James Wilson couldn’t remember when he had last been on vacation. Not just a weekend off, but a real vacation, two weeks or more away from work. The odd day off didn’t count.

Sitting in his office he tried not to think that he wasn’t here, that he could be lying on a beach or hiking through mountains or skiing down the wintry hills. He tried not to yearn for some peace and quiet, time only for himself.

Himself and House.

Because House was a part of him and his lover could need a few days away from this melee every day as well. But House was a workaholic. He thrived on the adrenaline rush. He needed it to survive. And he would probably argue that Chase wasn’t old enough to run Diagnostics all by his lonesome already.

Wilson sighed and hunched over a little, one hand massaging his knotted neck. He was heading for a headache and he knew it, but he still had three more appointments and a biopsy, so painkillers were out of the question. And the next appointment would be in twenty minutes.

The oncologist briefly closed his eyes, chasing the enticing vacation plans aside, and then turned to study the file on Jonathan Patterson, a twelve year old boy who had been diagnosed with leukemia. It was a sad, sad case and the boy was likely to die before Christmas, but the parents were still so hopeful, so needy in their way of reassurance and belief in God, sometimes it hurt Wilson to just look into those pleading eyes.

*

For an empath who wasn’t really clear on how strong he was, an empath who had thought he was low level but kept getting flashes of emotions when he shouldn’t be able to, sitting through three appointments where two parents knew their children were dying – and the third didn’t want to believe it – it had been a hellish day. Wilson cursed his abilities on those days, wished he had an idea just why they were fluctuating and not constantly low as he expected them to be. He cursed House for being an insensitive bastard throughout lunch time and he holed up after the biopsy, which had been the only good thing today. It had been negative for cancerous cells.

It was late when Wilson finally left, the headache now in full bloom, his senses a little frayed, and he was glad that he knew the way home almost on automatic. He didn’t really need to think much. He parked the car, took the elevator up to the loft he shared with House, and prayed his lover was either busy or in a mood that would let Wilson slide under his radar.

As it was, he wasn’t granted that wish. The moment he shuffled into the loft he was pinned by sharp blue eyes that seemed to drill into his already battered mind.

Wilson groaned silently and dropped his bag next to the door, proceeding to slip out of his coat.

“You’re late,” House remarked.

“Yes, dear, I am,” Wilson growled back. “Sue me.”

“Ouch. Touchy much?”

Wilson felt a trickle of emotions from his lover, which told him just how frayed he truly was. Sure, he was always aware of the other man, sometimes more, sometimes less, but this was a clear warning signal. House wasn’t emotionally upset or agitated enough that Wilson should feel it, but he did.

Curse this empathy!

“House, leave it.”

He walked past him, quite aware that saying ‘leave it’ had a completely different effect of House. He wouldn’t leave it alone.

“Too many cute little kids die on you today?” House poked. “Or did Mommy Dearest break down crying against your manly chest?”

Wilson gritted his teeth against the pulses of pain behind his forehead. “Just because you’re an insensitive bastard doesn’t mean I have to be one too!”

House regarded him curiously, his head slightly tilted. “You’re open,” he finally stated.

Wilson took a steadying breath. “Just leave it, okay?”

“No.” House limped closer, still gazing at the other man like he was the most interesting lab specimen.

Wilson turned abruptly and stalked into his office space, almost slamming the door. It was still a very loud noise and he winced.

There was a bottle of pain medication in his desk drawer and he took two tablets with some water, sinking onto the chair. His head hurt, his very brain hurt, and he did feel too much.

How could he work on shields for something so random? He had no idea what triggered this and not even Chase had been able to come up with an explanation. As an ally he had asked around, but the empaths known to him and his ally friends were nothing like Wilson.

He was random. Like his powers. And it hurt.

Wilson didn’t know how and when, but he fell into a doze, head cradled on his arms on the desk. He woke with a start at the touch against his neck, and he groaned in pain as abused muscles protested, and the headache did a merry little dance around his cranium just to add to the agony. A strong hand massaged his neck and he moaned softly.

“How much have you taken already?” House asked calmly.

“Two at work, two here,” he answered automatically. Wilson blinked gritty eyes at his lover, feeling too tired to snap.

