The Landing
May. 31st, 2010 06:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moose_mcmoose Title: The Landing
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 715
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: Drunk!Wilson, Caring!House, Wilson bitching about Sam's breasts, alcoholic death rays......etc. It's light, it's floaty, it's utterly pointless.
It wasn't the most comfortable or homely place, nor was it luxurious or inviting. But it suited them both for now.
Wilson had told him to stay so he stayed.
It wasn't the most comfortable or homely place, nor was it luxurious or inviting. But it suited them both for now.
"My head hurtsss..." Wilson brought a hand wildly to his face before giving his eyes a violent rubbing.
"That would be all the alcohol sucking the life out of your brain Wilson." House stretched out his legs, relieving the stiffness in his knees.
"Like a..a..a death ray."
House spat out a chuckle. "Just like a death ray." Even though a drunk Wilson signalled distorted equilibrium (usually for the worst), House had always enjoyed the surreal, vivid ramblings that came as part of the package.
"Why don't..um...they put it on the l..label?"
"I think sales would go down pretty badly if they did that. Would you buy 'Death Ray' alcohol?"
Wilson tossed an arm randomly in the air. "Not if it was sshrawberry."
House glanced incredulously at Wilson, who in turn was struggling to keep his own eyes open and seemingly mouthing a silent spew of lyrics. "What if it was....mango?"
Wilson jolted, leaning onto his elbows for balance before collapsing back in a less than graceful fashion. "I'd do the mango. Would it come...free...with the..the..the um..death ray?"
"Are we getting death rays free with the alcohol, or is the alcohol the death ray?"
Wilson's face sagged into bemusement and then detoured to just being plain perplexed. "I...-"
House waved a hand. "Just stop. You'll make your head even worse."
Wilson's pouted before slipping onto his back. "Sam's a death ray."
And here came the other part of the package, the morose berating of life and everyone in it. Usually, this would be a team sport, both of them batting the tennis ball of hate drunkenly back and forth between them, but on this occasion only one of them was out of their mind on booze. Still, House didn't mind playing a few serves.
"And..." Wilson prodded a finger into the air. "I know... I shouldn't have..expected it to be any diff..any different to the first time..but...you know..."
"Stop."
"I just...I don't know...I just..."
"Seriously. Shut up. Listening to you trying to explain yourself is like trying to listen to a chimp explain the Grandfather Paradox." House clamped a hand around Wilson's mouth.
Wilson nodded as House removed his hand carefully. "Can I still..complain?"
House smirked. "Of course."
"I hate...hate her. I cooked her dinner and...and she complained I under...un..undercooked the carrot."
"What a bitch." House his arms, sarcastically throwing his mouth into a shocked 'o'.
"And sshhe had one boob... bigger than the other....like really weird." Wilson furrowed his brows. "I ssswear they were never...ever..like that." He turned to House and whispered loudly. "I think she might...you know..." He gave a sleepy, drunken wink. "had a job...on them."
"You don't say?"
"I do ssay!"
House winced as Wilson's unintentional bellow reverberated through his ears.
"My back's hurting."
"Likewise, and my leg is not enjoying this at all." House massaged the aching muscle.
Wilson fumbled for his keys in his pocket. "Go inside."
"Are you coming in?"
I...I..." Wilson shook his head. "I...her stuff's there."
House falteringly rose from the floor and hobbled to the front door of Wilson's apartment. Unwilling to leave a depressed, drunken man at the top of a large flight of stairs, he limped straight for the bedroom, grabbed the pillows from the bed and the chequered throw that was splayed over Wilson's sofa.
"I thought you were gonna...bed thing."
House guffawed. "Like Hell I'm leaving you out here." He pulled a pillow from beneath his arm. "Take this you idiot."
Wilson slipped the pillow beneath his head. "Thanks."
With a thud, House landed back onto the floor, one pillow for his head, one to support his leg. This wasn't exactly how he had expected the night to end, a sleepover on the landing of a friend's apartment building isn't really a common occurrence, but it was better than any alternative. "You owe me breakfast in the morning."
"That's if..if I.I.I.I can get up in the morning." Wilson squirmed on the floor.
"I will drag you to make breakfast for me."
"Fine...deal. But...but I don't often make...breakfast when I'm under the influence... so I'm not l..l...liable."
