DVD Commentary 3/3

[deelaundry]

Part Three of the DVD commentary for “Around the World and Back Again.”

 

A few hours pass. House spends one of them watching TV sullenly, and one of them sleeping fitfully. He spends half of one in the shower, because Wilson was probably kidding with that soap crack, but maybe not.

 

Every part of his torso hates him, and his brain is on the fritz, but for some reason, his right thigh’s decided to leave him alone. It seems like that shouldn’t be the catalyst, but it is. He dresses more carefully, with more purpose, than he has in years, but squishes down the little breathy whisper of date.

 

The image of House dressing carefully just to go to the hotel room next door and jump Wilson cracks me up. I realize he dressed up for his “date” with Cameron, but he didn’t care about it the way he does here. All this is to reinforce that for all his ‘booty call’ talk, he is taking this very, very seriously.

 

There’s lube in his luggage, and he thinks about taking it with him, but he doesn’t.

 

I wrote this line earlier than I wrote the paragraphs before it. It doesn’t quite fit right, but I liked it so I left it there.

 

When Wilson doesn’t answer his door immediately, the rumblings of rebellion begin. House knocks harder; he’s got to get in there, get started, quell this before it overwhelms him.

 

“Took you long enough,” he says when Wilson shows, before shoving the man against the wall and kissing him.

 

A moment of uncertainty, and then he realizes Wilson is pulling him closer, kissing him back. Relief sweet and heady courses through him, and he has to pull back to clear the spots from his vision.

 

I’m nervous that I might have stolen “relief sweet and heady” from somewhere, but I don’t know where.

 

He blinks and that’s Wilson in front of him, slumped against the wall, disheveled, face covered in stubble-burn, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open and panting. It’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, and House did that, he madeWilson look that way. Pride and lust and the challenge of finding out what else he could do, how much more beauty he could bring into the world, spur him on.

 

Echoed words from the original here to show the direct contrast between Wilson’s POV and House’s. The description of Wilson “slumped against the wall, face covered in stubble-burn, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open and panting” comes straight from Singapore (I added “disheveled”). In the original fic, Wilson thought he must look stupid. House, of course, thinks he looks wonderful.

 

The second half of the paragraph is all about my perception of House’s personality as driven by the need to act, to shape the world around him. “House did that, he made Wilson look that way” shows how his proud he is of having an effect and creating.

 

Wilson’s bare dick is hot in House’s hand, and it’s perfect. Wilson breathes something – “shit,” maybe – and the voice tings against House the tuning fork, vibrations in harmony. He’s a sentimentalist, a sap, call him what you will, but he’s getting the damn booty he came calling over nine thousand miles for.

 

Not sure the tuning fork metaphor works in the middle there, but oh well.

 

They’re kissing again; Wilson’s hands are on his hips. Wilson tightens his grip a little, and his head falls down onto House’s shoulder. Then a shudder and another, and two “fucks” from Wilson, and House has done it, done what he came for, and he’s glad he didn’t fantasize about it (too much) because it was just way, way better without spoilers.

 

1) “Way, way better without spoilers” is a little bit meta, but I hope it’s forgivable. We can assume House has heard of spoilers, either for movies or for the TV shows he likes to watch.

2) I like adding parenthetical phrases to my sentences, when the character would think that way (which is a lot of characters, to my way of thinking).
3) Notice that making Wilson come is the accomplishment, not House himself coming. (Also a little pun on "came for" but it's possibly forgivable.)

 

Triumphantly, he regards Wilson. Disheveled and aroused Wilson was gorgeous, but this version is simply mesmerizing. He watches as Wilson opens his mouth to speak.

 

“What was that about?”

 

What the hell? What the hell? What the fuck does Wilson think it was about?

 

“Fuck you,” House says, and grabs at his cane, ready to leave.

 

Wilson gets to it first and tosses it off to the side. Fine. Be that way. Fuck him; House is going anyway.

 

“House,” Wilson says.

 

House ignores him and keeps limping toward the door. His thigh hurts but not nearly as much as his pride.

 

“House,” Wilson says again, louder this time.

