Towards Florenzen
Jul. 21st, 2011 09:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaSummary: This is a sequel to my fic At the end of the tunnel. House manages to avoid the dreaded conversation with Wilson, but not its consequences.
Rating: R for non-explicit sex, vigorous innuendo, tasteless final line, advertisement. Contains artistic image of male frontal nudity.
Note: Fulfills requirements of "Hug Wilson" challenge. Also contains Sekret Woid #7 Laryngitis.
Word Count: ~1300
Disclaimer: Don't own.
"So, time to start schlepping our suitcases up the stairs?"
House looked sadly at the steep staircase starting in front of the hotel's reception. The building was handsome, but so old that it obviously couldn't have a lift, and their bedroom was on the third floor. He braced himself for the climb and even more for the conversation that he knew was to come - for the possible end of a friendship halfway through a long-planned vacation.
"House, there is a lift, but we have no time to go up to our rooms now since the train was delayed. I booked us for a museum visit in…" (he checked his watch) "… thirty minutes, so we better hurry. This way we'll have time for an espresso."
"Wilson, you… you really want me to walk around? It's a furnace out there!"
"It's summer, House. The place we're going to has air conditioning and is very close."
House growled. "And you thought walking around in a museum was a good pastime for a cripple."
"No. We won't be walking around. Let's go."
"What's that?" House eyed skeptically the mysterious object Wilson was carrying, after receiving it from the concierge.
"You'll see soon."
The moment they stepped out he wanted to go back in. The heat was crazy. And what about the humidity? This town should be closed down for health reasons. At least in July.
Five minutes later they were sitting in an (air-conditioned) café and drinking something called caffè shakerato. The expression, with its mixture of English and Italian, was ridiculous, but House had to admit the stuff tasted good, and was refreshingly cool.
Soon they were showing their tickets and skipping a very long queue of tourists; they entered a large, sparingly decorated room with a high ceiling, full of people and noise and House snorted. What could be worth such a fuss?
And then he saw it. It's one thing to have seen something as a fridge magnet, and a completely different one when 17 feet of white, silky naked marble stand in front of you.
"So, Wilson, we went all this way here to see a naked Jew?"
Wilson scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, he doesn't look so Jewish to me. Unless his mohel was extremely incompetent, that is."
Wilson had a point, and he had also been right in planning this visit: House couldn't keep his eyes off the statue. At least his height allowed him to look over the heads of most of the visitors. He was unreasonably sorry that he wasn't allowed to touch it - the marble managed to look warm, not cold, like a real, life skin.
"You can sit down if you want, House."
The mysterious object Wilson had brought turned out to be a folding seat. But House didn't want to sit down. He started circling the statue, admiring the details, impressed by the interplay of sculpting ability, anatomical knowledge, and sheer love of the male human form. The David alone was sufficient proof Michelangelo wasn't straight.
His leg slowly reminded him it was time to sit down, and he started looking for Wilson, whom he had all but forgotten: he turned around and found him staring not at the statue but at himself. Wilson quickly collected himself and opened the fold-out chair, and House continued to look at the statue with some difficulty.
Soon afterwards he heard Wilson coughing.
"I think I'm getting laryingitis." His voice was barely audible in the noisy room.
"Let's go back to our hotel. My leg is killing me anyway."
_____
Their room had a double bed instead of the two twins they had requested, and House now lay exhausted on it, dressed only in his boxers because of the very weak A/C. His leg was still hurting, and he missed his Vicodin, although a lukewarm bath had improved the situation somewhat. The hotel TV only had channels in Italian, so he started flipping through the advertisement material in the drawer of his bedside table, as the noise from Wilson's shower droned on.
To his surprise, a colorful pamphlet was titled "A guide to gay Florence". What kind of hotel had Wilson booked? Then he realized that there must have been a misunderstanding, which also explained the double bed. Normally they would have laughed at this together: instead, he felt even more nervous and worried.
He started going through the pamphlet, ignoring ads for saunas, cruising areas, and bars with dark rooms. Until he saw a picture of the David, followed by lengthy literary quotations. He read twice the opening sentence:
He kept looking at the image of the statue, recalling how he'd been made aware of the passion a man had felt for the body of another five centuries earlier. And the thought came with a bird's eye view of the twenty years of his life he had shared with Wilson.
The door of the bathroom opened, and the man he was thinking stood in front of him, his hair wet and tousled, wearing only a towel; he slowly sat down on a corner of the bed, looking as nervous as House felt.
"Is it time to talk now?"