“Come on,” House simply said, tugging gently as he took a step back.

Wilson rose, swaying a little, and followed the other man out of the office. He didn’t think, didn’t really want to, and when House maneuvered him into their bedroom, he simply let him.

“How much do you feel?” House asked neutrally.

“Too much?” was the answer.

“How much is me?”

Wilson blinked again, focusing on the bright blue of his lover’s eyes. He could feel him, yes. A warm presence, as always, in the back of his mind. Not a conscious presence, jut something that told him that Greg was there. Now and then there was a pulse, but very controlled. House was keeping his emotions under lock and key.

“A little.”

House studied him. “Bad day,” he then stated.

“Greg…”

“You’re getting more sensitive.”

“I know.” Wilson sank onto the bed. A glance at the clock told him it was already past midnight. Damn. “I asked Chase. He tried to find out about empaths, but this seems to be new.”

Talking exhausted him and the headache took advantage of that, flaring more. He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his forehead.

There were shuffling noises, then there was the sound of a plastic bottle filled with pills. Wilson opened his eyes just in time to see House handing him more painkillers and a glass of water.

“Take them. Then get to bed.”

He didn’t argue. Anything to numb this.

Wilson crawled into bed, feeling wrung out, and the yearning for time away from all of this grew. But he couldn’t get away from being an empath. It was in his very genes.

“You coming?” he murmured tiredly.

House hesitated, then shook his head. “Better this way.”

The loneliness grew. “Please?”

“Everything with even a sliver of emotions will hurt you now, Jimmy.”

“Then I’m safe with you,” he quipped.

House grimaced. “You really are a masochist,” he muttered after a moment, then started to undress.
By the time House slipped into bed, Wilson was already mostly asleep, barely registering his lover’s presence. But he did turn closer to him, seeking comfort, and House gave it with a tender caress along his arm.

“Okay?” he asked.

Wilson gave a murmur, hand blindly seeking the other man and clenching into the shirt. House stayed very still, his touch warm and welcome, and finally Wilson slid off into darkness.

*

House didn’t like the lines of pain in the too pale face of his lover. Wilson had looked like death warmed over when he had come home, and the immediate violent retort to a teasing question had told House just how bad it was. That Wilson had holed up in his office until House had come in, finding him asleep, had been the final straw.

Now, looking at the sleeping man, doped up to his eyebrows with painkillers, House wondered what was going on in Wilson’s brain. Or with his genes, for that matter. His spikes of intense receptiveness were random, though he still was mostly sensitive to House.

House kept up a steady, gentle caress of the other man’s arm, loving the feel of warm, smooth skin, of hair bristling lightly against his pads. Wilson was sleeping deeply, the strong painkillers more than enough to knock him out.

So Chase had already looked into this phenomenon and come up dry. What if Wilson was the only one, the only empath with this problem? What if this was a freak derivation of the paranormal gene responsible for empathy? He had come into his heritage quite late and quite forcefully, but then it had quieted down.

The diagnostician in House was spinning his wheels, and the Diagnostic was looking at the sleeping man with intense concentration. He found no anomalies compared to what Wilson looked to the paranormal in House all the time. Sure, there were the knotted energy lines, speaking of tension and pain, but no suddenly abnormal areas, especially in his brain.

Greg leaned down and kissed the sleeping man gently, then decided to get some shut-eye as well. If he had his will, Wilson would stay home tomorrow. The man needed time away from everything. He knew that only too well. Wilson wasn’t fragile, but his mind was too wired, too uncontrolled, for an empath to run around oncology with all its suffering unprotected.

 * * *

Of course Wilson didn’t stay home. He went to work, claiming he had several important patients either coming in or already admitted today. House watched it with a misgiving frown. His lover didn’t look much better, though he didn’t immediately swallow painkillers.

Around lunch time, House invaded Wilson’s office and dragged him away from work, forcing food into him.

“How many more?” he asked over his steak.

“Two. I’m fine, House. Really.”

That got him a scowl. Wilson evaded the intense blue eyes, poking at his pasta.

“I’m taking off after the last one,” he finally relented to the silence.

House gave an affirmative grunt. “You better.”