 

House slows down, just a bit.

 

I’m not sure I caught all of thedeadparrot’s intentions for this part of the confrontation, but I tried.

 

“House!” Wilson says, with enough force in it that House reluctantly stops. He has to remember that this is his friend, and although said friend is generally a pushover, certain accommodations are sometimes necessary – where the hell did his tongue go? Oh, there it is; it’s in Wilson’s mouth again.

 

I cracked myself up with this paragraph. House mentally lecturing himself; his run-on sentence that’s then self-interrupted; and the goofy notion of House having to figure out where his tongue is.

 

He should leave; that was a great snit he was working up to. But Wilson has other ideas, and those ideas seem to involve House being mostly naked, so okay. Compromise is a cornerstone of friendship. Give something to get something, and right now it looks like House is going to get something hot and possibly wet and –

 

Just then the light catches Wilson’s down-turned face in a certain way. Hair and eyes and lashes and cheekbones and shadows and stubble and the corner of his mouth. House’s heart pulses, and it short-circuits that glibness his brain’s been throwing out.

 

I’m terrible at physical descriptions, so I cheated here. It’s really just a laundry list of things House sees on Wilson’s face, but y’all know how purty those features are on Wilson’s face, especially when the light is right, so you can fill in the blanks yourself. Phew. Did anyone notice that I added stubble in there too? Wilson’s got to have five o’clock shadow at some point, right?

 

This is real; it’s serious; and House is so, so screwed, because there’s no way this is not going to hurt at some point.

 

He lets Wilson take the lead, hands everything over. Wilson pushes him down, leans on top of him, and kisses him, slow and steady. It feels beautiful, that word in particular. House is screwed.

 

“Beautiful” between two men is such an emotional word, and it scares House here. Notice the repetition of “screwed.” It ends the next paragraph, too, and then comes up later.

 

Wilson slides down House’s body, his lips drifting over bare skin, as House watches. He bites at House’s hips, which rebel (typical torso) and buck up of their own accord. Then his lips are around House’s erection, and Wilson’s sucking like maybe he has some experience. House is ferociously jealous of anyone Wilson has done this to, and anyone Wilson ever even thought of doing it to. His breath hitches at that thought. He is screwed.

 

Torso metaphor slips in there again. Can you imagine House not being jealous?

 

Then it’s up and down and heavenly gliding friction, and House becomes convinced that this will never happen again. Anxiety spirals up in twin with the pleasure, and it’s all over far too soon for his liking.

 

He mutters, “Shit,” as a commentary and lament, and his eyes close. When Wilson slips away, House takes a moment to rest and then pulls up his boxers, kicking his jeans away, and finds his t-shirt. That’s as far as he can get, because he’s exhausted.

 

I like the “commentary and lament” phrase although I’m not sure what I meant by it. I re-wrote this paragraph several times because I couldn’t figure out the clothing. I thought that House was naked during his blowjob, but looking at the original fic again I realized his jeans and underwear were down on his legs but not off. A-ha.

 

Wilson comes back as House is pulling down the covers. “Not talking about it,” House says. His eyes can barely stay open; he slips into the bed and is out like a light.

---

When he wakes up, it takes him a minute to figure out why he’s so warm. Another body in the bed, that’s right. He’d gotten used to the cold.

 

Sad, House getting used to the cold, but I bet it’s true.

 

That’s not a metaphor, or maybe it is, but he’s not ready to face this. His anatomical heart can’t take it. His figurative heart, sweetly sighing and skipping through fields of poppies last night, is apparently still asleep, because all he has inside him is dread.

 

Metaphor-riffic in this story, ain’t I? I guess I’ve got canon support for House thinking in metaphors, though, now that I think about it. Also, I like when narrators say something, and then take it back. Dunno why particularly.

 

Time to go.

 

Both feet on the floor, jeans pulled up, and he’s flexing his thighs in preparation for the push (great leap) off the bed, when Wilson says, “Mmmm?” Crap.

 

He glances over his shoulder, and Wilson is every bit as enticing as he was last night, yesterday, the day before.  Crap. “This is the part where we have the girly talk about our feelings,” House says.

