Disclaimer: Don't own House, Wilson or any other character. David Shore et al do, I'm just helping out since I don't think you can broadcast this on FOX.

A/N: Look kids, slash! This is my first slash fic, I think it's decent, but then again, I would or I wouldn't have uploaded it. Your mileage may vary, so constructive and polite criticisms and suggestions are always welcome. Contains ***spoilers*** for the S 5 finale "Both Sides Now" so if you haven't seen it and don't want to be…well…spoiled, watch first and read later. Also, if graphic man-love isn't your thing, you probably want to hit your "back" button now. Enjoy and remember, reviews are love and food for the muses.

That Didn't Count

It didn't count. Not really. If they'd done it intentionally, or been leading up to it, or anything at all, it would have counted. But none of those had happened, and so it didn't count. At least, that's what James Wilson tried to tell himself as he straightened his clothing in the pitch blackness of the room. Apparently it also didn't count if you didn't turn on the light.

He'd missed House. That was no secret to him or anyone else. He hadn't realized how much House had been a part of every little aspect of his life until he'd been gone, and then he realized that for as much as House infuriated, frustrated, and annoyed him, he missed his meddling and intrusions. It was House's way of showing he cared, and that Wilson was important in his life too. That was just the way it worked for them. And then House had not busted into his office, Cuddy had, and House had followed, but not giddy or smug and certainly not alone, and they'd taken what Wilson had been almost sure would be their last drive together. But it hadn't been. So he'd gotten a little over-emotional or….something.

It had started innocently enough, as these things always do, that is, Wilson mused, if they occurred often enough between men and their best friends to have an established pattern. He'd picked House up who, of course, didn't talk at all about anything that had happened in the psych hospital, just grinned a smug grin, chirped "All better" and gotten into Wilson's car. Of course Wilson knew better than to pry. He just hoped that House was telling the truth about the "all better" part because he really didn't feel like having to go through all of this again.

They'd gotten back to House's apartment where House rapidly unpacked his sparsely packed suitcase while Wilson opened a couple of beers and ordered Chinese. House joined Wilson in the kitchen and drained his beer in two swallows, then opened another one.

"If you keep that up, you're going to be plastered before the food even gets here," Wilson warned, reprising his usual role as House's caretaker.

"Let's hope so. In case you didn't know, they don't serve beer in the wacky factory, Wilson." House drained the second beer in three swallows, and that was the first and last mention made about the "wacky factory." Wilson handed him another beer, glad that House appeared to be House again and realizing he didn't care too much if he decided to get spectacularly drunk. He probably deserved to.

When the food arrived, the two men set about catching up on House's TiVo – or rather House set about catching up on his TiVo and Wilson chose not to complain about it. He was happy just to have House by his side on the couch again, laughing, drinking beer, and gossiping about the hospital. Things were back to normal, at least for the moment, and that's all there ever was with House; one moment at a time. He'd known that even before House had started hallucinating. Of course there were a thousand questions in Wilson's mind, but he knew he wouldn't be getting the answers tonight, if ever. Tonight, House just wanted things to be like they were, or to at least pretend that they that way.

Too bad that wasn't going to happen, although neither of them knew it as they started on fresh bottles of beer. House would later say that Wilson had known, he must have planned it, but Wilson swore otherwise and even though House never believed him, he was telling the truth.

It happened right after the last episode of SpongeBob. That should have been proof enough right there that Wilson hadn't planned anything of the sort. He'd just looked at House seated to his right, taken the last swallow of his beer, gently squeezed his friend's knee and said "I'm glad you're home." House, true to form, would later accuse Wilson of groping him, and Wilson, true to form, would accuse House of goading him, but the fact of the matter is both men were blaming the other because neither knew for sure how it happened. It hadn't been on either of their minds.

Still, the next thing either knew Wilson really was groping House, staring into his hypnotic blue eyes as his hand crept up his best friend's thigh, seemingly with a will of its own, until he started to wonder if he had the same condition House's last patient had had before he went to the… House had seen Wilson starting to think about… and kissed him to distract him from overanalyzing House's "hiatus", because as everyone knows gay sex is a much better alternative than discussing your mental breakdown with your best friend, or discussing it at all, for that matter.