"I'm willing to take the risk."
Characters: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 715
Disclaimer: Not mine. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: Drunk!Wilson, Caring!House, Wilson bitching about Sam's breasts, alcoholic death rays......etc. It's light, it's floaty, it's utterly pointless.
It wasn't the most comfortable or homely place, nor was it luxurious or inviting. But it suited them both for now.
Wilson had told him to stay so he stayed.
It wasn't the most comfortable or homely place, nor was it luxurious or inviting. But it suited them both for now.
"My head hurtsss..." Wilson brought a hand wildly to his face before giving his eyes a violent rubbing.
"That would be all the alcohol sucking the life out of your brain Wilson." House stretched out his legs, relieving the stiffness in his knees.
"Like a..a..a death ray."
House spat out a chuckle. "Just like a death ray." Even though a drunk Wilson signalled distorted equilibrium (usually for the worst), House had always enjoyed the surreal, vivid ramblings that came as part of the package.
"Why don't..um...they put it on the l..label?"
"I think sales would go down pretty badly if they did that. Would you buy 'Death Ray' alcohol?"
Wilson tossed an arm randomly in the air. "Not if it was sshrawberry."
House glanced incredulously at Wilson, who in turn was struggling to keep his own eyes open and seemingly mouthing a silent spew of lyrics. "What if it was....mango?"
Wilson jolted, leaning onto his elbows for balance before collapsing back in a less than graceful fashion. "I'd do the mango. Would it come...free...with the..the..the um..death ray?"
"Are we getting death rays free with the alcohol, or is the alcohol the death ray?"
Wilson's face sagged into bemusement and then detoured to just being plain perplexed. "I...-"
House waved a hand. "Just stop. You'll make your head even worse."
Wilson's pouted before slipping onto his back. "Sam's a death ray."
And here came the other part of the package, the morose berating of life and everyone in it. Usually, this would be a team sport, both of them batting the tennis ball of hate drunkenly back and forth between them, but on this occasion only one of them was out of their mind on booze. Still, House didn't mind playing a few serves.
"And..." Wilson prodded a finger into the air. "I know... I shouldn't have..expected it to be any diff..any different to the first time..but...you know..."
"Stop."
"I just...I don't know...I just..."
"Seriously. Shut up. Listening to you trying to explain yourself is like trying to listen to a chimp explain the Grandfather Paradox." House clamped a hand around Wilson's mouth.
Wilson nodded as House removed his hand carefully. "Can I still..complain?"
House smirked. "Of course."
"I hate...hate her. I cooked her dinner and...and she complained I under...un..undercooked the carrot."
"What a bitch." House his arms, sarcastically throwing his mouth into a shocked 'o'.
"And sshhe had one boob... bigger than the other....like really weird." Wilson furrowed his brows. "I ssswear they were never...ever..like that." He turned to House and whispered loudly. "I think she might...you know..." He gave a sleepy, drunken wink. "had a job...on them."
"You don't say?"
"I do ssay!"
House winced as Wilson's unintentional bellow reverberated through his ears.
"My back's hurting."
"Likewise, and my leg is not enjoying this at all." House massaged the aching muscle.
Wilson fumbled for his keys in his pocket. "Go inside."
"Are you coming in?"
I...I..." Wilson shook his head. "I...her stuff's there."
House falteringly rose from the floor and hobbled to the front door of Wilson's apartment. Unwilling to leave a depressed, drunken man at the top of a large flight of stairs, he limped straight for the bedroom, grabbed the pillows from the bed and the chequered throw that was splayed over Wilson's sofa.
"I thought you were gonna...bed thing."
House guffawed. "Like Hell I'm leaving you out here." He pulled a pillow from beneath his arm. "Take this you idiot."
Wilson slipped the pillow beneath his head. "Thanks."
With a thud, House landed back onto the floor, one pillow for his head, one to support his leg. This wasn't exactly how he had expected the night to end, a sleepover on the landing of a friend's apartment building isn't really a common occurrence, but it was better than any alternative. "You owe me breakfast in the morning."
"That's if..if I.I.I.I can get up in the morning." Wilson squirmed on the floor.
"I will drag you to make breakfast for me."
"Fine...deal. But...but I don't often make...breakfast when I'm under the influence... so I'm not l..l...liable."
"I'm willing to take the risk."
