Kiss of Fire

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN: March 2025

SUMMARY:

[This is a ficlet inspired by my partner and I’s current hyperfixations; In this AU, Mischa lecter survives the events of her childhood and only learns of Hannibal’s survival well into her adult years. She works at PPTH as the head of the… baby department. I forget the word for it–]

Some say that the best kisses are those born in the spur of the moment; products of overwhelming love and desire that flourish into explosive passion. That’s… almost the case with Wilson and House, but Mischa will take any signs of intimacy that she can get from her fools.

Everyone in the hospital was betting on it: When would House and Wilson actually become a ‘proper thing’? Sure, they had their moments, and there was a common denominator between the two of them–the lovely Dr. Mischa Lecter from Pediatrics–but the two of them? They still butt heads. They still barked and bit and treated each other like they weren’t sure if they wanted to kiss each other or kill each other. They got along with Mischa swimmingly; were able to play nice when she was in the room and showcase their care for her in their… more than unique ways. But they still haven’t actually officiated things between themselves. Their affections were entirely focused on her and her alone. It’d come to a head eventually… but when?

Apparently, amidst a petty argument. And, to the dismay of many betters and onlookers alike, that was entirely in character for the pair.

It was, truly, a day like any other. House and team had a case that sent them on a wild goose chase for the one and true diagnosis. Wilson got roped into whatever shenanigans House had been up to, which ultimately led to many spats between the pair. And Mischa? Mischa was just happy things were steady with the hospital babies. Her babies, however, were clearly having a day of big, big emotions. It was, partly, why she found herself sitting in House’s office once things settled down. His patient was stable, hers were asleep… so why not stop in for a catch up chat? Plus, she really needed to know why it was that Wilson was moving around the hospital with that signature look in his eyes; the one that said he was scheming.

“So, I have to ask–” she began, sitting back in the chair across from his desk. Tucked peacefully in the corner, she paused to sip at her cup of cocoa. “Have you been teasing Wilson all day?”

“Me? Bothering Wilson with trivial things that throw off his groove?” House grinned, then pouted dramatically. He knew damn well what he’d been doing. “Why would I do something like that?”

“House.”

The grin returned, posture adjusting as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk and prop his chin on his hands. Just as he’d opened his mouth to respond, the glass door beside Mischa opened and there stood Wilson. His sleeves were rolled up, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he stepped in and let the door swing itself shut behind him.

“You–” He glanced to his side upon hearing a soft, surprised squeak. “--Hello Mischa–” His gaze turned back to House. “--You!”

A single brow raised. Steely blues found themselves fixated on the man before him, lips twitching into a proud smirk. House didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to; his face said it all, save for the faux-innocence radiating with the batting of his lashes. He may stoop low, but he wouldn’t stoop that low… yet. He was egging Wilson on, asking if he was talking to him.

And he was, indeed, talking to him.

“What is your deal today? Genuinely! I am–You’ve got me. First you come by the cafeteria and steal my breakfast. Then, I go to the employee lounge for lunch and what do I find but not the lunch I packed, but a sticky note with a crudely drawn… I don’t even know what it was supposed to be, honestly. Did you try to draw my lunch thinking I was too stupid to notice?–It doesn’t matter. And everywhere I turn, there you are with some comment to make, following me like a–like a lost dog leaving destruction in your wake.”

“I thought you had a soft spot for strays.”

Wilson stared at House for a moment, only briefly glancing over his shoulder to their partner who was bringing her drink up to her mouth to conceal a smile.

“That’s–You’re not a stray, House. You’re that senior dog at the shelter that keeps following the staff around trying to stick its head up the vet tech’s skirt, but it’s ‘fine’ because god knows when you’ll kill yourself getting into the chocolate stash they keep in the euthanasia room.” Collateral damage; Mischa’s eyes widen with shock and bemusement as she stifles a surprised laugh.

House tilted his head in consideration, then shrugged, casually peering past Wilson and toward Mischa. Her facade starts to crumble as they make eye contact. He grins. “Have you seen the vet tech? I wouldn’t mind–”

“House.” Wilson stepped into his field of view again, commanding his attention. His arms folded across his chest.

Meanwhile, Dr. Lecter found herself hastily covering her mouth with one hand as droplets of hot cocoa spilled forth from the laugh that escaped her. Wilson gave her an apologetic look and shook his head as he turned his attention once more.

“That’s another thing, actually–Your idea of a first date. I mean, I really shouldn’t even be surprised you even suggested something so…”

“So…?”

“You suggested that–as a first date, mind you–we go on a bar crawl. We do that as is! If we count those, we’ve been dating since we were both in college.”

“It’s different.”

Wilson does a double take. “H–How is it any different! It’s the same thing we’ve been doing and besides, I’m sure Mischa does not want to see what happens.”

Intrigue! Mischa tilts her head. “What happens when you two get drinking together?”

A mistake. “Oh, Wilson is a monster–Seriously, I always have to carry his pants and pull him off the karaoke machine–”

“That is not–”

“I got photos that say otherwise.”

“You–House!”

“Sorry, not important–Fact is, it’s not a bad idea.”

“It is a bad idea,” Wilson affirms, folding his arms over his chest. “First dates are supposed to be… I don’t know, romantic? If it were just us, fine. Maybe. Probably not–But we should seriously be taking into account what Mischa would like to do. Something… artistically-inclined. A museum date–”

“Like that BDSM exhibit you and Cuddy went to.”