All House knew for sure was that he was out of his mind horny. In addition to no beer in the nut hatch, there was also no intermingling of the sexes allowed (not that House would have wanted to "intermingle" with many of the women in the facility anyway, and the nurses didn't seem too receptive to the idea of fraternizing with mental patients) and precious little privacy for a man to even spend a quality moment with himself. Wilson's hand in his lap, kneading the erection he'd managed to get in record time only registered to his body as a hand in a spot he desperately needed to feel a hand, and better yet, it wasn't his own hand. The fact that it was the hand of his best friend, the hand of his straight and very male best friend in his equally straight and male lap, didn't seem significant enough to worry about when compared against how good it felt to be touched.

Wilson honestly didn't know what the hell he was doing or why, and despite how wrong he knew it should have felt, it didn't. It felt good. House's strong arm between his shoulder blades and the large, masculine fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck most certainly did not feel wrong. They felt different than any woman's touch had ever felt, but they felt fantastic too. It felt like House was inviting him and urging him on, capable of either accepting him or rejecting him, an equal partner rather than a smaller, weaker partner just waiting to be taken, although Wilson gave serious consideration to taking him anyway and then wondered where that thought had come from too.

It was the first time in Wilson's life where he probably should have been thinking and wasn't. House, for his part, had made a near-conscious decision not to think, realizing he was slightly drunk and more than slightly turned on, which was exactly the right mix of sensations to decide that if Wilson wanted to give him what he needed, it would probably be a good idea to seize the moment and take it. Of course, that whole internal monologue reached Wilson's ears as "Wilson….god" with a thrust of House's hips into Wilson's hand for good measure, but when Wilson didn't move his hand away, it was clear to both of them that he'd pretty much accepted the entire scenario too, at least for the moment.

He'd been too busy up until this point watching House slowly come unglued and trying not to freak out to notice if any of this was having any effect on him or not. Hearing his name on the lips of his best friend turned his attention to the fact that it was, and in short order.

He mumbled "oh fuck it" to nobody in particular, surrendering to the fact that he was already jerking House off through his pants, had already let House kiss him, hot and deep and slow and he'd liked it, and even if they stopped right this instant, it wasn't as though there would ever be any undoing what had already happened. His fingers moved to the buttons of House's jeans and opened them, then slid the zipper down, and after making a mental reality check that yes, he really was about to shove his hand down House's pants, he felt House turn and lean back against the arm of the couch. It didn't seem like he was pulling away, but it made Wilson's reality check that much more real.

"What?" It was the only question he could manage.

House rolled his eyes. Typical Wilson. Always picking the worst possible moments to want to have a conversation. "If you're about to do what I think you're about to do, which I think is a reasonable assumption as evidenced by…" He gestured to the breached fly of his jeans. "I wanted to relax and enjoy it. I also didn't want you snapping your wrist in the process, and since I know there's no way you're going to be able to bring yourself to actually take my pants off, it wasn't going to work sitting up."

"So you want me to…" Wilson couldn't bring himself to say it, even though he had been about to do it, and was still, in all likelihood, probably going to do it. Had House not been so worked up and Wilson offering a much better prospect than his own right hand, House would have strangled him. The man could be so obtuse sometimes!

"Of course I want you to." He reached for Wilson's left hand, pressing it firmly back where it had been, forcing Wilson up onto his knees in order to be able to make the reach. Wilson had, because of this interruption, been shocked both into reality and a bit out his body at the same time. He was doing this. He was really doing this. He'd never even entertained the thought, at least not in anything more than a generic sense. Like most heterosexual people, he'd occasionally wondered what it might be like to be with a man, but he had no intention of actually doing it. Now, here he was, doing it. With House. House's hand moving against his reminded him of where and when he was, and when he looked up at Wilson with a pleading, lust-drunk stare and breathed "Just touch me. Please touch me." Wilson suddenly realized he wanted to do this. With House.

He'd been stalling, not really sure how a first homosexual encounter was supposed to work; if it was like the straight kind, only with two penises instead of one, or if other things were expected or not expected, but the moan House rewarded him with when he finally circled his fingers around a cock other than his own for the first time told him he might have a shot at figuring it out. Wilson still didn't feel too confident, in fact he felt like a virgin again, almost too in the moment to even enjoy the moment and feeling like he should get out of the moment, too, because he had no idea what to do, much less what to do next. He knew what he liked but that didn't mean he had the first clue what House liked, because, if he went by his [extensive] experience with women, they'd all liked something vastly different despite having the same parts. He flashed back to that first night in the back seat of his first car with is first girlfriend, talking about second period math class while he finger fucked her, hoping that maybe if he talked about math, they could both pretend that what was happening wasn't really happening and therefore, not have to deal with it. Too bad he and House had never had a class together, and that he wasn't 16 anymore. He had no excuse to be rotten in bed, even if it was his first time with a man. So he wasn't going to be.

