberty, sneaking down to his parents’ basement to gaze in longing at the uniforms and guns and the rebelliousness of those strong yet pretty boys…

“You choked the chicken for the first time to Tom Cruise parade-stepping down the hall, didn’t you?” Wilson was looking amusingly murderous, caught red-handed. Or hairy-handed, as the case might be. “Or no, no, maybe it was Timothy Hutton’s glee at getting his oak leaves. ‘We drank brandy!’”

Wilson turned to stomp away, but House caught the under-his-breath comment of, “Sean Penn,” and grinned.

“Come on,” he ordered, and hoisted himself off the couch.

Wilson whirled on him, obviously relieved that House was dropping it. Such naïve, foolish hope; House almost admired Wilson for it, when he wasn’t laughing his ass off. “You’re just going to abandon the unpacking, leave me here to do it all?” Wilson demanded.

“Did you expect any less of me?” House replied, leaning over his cane toward Wilson. “But you’ve got it a bit wrong, because you’re not staying here.”

“I’m not?” Wilson patted down his hair and smoothed his shirt. “Where are we going?”

“The Army-Navy surplus store is open until nine.”