Allison Cameron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
as_damaged) wrote2011-11-20 10:03 am
as_damaged) wrote2011-11-20 10:03 am
☤ sixty-eight
Title: Going to the...
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
as_damaged
Rateing: PG! lol it's total fluff
Characters: Gregory House, James Evan Wilson
Author's Notes: I totally got inspired!!! I wrote this last night it hasn't been beta'd but I hope you like it! It's not really a sequel to my other story but i guess it could be, i mean, their love is so true!!!
Reviews plz!!! No flames!!!
It was, an oddly calm corner of James' mind noticed, the first time he'd been in a speeding car where he simultaneously feared they were going to blow a tire or crash into something, and yet wished they were going faster.
"Oh my God, look out!!!" he shrieked, even as House gave the wheel a sharp jerk, falling against him as the car turned to avoid a rather stately elm tree. The tires screeched along with him, protesting the abuse. Wilson had no such presence of mind. If they survived this drive, he wasn't going to complain. He wasn't going to ask House what the hell was wrong with him. He was going to, very calmly, get out the car, vomit for a little while, and then solemnly go about the rest of his day.
His careful planning was disrupted by the unwelcome (but hardly unexpected) wail of a siren, and he was fairly certain those flashes of red and blue were not byproducts of his life passing before his eyes.
"Okay that's enough!" he huffed, tentatively reaching for the wheel-- to reinforce his point, not to wrench it away; unlike some people in the car he wasn't crazy. Much. The fact that he'd gotten in this car kind of tarnished his reputation in that department.
"Give it up and maybe they'll let us off with a few thousand dollars worth of tickets."
"Pigs'll never catch me," House crowed, clearly not treating the situation with appropriate gravitity. "C'mon, we can lose 'em. And then we won't be late." That apparently settled the situation. House risked a glance at his white-knuckled passenger, smiling serenely.
"We'll be on the six o'clock news," Wilson muttered.
"Great. I love being on tv. Besides, no one watches the six o'clock news anymore." Duh, his tone added.
"We'll catch the eleven o'clock rerun of the story from our jail cells. Even if you do manage to lose them somehow, which you won't, they'll track me down from the plate number, and I won't be able to say it was stolen because I'll be in the car."
"About that..." House jerked a thumb at the back seat. Wilson craned his neck to peer over the back of the seat, only to see his license plates sitting on the floor. The car hit a small bump-- probably not a living one-- and they slid over one another with a little metallic grind.
"You're insane," he said hopelessly, settling back in his seat and pulling the seatbelt around him tighter. House, perhaps wisely, didn't answer. Evading the cops was taking most of his attention, anyway.
* * *
He wouldn't have believed it if you'd told him a few hours ago, but Wilson was finally starting to enjoy himself as the car pulled into the lot. Somehow, miraculously, House had managed to evade the cops, and once he did he slowed down a little. They'd even stopped to re-attach the plates, since (as the older doctor explained,) it looked suspicious without them.
Which meant, probably, that the entire thing had been a stunt for his own amusement.
"We should've just left earlier," he said wearily, stepping out of the car and leaning on it a moment to catch his breath. It was nice being on steady ground again. Ground that wasn't going at least eighty miles an hour. If-- and it was, with House, always a big if-- if they could get through the rest of the day without being arrested, he could live with it. Now there was a chilling thought.
"Where would the fun be in that?"
Uneasy, he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, House was standing in front of him, far too close for comfort, leaning in.
"Ready?"
"No!" answered the oncologist, with a laugh.
For a moment, House's smile was guileless, compassionate. It was, Wilson knew, a rare thing for the man to let his guard down.
"That sucks." A pause. "Come on," he continued smoothly, offering a crooked arm.
Wilson rolled his eyes and linked his elbow through. "I can't believe we're late."
"I like making an entrance." With his free hand, House fixed his bowtie, and the two men walked slowly towards the front door of the church.
Author:
as_damagedRateing: PG! lol it's total fluff
Characters: Gregory House, James Evan Wilson
Author's Notes: I totally got inspired!!! I wrote this last night it hasn't been beta'd but I hope you like it! It's not really a sequel to my other story but i guess it could be, i mean, their love is so true!!!
Reviews plz!!! No flames!!!
It was, an oddly calm corner of James' mind noticed, the first time he'd been in a speeding car where he simultaneously feared they were going to blow a tire or crash into something, and yet wished they were going faster.
"Oh my God, look out!!!" he shrieked, even as House gave the wheel a sharp jerk, falling against him as the car turned to avoid a rather stately elm tree. The tires screeched along with him, protesting the abuse. Wilson had no such presence of mind. If they survived this drive, he wasn't going to complain. He wasn't going to ask House what the hell was wrong with him. He was going to, very calmly, get out the car, vomit for a little while, and then solemnly go about the rest of his day.
His careful planning was disrupted by the unwelcome (but hardly unexpected) wail of a siren, and he was fairly certain those flashes of red and blue were not byproducts of his life passing before his eyes.
"Okay that's enough!" he huffed, tentatively reaching for the wheel-- to reinforce his point, not to wrench it away; unlike some people in the car he wasn't crazy. Much. The fact that he'd gotten in this car kind of tarnished his reputation in that department.
"Give it up and maybe they'll let us off with a few thousand dollars worth of tickets."
"Pigs'll never catch me," House crowed, clearly not treating the situation with appropriate gravitity. "C'mon, we can lose 'em. And then we won't be late." That apparently settled the situation. House risked a glance at his white-knuckled passenger, smiling serenely.
"We'll be on the six o'clock news," Wilson muttered.
"Great. I love being on tv. Besides, no one watches the six o'clock news anymore." Duh, his tone added.
"We'll catch the eleven o'clock rerun of the story from our jail cells. Even if you do manage to lose them somehow, which you won't, they'll track me down from the plate number, and I won't be able to say it was stolen because I'll be in the car."
"About that..." House jerked a thumb at the back seat. Wilson craned his neck to peer over the back of the seat, only to see his license plates sitting on the floor. The car hit a small bump-- probably not a living one-- and they slid over one another with a little metallic grind.
"You're insane," he said hopelessly, settling back in his seat and pulling the seatbelt around him tighter. House, perhaps wisely, didn't answer. Evading the cops was taking most of his attention, anyway.
* * *
He wouldn't have believed it if you'd told him a few hours ago, but Wilson was finally starting to enjoy himself as the car pulled into the lot. Somehow, miraculously, House had managed to evade the cops, and once he did he slowed down a little. They'd even stopped to re-attach the plates, since (as the older doctor explained,) it looked suspicious without them.
Which meant, probably, that the entire thing had been a stunt for his own amusement.
"We should've just left earlier," he said wearily, stepping out of the car and leaning on it a moment to catch his breath. It was nice being on steady ground again. Ground that wasn't going at least eighty miles an hour. If-- and it was, with House, always a big if-- if they could get through the rest of the day without being arrested, he could live with it. Now there was a chilling thought.
"Where would the fun be in that?"
Uneasy, he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, House was standing in front of him, far too close for comfort, leaning in.
"Ready?"
"No!" answered the oncologist, with a laugh.
For a moment, House's smile was guileless, compassionate. It was, Wilson knew, a rare thing for the man to let his guard down.
"That sucks." A pause. "Come on," he continued smoothly, offering a crooked arm.
Wilson rolled his eyes and linked his elbow through. "I can't believe we're late."
"I like making an entrance." With his free hand, House fixed his bowtie, and the two men walked slowly towards the front door of the church.