They ended lunch in almost complete but very much mutual silence, and House limped back to Diagnostics to terrorize his minions. From the look Chase was giving him, the Australian had a good idea what this was about. Damn wombat! Chase was keeping rather close contact, and a keen eye on them. A small part of House appreciated the support, even if he would never say so out loud, but his more outspoken part growled and hissed and snapped at the younger man.

“Got no one to mother at home?” he asked acidly as Chase watched him silently.

Blue eyes narrowed briefly, but Chase didn’t comment. Cameron didn’t get the reason for the taunt and Foreman wisely didn’t even think about saying something.

“Anything new on the pimple front?” House asked, turning to the other two.

Their latest case was a young woman with a rash all over her body that no one could find a reason to. By now some of the pimply blisters were filling with liquid and she had trouble swallowing. More blisters had appeared in her throat.

Cameron launched into her idea of auto-immune disease, Foreman arguing against it, and Chase added his own two cents, which made the most sense to House, though he wouldn’t comment on either of them favorably. Robert Chase had truly started to develop his full potential and even if his appointment to permanent staff member had been blackmail if House was asked officially – which no one would dare dream to – he was proving himself. Especially with paperwork. It was what House hated most, what Cuddy demanded the most, and since Chase had taken over, billing was up to date and Cuddy was peaceful.

“Go with Chase’s idea,” he finally interrupted the arguing among his team. “If that fails, we’ll think some more about this ridiculous idea of auto-immune.”

With that he turned and walked into his office, pointedly closing the door. It didn’t stop Cameron from barging in and staring at him incredulously.

“It can only be auto-immune!”

“And you can only be a pain in the butt,” House told her.

“It’s not…”

“It is – it isn’t. Isn’t that what we’re here for? To diagnose?” House interrupted her, emphasizing the ‘diagnose’. “But we can also play the guessing game with favorites. You want your idea to be the best one? Win the prize? Queen of Diagnostics 2006? Be my guest, prove me wrong, Dr. Cameron. But as long as you can’t give me one good reason why this is an auto-immune reaction when everything else isn’t, we’re going by ‘better ideas first’.”

She glared at him, then turned and stalked off. House smirked a little and lowered himself into his chair. He turned to his computer, checked his emails, found none of them warranted his answer – Cameron could take care of it as always – and then proceeded to surf the net. It was a nice enough occupation to while away some time. It was work-related, so there was an even better excuse – even if the websites dealt with the paranormal, had access codes and passwords and were really well protected.

It had its advantages to be so closely connected to the Nexus sometimes, he mused.

And it helped that as a doctor he knew what to look for, what questions to ask in several discussion forums, and how to read the answers.

*

Two hours later he was none the wiser, except that no one knew any kind of empath who had the strange abilities Wilson had. Someone who was only known under a screen name and didn’t tell House anything about himself guessed that maybe there was a kind of mutation to Wilson’s gene and that’s what had him all over the scale.

House, as a Diagnostic, had long since figured that empathy in Wilson’s case meant that he couldn’t be put into any kind of box. He wasn’t low level, no way. He wasn’t medium either. Sometimes he spiked to acute high level, especially with House. He had also reacted quite strongly to negative emotions directed solely at him, which a low level empath shouldn’t be able to register that painfully.

So what was it?

House mulled it over, thought about the different contributions from the various sources he had asked, and finally he shut down his computer. He wasn’t satisfied with the answers, nor with the implication that Wilson was something no one had ever seen. Something new.

But what kept a paranormal from mutating like human beings did too? Why should the paranormal always remain on one level? Especially with Wilson’s family history. He had empaths in his family and his brother Derek, the loony street bum, was a full blown telepath.

House checked his watch and found it was still three hours till the end of this boring day. He also had two clinic hours to work through. Oh joy.

With a slightly sour twist to his mouth he rose and limped out of Diagnostics to the elevators to get down to the clinic. Best get this behind him right away before he had Cuddy screaming her lungs out.

