House walked into Wilson's office and dropped a file on his desk. Wilson casually opened the file and removed an MRI.

"I think it's a tumor," House said. "The kids vote for a cyst."

"Do a biopsy," Wilson said.

House walked over to Wilson's couch and sat down. "They're doing the biopsy now. Care to make it interesting?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you this bored?"

"Yes."

Wilson sighed. "It's clearly a cyst. You just want it to be a tumor so you can hand it off to me and go home and watch the hockey game."

"What are we betting?"

"Not money," Wilson said. "You never pay up."

"If it's a tumor you have to introduce me to your new girlfriend," House said. "And I can make two to five comments about her body."

Wilson leaned forward in his chair with a devious smile. "And if it's a cyst you have to go out on a date with Jane the clinic nurse."

"Who's Jane?"

"She's new," Wilson explained. "Which is why she doesn't hate you yet. Actually, she told Brenda she likes you, which leads me to believe she has an undiagnosed brain injury."

House scowled. "I hate dating."

"She's exactly your type," Wilson argued. "And she's fresh out of a divorce, so she probably has no expectations."

"Fine." House held his hand out and Wilson shook it.

The door opened and Thirteen walked in. "Biopsy results are back. It's a cyst."

"Dammit!" House threw his cane to the floor.

Thirteen stared at him. "But that means it's not cancer, so, um, yay?"

House retrieved his cane and stood up. He pointed at Wilson threateningly. "I'm not taking her to a nice restaurant."

Wilson held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

After a quick differential, House sent his team off to do more tests and decided to call it a day. The patient was stable and the results would take hours anyway. On his way out he noticed a slender brunette at the clinic desk. Wilson was right; she was just his type. And he might as well get it over with. Maybe he'd luck out and she'd turn him down.

"Are you Jane?" he asked as he leaned on the clinic station and stole a lollipop.

"Dr. House," she said with a smile. "It's good to see you."

His eyes narrowed. "Have you had any recent head trauma?"

"Um...no."

He tapped the stick end of the lollipop on the counter. "Wanna go out tonight?"

"I'd love to," she said. "My shift ends in half an hour."

House took a sheet of paper off the desk and scrawled his address on it. "Meet me at my place." He took a step back, then reconsidered and leaned forward. "I promise not to date rape you."

Jane took the paper. "You're just as charming as I've heard. I'll see you in a bit."

House went home and put on the hockey game. He was three beers in when there was a knock on his door.

"It's open," he called out.

Jane entered, looking pretty in a sweater and skirt, but it was the six-pack in her hand House noticed first.

"I asked Dr. Wilson," she said, "and he said this brand is your favorite."

"Add it to the pile," he said, gesturing to the coffee table where his three remaining beers sat. "You like hockey?"

"Sure," she said as she sat down on the couch next to him.

They were relatively quiet as the game progressed. At the second commercial break, House called in a pizza order. The pizza arrived, and the date continued quietly, as House muttered over a bad ref's call and Jane tentatively asked about the blue line rule.

By the end of the game the pizza was half gone, and the beer was completely gone, though Jane hadn't drank any. House popped a Vicodin and turned to her. "Do you like professional wrestling or lesbian porn? Because I have both TIVOed."

Jane stood up and smoothed out her skirt. "I should go."

House turned back to the television. "Thanks for stopping by."

Jane stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "You're a nice person, Dr. House," she said. "But if this is your idea of a date, I think you should be dating men."

As soon as the door closed behind her, House thought, wow, she really does have an undiagnosed brain injury.

And then he thought, huh.

The next morning House gathered his team in the conference room. "Thirty-eight year-old female," he said. "Apparent neurological problems."

"What's her history?" Thirteen asked.

"No idea," House said. "Her name's Jane and she works in the clinic. Get her up here for a full exam."

The team exchanged worried looks.

"We can't admit someone without her permission," Taub said.

House regarded them for a moment before speaking. "She said I was a nice person."

The entire team got to their feet.

"I'll schedule an MRI," Foreman said.

"I'll get the history," Taub said.

"I'll contact the CDC," Thirteen said.

As soon as he was alone, House went to Wilson's office, threw the door open, and said, "Have sex with me."

"No," Wilson said without looking up from his paperwork.

House scowled and slammed the door shut on his way out

Jane was admitted, and the MRI showed a mass in her brain. House told his team to do a biopsy, then went to lunch, where he cut into the cafeteria line behind Wilson.

"It's for an experiment," House said.

Wilson took a bag of chips off the counter, then thought twice and grabbed two bags. "Is this about how you got your date admitted?"

"Forget the date," House said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But she said something interesting."

"Was this before or after she developed a mass in her brain?"

"After."

They sat down at a table, and House began picking food off Wilson's plate. "She said I should date men." He popped a French fry in his mouth. "You're the only man who likes me. And we've already had enough man-dates." He grabbed another fry. "So we should jump straight to the sex."

Wilson just stared at him. "I'm not gay."

House rolled his eyes. "Your shoes alone put you at a 2 on the Kinsey scale. You're not entirely straight."

"You're not gay," Wilson countered.

House shrugged. "I had a phase, in med school."

