Corporate Conspiracies For Dummies, Or A Mathletes Valentine's Day Special

House, as a rule, has always thought that Valentine’s Day was a giant conspiracy created by Hershey’s to sell chocolate to the unsuspecting public. Generally, this wouldn’t bother him so much if it didn’t mean that girls expected flowers and sappy, pathetic declarations of love and things like that. (Emily had even started tearing up when he’d failed to care last year, which had been really annoying and kind of pathetic.)

This year, however, he has Rodney, who’s the sort of guy who forgets his sister’s birthday and hates romantic comedies and would much rather get into arguments about the general competency of the people of the medical profession than hold hands. House thinks that’s a step up. Still, it’s hard to miss all the cards and chocolate exchanging hands and some of the ridiculous decorations the cafeteria staff has put up. McKay has to have noticed what day it is. In fact, House is looking forward to the inevitable rant about how stupid the holiday is.

When he gets to the lunch table, Rodney’s agitated, taking huge bites out his sandwich and chewing too fast, which House thinks is a good sign until Rodney looks up, notices House, and then gets more tense, his eyes going wide and nervous.

“So, uh,” Rodney says, as House sits down. He’s not dressed differently than usual, which means he hasn’t gone completely off the deep end. Yet. “You, um, want to go see a movie or something?” He take a too-large drink of his Coke and swallows roughly around it.

House snorts. “Please. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for this crap too.” He gestures at a paper cupid that’s hanging from the cafeteria ceiling, exemplifying everything that’s wrong with this holiday.

Rodney blinks at him with stupidly long lashes for a moment, looking vaguely hurt, before bristling. “Well, excuse me,” he mutters, before turning back to his sandwich, not meeting House’s eyes.

And for some reason House can’t deal with that, so he says, “If you’re really too pathetic to do have anything better to do, you could come over and watch Star Wars. My parents are going out to dinner and a movie. We’ll have the house to ourselves.” Rodney loves Star Wars best because he quite obviously wants to be a Jedi Knight when he grows up and because he can spend the whole two hours mocking the bad physics with manic glee.

He visibly brightens at the offer, his whole face lighting up. “Well,” he says. “It does beat listening to Jeannie go on and on about how Valentine’s Day is a massive corporate conspiracy.”

“You really don’t have plans, Greg?” his mother asks as she puts on a pair of earrings, moving about the living room, gathering up her things.

House is sitting in front of the television, absently flicking through channels, waiting for his parents to leave. “Not really,” he says. “Rodney’s coming over to watch Star Wars.” He finds a sitcom, winces at the canned laughter, tries the news, but then gets bored.

“No bringing girls over,” his dad says, stern, as he pulls on his winter coat. “I mean it.”

“Just Rodney,” House says. “Promise.” What he doesn’t say and really wants to is, I promise not to knock him up and make him give up his dream of becoming a world-renowned astrophysicist. I swear.

His dad just nods.

Rodney shows up a few minutes after House’s parents leave, a packet of microwave popcorn in hand.

“My mom made me bring it,” Rodney says. “After, you know, I said I was coming over.” He looks a little nervous, tense, and even though they’ve done this a dozen times before, this is the first time they’ve been a couple. This is a date. House maybe wants to vomit a little.

It gets better as they settle in, House microwaving the popcorn as he goads Rodney on during one of his more lengthy rants about the stupidity of the math team. The season’s over for this year, but Rodney takes his position as team captain very, very seriously. “Lee is thinking of quitting the team next year! She wants to focus on her college applications or some such nonsense. Can you believe this? We’re losing Ramsey and Lin as it is, and to make it all worse Locklear still hasn’t realized that he’s crap and is sticking around despite his constant and consistent failure.”

House has never really liked people who like listening to themselves talk, but Rodney’s an exception. Rodney’s an exception to a lot of things, House has noticed.

When they finally get to watching the movie, Rodney curls up on his half of the couch (claimed months ago) and hogs the popcorn, rapt from the first blare of horns. He tells the story of the first time he saw the movie with Jeannie, who enjoyed it but completely failed to appreciate its genius, and House realizes that Rodney’s happy like this, watching a ridiculous, geeky movie and talking with food in his mouth.

They make it to the scene where the Millennium Falcon get trapped in the Death Star’s tractor beam before House gets bored of Rodney explaining the physical impossibility of light sabers (sounding a little wistful) and leans into Rodney’s space, pressing his lips against Rodney’s neck, listening as Rodney’s voice trails off.

“Oh,” Rodney says, eyes going wide with understanding. “Okay.”

Things get frantic after that, fast, desperate kisses with Rodney’s hand fisted in House’s shirt, House’s arm hooked around the back of Rodney’s neck. The popcorn goes flying. Then, at some point, Rodney gets House’s shirt off, nipping and sucking at available skin, and House doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how eager Rodney is, how he throws himself into things with everything he has. House gets elbowed in the ribs while he gets Rodney’s shirt off, but it’s worth it for the way Rodney shudders when House brushes his fingers over a nipple, hips shoving forward, rubbing their erections together through layers of clothing. House thinks he might just come in his pants.

But then Rodney’s undoing both their flies at the same time, a display of dexterity that House surely would have made fun of if it wasn’t the best thing ever, and then Rodney’s pushing him back, down onto the couch, and Rodney’s hand is in his boxers, fingers wrapping around his cock. House groans, thrusting forward involuntarily, and he thinks he sees Rodney grin smugly before House drags him into a kiss.

Then Rodney starts moving his hand, clever and quick, and House doesn’t last long, shuddering through his release. He reaches for Rodney next, sliding his hand into Rodney’s pants, watching as Rodney’s eyes fall shut, the strange, familiar unfamiliar feel of another guy’s cock in his hand. Rodney doesn’t last much longer, a quick gasp as he comes.

“You,” Rodney says afterward, panting, his voice ragged, his pupils blown, everything he’s feeling written across his face. “You’re not a complete waste of space. And sometimes someone might actually mistake you for smart. And sometimes I think I might actually like you.”

And for a moment House doesn’t care that this fucking holiday is some giant corporate conspiracy, it’s not completely useless. On screen, Leia shoots out some metal grating, and as House looks up at Rodney looking down at him, he thinks this is like that, like he’s jumping into the unknown, like he’s falling. There’s probably a garbage pit at the bottom of this, too.

“Yeah, well,” House says, “I don’t always hate you either.”

FIN.