* * *

When House came back from the clinic, heading straight for Wilson’s office to evade Cameron and her nagging ‘I’m right, so I’m the queen bee’ phase. In House’s eyes Cameron really needed to get laid. Or get laid more. The woman was turning from puppy to raving bloodhound for no apparent reason. Maybe it was because he had appointed Chase as a resident member of the non-existent staff of Diagnostics – so sue him, he had been forced to. Or she was picking up the bad vibes from Foreman, who had become a lot more docile lately. Or she was PMS-ing 24/7. House had no idea and he had bigger problems on his plate than a pissy junior who couldn’t get around the fact that not everything she thought was right, was right.

Definitely a matter of sex.

Speaking of which…

House walked into Wilson’s office to find no one there. So he changed directions and aimed for the cafeteria. It got him a bull’s eye and a surprise. Chase was there, talking to Wilson. House stopped and watched, carefully concealing his presence.

Wilson looked tired, but better than yesterday. The way he was talking to Chase it was business, not some inane chatting. Chase himself looked serious, a lot more serious even when talking to patients, and he was absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. Now and then Wilson would flash a quick smile, say something, probably to answer Chase’s questions or comment to something the Australian had said.

They looked relaxed.

And if House weren’t immune to jealousy, he would probably be jealous right now. But several factors spoke against it. Chase was in a steady relationship and House doubted the little wombat was into threesomes. Then there was Wilson himself, who, if he was happy, didn’t stray. His marriages had been faithful until something had happened in his relationship to the then-wife. Then all bets had been off. And in his third and last marriage it had been Julie who had strayed.
Strangely enough, after the first few months of living together with Wilson, the fear that he might one day tire of House had abated. Especially since Wilson had voiced the same fear in the beginning. He was burned by his past and Julie’s betrayal had really left marks on him.

But the development of his empathic powers had changed a lot of things. Their relationship before that had changed things. It wasn’t harmonious, it wasn’t tooth-achingly romantic, but House had started to feel things again that he had thought buried and dead after Stacy.

Dark brown eyes suddenly met his slightly thoughtful gaze and he blinked in surprise. Empath, he mused, smirking at Wilson.

House limped over to the two men, Chase giving him a mildly curious look.

“Plotting world domination?”

“No, just how to work you into a foursome,” was Wilson calm reply.

House stared at his lover for a second, blinking in slight bemusement at the words, then gave him a wolfish smile.

“Wow, Jimmy, I didn’t know… Is lover boy already up to the strenuous activities?” House turned to Chase.

The younger man just smiled angelically. “We’ve been training.”

“I bet. Bunnies.”

“Learned from the best.”

Yes, his little Australian had grown. Especially into a same-sex relationship with a lawyer from New York who wasn’t that bad on the eye, though not House’s type. He was kind of singularly fixed on his empathic lover.

“I heard you’re done for today,” he remarked, raising a brow at Wilson.

“I heard you aren’t.”

House grimaced. “I am. Fully. Clinic duty and all. Let’s go.”

“You know that one of your staff is sitting here, listening in.”

House snorted. “Chase isn’t a tattle-tale.”

At least not any more. The Vogler incident was long past now.

Chase didn’t comment, just gave his boss a neutral look. House grinned and gestured at Wilson to follow. The oncologist fell in step beside him.

House glanced at him. You okay? was the silent question.

It got him a mildly amused glance in reply. No, he wasn’t, really, but it was better.

They walked into Wilson’s office and House closed the door, briefly touching James and pulling him back from his desk and his bag by his coat. Wilson gave a noise of surprise, then House was close enough to brush a kiss over the smoothly shaven cheek.

"So, what did you and Chase talk about like teenage girls? What's your little secret?"

Wilson pulled back a bit and frowned. "It's private."

"It isn't. It's you and the ally talking shop. Spill."

Wilson closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed deeply. "Chase has two theories. First, the fluctuations are because I was triggered late."

"Sounds none too bad." House had thought about that one, too.

"The other is that maybe I've some kind of mutation to my paranormal gene and I'm so far outside known paranormal settings, they have to get a new category for me. He also thinks that since when I'm around you my shields recover, you might be my anchor."

"Anchor?"

Wilson gazed levelly at him, very serious, gaze unwavering. "You recharge me, Greg. I'm not just some weird and freaky paranormal, I'm also quite attached to you."