 

Freshly-woken Wilson: yum.

 

Wilson sits up and blinks at him. “I mostly want to know where that came from.”

 

Dread and desire are both thick. House scoffs. “Oh, come on. There is no way you are actually that thick.”

 

Oops, double use of the word ‘thick.’ Lame. 

 

“Let’s assume I am,” Wilson answers.

 

House snorts again. He’s in pain, and he’s screwed, and where did this simple little intercontinental hook-up go so horribly, horribly wrong?

 

“Simple little intercontinental hook-up” – LOL. Repetition of “screwed” again.

 

“You’re really going to make me say this out loud?” is what he says. “Are you really that much like me?”

 

“You’re in love with me,” Wilson says, and sighs.

 

Now that the words are out there, House instinctively wants to bat them away. He sneers, “You of all people should know better than to confuse sex and love.”

 

“Bullshit,” Wilson replies. “Why now?” He’s a relentless fuck for four in the morning, House’ll give him that.

 

“Why not now?” he replies.  His heart seems to have hit the snooze bar, and his guts are strangling themselves in the covers. Why won’t Wilson just let him go? “Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. All that crass Asian commercialism. Such a breath of fresh air.”

 

Does “guts strangling themselves in the covers” make any sense whatsoever? Don’t care; I still kind of like it.

 

Wilson laughs harshly. “That is why, isn’t it? So that you can write it off as a fluke if you need to. What happens in Singapore, stays in Singapore.”

 

Yeah, OK, his own words in his face. He can take that. House stands up and starts to move.  “Are we done yet? I’m missing my next really awkward conversation about my sex life.”

 

That is my favorite House line from the entirety of Singapore. Just awesome.

 

“No,” Wilson snaps. “We haven’t talked about what’s going to happen now.”

 

Where is his damn cane? Wilson doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get it at all.  “Isn’t it obvious? We forget it ever happened. You can claim you were drunk, if you’d like.”

 

“So that’s it?”

 

“That’s it,” House replies, and he tries to make his voice ring with finality. “You can’t possibly think that there’s going to be more.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Dumb fuck has never learned when to shut up and let House stew in his misery. Time to employ the best defense, and the better part of valor be damned. “Because you’re you! It’s doomed from the start! Every relationship you’ve ever been in has failed spectacularly.”

 

Did everyone get House’s slammed together aphorisms there? “Best defense is a good offense” and “discretion is the better part of valor.” Did saying it that way, instead of the much more plain “Time to go on the offense, and discretion be damned,” work as a device? Anyone? Bueller?

 

Wilson flinches. “Like yours haven’t?”

 

“Yeah, great point. Now you’ve really convinced me.” House reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Vicodin.  He tilts his head to make swallowing easier, and closes his eyes to make all this go away.

 

“I told myself I’d never really considered it, but I think I did, in the beginning.” Wilson pauses, and House’s breathing does too. He’d known hope could feel hot, could burn him, but he’d never realized it had spikes as well.

 

Don’t know where I came up with the concept of hope feeling burning hot, or having spikes, but I like it. Sometimes it hurts to have hope.

 

“But then Stacy happened, and then your leg, and then Stacy again. When you want something that much, and you know you’re never going to get it, sometimes it’s easier to pretend that you never wanted it in the first place.”

 

Oh god. House reopens his eyes slowly and looks at him. “Why didn’t you try, in the beginning?”

 

“I was married,” Wilson says, simply.

 

House has to snort. “Like that would have stopped you.”

 

Wilson frowns and looks away. “It did then. I think I realized that it wouldn’t be a fling. That it couldn’t be.” He shrugs. “I was scared. So I ignored it and stayed with Marisa.”

 

Hope is still hot within his chest, but the spikes have been retracted.  “That doesn’t mean anything in the long run.”

 

“Yeah,” Wilson says. “I just thought you should know.” He starts walking toward the bathroom.

 

House grabs his arm as he walks past and searches his face. This is real; this is serious; there’s a chance it might actually work.  “Are you scared now?” he asks.

 

Repetition of “This is real; this is serious” with a new ending.

