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Wilson is single, lonely, and stupid drunk. Crazy drunk. Absolute dumbass drunk. Far too drunk to consider getting himself home, which is why he’s sleeping on House’s couch wearing only his boxers.
It’s also stupid, crazy, absolute dumbass hot, and House’s air con is out. Which is why Wilson’s only sleeping fitfully, and is spending the rest of his time tossing sweatily on the increasingly sticky leather.
House owns a single pedestal fan, which he has, of course, taken into his bedroom.
By 2am, Wilson’s had enough. House is just going to have to share the damn fan and stop being such a selfish jerk.
He pads barefoot to House’s bedroom door, and cracks it open quietly.
“House,” he whispers. There’s no sound apart from the fan, which sounds like breathing. Wilson tries again, slightly louder this time. “House.”
Still nothing. He pushes the door open wider so the light from the hallway spills into the bedroom.
House is sprawled diagonally across the entirety of the bed, his arms thrown above his head. He’s fast asleep - something Wilson takes a moment to envy - his face unusually peaceful, and his mouth slightly open. The sheets are tangled round his waist, and his chest is bare.
Wilson finds himself frozen in the doorway. It’s not like he finds House attractive, for God’s sake - he’s straight, after all, so he doesn't, he really, really doesn't - but there’s something about the scene in front of him -
House’s chest is broad and tan, and the position he’s lying in does nothing to disguise his biceps and pecs, and what the hell, Wilson thinks, is he doing checking his best friend out like this?
Just as Wilson decides to go and have a cold shower and pretend this never happened, House shifts restlessly in his sleep, snagging the sheet with his feet and pulling it off completely as he settles back down. And holy hell, now Wilson’s absolutely fucked.
House is fully, completely naked and fully, completely erect. The word tumescent rattles around Wilson’s brain and doesn't help at all. All he can think about is the contrast between the heavy red of House’s dick - the head shiny with engorgement, the swollen veins along the shaft standing out in high definition - against the soft golden skin of his stomach.
Wilson has only a few seconds to register that his own dick is swelling in his boxers before House’s sleep-gravelled voice says, “You gonna join me, Jimmy, or are you gonna spend the rest of the night ogling me from the doorway?”
Wilson doesn’t know whether to thank the gods of bourbon or curse them, because his legs seem to be propelling him over to the bed without him having granted them permission. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to do once he gets there, but House’s eyes are ranging possessively over his body in a way that does nothing to stop the tent growing in his underwear, and -
- and then House is reaching for the waistband of Wilson’s boxers, and Wilson’s just too drunk, and too hot, and House’s hands are smooth and sure against his hips, and what the fuck is Wilson doing, why isn’t he pushing House away as the other man pulls him onto the bed -
Suddenly the weight of House’s firm, wiry body is on top of his, and his warm soft lips are on Wilson’s, and everything becomes terribly, terribly clear. Wilson licks into House’s mouth, and House lets out a breathy groan that feels like a punch to the gut and nearly makes Wilson come on the spot.
House shifts on top of him, and the hard, silken length of his erection slides hotly alongside Wilson’s, and Wilson’s done for. He pushes his hips up against House as he comes all over the other man’s dick, and House is husking out words - ‘That’s it, baby, come on me, come all over me, I want it’ - and it's so extremely unexpected and so unbearably arousing that Wilson’s starting to panic his dick’s going to turn inside out by the time he’s finally finished.
House lets out a series of inarticulate half-words, grinds his dick into Wilson’s spend a handful of times, and goes absolutely rigid. His dick pulses against Wilson’s stomach; Wilson feels the heat of it flow across his belly, and his exhausted cock twitches and tries to join in again.
House slides stickily off Wilson so he’s only half-draped over the other man, and shuts his eyes while he catches his breath. Wilson has not the faintest idea what the hell he’s done, or what the hell to do next. He's wondering whether he ought to disentangle himself from House’s long limbs and go back to the sofa when House dredges up actual words from somewhere deep in his chest.
“How about you save the gay panic for the morning,” he says, hooking his good leg more firmly over Wilson’s without opening his eyes. “It’s too damn hot.”
Wilson watches House’s hair stirring in the breeze from the fan. “Fine,” he says. “But tomorrow we're talking about this. And you’re getting that air con fixed.”
House sighs, and insinuates his face under Wilson's chin. "Whatever you say, honeybuns. Now shut your stupid mouth and let me sleep."
Wilson smiles to himself. The cool air of the fan plays over his overheated skin, and he lets his eyes fall shut.