"I hope you are," House purred.

"Greg…"

House regarded him. "I anchor you?"

"That's what Chase thinks."

"I can also hurt you the most."

"The bad with the good."

"The really painful with the incredibly sexy."

Wilson shook his head in fond exasperation. "I don't know why it's you. Maybe the late rise of my powers had something to do with it. Maybe it's… maybe I imprinted on you."

"You're not some stray kitten, Jimmy. Empaths don't imprint."

"How do you know?"

House shrugged. "Tanner gave me the key to the Nexus library. I browsed a little. Nice reading material."

Wilson gaped at him and House smirked. "You… w-what?"

"Leave the goldfish imitation for home."

"B-but…"

House clamped a hand over his mouth, looking smug. "Your anchor has spoke. And your anchor also says: take time off."

Wilson pried the hand off his mouth. “I can’t.”

“You need it.”

“Greg…”

He fixed his lover with an unrelenting stare. “Do it. A week.”

“With you?” Wilson teased.

He was still holding him, still clutching a corner of the white coat, and House slid his hand up to the small of Wilson’s back. He liked the feel of the other man against him, of the firm muscle, of the more compact form compared to a woman.

“Planning to go skiing? Hiking?” House rumbled. “I’ll be a hoot. Me sitting there, watching you and the ski bunnies.”

Wilson’s expression was hard to read. “A week. Just us. No distractions.”

"Not even a bikini girl?"

"No."

House looked crestfallen. "Aw, shucks."

Wilson didn't comment, just looked at him.

“Where?” House finally asked.

“I’ll find a spot.”

“Cuddy will kill me.”

“She’ll thank me for getting you away from here.”

“She any good in bed?” House taunted.

“You’re better.”

“Silver-tongued charmer.”

“You love it.”

Their faces were only an inch apart, but neither bridged the last distance. House was looking hard into the chocolate depths, trying to read how receptive his lover was. It got him a smile and Wilson moved forward kissing him.

“What happened to the office rule?” House murmured after they parted.

“Sometimes I ignore the rules.”

“Uh-huh. Daring Jimmy Wilson.”

“It got me you.”

“True. So, home? A week off?”

Wilson was so enticingly close to him, House was tempted to throw a lot more out the window to get more than a kiss, but even he could have an iron control.

“I’ll talk to Cuddy.”

“So will I.”

“Greg, no…”

“She’ll agree with me right away.”

“And if she won’t.”

House grinned widely. “Oh, she will.”

It got him a frown, but Wilson didn’t ask more questions. They separated, Wilson packed his stuff, and left. House had come in by bike and he left on it, tearing past Wilson’s Volvo. He knew it would get him an earful sometime tonight, though he planned to shut the complaining mouth right away.

* * *

The week dragged on and Wilson's work load didn't lighten. House wasn't sure when his lover was coming or going, and Wilson probably didn't know either. That Cuddy had started another fundraiser campaign only added to it. The board meetings dragged on, money was needed, the fundraiser was planned, and like the last time it would be a poker game. House didn't mind. What he minded were Wilson's thinning shields. His lover wasn't receptive all the time, but sometimes something got through into the exhausted mind, and it showed.

Chase was shadowing Wilson a little more than normally, being discrete, running interference as only allies could. House just watched, aware that if he entered this little game now, too, Wilson would go on the defensive. He still hadn't approached Cuddy about a vacation, and he had told House he would do so after the fundraiser.

That was two weeks after their initial conversation. Two weeks of watching James Wilson suffer and drag himself through every day. House just about had it.

So he played along with the others, won a fair share of games, and part of him watched Wilson intermingle, play his own hands. He didn't look any more stressed than normally, so that was okay, and somewhere throughout the evening he seemed to relax even more.
Good.

*

There's something about a man in a tux. Well, something about a man in a tux, not wearing his binder, or his jacket. Wilson looked at his lover and best friend, dressed in only the white dress shirt, the long black pants, and the shiny black shoes. The topmost buttons of the dress shirt were undone. House had shaved – well, sometime. Wilson couldn't remember seeing him clean and smooth shaven ever. There was always a stubble, and this stubble was… sexy.