He moved his fist slowly up and down House's length, getting a feel for the thickness and weight in his hand. House softly moaned his approval at the much-needed relief his friend's touch promised, and the affirmation of House's pleasure spurred Wilson on. He was now absolutely determined to make House's eyes roll back in his head. He ran his free hand down House's chest, fighting the urge to touch his bare skin, and felt him arch slightly into the contact. "Tell me how you like it, House. Tell me what you need." Wilson was surprised at the camber of his own voice, low and husky as it bounced off the walls back to his own ears. He saw House's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, preparing to speak, saw his eyelashes flutter open and then closed again, thinking, looking for his voice. "Little…tighter" was all he could muster up, but it was plenty for Wilson. He cinched his grip tighter around the throbbing cock of his friend, and heard his partner groan in appreciation.

Wilson felt one of House's hands settle on his hip. He startled, unprepared for the contact at first, then welcoming it, knowing it was natural for House to want to touch him too, be connected to him somewhere. He felt the tension in House's fingers as they pressed into the cloth of Wilson's suit pants and wondered if it was arousal or nervousness, or both. With the circuit of energy between them now completed, Wilson felt the urge to be closer to House too, but resisted, even though he wondered why. Apparently jerking another man off wasn't gay, but wanting to press his body against the aforementioned other man was? Still, he held off, not wanting to shock either one of their minds into realizing what they were doing.

He sped up his pace a little more and felt House's hips twist in response. "That feel good?" Wilson still couldn't get used to the sound of his own voice, but he wasn't totally repulsed by it, either. He felt the hand on his hip squeeze and release and then hold on tighter. "Yeah…Jimmy…need this…" "Dear lord,this is so hot" Wilson thought at the sight of House desperate and shameless and begging him for pleasure. It also didn't go unnoticed by Wilson that House had moaned out his name, his first name, and not just his first name but the affectionate, familiar version of it. He ran the fingers of his free hand softly, reassuringly down the taut cords that stood out from House's neck. "I know you do. I know…it's OK". And to Wilson, it really was OK. More than OK. If this was House's way of seeking comfort and acceptance or if he was just desperate for physical contact, Wilson didn't know and didn't really care. Just seeing House so vulnerable, relying on another to provide him with what he wanted, let Wilson know that whatever it was he was seeking, he obviously needed it badly. That made Wilson feel honored in some off-handed, backwards way; honored that House was letting it be him that he was vulnerable in front of, even if it did involve him wrapping his hand around House's cock.

Wilson rubbed his thumb over the soft, sensitive divot just above House's collarbone before taking his hand away and moving to put it back on the arm of the couch, where he'd been balancing himself. House, however, must have read Wilson's earlier thoughts. Before Wilson could react, House's hand closed around his wrist and pulled his arm away from his body, forcing Wilson's weight to fall against him. There was a moment of awkwardness and discomfort as Wilson's hand lost its mark and House's breath got knocked from his lungs, but it was worth it as Wilson did what came naturally, shifting his weight so that they were both comfortable, Wilson's left leg between House's, propping himself up on right elbow. Wilson was struck by how intimate and close this felt, even though both of them were still fully dressed.

Wilson, fueled by House's assertiveness and the heat between them, stroked House harder, faster, rougher, driving him closer and closer to the edge with each twist of his fist, each firm, tight down stroke. He felt House thrusting his hips up into each of his motions, not even pretending to hold back now, and he didn't protest as he felt House's arm wrap around him and his other hand go to Wilson's belt buckle and fumble with it. He simply shifted his weight to the side to give him more room to work. Exchanging handjobs with your best friend also didn't count if you didn't unfasten your own pants, Wilson guessed, drawing up unwritten and unspoken rules as they went along so that he could allow himself to enjoy this rather than worry about what in god's name they were going to do after it was over.

