Can't You See, 11
Nov. 11th, 2011 09:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaThis was so hard to write, although/because the mood lightens.
Chapter 1 and warnings. Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Chapter 11
I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room, part at my laptop and part on the stationary bike I banged into yesterday on first entering the room - "a present from a friend", according to the short braille note taped to the seat.
I sweat profusely and get tired way too fast: I have lost a lot of muscle mass, and I should start exercising. There's something that I almost feel like doing under the shower, but then I recall House's comments and decide to wait.
I'm almost done blowdrying my hair (I know I can't see what I'm doing, but it feels comforting to resume some old habit anyway) when he calls that dinner is ready.
_____
Dinner is not a big production like lunch has been, just a tasty soup and a light salad with crusty, sourdough bread. I even manage to help with the dishwashing, and afterwards we relax on the couch with a beer; it's like the old times except the TV has been replaced by jazz music, a group I don't know with an incredible female vocalist.
"So what did you do this afternoon?"
"I was looking for a job, and I think I've found one."
Maybe his offers weren't so good, after all.
"So who's hiring you now?"
"Oh, not a job for me. I have one already, starting next week. A job for you."
I can't believe my ears. "House, I can't work. I'm blind."
"I noticed that. There's a support group for cancer patients and their families who have expressed great interest in having an oncologist willing to do telephone consultations, explaining possible side effects and giving advice on therapeutic choices, side effects, hospice care and so on. You would start as a volunteer but if it works it could become a paid job, although of course not in the same income bracket as Head of Oncology at PPTH."
I empty my beer, then put it down and think. I think hard. It's not like being a doctor, of course. But still, better than sitting home and listening to an artificial voice reading the news. Then I remember what info is still missing.
"How about you? What is the new job, and in particular where?"
The 'job' House found for me could be done anywhere in the US, in fact anywhere at all, so I can follow him, but I'm frightened by the idea of moving, of getting used to a new place which I never will see.
"It's at Trenton Polyclinic."
A small hospital, and it doesn't have a Department in either Diagnostics or Infectious Diseases. Is House going back to nephrology? My silence must sound like a question.
"Eight to one at the walk-in clinic, weekends free. I have a six months contract, and I may get a renewal if she chooses to stay at home with her baby longer."
"I don't understand. You never liked doing clinic, and now this? Couldn't you really find anything better? This is the kind of job a not too smart kid just out of med school could get."
"I... I did get other offers. Even," there's a pause, "offers from places I didn't apply to. But this was all I could get with a reduced schedule and within easy driving distance from Princeton." The pause is longer, now, and when he speaks again his voice is lower. He sounds embarrassed. "I had already chosen to remain with you if you wanted me. According to Cortes you'd be better off without moving for quite a while."
He has put his career on hold for me, maybe trashed it forever. The little nagging voice that has been bothering me so much tries to suggest that he could change his mind any moment, that the offers probably stay open, but I ignore it. This is the man I love, and who, in his own way, loves me back, even if he probably will never say it.
However, one of the most attractive characteristics of House is his genius as a diagnostician, something he will have no use for in this boring, routine job.
"What about your gift, House? The people only you can save? The job that was your life until you crashed that car?"
The first answer is a sigh. "I know. For the moment I'll work as free-lance consultant. I always had plenty of requests, I'm sure I'll like it better now that the money will go to our bank account and not to PPTH as it used to."
"Our bank account?"
"We should open a joint one."
"House... are you serious?" I gulp, struggling to find words and to keep my voice level. "Should I really think of the two of us as a couple? Do you?"
"I told you I'll be there for you. I am not quite ready to put a label on this, but I'm not walking out. A joint account is just practical if we're sharing a household, you should of course keep your own as well."
I lean on him as the music continues; this time it's the Rolling Stones, House must have found the remote of my stereo. There's something else we need to discuss. Or at least start addressing, and what better moment than now, sitting so close together. I can't think of any euphemism, I'm too scared.
"How about sex?"
"Always an interesting topic. If you want we can share my list of phone number, all quality ladies at affordable prices. Self-abuse is fun, but in the long run not quite enough."