He briefly closed his eyes.

No, no, no…

But even behind his closed eye lids he saw the man in the formal wear, his lover, a man who stirred something inside him he had never known existed. Sure, he had had sex with men before House, but this was special. Not because both of them were paranormals. Not because of what had brought them together, Wilson near-death experience. It was something deeply rooted inside them. At least in Wilson it was deeply rooted and while he liked to blame the empathy for it, it couldn't be the sole reason. Attraction had been there before he had really realized his potential, his abilities.

The fundraiser was over, the hospital lobby had been returned to its normal appearance. No gambling tables, no people in evening dresses, no champagne or little snacks. Almost everyone had gone home. Only the cleaning crew lingered and those who had the early shift today had already started to file in.

Wilson's shields had held, much to his own surprise, and barely a flicker had come through that wasn't wanted. House's emotions of triumph had been clear as day, as had been his glee, and Wilson had been happy with him when he had won – once again, the second time at a fundraiser.
Standing on the balcony in the growing light of the rising sun, House appeared like a statue, looking out over the still very silent world. Wilson watched him in turn, his appreciative gaze going over the tall, slender form.

"Are you going to keep standing there?" House's voice interrupted his studies.

"Yeah," he answered lightly.

Intense blue eyes gazed at him and House's lips twisted into a little smirk. "Like the view?"

Wilson grinned. "I do."

He swung his legs over the wall separating their two balconies and walked up to his lover. Without bothering to check if anyone was watching, he slid arm around House's waist and brought their lips together.

House made that little sound that had Wilson want to push him up against the wall and sink to his knees, but instead he tightened his hold and opened his lips, coaxing House into doing the same.
The kiss was… a kiss. But still hungry and very hot. Not weak-in-the-knees-fuck-me-now hot, but close. The whole evening Wilson had been trying to forget that the man in the tux next to him was off limits. Sure, the hospital knew, but they had never made out in the open, never so much as called each other pet names, and to be honest, Wilson didn't want the mushy stuff any more than House. He wasn't eighteen any more.

The last weeks had been hell and he needed this closeness, like an anchor, and all they had done at home was cuddle and fondle and kiss, with a handjob or blowjob, and once they had slept together. It was maybe pent-up need, or maybe it was his battered mind seeking the only shelter it knew, Wilson didn't care.

The hand not holding the cane slid down his lower back and to his butt cheeks, squeezing one. Wilson broke the kiss, looking into the slightly dancing blue eyes.

"Why, Dr. Wilson," House rumbled. "I didn't know… Tux turns you on?"

Caught. Wilson had never had a chance to hide what he felt, at least not from this man. He stroked a hand over the dress shirt.

"You in a tux," he murmured.

"Wanna make out on the balcony?"

"I'd love to fuck you on the balcony…"

House's eyes widened minutely. Wilson grinned. It wasn't easy to shock his lover, but that had worked.

"Kinky," was the breathy reply.

"But not today. Not on this balcony," Wilson added.

"Scaredy cat."

He smiled. "I like my job. And I like my privacy. I'm not an exhibitionist like some people…"

"Spoil sport."

"Can we stop the name calling and go home?"

House answered that with another kiss, now bring their hips more tightly together, and Wilson felt the rising evidence of his arousal. At this pace, they wouldn't make it home.

"Think you can make it?" the older man teased.

"Think you can?" Wilson retorted.

"Race you."

Wilson chuckled and stole another kiss. "You always win the races."

"Because I'm that good." House captured his mouth. "And when we come back on Monday, you'll talk to Cuddy or I will."

"Can we talk about this after?" Wilson groaned.

The next kiss was of bruising strength. "We will talk," House promised darkly. "And you will talk. With Cuddy. Or I will. For sure."!

It was a promise and Wilson knew it. He just nodded, reluctantly stepping back. They had to get home before he completely lost it and truly sank to his knees out here. His desire was rising steadily.

House seemed to understand because he smirked widely, then limped back into the office to grab his jacket and backpack. Wilson followed hurriedly.