 

Wilson looks him straight in the eye. “Terrified.”

 

He didn’t know it was the right answer until Wilson said it. Maybe House isn’t screwed. Or maybe he is, but just in the general sort of missing a chunk of his thigh and ninety-five percent of the people he meets are morons kind of way. He leans forward and kisses Wilson, who currently has bad breath but warm lips and a tongue that’s fairly indecent in its softness.

 

And here’s the conclusion to the “screwed” theme. House clearly feels screwed most of the time; he’s so relieved that this thing with Wilson won’t add to the pile.

 

I was thinking of  cryptictac and her scenes of less than perfect sex when I gave Wilson bad breath here.

 

When Wilson pulls away, they’re both smiling, just a little. “Breakfast?” Wilson asks.

 

Thedeadparrot had House looking half happy and half sad, but I had no clue why he’d be sad. So, I figured that was just a misperception on Wilson’s part.

 

Mm, food and Wilson, such a happy thought. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “Whatever.” Meaning, whatever you want is what I want, but it wouldn’t do to say that just yet. Can’t let Wilson get complacent.

 

Here is the second of the two “Yeah, sure. Whatever” lines. I added a very happy twist to it here, and liked how it came out.

 

House makes it back to his room in a bit of a fog and falls onto the bed face first. He needs a few more hours of shut-eye, and then they’ll take this puppy out for a spin.

 

Here’s House conking out. He’s been getting a lot less sleep than Wilson up to this point.

Breakfast is almost exactly like yesterday, like nothing’s changed, except House has to hide a smirk every other second. He curbs the impulse to climb on the table and gloat, because no one else in this room has Jimmy Wilson, or even his stuffier counterpart Dr. James E. Wilson, and House does. Ha!

 

1) House would so climb on a table and gloat, you know he would. 
2) We have canon evidence now that Wilson goes by “James,” but I think in House’s mind “Jimmy” is the more fun version of Wilson. 
3) OK, the “Ha!” on the end isn’t strictly necessary, but I like it. 

 

The rest of the day is boring, but brighter somehow. His head, his heart, his stomach, and his dick are all at peace – well, his dick’s a little obstreperous, but not too bad, considering the circumstances. And when his thigh gives him some problems mid-afternoon, it only takes one Vicodin and a gentle covert massage by Wilson to get it to settle down. Jealousy by other parts of his body is quickly quashed.

 

Don’t you just love the word “obstreperous”? It’s a great word. And boy howdy, if you just had sex with Wilson, and the promise of more, wouldn’t your dick be obstreperous too?

 

After dinner, they watch TV: a Chinese soap that appears identical to Passions, and a couple of old Seinfeld reruns. House has never seen the end of the Puerto Rican Day episode, and he misses it this night, too, because he’s too busy mapping the contours of Wilson’s neck with his lips.

 

I really like “mapping the contours of Wilson’s neck with his lips.” Hope I didn’t accidentally steal it from somewhere else.

 

Then the television’s off and they’re naked together. Even with careful, pleasurable preparation and half the bottle of lube, Wilson pushing inside him, stutter-stop, is painful, no romanticizing that away. It’s been a long time since anything’s gone in his anus. He grits his teeth, breathes through his nose, bears down. Wilson gives an appreciative grunt and pushes again.

 

After a few minutes, it’s more pressure than pain and the movement starts to feel like sliding. A groove, they’re getting into a groove, and House is amazed at how Wilson inside him feels familiar. As he comes, he laughs – unheard under Wilson’s moans – because he realizes Wilson’s been inside him all along.

 

Thedeadparrot had this sexual encounter over with in just one sentence, and that seemed appropriate there, but I wanted to give it some more time. Yay for House as the bottom! H/W slash doesn’t talk much about bearing down to ease anal intercourse, but I’ve heard (OK, it was on QAF-US, shut up) that it helps. I’ve written people laughing during orgasm a few times now, although I’ve never done it in real life. I have felt giddy, though, and that’s the idea I’m going for. Had to add in “unheard under Wilson’s moans” because thedeadparrot doesn’t mention it in the original fic, and I think Wilson would’ve commented if he’d heard it.