Wilson shook his head, mouthed a soundless "can't" pointing to his throat. He seemed sicker than before: the red of the eyes and the dark shades around them made his face look paler than usual.
In fact, his skin was white and creamy all over: a vein sticking out on his arm reminded House of the statue they had recently seen. Again, he felt a desire to combine touch with sight, and this time there was no silk rope to stop him, no resistance when he pushed his friend to lie down near him.
Wilson's body seemed to melt in his arms, molding itself on his own more angular form, skin touching skin all over their almost equal lengths. Dark hair tangled with scruff, warm air was exhaled so close to House's torso that he could compare their respiration and heart rhythms.
Slowly, tentatively, Wilson's lips opened, and his tongue flickered House's skin, causing a shiver to ripple through: he pulled away immediately and looked up, his brown eyes asking silently for permission. House nodded and closed his own eyes, forcing himself to ignore the difficulties of the future, concentrating on the here and now.
____
"Time for dinner, I think."
House couldn't deny his own hunger, now that a deeper one had been sated. Yet he couldn't resist one more languorous kiss before releasing the man he held tight in his arms.
"I'll change all our reservations for the rest of the trip to double beds."
"Good idea." Wilson's dimpled smile flashed briefly, and looked so attractive that House considered skipping dinner and moving on to florenzen there and then. The doctor in him stopped this impulse: sick people need regular meals.
"At least now you're speaking better."
The smile became positively mischievous. "A warm drink always helps."
Rating: R for non-explicit sex, vigorous innuendo, tasteless final line, advertisement. Contains artistic image of male frontal nudity.
Note: Fulfills requirements of "Hug Wilson" challenge. Also contains Sekret Woid #7 Laryngitis.
Word Count: ~1300
Disclaimer: Don't own.
"So, time to start schlepping our suitcases up the stairs?"
House looked sadly at the steep staircase starting in front of the hotel's reception. The building was handsome, but so old that it obviously couldn't have a lift, and their bedroom was on the third floor. He braced himself for the climb and even more for the conversation that he knew was to come - for the possible end of a friendship halfway through a long-planned vacation.
"House, there is a lift, but we have no time to go up to our rooms now since the train was delayed. I booked us for a museum visit in…" (he checked his watch) "… thirty minutes, so we better hurry. This way we'll have time for an espresso."
"Wilson, you… you really want me to walk around? It's a furnace out there!"
"It's summer, House. The place we're going to has air conditioning and is very close."
House growled. "And you thought walking around in a museum was a good pastime for a cripple."
"No. We won't be walking around. Let's go."
"What's that?" House eyed skeptically the mysterious object Wilson was carrying, after receiving it from the concierge.
"You'll see soon."
The moment they stepped out he wanted to go back in. The heat was crazy. And what about the humidity? This town should be closed down for health reasons. At least in July.
Five minutes later they were sitting in an (air-conditioned) café and drinking something called caffè shakerato. The expression, with its mixture of English and Italian, was ridiculous, but House had to admit the stuff tasted good, and was refreshingly cool.
Soon they were showing their tickets and skipping a very long queue of tourists; they entered a large, sparingly decorated room with a high ceiling, full of people and noise and House snorted. What could be worth such a fuss?
And then he saw it. It's one thing to have seen something as a fridge magnet, and a completely different one when 17 feet of white, silky naked marble stand in front of you.
"So, Wilson, we went all this way here to see a naked Jew?"
Wilson scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, he doesn't look so Jewish to me. Unless his mohel was extremely incompetent, that is."
Wilson had a point, and he had also been right in planning this visit: House couldn't keep his eyes off the statue. At least his height allowed him to look over the heads of most of the visitors. He was unreasonably sorry that he wasn't allowed to touch it - the marble managed to look warm, not cold, like a real, life skin.
"You can sit down if you want, House."
The mysterious object Wilson had brought turned out to be a folding seat. But House didn't want to sit down. He started circling the statue, admiring the details, impressed by the interplay of sculpting ability, anatomical knowledge, and sheer love of the male human form. The David alone was sufficient proof Michelangelo wasn't straight.
His leg slowly reminded him it was time to sit down, and he started looking for Wilson, whom he had all but forgotten: he turned around and found him staring not at the statue but at himself. Wilson quickly collected himself and opened the fold-out chair, and House continued to look at the statue with some difficulty.
Soon afterwards he heard Wilson coughing.
"I think I'm getting laryingitis." His voice was barely audible in the noisy room.
"Let's go back to our hotel. My leg is killing me anyway."
