House, for all his unique personality traits, strange adventurous risks and frequent comments about prostitutes, was actually not a very kinky person. He had the occasional food-related fantasy, and he loved it when Wilson would kiss his Vicodin pills into his mouth with his tongue. But when it came to actual sex toys, he was not only apprehensive, he was totally clueless. When it came to men, he had only slept with Wilson, and when it came to sex in general, he wasn't exactly lining them up at his door on the weekends. With his attitude and a scarred, ugly leg to boot, he was lucky to take what he could get.

So when he got home and found the note leading him to the kitchen, he wasn't thinking about sex, he was thinking of food. And even when he found the bag of food and the Vicodin Wilson had left for him, he still wasn't getting the hint. "Wilson!" he called out, clutching the piece of paper he had found on the door and wandering down the hallway. He skipped the bathroom entirely, not even noticing that note, and poked his head into the bedroom. "Wilson, what the hell is all-" He cut himself off. Someone had come in to his apartment and replaced Wilson with a porn star. A scary, gay porn star wearing things House was unlikely to be able to define, let alone use properly. "Holy shit," he said, eyes wide in equal parts fear and surprise. "I think I missed something on my way in here."