 

He sleeps like a rock, deeper and more restfully than he has in years.

---

 

House wakes to an amusingly familiar whine. “Fucking hairdryer,” he mutters when Wilson comes out of the bathroom already in his shirt and slacks.

 

“Sorry,” Wilson says, actually sounding like he is.  He gives House a quick peck – such the good little husband – and keeps getting dressed.

 

Wilson putting on his tie is not nearly as interesting as Wilson taking off his tie, so House heads back to his own room. Shower, shave, packing – they head home tonight. Good thing; what with the exchange rate, top quality lube’s probably pretty expensive here.

 

Notice the shave? House has to shave some time, to not have his stubble turn into a full beard. Wilson probably would’ve appreciated House shaving the day before, but oh well.

 

---

 

Breakfast is quiet, just as House likes it. Before the morning session, he heads to the restroom. The walls are strangely thin, or maybe there’s a hole somewhere, because he can hear a conversation between two women in the ladies’ room. He realizes with a start that they’re talking about Wilson, wishing he’d gone to some event the night before, wondering if he’ll be staying over an extra night. No, no, no, House thinks, feeling intensely possessive. We can’t have that.

 

Another question I had when reading the original fic: I get that House kisses Wilson during the lunch to stake his claim, but why did he bother, given that that was the closing activity of the conference? So here I gave House an extra impetus in the form of ladies contemplating moving in on his man.

 

During closing speakers, Wilson falls asleep on House’s shoulder. His head’s heavy, and it’s awkward, but it gets the two of them just the kind of attention House wants. He lays his hand faux-casually on Wilson’s leg.

 

Wilson wakes up when the last talk is done and the room’s beginning to clear out. When another attendee walks by and raises a penciled-on eyebrow, House smiles smugly to fend her off.  “Long night,” he says, by way of explanation, and he’s gratified when she moves away more quickly.

 

House gets catty with the ‘penciled-on eyebrow’ comment. Meow!

 

They go to the conference’s buffet lunch, the room crowded with hungry people. They get a few speculative looks, although not as many as House would like to see. Wilson asks if the attention bothers him, and he replies honestly, “It’s great. Now no one will hit on you, so you don’t have to fuck them.”

 

When Wilson opens his mouth to protest, House grabs him by the tie and kisses him. They happen to be in front of the drinks; a prime spot, and almost all eyes are on them. Good.

 

“Just making sure they got the message,” he says to a very stunned Wilson. He doesn’t tell him that the temptation to yell, “Go and proclaim the news!” is very, very strong.

 

Savemoony! Did you get the biblical reference? Visitors to Jesus’ tomb were told to “go and proclaim the news” that Jesus had risen from the grave. Not a direct metaphor – House just wants everyone to know.

 

They eat lunch in peace and then mosey up to House’s room. Wilson wants to discuss what they’re going to do for the rest of the day.  House knows exactly what he wants them to do, and exactly how little clothing they’ll need, but Wilson wants to go out and see the city.

 

House sighs like it’s been twelve days instead of twelve hours since they last had sex, but truthfully he’s feeling indulgent. When they get home, he’s going to need time alone for some of his pastimes that Wilson doesn’t appreciate – although he is going to get Wilson to love the bike, oh yes – so he can be tolerant and let Wilson go off by himself today.

 

“Twelve days instead of twelve hours” is another phrase that makes me chuckle. Had to also throw in a little plug for House’s motorcycle. It comes up one more time before the end.

 

He calls to get them both approved for late check-out, and then naps the afternoon away.

 

I know a little something about the hotel business (don’t ask; I’ll bore you to tears), and check-out time is always in the eleven a.m. to noon range. You’ve got to ask if you want to stay later, the way House and Wilson do here. Otherwise, you have to pay for another full night and I know Cuddy’d give them hell for that.

 

When they meet up to catch a cab to the airport, he notices a change in Wilson. He hadn’t thought Wilson seemed particularly tense before, but now there’s a peace about him. Maybe Wilson was working on some torso trust issues, too.

