my sweet disaster

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The dimly lit clock on the nightstand reads 3:12 A.M. when Gregory House wakes up. As he slowly comes to and takes in the familiar surroundings, he notices something is different than it was when he went to sleep. There is an arm draped lazily around his torso. Wilson's body is much closer to him than it was before, but just barely touching him. He can feel pleasant warmth radiating off of his partner's body. He can hear his slow, deep breathing and feel the rise and fall of his chest. Instinctually, House, being the exact opposite of warm and cuddly, begins to try and wiggle out from under his lover's touch. But as he does, the realization that, hey, this is actually... alright, comes upon him. The weight of Wilson's arm and the gentle motions of his peaceful sleepy breathing are comforting and inexplicably full of love. Instead of wiggling away, House begins to gently scoot backward, further into Wilson's embrace. As he does, the other man begins to stir as well. Realizing that House is awake, he begins to move his arm from his body with a soft "sorry".

"Don't" House breathed.

Wilson stilled himself. House was the furthest thing from a tactile lover, and yet, here he was, pressed right up against Wilson, allowing himself to be held.

"You're alright with this?" Wilson asked

To answer his question, House moved to inlace his fingers with the other man's. He wanted to stay like this forever. He couldn't remember the last time he had been held. With Stacy, he had usually been the one doing the holding. And prostitutes, well, that wasn't really their thing. The couple slowly rearranged themselves so they were properly spooning. House lifted himself up enough so Wilson could wrap his other arm around his body, and curled in on himself just enough so the younger man could slot his legs into the bend of his knees. House wrapped his arms around the other pair wrapped around his torso.

A warm feeling of fondness was blooming in his chest. It filled his belly like a warm bowl of soup on a cold day. At that moment, he felt nothing but love. Pure, gentle, genuine love. He was almost overwhelmed with it. It was foreign to him, unknown, and almost scary. Something he felt he did not deserve. But being loved by Wilson was an experience like no other, it was powerful enough to shut up the self-destructive force in House's brain, at least temporarily.

House melted into Wilson's tender embrace and closed his eyes contently. "I love you" He muttered sleepily.

Wilson raised his head to press a gentle kiss onto House's cheek, and whispered back, "I love you, too."

The pair slowly drifted back off into a peaceful sleep, woven comfortably together.

Neither of them talked about it the morning after, but that night, as they lay down together, House rolled over onto his side and once more scooted back into Wilson. It's still new to him, he's still wary and uncertain, but as Wilson's caring arms wrapped around him once again, he felt his inhibitions slip away.