The Truth 7/9

[damigella]

Title: The Truth 7/9
Author: damigella
Spoilers: Fic starts at the end of S7E8 then goes AU
Warning: Slash, eventually. Adult themes.
Rating: NC-17 (M)
Word count: 2600 approx.
Disclaimer: don't own anything, except my hope.
Summary: Second person, Wilson's POV. 
Author's note: This chapter has been incredibly hard to write. I trashed two previous versions (which were very different from this one and from each other) and even the final version underwent a number of substantial revisions. No words can adequately express my debt towards my beta reader yarroway . Her contribution has been fundamental on the contents level.


Back to Chapter 6

You've been working in a slightly confused state the whole day, your attention divided between recollections from yesterday evening and wishes and fears for the coming evening. And the weekend. And the rest of your life. Both your lives.

At 5 pm you decide to call it a day, and stop in at Diagnostics' office. House is there with his team, desperately trying to figure out what his patient has before her liver gives up. It's unclear whether he will come home this evening at all. You propose to pick up some take out for all of them before you head home. House raises his eyes briefly and thanks you; the others look at each other in wonder at this unusual behavior. You're just glad they can't see the longing in his eyes.

You're woken up at 2 am by House sneaking into bed. It takes you two minutes to regain consciousness enough to realize why he's there. You hug him and he hugs you back. He mutters that he almost lost the patient, but finally a remark by Taub made him understand what the problem was and she's now going to get better. Soon House falls asleep, and you do the same.

**********

"Should I expect macadamia nuts pancakes every Saturday and Sunday morning? I could get used to that." House walks into the living room at 9.30; you tiptoed out more than an hour ago to prepare breakfast. "Although I also like blueberry for a change."

"Sorry, I already booked us a brunch for tomorrow."

"This is really good." House licks his fingers after the last pancake, an operation you observe with undisguised fascination. "So what are we up to today?"

"I thought we would spend some time in bed." You blush, and look at House, who looks uncharacteristically relaxed. "That is, unless you changed your mind."

"I didn't and I'm not going to. By the way, the reason you're feeling so hot is that I've cranked up the heating. I think we should get out of our clothes now and put them on again tomorrow when we go out for brunch."

You pour yourself one more cup of coffee. "House, we're not twenty anymore. The whole day?"

House smiles mischievously. "I want to take this really slow. I want to learn to know your body as well as I know your heart."

*****

You begin with a purely sensual exploration. Looking and touching and smelling and tasting. Your fingers go through thinning hair, glide over the trained, taut muscles on the neck and the shoulders, down the strong back, the fuzz-covered buttocks and then the asymmetric thighs and legs, your hand barely touching the wounded right one. Your hands play with his feet, marveling at how young and soft they feel (maybe wearing expensive trainers is a healthy thing to do). And then you climb up again, your hands sliding on the outside of legs and thighs so as to avoid both the scar and the genital area, and reconnecting on the belly, following the thin hairline up to the chest, and there opening up and covering the chest muscles, a small, hard nipple at the center of each of your palms, your fingertips caressing the collarbones.

Then you relax and give your lover's hands time to also get to slowly know you; he marvels at the softness of your skin and seems unfazed by the inch of extra fat the last ten years have stored around your waist.

Finally, you ask wordlessly for permission to look at his scar and touch it. You know how shy he is about it. But he allows you: at your first touch he's very tense. The contrast between the actual scar and the nearby healthy skin is weird. You slowly start caressing near the scar; his breathing becomes more regular, and you try pressing a bit harder, like in a very soft massage. At first he tenses again, but then he relaxes and moves his leg a bit so as to give you more access. You keep pressing, increasing slightly and avoiding the scar. When you lift your head you notice that House has lifted himself on an elbow and is looking at what you're doing.

"Feels good?" you ask.

He whispers "You're not... disgusted?"

You resume what you're doing. "No."

Soon House gestures it's enough.

Your attention focuses slowly on each other's genitals. It is House that begins this, by gently introducing you to the only part of his anatomy (apart from the injured leg) that is functionally different from yours: you had somehow forgotten about the existence of foreskins, and at first you're worried that this will make oral sex even more awkward. Eventually you start playing with it, enjoying both the unusual feeling and House's obvious pleasure. For a very brief moment you even wish you had still a foreskin yourself.

Then, suddenly, House's head is between your legs, and your brain switches off. When you resurface all you want is to reciprocate. And it feels incredibly good. You smell and taste House. You caress. You lick. And then a frenzy takes you, and you try to gulp down everything at once, and gag; he gently pulls you back, warns you to take it easy, and suggests a more comfortable position. You follow his suggestion and you feel every moment of his pleasure as if it were yours.