_____
Their room had a double bed instead of the two twins they had requested, and House now lay exhausted on it, dressed only in his boxers because of the very weak A/C. His leg was still hurting, and he missed his Vicodin, although a lukewarm bath had improved the situation somewhat. The hotel TV only had channels in Italian, so he started flipping through the advertisement material in the drawer of his bedside table, as the noise from Wilson's shower droned on.
To his surprise, a colorful pamphlet was titled "A guide to gay Florence". What kind of hotel had Wilson booked? Then he realized that there must have been a misunderstanding, which also explained the double bed. Normally they would have laughed at this together: instead, he felt even more nervous and worried.
He started going through the pamphlet, ignoring ads for saunas, cruising areas, and bars with dark rooms. Until he saw a picture of the David, followed by lengthy literary quotations. He read twice the opening sentence:
Given its breadth, the ramifications of male sodomitical practices touched all Florentines in one way or another. So famous was the city on the Arno for promoting it, that in Germany, homosexual sex was described by the verb florenzen, and in France it was called "the Florentine vice."
He kept looking at the image of the statue, recalling how he'd been made aware of the passion a man had felt for the body of another five centuries earlier. And the thought came with a bird's eye view of the twenty years of his life he had shared with Wilson.
The door of the bathroom opened, and the man he was thinking stood in front of him, his hair wet and tousled, wearing only a towel; he slowly sat down on a corner of the bed, looking as nervous as House felt.
"Is it time to talk now?"
Wilson shook his head, mouthed a soundless "can't" pointing to his throat. He seemed sicker than before: the red of the eyes and the dark shades around them made his face look paler than usual.
In fact, his skin was white and creamy all over: a vein sticking out on his arm reminded House of the statue they had recently seen. Again, he felt a desire to combine touch with sight, and this time there was no silk rope to stop him, no resistance when he pushed his friend to lie down near him.
Wilson's body seemed to melt in his arms, molding itself on his own more angular form, skin touching skin all over their almost equal lengths. Dark hair tangled with scruff, warm air was exhaled so close to House's torso that he could compare their respiration and heart rhythms.
Slowly, tentatively, Wilson's lips opened, and his tongue flickered House's skin, causing a shiver to ripple through: he pulled away immediately and looked up, his brown eyes asking silently for permission. House nodded and closed his own eyes, forcing himself to ignore the difficulties of the future, concentrating on the here and now.
____
"Time for dinner, I think."
House couldn't deny his own hunger, now that a deeper one had been sated. Yet he couldn't resist one more languorous kiss before releasing the man he held tight in his arms.
"I'll change all our reservations for the rest of the trip to double beds."
"Good idea." Wilson's dimpled smile flashed briefly, and looked so attractive that House considered skipping dinner and moving on to florenzen there and then. The doctor in him stopped this impulse: sick people need regular meals.
"At least now you're speaking better."
The smile became positively mischievous. "A warm drink always helps."
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no subject
Date: 2011-07-21 08:50 pm (UTC)TMI time: when I met my husband, he was built almost exactly like that statue, except his,er,area matched his hands and feet. I AM ONE LUCKY WOMAN.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-21 08:58 pm (UTC)I think we're supposed to think David is a grow-er, not a show-er.
But you're a lucky lady anyway.
[tmi: I'm very worried that sometime in the future my twin sons will be upset by one of them being twice the length of the other. In the area, you know. Since birth.]
no subject
Date: 2011-07-22 01:13 am (UTC)I get the feeling you were at least partially inspired by my telling you I have that very fridge magnet.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-22 08:10 am (UTC)But yes, the contrast between David as a fridge magnet and the real thing was my main intuition - I remembered being floored just by the comparison between the actual David and its copy I was used to. You must get to Europe once.
Thank you so much for reading and inspiring!
no subject
Date: 2011-07-24 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-22 05:28 am (UTC)Just the descriptions of Wilson's skin... creamy and flushed... guh!
no subject
Date: 2011-07-22 08:11 am (UTC)Thank you so much for liking this, it was a bit too long but I had to explain things without words.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-22 10:35 am (UTC)And now would be the perfect time to have a House/Wilson sex scene on the show, because HL is so tanned at the moment! And I bet RSL is just as pale as always! Perfect harmony! :D
no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-23 06:44 am (UTC)[incompetent mohel]
I've been walking past copies of that statue for half my life and never noticed anything, but as I've never seen a cut cock in RL (neither, I think, had Michelangelo) it's maybe not surprising I had to find this mentioned on the internet.