Grabbing His Cane

Short, fast and loose nanofic. With thanks to the anon person on Tumblr who talked to me and sparked it. Additions welcome in comments or elsewhere!

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They've got a few spinning camellia flowers, a box of sparklers, and some bottle rockets, which they can use as soon as they've emptied a bottle or two.

Not long, now.

Wilson's hair is lit, and not, and lit again, as the neon rhythm flashes out:

RANCH

'O'

ROPIN'

vacancy

And with every flash another second passes, another one in which he might have had enough balls to try kissing Wilson, but hasn't. Yet. Let him finish his beer, let him light a few fuses and grin at the silly whiz and pop.

He's still thinking about it, imagining the way it'll go, when Wilson sets down his empty Corona in the middle of the motel parking lot.

"Gimme the lighter," he says, and he's happier about this than anyone over the age of eight has any right to be.

"Okay," House answers. "C'mere."