*

The door closed and Wilson found himself pushed against it, his mouth devoured by a harsh and hungry kiss that seemed to want to smother him. House's hands were everywhere, on his waist, his hips, his ass, and sliding into his groin, squeezing. Wilson's head connected with the door, exposing his throat, and his lover took the opportunity to attack there as well, leaving a bite mark that had Wilson groan in protest.

Heated blue eyes met dark brown ones.

House stepped away, smiling, then limped off toward the bedroom. Wilson didn't need more of an invitation.

* * *

It was strange, House mused to himself. It was strange what a few well-placed words, coupled with a glare and one or two remarks could do. Wonders. They could do wonders. Then again. Dr. Lisa Cuddy wasn’t the one to be cowed by his glares and she had probably just done what she had wanted to do: get him out of the hospital for two weeks in a row.

Chase had given him his holy oath not to mess up too badly, and House thought that yes, maybe he didn’t have to pick up the pieces afterwards. Hopefully no one would die.

“Stop thinking,” a sleepy voice murmured.

House looked at the man next to him on the wooden porch that overlooked a hill and the forest not far away. Wilson was stretched out on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms, only dressed in shorts. He looked edible, House thought. Edible and relaxed and totally at peace with himself.

“Can hear the wheels turning,” the oncologist added, cracking one eyes open.

“Just appreciating the topography,” House answered with a very wide grin, eyes roaming over Wilson’s sun-warmed form.

How he had been able to get this cottage booked for ten days was beyond House, but he wouldn’t put it past his lover to hand over huge amounts of money for blackmail purposes. As it was, House was along for the ride to enjoy himself, and enjoy he did. The Jacuzzi was a dream, the sauna appreciated, the bed wide enough for them and their antics, and Wilson had been a very willing bed bunny.

He smirked.

No bushy tail. All lean and smooth and just right for him.

James sighed and rolled onto his back, giving House even more to grin at. There was no one around for miles to be offended – not that House really cared. And there was no one giving them funny looks and calling the mob with the pitch forks and the tar and feathers. Just them.

Nice.

House leaned closer, bending down a little, and kissed the inviting lips. Wilson gave a hum of pleasure and opened up, responding in kind. House trailed a hand over the naked, warm skin, smiling at the response.

“How open are you?” he asked softly.

“Just you,” was the equally soft reply.

Feeling just him. There was no one else.

“I just need to get the hang of these shifts, Greg,” Wilson continued, voice calm and serious.

“It’s not normal.”

“I know.”

“Chase?”

“And my own research. And I bet you did yours, too.”

“I always do my homework.”

Wilson let one hand draw random patterns on House’s chest. “I can feel you, Greg. Intensely. In a good way. I like to feel you. The spikes I can shield from. Everything else is… new and strange and discomforting. I think I can handle it in time. I just don’t know when my normal shields suddenly evaporate and everything comes down around me.”

House was silent, just looking at the man he loved. He had a vague idea what Wilson was dealing with, had seen the effect his own father’s hatred of Wilson had done to his lover, but he could never empathize. He would never be able to imagine what it was like to feel these spikes.

“You can still change your life and become a hermit,” he teased gently.

It got him a frown. “Right.”

“I’d even come and visit.”

“Riiight.”

House captured his lover’s mouth in another kiss, felt the hand on his chest clench into his shirt, pull him closer, and he smoothly slid over the prone man.

“Nature sex, Jimmy?” he purred.

“I prefer a bed.”

“I’ve had fantasies about this,” House continued. “You, me, out in the open, you blowing me…”

The dark eyes grew even darker with rising lust.

“You’d like that, “ House crowed.

Wilson slipped a hand down south and over the bulge and House bucked into it with a suppressed moan.

“So would you.”

“I always like your mouth.”

“Figures.” Wilson squeezed him lightly and House groaned.

“Damn.”

“How about a little fantasy fulfillment then?” Wilson offered roughly.

House humped lightly against the clever hand, biting his lower lip. “I’m all for it.”

“I knew you would.”

“Hey, I offered.”

Wilson pushed him onto the porch and rolled over to straddle the taller form. “I know. So am I.”
 
 

There was no one around to hear the groans and cries of pleasure, the pleas and the begging. There was only nature and the insects and mammals and birds didn't care what the two humans did outside or inside the cottage.