The alarm bells in Wilson's head finally started going off as he felt House's long, nimble fingers wrap around his engorged cock. It was one thing to provide comfort to a friend, even this kind of twisted, awkward, gay comfort, it was entirely another when it wasn't about comfort and need any more and the friend became a partner and started reciprocating. Wilson was, by nature, a caretaker. House's hand on him made this about something more than him taking care of House, although he had no idea what.

"House!" Wilson half-hissed, half-exclaimed as House's talented hand ran up his swollen sex organ. Wilson's mind panicked as his body rebelled and thrust his hips forward into the warm friction of House's fist. It felt good, too good, and he wondered – no – was almost sure House had done this before, he was too good at it, this was all too easy for him, and then he panicked some more, wondering why he even cared if House had been with a man before or not. "House…I." His voice was losing its conviction as the pleasure of another perfect stroke overwhelmed his senses. "Want me to stop?" Wilson couldn't answer. He did want House to stop, this changed everything, but he didn't want him to stop, it just felt so ungodly good. "Just say the word, Jimmy. Say 'stop' and I will. But you like it too much to say it, don't you?" House's fist slid up Wilson's cock again, this time slicked with precum, making the friction tight and impossibly smooth. And sweet happy Jesus, the sound of House's voice was intoxicating. "House…I…shouldn't. This…Oh god" Wilson almost whined with pleasure and the conflicted emotions in his mind as House's fingers found that perfect spot just below his head on the next up stroke and pressed just hard enough to make Wilson's eyes cross.

And that was it. House had won, again, although Wilson wasn't even sure what he had won, exactly, because no criteria for victory had been defined between them, nor had any contest. But Wilson knew just the same House had won as his hand pumped him smoothly and rhythmically. "Good, isn't it, Jimmy?" House was still trying to get the admission out of him that he wanted this as much as House did. Wilson whimpered in the back of his throat and ground himself into House's hand. "Don't tell me to stop. I don't wanna stop." House's voice was just above a whisper and an octave lower than it normally was, the very pitch of it sending shivers down Wilson's spine. He rested his forehead on House's shoulder, unable to hold it up under his own power any more. "Not gonna….tell you to stop." He took a couple panting breaths, trying to make up for the oxygen deficit the effort of speaking had created. "Don't stop. Please don't stop." He felt House reach up and gently stroke his hair before gliding down his back in a gesture of pride and comfort. "That's it…I won't, Jimmy. I won't." House's arm wrapped around Wilson's hips, driving him harder into his hand, encouraging him to take everything House offered and he complied eagerly, pushing into the slick, tight heat of his friend's hand, moaning with the pleasure and effort.

House arched into Wilson's hand, still wrapped around his cock, but which had stilled when House's hand had closed around him. "Come on. Finish this with me." Wilson resumed the rhythm of his hand and felt House's head drop back against the throw pillow, subtly thrusting his hips in time with Wilson's strokes, his breath gravelly and thready and strained. "So good, Jimmy…your hand feels so good." Wilson knew that from tonight forward, he'd always smile and blush whenever anyone called him Jimmy. House's arm around him tensed as he got closer, speeding up and shortening the motion of Wilson's hips, making the whole thing that much more urgent. House arched harder into his hand, his shoulder blades coming off the couch. "Harder…close…so close" Wilson happily obliged, tightening his grip to the point where he could barely move his hand and picking up the pace as much as he could in the confines of House's jeans. Wilson raised his head to look at House out of desire and curiosity and saw his eyes cinched shut tight, every muscle in his body thrumming and straining. "That's it Jimmy…that's what I need…that's i…aaaaaah". Wilson felt his hand wet and warm a split second before House's fist squeezed him almost painfully tight and he was coming too, coming before he even really realized it was happening, burying his head in the crook of House's neck and gasping.

And then it was "after".

Neither man moved long after both of their breathing had leveled out and their hearts had slowed down. Hands and arms and heads remained exactly where they had been in that final ecstatic moment. And then the silence became too much for Wilson. With a rustle of a napkin from the Chinese they'd eaten earlier and a zip he cleaned up and straightened his clothes. He stood for a long moment with his hands on his hips before turning to House and muttering "I'll see you tomorrow then?" House, as confident and detached as ever replied "Yep" in lazy, sleepy voice that further drove home to Wilson what had just happened.

Wilson closed the door and got in his car, supposing that if you didn't take your clothes off, turn on the light when you left, or talk about it, it didn't count. He straightened his hair in the rearview mirror and decided he wouldn't worry about tomorrow because after all, tonight didn't count.