"House, I..."
"Suddenly there's warmth all around my shoulders, and across my chest. It takes me longer than it should to realize I'm held in House's arms.
"Of corse I didn't mean it. I had enough time to think of this while you were still hospitalized. I even discussed it with Cortes."
"What did she say?"
He takes long before he answers, but he holds me tight so the waiting isn't unpleasant.
"Cortes said that we've been so close over the years that living together shouldn't be a problem, if we both want it. Sex, on the other hand... she said many longterm relationships are sexless because the partners aren't a match from that viewpoint. She said we won't know until we try."
"Did she have any opinion on what our chances are?"
"She said you're so sexy she'd be surprised if it doesn't work." House laughs. "No, she didn't, although she looked a bit like she thought it. She said we should take it slow and have low expectations." House pauses. "What is it you want, Wilson?"
"I don't know. Your same sex experiences may go back to college, but I never had any. I just know that I find you attractive."
I remember that he already knows this; the recollection of how precisely he noticed is enough to cause discomfort in my briefs.
"How about we pretend we're teenagers and just fool a bit around?"
The couch moves as his weight shifts, and there's the tickling of scruff on my face, lips touching mine, and he opens his mouth and so do I because I can't separate our lips; his tongue licks mine gently, then explores inside me while he presses our upper bodies together.
I thought I was fully hard but the bulge in my pants grows some more, and I have to quickly reposition it, giving it just a tiny squeeze before letting go. And then the unthinkable happens and a hand that's not mine unzips my slacks, four fingers of warmth seep through the front of my briefs, pushing ever so slightly, then giving one determined, slow and powerful stroke all the way from the tip to my balls; when the fingers make contact with my glans again an lightly squeeze I lose control, wave after wave of pleasure washes over me - and I can't even cry out loud my pleasure and my shame since my mouth is still full of House, who holds me locked in a kiss that's clearly determined to outlast the earthquake going through me.
Once my shivers have abated House lets go of me; he softly caresses my hair as I pant, gasping for air, while the sticky goo on my crotch slowly cools. I'm glad I can't see myself, but he can. I'm as ashamed as I was at fifteen when my mother confronted me about the recurring stains on my bedclothes - that's where my shower habit comes from, and I should have kept it and avoided this mess.
"Thank you."
I probably look confused. House gives me a small kiss on the lips.
"You took my suggestion to behave as teenagers quite literally, didn't you?"
"House, I'm ashamed enough without you making fun of me. Let me go have a shower, please."
"Want me to come along?"
There's no mockery in his voice but I start shaking my head even before I answer. "No, please don't. I need to be alone. To think."
In fact my plan is just the opposite, to avoid thinking as long as possible. I'm frightened by how pleasant it was, by the depth of my longing for his body and for a shared physical pleasure, and I want nothing more than to forget, however briefly.
-----
The warm water has made me feel better and more relaxed, and I use the blowdryer just to get ready faster. It's been a long day and I need to sleep soon.
When I enter the bedroom I hear someone turning pages.
"What are you doing here? I want to go to bed."
I hear a book, or maybe a magazine being closed and put away. And the soft "click" is probably due to the reading glasses being folded away.
"Great, go ahead. I still need to read a bit, the fact I'm between jobs doesn't mean I don't get to keep up with the medical literature."
I slowly realize where his voice exactly comes from. "House... are we going to sleep in the same bed?"
"That's what people who are together usually do. It didn't seem to be a problem last night."
"I... I don't know." I get in bed, but keep my distance. I'm embarrassed again. "Aren't you angry at me? Or disgusted?"
"Because you like me? Of course not. I knew it and I chose to stay. I hope we'll be able to find pleasure in each other in many ways."
I pull all my courage together to ask the next question. Because I owe it to him, although the answer scares me. "How about you? Is there anything I can... do for you?"
"Not now, I'm halfway through a paper. And you look really tired, you should be sleeping soon."
He's right of course. As I lie down I don't even feel like listening to a few minutes of my audiobook. I just close my eyes and drift off, but not before admitting to myself that the faint sound of page turning makes me feel loved much more than any love declaration ever did.
