Title: Jealousy: Makes My Blue Eyes, Green! (1/2)

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: For Mature Adults

Genre: slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but I don't

Summary: Gregory House is jealous

Although it had been a long day, for once, Greg House didn't feel tired. His right leg throbbed a bit, but it was muted by his usual dose of Vicodin. Ever since he had paid a thousand dollars for two tickets to see the monster machines, he had been counting on this day. Today, he was going to flash two front row tickets in front of James Wilson. The Monster Machs had returned to New Jersey . . . well, really New York, but what the hell!

Stalking up to Wilson's door as best as his limp would let him, his insides were doing callisthenics as he waited with impatience and anxiety for his friend to answer the door. So what if it was only 8:00 am on their day off? House knew that Wilson would be as excited as he was. The younger man had bemoaned the fact that he had missed the first epic battle when he had been working in the cause of Stacey Warner's husband.

House didn't acknowledge the good cause aspect of Wilson's activities, but he had refused to hold a grudge . . . well, maybe not too much of one so when this rare opportunity to see THE CRUSHING MACHINE and THE BIG SQUEEZE FROM THE WEST on display, Greg House knew that James Wilson would be chomping at the bit.

Standing at the door with a smirky smile and the tickets in his hand, Greg House's face fell as he saw the rumpled look of Mr.-Dressed-To-Perfection James Wilson standing in the doorway as he responded to House's insistent knocking. The younger man's hair was badly dishevelled, and he was wearing a short robe which had obviously just been thrown over his . . . naked body!

Before Wilson could invite his friend into his apartment, House pushed his way in, his mind in turmoil. He was just starting to harangue his friend on the state of his undress and its sloppiness which reminded him of himself when a voice called out from the bedroom . . . a very masculine voice - - "Who is it, Jim? I called in a breakfast delivery."

Wilson stood staring, looking faintly confused. Greg House stood staring - - totally speechless, the tickets dropping to the floor. Finally, House found his voice, blurting out, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

For a moment, James Wilson looked abashed then a mischievous twinkle sparked in his dark eyes, "Well, I don't have to tell you everything I do, do I?"

Expecting Greg House to laugh and carry on with the conversation, Wilson was totally unprepared and speechless when his friend turned and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door . . . VERY LOUDLY as he departed.

For a moment, James Wilson stood with his mouth open, trying to put two and two together, but coming up with nothing; then he noticed the two tickets lying on the ground and began to analyze the situation.

Hmmm! Obviously House had made plans for us to go to a MONSTER MACHINES match. But nothing stops us from going; it's tonight . . . not right now. Hearing a noise he looked around to see a smaller version of himself walking out of Wilson's bedroom.

"Hey, Jim, was it breakfast? I ordered ham, eggs, bacon, and coffee. You cook okay, but . . ."

Wilson didn't even hear the insult to his cooking due to the concern at the back of his mind. Why was House so upset? Then James Wilson, M.D. looked at his cousin, dressed in almost nothing but a robe, somewhat similar to Wilson's. He saw a beautiful young man with brown, wavy hair, an enchanting smile, and obviously naked underneath.

Slapping his forehead, James Wilson suddenly remembered what he looked like. In a detached way, almost forgetting his cousin's presence, Wilson replied, "No . . . it wasn't breakfast . . . just a friend."

"Heeeeyyyyyy! Look at those! Two tickets to THE MONSTER MACHINES TAKE NEW YORK, what a surprise, where'd you get them? I've been wantin' to go, but I didn't have the money. I'm not a famous consultant and department head at Princeton-Plainsboro . . . just a lowly Med School peon . . . really, you didn't have to get them – they must have cost you a bundle; how'd you know I wanted to go?"

Said peon in the guise of one Thomas Wilson, favorite cousin of James Wilson, continued to ramble on about the beneficence of his cousin, not noticing James Wilson's distraction. Wilson collapsed on the still sheet-covered sofa. Thomas, in his usual concern for his "elderly" cousin had offered to share the master bedroom with him, but was obviously less than sincere when he demanded proof that the good doctor did NOT snore. James Wilson immediately opted for the sofa.

James Wilson was angry, but he wasn't sure who the target of his anger was. As Thomas continued to rattle on, the older Wilson began to strongly suspect his younger relative of being the key target for violence, but in all honesty, it was not Thomas' fault that he had uttered those golden words at such an inappropriate time.

Wilson's second target was, of course, Greg House. How dare the man think . . . that he was bedding a . . . mere child . . . and in his own apartment? Of course, James Wilson remembered VERY VIVIDLY Greg House managing to lure the 18 year old James Wilson into his bed with hardly a more clever line than "Hmm, I think your ass has a cold; better put it to bed . . . my bed." Of course, House had waited to deliver this immortal line until after the incoming medical school student had been introduced.

House thinks I'm playing around with my own cousin! Wait a minute, he doesn't know he's my cousin! Damn him. Always judging! He leaves me and every since then everything I do, he looks down his handsome nose at me. What right does he have to judge me? Me! After all he bedded me, and he was ten years older at the time. How dare he

Suddenly, Wilson was called back from his thoughts by the further epic words of his cousin, "Hey, Jim, the delivery's here; I seem to be a bit short; could you loan me a ten?"

The GLARE of the Wilsons was immediately aimed at the younger generation, but the ten spot appeared and was promptly handed over. James Wilson decided to take a shower while the BOTTOMLESS PIT converted matter to energy. Thankfully his cousin was only going to be in town for a week or so before heading on to a new semester at Med School.

Knowing that he always thought better in the shower, James Wilson closed the door to the bathroom, shutting out the ecstasy of Thomas Wilson devouring the cholesterol ridden breakfast that he had ordered. As the steaming hot water poured over his body, James Wilson's mind returned to Greg House's stricken face. He just couldn't have been that upset. After all, I've been married three times since we had our year together . . . what's he expect . . . celibacy?

Anger roared again through the young man's body. First at Greg House, for being such a sarcastic, caustic, bloody-minded prick who deserved what he thought he got when he walked in . . . unannounced . . . on a young, healthy, virile bachelor!

As the water began to cool, so did James Wilson. In the back of his mind, Wilson, ever honest with himself, acknowledged that his smart response only fuelled the problem. How could he blame House when everything looked exactly as if there was a "tryst" going on? God, what a mess this is! You better talk to House.

As Wilson got dressed, he resolved to find his friend and explain the whole situation. After all, James Wilson didn't have that many friends that he could afford to alienate his best friend.

Sighing, he walked out into the living room, only to gag as he saw the devastation that his relative had made out of breakfast. Heading out the door, James Wilson's last thought was, I didn't know anyone could do that to food!

End of part 1