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we all scream for ice cream
title: we all scream for ice cream
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phinnia
illustrator and graphics goddess:jane_hidell
rating: PG-13/R-ish?
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches. I own nothing.
author's note: third in a sporadically updated set of fluffy wilson-centered ficthings done by request! Writing by me; pixel-Wilsons byjane_hidell. Sounds fun, doesn't it? It IS fun. If you want your own, go here and ask for one! (the rules, which are kind of minimal, are in the post. <3) This one, as requested by lady_twatterby, features House stealing Wilson's ice cream. (And on my part, a shoutout to RSL's theatrical roots. Or maybe I was just punchy yesterday. It was a good day.)
"Don't look at me like that." were the first words out of Wilson's mouth as House came in the door. "You weren't here, and the guy didn't have rocket pops like you always get, so I didn't get you anything."
It took House a minute (as he tried to gather himself from the melted puddle of electrolytes in the doorway) to realize that Wilson was talking about ice cream - and that the bastard had ice cream - and according to the little speech slash plea he'd just heard, it was apparently No Ice Cream for Hard Working Diagnosticians Day and no one had thought to forward him the memo.
"You could have phoned me." he scowled, throwing himself on the sofa with the kind of disregard for his leg that only ever happened after the third Vicodin in the past hour.
"I did." Wilson delicately licked the side of his creamsicle and pulled out his phone. "Watch this dramatization of actual events. Oh my!" He slapped a hand on his cheek. "The ice cream guy does not have rocket pops and my beloved --"
"God, you are so gay."
"Well, I didn't say 'beloved', that's why it's a dramatization, work with me. Ahem. 'My beloved will be devastated! I will call him on yon cellular network and ask which frozen delicacy he wishes to partake of on this fine July afternoon."
"That's it, I'm erasing every one of those goddamn PBS poufy skirt dramas off the TiVo the instant I can move again."
"So I called your cellphone." Wilson picked up his own phone and dialled dramatically. "And this is what happened. Watch now, and learn."
There was a pause, and then the sound of House's phone ringing from the bedroom.
"I knew I forgot something."
"And I tried to call your office but Foreman said you'd already left." He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."
"You could at least share."
"You hate creamsicles."
House leaned forward, steadied himself with one hand on the sofa and wrapped his lips around the top of the popsicle, sucking it further and further into his mouth, his tongue caressing the softening orange coat and peeling it away from the creamy center.
Wilson was about to say something, but the words got caught behind the moan.
House's lips closed around the wooden stick and he scraped his teeth along it, clearing the frozen treat away. Wilson pushed him backwards and tossed the stick aside, licking leftover ice cream and orange popsicle out of House's mouth.
House winced.
"Leg?" Wilson murmured between kisses.
"Worse. Brain freeze."
author:
phinniaillustrator and graphics goddess:
jane_hidellrating: PG-13/R-ish?
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches. I own nothing.
author's note: third in a sporadically updated set of fluffy wilson-centered ficthings done by request! Writing by me; pixel-Wilsons by
jane_hidell. Sounds fun, doesn't it? It IS fun. If you want your own, go here and ask for one! (the rules, which are kind of minimal, are in the post. <3) This one, as requested by lady_twatterby, features House stealing Wilson's ice cream. (And on my part, a shoutout to RSL's theatrical roots. Or maybe I was just punchy yesterday. It was a good day.)"Don't look at me like that." were the first words out of Wilson's mouth as House came in the door. "You weren't here, and the guy didn't have rocket pops like you always get, so I didn't get you anything."
It took House a minute (as he tried to gather himself from the melted puddle of electrolytes in the doorway) to realize that Wilson was talking about ice cream - and that the bastard had ice cream - and according to the little speech slash plea he'd just heard, it was apparently No Ice Cream for Hard Working Diagnosticians Day and no one had thought to forward him the memo.
"You could have phoned me." he scowled, throwing himself on the sofa with the kind of disregard for his leg that only ever happened after the third Vicodin in the past hour.
"I did." Wilson delicately licked the side of his creamsicle and pulled out his phone. "Watch this dramatization of actual events. Oh my!" He slapped a hand on his cheek. "The ice cream guy does not have rocket pops and my beloved --"
"God, you are so gay."
"Well, I didn't say 'beloved', that's why it's a dramatization, work with me. Ahem. 'My beloved will be devastated! I will call him on yon cellular network and ask which frozen delicacy he wishes to partake of on this fine July afternoon."
"That's it, I'm erasing every one of those goddamn PBS poufy skirt dramas off the TiVo the instant I can move again."
"So I called your cellphone." Wilson picked up his own phone and dialled dramatically. "And this is what happened. Watch now, and learn."
There was a pause, and then the sound of House's phone ringing from the bedroom.
"I knew I forgot something."
"And I tried to call your office but Foreman said you'd already left." He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."
"You could at least share."
"You hate creamsicles."
House leaned forward, steadied himself with one hand on the sofa and wrapped his lips around the top of the popsicle, sucking it further and further into his mouth, his tongue caressing the softening orange coat and peeling it away from the creamy center.
Wilson was about to say something, but the words got caught behind the moan.
House's lips closed around the wooden stick and he scraped his teeth along it, clearing the frozen treat away. Wilson pushed him backwards and tossed the stick aside, licking leftover ice cream and orange popsicle out of House's mouth.
House winced.
"Leg?" Wilson murmured between kisses.
"Worse. Brain freeze."