Chapter 1 and warnings. Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Chapter 11
I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room, part at my laptop and part on the stationary bike I banged into yesterday on first entering the room - "a present from a friend", according to the short braille note taped to the seat.
I sweat profusely and get tired way too fast: I have lost a lot of muscle mass, and I should start exercising. There's something that I almost feel like doing under the shower, but then I recall House's comments and decide to wait.
I'm almost done blowdrying my hair (I know I can't see what I'm doing, but it feels comforting to resume some old habit anyway) when he calls that dinner is ready.
_____
Dinner is not a big production like lunch has been, just a tasty soup and a light salad with crusty, sourdough bread. I even manage to help with the dishwashing, and afterwards we relax on the couch with a beer; it's like the old times except the TV has been replaced by jazz music, a group I don't know with an incredible female vocalist.
"So what did you do this afternoon?"
"I was looking for a job, and I think I've found one."
Maybe his offers weren't so good, after all.
"So who's hiring you now?"
"Oh, not a job for me. I have one already, starting next week. A job for you."
I can't believe my ears. "House, I can't work. I'm blind."
"I noticed that. There's a support group for cancer patients and their families who have expressed great interest in having an oncologist willing to do telephone consultations, explaining possible side effects and giving advice on therapeutic choices, side effects, hospice care and so on. You would start as a volunteer but if it works it could become a paid job, although of course not in the same income bracket as Head of Oncology at PPTH."
I empty my beer, then put it down and think. I think hard. It's not like being a doctor, of course. But still, better than sitting home and listening to an artificial voice reading the news. Then I remember what info is still missing.
"How about you? What is the new job, and in particular where?"
The 'job' House found for me could be done anywhere in the US, in fact anywhere at all, so I can follow him, but I'm frightened by the idea of moving, of getting used to a new place which I never will see.
"It's at Trenton Polyclinic."
A small hospital, and it doesn't have a Department in either Diagnostics or Infectious Diseases. Is House going back to nephrology? My silence must sound like a question.
"Eight to one at the walk-in clinic, weekends free. I have a six months contract, and I may get a renewal if she chooses to stay at home with her baby longer."
"I don't understand. You never liked doing clinic, and now this? Couldn't you really find anything better? This is the kind of job a not too smart kid just out of med school could get."
"I... I did get other offers. Even," there's a pause, "offers from places I didn't apply to. But this was all I could get with a reduced schedule and within easy driving distance from Princeton." The pause is longer, now, and when he speaks again his voice is lower. He sounds embarrassed. "I had already chosen to remain with you if you wanted me. According to Cortes you'd be better off without moving for quite a while."
He has put his career on hold for me, maybe trashed it forever. The little nagging voice that has been bothering me so much tries to suggest that he could change his mind any moment, that the offers probably stay open, but I ignore it. This is the man I love, and who, in his own way, loves me back, even if he probably will never say it.
However, one of the most attractive characteristics of House is his genius as a diagnostician, something he will have no use for in this boring, routine job.
"What about your gift, House? The people only you can save? The job that was your life until you crashed that car?"
The first answer is a sigh. "I know. For the moment I'll work as free-lance consultant. I always had plenty of requests, I'm sure I'll like it better now that the money will go to our bank account and not to PPTH as it used to."
"Our bank account?"
"We should open a joint one."
"House... are you serious?" I gulp, struggling to find words and to keep my voice level. "Should I really think of the two of us as a couple? Do you?"
"I told you I'll be there for you. I am not quite ready to put a label on this, but I'm not walking out. A joint account is just practical if we're sharing a household, you should of course keep your own as well."
I lean on him as the music continues; this time it's the Rolling Stones, House must have found the remote of my stereo. There's something else we need to discuss. Or at least start addressing, and what better moment than now, sitting so close together. I can't think of any euphemism, I'm too scared.
"How about sex?"
"Always an interesting topic. If you want we can share my list of phone number, all quality ladies at affordable prices. Self-abuse is fun, but in the long run not quite enough."
"House, I..."
