Title: A Friend in Need
Author: Jahmat
Rating: PG13
Summary: House treats Wilson for a minor injury in an extremely embarassing place. For "Meet Me in the Mess Hall," although food doesn't factor into this...you'll see why!
Spoilers: Minor one for "Post Mortem"
Warnings: Establish relationship, several swear words, nudity
Disclaimer: Don't own, just love 'em!
Author's notes: My first House/Wilson fic. Let me know what you think!
Wilson was bent over the exam table in the Camp's clinic, his shorts and white boxers down around his ankles.
"Tell me again how you managed to get a sliver there," House grumbled as he probed carefully for the elusive shard of wood with a sterilized needle.
"I told you," Wilson growled. "I just wanted to save us seats close to the mess hall's TV. I heard they were showing "Doctor Zhivago" after dinner tonight. Ouch!...HOUSE!"
"Oh, don't be such a wuss..." House ordered as he continued digging at his friend's ass with the needle. "You were saying?:
"Well, I slid across the bench and felt a sharp pain...you know..."
House nodded, a smile on his face, imagining the yelp from Wilson as the wood imbedded itself in that tight, sweet ass.
"Got it!" he exclaimed a half minute later. He held the two-inch sliver before Wilson's watering eyes. "Shall we raffle this off to the campers? I bet we'll get a lot more than I got for your toothbrush."
Wilson stood up and turned around, shuffling his feet, his boxers and shorts still around his ankles. "Wait...what?" he screeched. "You told me it fell in the toilet!"
"Ooops!" House grinned. At the angry look in Wilson's dark eyes, he swallowed, the grin sliding from his face. "Come on, Wilson," he said, backing away from the irate oncologist. "You know I lost all my money when we played strip poker with the campers. I needed to get some of it back!"
Wilson didn't say a word. He just reached down and pulled up his boxers and shorts. After zipping and buttoning the khaki shorts, he started walking slowly towards House, his hands clenching and unclenching, brown eyes snapping in anger. No one messed with his toothbrush!
House had reached the clinic's screen door. "Come on, Wilson...it was only a toothbrush," he whined.
He backed out the door, his eyes not leaving Wilson's, and scrambled backwards down the steps, his left hand grabbing the wooden rail, his cane clutched in his right hand. "Wilson," he said softly. "It was just a toothbrush..."
He turned and began limping away as fast as he could, but stopped and turned when he heard a pained, "Damn it!" from behind him.
Wilson was standing on the bottom step, holding his left hand in front of his face. "Crap!" he sighed.
He looked up at his partner, his brown eyes now soft and pleading. "House..." he breathed in disgust. "Would you mind? I've got another sliver..."
House stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into laughter. "Only you, Wilson," he managed to get out between guffaws. He walked over and examined the wound. "Only you!" he grinned.
Wilson grinned shyly back.
As House opened the door and ushered him back into the clinic, Wilson murmured, "Do you think I could have the money from this sliver? I lost all my money playing strip Twister."
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