 

The original fic has an extended session with Wilson visiting a Hindu temple and letting go of his concerns. House didn’t witness any of that, but I thought he’d definitely notice the results.

 

Someone noted that this version doesn’t have the sense of sadness that the original does. I had very definitely noticed that sense of sadness, and very definitely stayed away from it. That’s Wilson’s angst, and confusion, and way of dealing with it all. He’s a feeler, that guy, and a worrier. And, of course, because House was the one planning the whole thing, he had far more time to deal with the issues than Wilson has had.

 

They get all the way to Narita Airport in Japan before Wilson falls asleep. In an uncomfortable, less than sturdy plastic chair. Midway through a meal.

 

Aw, Wilson falls asleep again. Last time this fic.

 

God. House is in love with a fucking narcoleptic. Wilson likes to bitch about the bike, but a Volvo’s not all that safe if you fall asleep at the goddamned wheel. House eats the rest of Wilson’s food in retaliation and then pulls out a book, fending off any and all encroachers with a glare.

 

I think I made House too angry here, although the narcoleptic crack makes me smile, and I love the way House lets Wilson be and scares off anyone who might disturb him.

 

Their flight to New York’s being called for boarding when Wilson finally wakes up. House whacks him lightly in the shin with his cane to get some blood flowing. “C’mon,” he says. “We’re going to be late.”

 

Wilson blinks a few times but gets up from the table. “I love you, you know,” he says, and House doesn’t want to admit how good that makes him feel, even as his heart starts smirking at him.  Shut up.

 

One last appearance of the symbolic torso. The heart was the one who sighed “What a nice date,” if you’ll recall, and it’s very amused that House is finally catching up.

 

“If you really loved me,” he responds with a leer, “you’d help me get into the Mile High Club.”

 

Wilson smiles and shakes his head. “It’s not as fun as it sounds. Airplane bathrooms are entirely too cramped.”

 

It’s clearly the voice of experience; House leers some more. “Why, Jimmy,” he says in his best fake-shocked voice, “you almost sound as if you’ve tried it before.  Flight attendant?”

 

Wilson winces a little. “Flight attendant,” he confirms.

 

The four paragraphs above are directly lifted from Singapore. I tried to mess with them and make them my own, but they are just too great as they are. Other than adding the phrase “It’s clearly the voice of experience,” I had to leave them be.

 

House can’t help but laugh. They’re going home, and he can’t wait to get there.

 

I think this ending is too abrupt, but I couldn’t think of anything more to say. The contrast between House’s POV at the end and Wilson’s from the original (As they board the plane, he wonders how things will work out when they get home, whether he and House will hold together or fall apart. As the plane takes off, he thinks that maybe they’ll find out when they get there.) is deliberate. House’s anxieties about this hurting, and his outburst about a relationship being doomed, have been put conclusively behind him. House has made up his mind that they’ll be together, and he assumes Wilson will go along with him.

 

Final Note: Remix was awesome. I banged my head against the wall choosing a fic, worried and fretted while writing, made a goofy mistake and got yelled at by the remix coordinator – and I am absolutely signing up for this again next year.

 

“Around the World and Back Again” is one of my proudest achievements in fanfic. thedeadparrot provided an amazing story, and I am so pleased to have had the opportunity to retell it through another character’s eyes.

Comments

[deelaundry.livejournal.com]

How much thought I put into the commentary, or into the fic?

I so wanted to get the remix right - felt the responsibility of being true to the original story every minute. On top of that, being a teeny bit anal about versimilitude, I do feel better when I do research (Google & Wikipedia, hurrah!).

Have you ever done a DVD commentary on one of your fics? If so, point me at it! I love to hear what people were thinking.

[daasgrrl.livejournal.com]

I meant the fic itself :)

I haven't actually ever done a commentary on any of my fics, but that might be for the best, because I suspect most of it would go something like 'um, yeah, this seemed like a good idea at the time' XD

[deelaundry.livejournal.com]

I'm sure you'd have more to say than that! I mean, look how much you have to say on all the RSL movies. Although, those are more critiques than commentaries. Hmm.