"A phase?"

"More like a two-year secret gay love affair," House said flippantly. "Then he ran off to Guam with our Anatomy professor and I consoled myself by switching my specialty to infectious diseases and mailing them anthrax."

"You did not," Wilson said.

"No," House replied. "But I'd still do you." He took a sip of Wilson's soda. "As an experiment."

"I am not your sexual lab rat," Wilson said. "Get a male hooker."

House shook his head. "Don't have the cash."

Wilson sighed and looked up from his food. "Even if this wasn't the most ridiculous...House, this could ruin our friendship."

House leaned forward. "Wilson, I killed your girlfriend and it didn't ruin our friendship. You think one little handjob is gonna make a difference?"

Wilson put his face in his hands. House took another fry.

After lunch, House returned to his office to find that Jane's mass was a benign and operable tumor. They scheduled the surgery for later that day, and House went home early.

The next morning he paid a visit to Jane's hospital room.

"Dr. House," she said. "They tell me my prognosis is good. Thank you." She paused. "You're a jerk."

House raised his arms in triumph. "I have healed you!"

Jane switched on the television. "You're still a jerk."

That night House was sitting on his couch watching some mindless reality TV show when there was a knock on the door.

"Go away," House said.

There was the sound of a key in the lock and Wilson entered.

"Hey," House said. "Here to congratulate me on another successful diagnosis or berate me about being a sexual deviant? Because either one would be better than Celebrity Fat Camp."

Wilson remained just inside the doorway. He took a deep breath. "One hand job," he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible. "And we never speak of it again."

House turned sideways to face him. "One mutual handjob," he said. "And I promise not to e-mail all your ex-wives to gloat."

Wilson took a few tentative steps toward the couch, then slowly settled himself down next to House, as if any sudden movement might be dangerous.

"Relax," House said. "I'm not giving you a prostate exam." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless..."

"House."

House reached over, put an arm around Wilson, and pulled their faces together.

"Wait," Wilson said. "You didn't say anything about kissing."

"I'm sorry, Julia Roberts," House said. "I didn't realize those were the official whore rules."

Wilson leaned backwards. "This is a mistake."

House pulled him back so that Wilson was nearly in his lap. "Do I need to sedate you?"

Before Wilson had a chance to respond, House's lips were on his. At first Wilson was stiff, but he soon relaxed into the kiss, his body automatically responding. House reached up to loosen Wilson's tie.

Wilson pulled back. "You didn't say anything about being naked."

"You are the worst lay ever," House muttered as he moved his attention from Wilson's tie to his belt.

Surprisingly, Wilson leaned back to give House better access to the front of his pants. House pulled him in for another kiss as he undid his pants and pulled his dick out.

"This is a mistake," Wilson muttered against House's mouth.

"Shut up," House said. He licked his hand and went to work on Wilson's cock.

Wilson tilted his head back and closed his eyes. A low moan escaped his throat.

House pressed his face to the side of Wilson's head and sucked his earlobe into his mouth briefly before whispering, "Tell me how you like it."

"House..." Wilson panted out.

House ran his tongue along the outside of Wilson's ear. "Tell me." But he could already tell from the way Wilson's hips bucked as he thumbed the head of his dick and sped up his motions.

Wilson gripped House's forearm hard, let out a low series of moans, and came all over the front of his pants and House's hand.

House loosened his grip on Wilson's body, and Wilson slid bonelessly against his shoulder.

"Ten second refractory period until you reciprocate," House said, flicking Wilson's ear for good measure.

"I don't know..." Wilson said, his breath heavy. "I've never..."

House undid his pants. "It's not brain surgery," he said. "And you've actually performed brain surgery." He pulled his cock out unceremoniously.

Wilson looked up at him for the first time since his orgasm. "But House...it's you."

House gave him a crooked smile. "Yeah, it's me. So what's the big deal?"

Wilson slowly moved his hand so that it covered House's dick. House took a shallow breath in, then waited as Wilson remained motionless.

"Uh...you do actually have to form some sort of grip," House said.

"I'm nervous," Wilson responded, "Give me a minute."

House grunted in disapproval and grabbed Wilson's hand, wrapping it and his own hand around his dick. He went to work quickly, without giving any regard to the tension in Wilson's arm. House closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the friction as Wilson's hand slowly relaxed.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable jerking, House pushed Wilson's hand away and tucked his dick back inside his jeans.

Wilson looked over at him. "Was that not...good?"

"That was the worst sex I've ever had," House said.

Wilson's face fell.

"You need tons of practice."

"Practice?" Wilson asked.

House hoisted himself to his feet. "Hours and hours of exhaustive practice," he said. "Starting right now. Get in the bedroom."

Wilson stood up. "What kind of practice?"

"Do you need me to draw you a diagram?" House sighed. "Actually, you probably do. Grab some notebook paper on your way." He limped into the bedroom.

Wilson found a pile of notebook paper on House's desk and held it in his hand a moment, considering it. House had already sketched some crude figures in odd positions on the first page. "I don't think my legs go back that far," he called into the next room.

"Let's find out," House called back. He stuck his head out the bedroom door. "Care to make it interesting?"