Afterward, as you both lie near each other, your legs entwined with House's right one on top, you wonder how could you ever have thought that this would be strange, or wrong.

*******

In the end you both get dressed for lunch. Shorts and t-shirt, since the heating is still very high. The delivery guy from the Thai restaurant eyes you suspiciously but doesn't make any comment.

At lunch, as by mutual consent, you don't talk about what has just happened. Instead, House explains in detail what precisely the problem was with his patient, and he even finds the time to call at the hospital and check that her recovery is going according to plan.

You share with him the story of the twelve year old boy to whom a desperate attempt at an experimental chemotherapy jas given a temporary remission. Maybe for some months only, but he can live a normal life again. House understands your happiness and your pain: as an oncologist, unfortunately, sometimes a little extra time and health is all your technical ability can offer your patients.

While you're finishing tidying up after lunch, House silently walks behind you; he leans the cane against the kitchen counter, and his strong arms hold you at the waist. You can feel his warm breath on your neck. You can also feel that despite not being teenagers anymore, you are both ready for sex again.

Suddenly, the decision to take everything very slow seems absurd and wrong. What are you waiting for? You've waited years already. You've been thinking and preparing for this moment for months, knowing, worrying and sometimes expecting that it might never happen, but you have done your part of the work and know precisely what you want. 

And now it is time to tell House. You turn around, take him in your arms, give him a long, deep kiss. You motion you both to sit down on the couch, and kiss again. And then you move your mouth near his ear, because as sure as you are of what you now want to say, you know it will be hard enough to whisper it. You might not manage to say it out loud.

"I know we agreed to go slowly, but I can't wait anymore. I want to feel you inside me. I am frightened that I won't like it, or that it will hurt, but my fear will never go away until I try. And my desire is stronger than my fear." You move your face so as to look at him in the eyes; your voice regains its usual level. "If you also want to, of course."

House looks almost frightened. He turns his eyes away, and thinks. And then he starts speaking, still not looking at you. "Yes, I want to. I'm just as afraid as you are, though." He pauses, looking for words. He doesn't like words. "I haven't done this in a long time." His hands search yours, hold yours very tight. 

There's something else you have to tell him. Now. "I... I never did anything of the kind. Ever." It's little more than a whisper. From the way House squeezes your hands, as if afraid you'll fall if he lets you go, you realize that he heard you.

There's a long pause, during which he still doesn't look at you. When he speaks again, his voice is almost inaudible; the words come out slowly.  "Now I'm even more worried. I... I want to give you pleasure, not pain. But I don't know that I can do one without the other." Finally, he turns to look at you. His eyes are like a blue fire now, his voice strong and steady. "I want to feel you inside me, too."

*******

"I didn't know this place existed." House is obviously impressed. Your brunch reservation is in a hotel suite. The table where you're sitting faces a bow window, which looks out on an enclosed small garden full of flowers surrounding a pond. Side tables are covered with food and drinks, and a telephone is there to order anything you want freshly cooked. Behind the half-open doors one can see a king size bed.

"I actually saw it with Julie, while researching for places for our wedding. It's usually rented for honeymoon couples." You maybe should be embarrassed, but you're not. "Anyway, I chose it because I think we have a lot to talk about, and it seemed better to do so in private, but on... neutral ground."

"Is there so much to say? Unless you've been very convincingly faking, I think there are no doubts that the sex part of our relationship is going to work."

"Oh, yes. Almost too much." You smile, and House can't refrain from laughing.

"Are you sore?" he asks.

"A little bit. But then again, not really. It's just like my body has discovered an emptiness of which it was not aware. A gap. A space which yearns to be filled. A space for you, within me. Like my body can't forget what we did any more than my brain can."

"Sounds good." House's eyes focus on you. He stares at you for what seems like eternity, but is probably a minute. "You're right, we have to talk. I owe this to you and to your courage and honesty." 

And then it's like a dam has broken. He keeps talking, holding your right hand with his left as if to steady himself, to get from inside you the strength he needs to express his feelings. His eyes are focused on something outside the window. Maybe on nothing. You understand that now it's time for you to listen.

"When you told me you had no experience whatsoever I almost freaked out. I feared that the combined pressure of you being in love with me for so long, our friendship, and your virginity would be too much for you to enjoy this as you should. I was, and am, desperately afraid of hurting you."