“That was… an accident–But sure! Even that was more romantic than going bar to bar seeing how long it takes either of us to end up bent over the nearest trash can.”

“Alright, loverboy, I get the picture.”

Wilson sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think you do–look, how about this? I’m going to go back to my office and I’m going to set up a nice reservation somewhere for the three of us.”

“And?” House leaned forward.

“... And what? You want me to seal it with a kiss or something?” Wilson shook his head. “No–I’m going to go now.”

“Oh come on.” House drew it out, slumping back dramatically in his chair. “We all know it’s what you really want to do.”

“Goodnight, House.” He started on his way out, pausing to shoot that charming smile of his to the chair in the corner. “And goodnight, Mischa.”

“Night, Wilson!” She beamed, glancing between him and House with budding curiosity. There was a tension there that she was picking up on, but it was much too late to point it out. Wilson was gone and they were alone again. “Well, out of all your arguments, that was probably the smoothest of the bunch.”

“He’ll be back.”

Her head tilted. “How are you so sure? He said he was–”

House raised a finger, almost wagging it. “He said he was going back to his office. Doesn’t mean he will now. If I didn’t already have bets going elsewhere, I’d say five bucks he doesn’t even get in the elevator.”

A few moments pass. There’s silence; anticipation. House watches the door only for a moment before fucking around with the paperwork on his desk. Is any of it going to be filed? Absolutely not. It’s just entertaining to read. Gives him an excuse to act casual. Mischa, on the other hand, watches the door like a hound. She’s fixated on it. She tries to sit up in the chair and crane her neck just right so that she may catch a glimpse of their mutual friend in the hallway beyond. It fails; she slumps back and rests her cheek on her palm.

And as if it were clockwork, Wilson enters. The door swings open dramatically once more. He didn’t make it to the elevator; he’d only pressed the call button.

“You–” he starts, voice raising with that faux annoyance he musters up when he’s with House. But he stops. “No. No… You know what, House?”

The lowering of his voice was enough to command their attention. It wasn’t malicious, though arguably it would have been easier to understand if it were. Mischa sat up. House sat back.

“Hm… nope. Can’t say that I do.”

“You just–You clearly get a kick out of this. It’s your fetish–making people flounder and suffer at the wave of your hand.” Wilson steps closer. “The lengths you go to pester people would be impressive if it weren’t outright insane.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing–” House chimes in, but he’s cut off. Wilson is closer, the desk being the only thing between them now.

“And yet.” He pauses. “And yet for some… stupid, selfish reason. I stay. I tolerate the stealing of my food, the dismantling of my office, the constant comments about my past, present, and future.”

Another pause. He’s considering his next words carefully, especially when he sees a pang of uncertainty cross House’s features. This is… oddly sounding like the beginning of a breakup. It is not. Yet stating such verbally would be too much ammunition in the hands of a man whose whole life is centered on social manipulation. This needs a more direct approach; it inspires Wilson to simply walk around the desk, grab the collar of House’s shirt, and pull him into a viciously passionate kiss.

And nobody expects it. House’s eyes widen, brows furrowing as he gives an offhanded glance toward Mischa as if to ask if he’s dreaming. He’s not; she’s staring back with stars in her eyes and nodding her head enthusiastically. So, he rolls his eyes and gives in. He kisses Wilson back.

Mischa squeals.

She frantically abandons the mug in her hands, slamming it down on the table beside her as her hands fly up to her mouth. Her eyes squeeze shut and her shoulders shimmy as she uses every ounce of willpower to keep herself seated for this show. It nearly ends abruptly, with both men jolting at the sudden and shrill sound. Yet they don’t withdraw, at least for the moment. This sensation feels too good to let go of, and it’s evidenced in the way House’s shoulders slump. In turn, Wilson’s grasp on House’s shirt loosens, allowing the two of them to melt into one another and truly savor the feeling of their lips moving together. When Wilson does finally crush under the weight of being watched, he finally starts the retreat.

“Don’t.” House stops him, a coy smirk spreading into his voice. He tugs Wilson back in by wrapping his hand in his tie. “Give the pretty lady what she wants.”

It should not have flustered Wilson as much as it had. His cheeks are lit aflame, vibrant and red even under the dimmed office lighting. Had it not been for the way his breath shivered, he swears up and down he would have moaned. It took everything to hold it back; it takes nothing for House to finally let him go.

He’d made his point. He relishes in victory by leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk. Wilson avoids eye contact and smooths his tie into place.

“You… are…” Wilson starts. He’s interrupted.

“A good kisser? The man of your gay little dreams?” House quips.

Wilson sighs. “Just as insufferable as ever.”

“But you enjoyed it. Besides–you started this. I just finished it.”

There’s a moment of silence as their gazes finally cross again. Both have a subtle shimmer in their eyes.

“... You’re right, House. It was. Nice.”

And like clockwork, Mischa is on her feet and by their sides. She reaches up and down, letting a hand caress each of their cheeks before she leans to kiss them. Firstly down, that way she can press a chaste kiss to House’s lips and whisper for him to keep playing nice. He rolls his eyes but softens as she stands, turning to her other side to finally address Wilson, whose fixation rested on her the second he felt her fingers ghost his cheek. She presses a chaste kiss to his lips, lingering long enough to cause those flustered feelings to re-emerge. When he begins to chase, she withdraws, smiling ever so sweetly.

“I’m glad you two are finally getting along~”