"Suddenly there's warmth all around my shoulders, and across my chest. It takes me longer than it should to realize I'm held in House's arms.
"Of corse I didn't mean it. I had enough time to think of this while you were still hospitalized. I even discussed it with Cortes."
"What did she say?"
He takes long before he answers, but he holds me tight so the waiting isn't unpleasant.
"Cortes said that we've been so close over the years that living together shouldn't be a problem, if we both want it. Sex, on the other hand... she said many longterm relationships are sexless because the partners aren't a match from that viewpoint. She said we won't know until we try."
"Did she have any opinion on what our chances are?"
"She said you're so sexy she'd be surprised if it doesn't work." House laughs. "No, she didn't, although she looked a bit like she thought it. She said we should take it slow and have low expectations." House pauses. "What is it you want, Wilson?"
"I don't know. Your same sex experiences may go back to college, but I never had any. I just know that I find you attractive."
I remember that he already knows this; the recollection of how precisely he noticed is enough to cause discomfort in my briefs.
"How about we pretend we're teenagers and just fool a bit around?"
The couch moves as his weight shifts, and there's the tickling of scruff on my face, lips touching mine, and he opens his mouth and so do I because I can't separate our lips; his tongue licks mine gently, then explores inside me while he presses our upper bodies together.
I thought I was fully hard but the bulge in my pants grows some more, and I have to quickly reposition it, giving it just a tiny squeeze before letting go. And then the unthinkable happens and a hand that's not mine unzips my slacks, four fingers of warmth seep through the front of my briefs, pushing ever so slightly, then giving one determined, slow and powerful stroke all the way from the tip to my balls; when the fingers make contact with my glans again an lightly squeeze I lose control, wave after wave of pleasure washes over me - and I can't even cry out loud my pleasure and my shame since my mouth is still full of House, who holds me locked in a kiss that's clearly determined to outlast the earthquake going through me.
Once my shivers have abated House lets go of me; he softly caresses my hair as I pant, gasping for air, while the sticky goo on my crotch slowly cools. I'm glad I can't see myself, but he can. I'm as ashamed as I was at fifteen when my mother confronted me about the recurring stains on my bedclothes - that's where my shower habit comes from, and I should have kept it and avoided this mess.
"Thank you."
I probably look confused. House gives me a small kiss on the lips.
"You took my suggestion to behave as teenagers quite literally, didn't you?"
"House, I'm ashamed enough without you making fun of me. Let me go have a shower, please."
"Want me to come along?"
There's no mockery in his voice but I start shaking my head even before I answer. "No, please don't. I need to be alone. To think."
In fact my plan is just the opposite, to avoid thinking as long as possible. I'm frightened by how pleasant it was, by the depth of my longing for his body and for a shared physical pleasure, and I want nothing more than to forget, however briefly.
-----
The warm water has made me feel better and more relaxed, and I use the blowdryer just to get ready faster. It's been a long day and I need to sleep soon.
When I enter the bedroom I hear someone turning pages.
"What are you doing here? I want to go to bed."
I hear a book, or maybe a magazine being closed and put away. And the soft "click" is probably due to the reading glasses being folded away.
"Great, go ahead. I still need to read a bit, the fact I'm between jobs doesn't mean I don't get to keep up with the medical literature."
I slowly realize where his voice exactly comes from. "House... are we going to sleep in the same bed?"
"That's what people who are together usually do. It didn't seem to be a problem last night."
"I... I don't know." I get in bed, but keep my distance. I'm embarrassed again. "Aren't you angry at me? Or disgusted?"
"Because you like me? Of course not. I knew it and I chose to stay. I hope we'll be able to find pleasure in each other in many ways."
I pull all my courage together to ask the next question. Because I owe it to him, although the answer scares me. "How about you? Is there anything I can... do for you?"
"Not now, I'm halfway through a paper. And you look really tired, you should be sleeping soon."
He's right of course. As I lie down I don't even feel like listening to a few minutes of my audiobook. I just close my eyes and drift off, but not before admitting to myself that the faint sound of page turning makes me feel loved much more than any love declaration ever did.