House's voice becomes quieter, like a faraway thunder. "And deeper yet, there was the fear whether I would be able to enjoy physical pleasure with you. I've had sex with women only for almost twenty years now. I didn't know if I could give you what you wanted, and I didn't know if I would like what you had to give me. And... I didn't want to pretend I liked it as much as I like it with women if I didn't."

His voice raises again, a recent anger clearly reverberating in it. "My relationship with Cuddy was built on lies. On me pretending to like being the way she wanted me to be. Not in bed, that was never the problem, but in every other moment of my life. And to keep her happy I would lie to her, and lie to myself. Or, more often, just keep my mouth shout. But silence can be a lie, too."

"I... I don't want to lie to you. Ever. We are together because you had the strength to tell me the truth. When we were spending time together during Cuddy's recovery, I slowly noticed that with you I never had to lie. Not even by being silent. I got used to a relationship based on truth. I didn't want to go back to silence and lies."

House is silent, still not looking at you. You manage to get a glimpse of his face. He looks exhausted and satisfied. As if he had set up for himself a difficult chore, and it is now complete.  He slowly turns around to face you. His hands are shaking in yours.

The doorbell rings. "Come in!" The food you ordered has arrived, and you start eating.

******

The red glow of the afternoon fills the bedroom. All your physical appetites sated, you're relaxing, enjoying the still unfamiliar feel of your naked skins in close contact, sharing a common warmth under the blanket. Music comes out of House's iPod via the room's amplifier system. You've been silent for a while, your head on House's left shoulder, the fingers of his right hand playing with your hair. There's something you don't want to ask. But you need to. You collect your strength.

"House... I know it's early to ask, but where are we going? What kind of relationship do you want us to have?" 

A pause follows. Then House surprises you by quoting your own words back to you. "Many months ago you said you wanted me as a spouse. Maybe you can explain a bit more."

"I want a commitment. From both of us. A bond for a long time. For life."

"What else do you want? A wedding? A house with a picket fence, a dog and 2.5 children?"

"Not unless you absolutely want that. I think I'll be happy with you alone." You pass your fingers over the bridge of your nose. "I'm frightened. None of my marriages worked. And I seem to be unable to stay faithful."

House turns your head delicately, so that you face each other, and stares at you. All you can see is the shining blue of his eyes. "I want the same you want. I wouldn't have risked our friendship for a few tumbles in bed. I... I will need to trust you. By that I don't mean you can't physically want another person or be with them."

You can't move your body, or your eyes. All your being is concentrated on what House is saying. He has obviously been thinking about this a lot. Maybe as much as you have. You listen.

"It means that our relationship is a given. The cornerstone. The pivot of our lives. If there's someone else you want to spend time with, watching movies or knitting scarves or having sex, fine. But this person, man or woman, must know that we're in a committed relationship. The center of our lives." Is it possible that his eyes are getting more blue?

"This is my proposal. This is how I want our relationship to be. And I don't want to hide, either. You didn't hide your wives and you won't hide me." He's panting slightly, as after a physical effort. "Do you think you could accept this?"

"I need to think about this. I'm not sure I can do it."

"Do you want to do it?"

"Yes! More than anything else. I'm just afraid I will fail."

"Let's take this one step at a time. Let's try it."

Author's note: That was exhausting. I have to repeat my infinite gratitude to my amazing beta reader yarroway .

Chapter 8

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/_slytherin_girl/]

Another wonderful chapter. I love how Wilson is dealing with everything in a healthy way after his therapy and how he seems to be inspiring the same in House.

[damigella-314.livejournal.com]

"he seems to be inspiring the same in House"
I actually hoped this would come through. That Wilson's working through therapy and his hard earned ability to express himself brings House to express feelings he normally wouldn't be able to put into words.
I'm happy you liked this.

[alternatealto.livejournal.com]

You are writing these two as if they are meant to be together -- which, of course, they are.

I especially enjoy your scene setting -- I want to go to all the rooms you describe, because I can see them so clearly in my mind.

You dealt with the sexual aspect of the relationship with an honest but delicate touch, which works really well for this kind of story. They're guys, so of course the sex is going to be a major focus of what goes on between them -- but you're not letting it eclipse the other aspects of the relationship.

I'm really enjoying this story!

[damigella-314.livejournal.com]

I'm really glad you like it.

And finding the right balance between ignoring the sex and making it the centerpiece of the story was what I found so hard here.

Thank you for commenting.

[flywoman.livejournal.com]

That was exhausting! But in a good way.

I appreciate how challenging this must have been to write, and I hope that you're proud of the way it turned out.

[damigella-314.livejournal.com]

The one person who should be proud is yarroway. She worked with me every step of the way. I have been very lucky.