Sniffles (R)
Oct. 5th, 2006 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deelaundryPosted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
house_wilson and house_slash
Title: Sniffles
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: R for mental images
Words: 643
Summary: Wilson needs to blow his nose, and it’s all House's fault.
Beta: The ever-lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daisylily
Note: Forfavyan. It isn’t what he wanted; it’s just what arrived.
Wilson comes by to get House for lunch, but it’s only eleven a.m. and the latest round of tests on – hell, House hasn’t even thought up a nickname yet for this patient. Anyway, the tests aren’t back and House is just curious enough, and just not hungry enough, to stick around a while longer. So he makes Wilson wait with him.
Which is not to say he’s paying attention to Wilson, he’s not; there’s a new kind of puzzle he’s just today discovered on the internet, nurikabe, and damn if it isn’t harder than it should be. Seventeen games in, he’s getting pretty good, or would be if he wasn’t distracted by all the sniffing coming from the chair on the other side of the desk.
“Wilson! You’re bothering me. Blow your nose.” He shoves the tissue box across the desk, and Wilson snatches the box away.
“I have blown my nose. I keep blowing my nose.” He does again, quietly, thank god, and then coughs once sharply. “This is all your fault.”
Sniffling and bitchy, lovely.
“It’s my fault you have hay fever?” He marks off three more squares with black before Wilson can respond.
“This is not hay fever. This is your fault, and it’s embarrassing.”
That’s enough to drag him away from his game; he looks up at Wilson, who’s still clutching the tissue and looking like he might sneeze.
“Embarrassing? Me? When have I ever embarrassed you?”
Wilson’s glare is standard-issue, but his nose is twitching a little and... there’s another sniffle. Irritating. Wilson bitches, “Do you want chronological or reverse chronological order? Maybe we should narrow the scope of my response to a certain period of the calendar, so we’re not here all day.”
Wilson’s nostrils flare (time to pull the trimmer out from under the sink), and he breathes in, a reverse snort. That appears to have been the wrong move, as now Wilson’s coughing again.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, what is wrong with you?” It was vaguely cute to begin with, but it’s beyond annoying now.
“You. You are wrong with me.” Wilson blows his nose again, loud and unproductive, if the sound is anything to go by, and then throws the balled-up tissue at House. “Remember this morning?” Wilson looks around furtively, but the kiddies are all still off at the lab, or in the patient’s room, or smoking behind the bleachers, for all House knows.
“What about this morning?” he replies, irritation equivalent to an 8 on the pain scale, just past the medium frowny face.
After another glance around, Wilson leans in toward House. “How you woke me up?”
That. It had taken House over ten minutes to figure out a decent position that would accommodate his bum leg and still not wake Wilson until he was ready. “That was fun.”
“Uh huh. It might have been, if I’d had some advance warning, instead of being jolted out of sleep by torrents of warm stickiness.”
House is laughing now, remembering that sweet, sweet moment. It’d been hard to keep his eyes open, always is during climax, but it had been well worth it. So fucking sexy.
The glare from Wilson is intense, but there’s humor in those eyes, too, House is sure of it. He’d been intrigued by that video they saw last week, just as much as House had been.
“Another angle would have been good, too,” Wilson complains.
“What do you mean?” House’s laughter has subsided, but he can’t keep the canary-related grin off his face.
Wilson snatches another tissue, presses it to his nose, and honks loudly. “I’ve been blowing come out of my nose all morning!”
Looking over Wilson’s shoulder, House now has another amusing face snapshotted in his mind, ready for the mental scrapbook page for this enjoyable incident.
“Cameron, I take it those are the test results?”
house_wilson and house_slashTitle: Sniffles
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: R for mental images
Words: 643
Summary: Wilson needs to blow his nose, and it’s all House's fault.
Beta: The ever-lovely
daisylilyNote: For
favyan. It isn’t what he wanted; it’s just what arrived.Wilson comes by to get House for lunch, but it’s only eleven a.m. and the latest round of tests on – hell, House hasn’t even thought up a nickname yet for this patient. Anyway, the tests aren’t back and House is just curious enough, and just not hungry enough, to stick around a while longer. So he makes Wilson wait with him.
Which is not to say he’s paying attention to Wilson, he’s not; there’s a new kind of puzzle he’s just today discovered on the internet, nurikabe, and damn if it isn’t harder than it should be. Seventeen games in, he’s getting pretty good, or would be if he wasn’t distracted by all the sniffing coming from the chair on the other side of the desk.
“Wilson! You’re bothering me. Blow your nose.” He shoves the tissue box across the desk, and Wilson snatches the box away.
“I have blown my nose. I keep blowing my nose.” He does again, quietly, thank god, and then coughs once sharply. “This is all your fault.”
Sniffling and bitchy, lovely.
“It’s my fault you have hay fever?” He marks off three more squares with black before Wilson can respond.
“This is not hay fever. This is your fault, and it’s embarrassing.”
That’s enough to drag him away from his game; he looks up at Wilson, who’s still clutching the tissue and looking like he might sneeze.
“Embarrassing? Me? When have I ever embarrassed you?”
Wilson’s glare is standard-issue, but his nose is twitching a little and... there’s another sniffle. Irritating. Wilson bitches, “Do you want chronological or reverse chronological order? Maybe we should narrow the scope of my response to a certain period of the calendar, so we’re not here all day.”
Wilson’s nostrils flare (time to pull the trimmer out from under the sink), and he breathes in, a reverse snort. That appears to have been the wrong move, as now Wilson’s coughing again.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, what is wrong with you?” It was vaguely cute to begin with, but it’s beyond annoying now.
“You. You are wrong with me.” Wilson blows his nose again, loud and unproductive, if the sound is anything to go by, and then throws the balled-up tissue at House. “Remember this morning?” Wilson looks around furtively, but the kiddies are all still off at the lab, or in the patient’s room, or smoking behind the bleachers, for all House knows.
“What about this morning?” he replies, irritation equivalent to an 8 on the pain scale, just past the medium frowny face.
After another glance around, Wilson leans in toward House. “How you woke me up?”
That. It had taken House over ten minutes to figure out a decent position that would accommodate his bum leg and still not wake Wilson until he was ready. “That was fun.”
“Uh huh. It might have been, if I’d had some advance warning, instead of being jolted out of sleep by torrents of warm stickiness.”
House is laughing now, remembering that sweet, sweet moment. It’d been hard to keep his eyes open, always is during climax, but it had been well worth it. So fucking sexy.
The glare from Wilson is intense, but there’s humor in those eyes, too, House is sure of it. He’d been intrigued by that video they saw last week, just as much as House had been.
“Another angle would have been good, too,” Wilson complains.
“What do you mean?” House’s laughter has subsided, but he can’t keep the canary-related grin off his face.
Wilson snatches another tissue, presses it to his nose, and honks loudly. “I’ve been blowing come out of my nose all morning!”
Looking over Wilson’s shoulder, House now has another amusing face snapshotted in his mind, ready for the mental scrapbook page for this enjoyable incident.
“Cameron, I take it those are the test results?”
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-06 01:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-06 02:57 am (UTC)