karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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"Up On The Roof" House/Chase NC17 Word count 2171 - Happy New Year to my Housefraus.

Title: Up On The Roof
Author: Karaokegal
Word Count: 2171
Pairing: House/Chase, House/Wilson-implied
Written for santahouse_md for Chloe-
Reposted to my LJ and cross-posted for additional curry.
Assignment:House/Chase, Three things you would like to see: a fair amount of snark, a blow-job from Chase, and at least one mention of Chase's thing for pain/daddy issues. Three things you'd rather not see: too much angst,House complaining about his leg during sex. JUST SHUT UP AND LIKE IT, OKAY

Summary: After-fic for “Need To Know” (2nd season spoilers)

Beta-ed by Beta Goddess Carol-Thanks again for pushing me to find a new way to approach Sub!Chase.

Up On The Roof

“Being miserable doesn’t make you better than everyone else. It just makes you miserable,” Wilson had declaimed before making a dramatic exit.


House wasn’t miserable. He’d managed to screw Stacy literally and figuratively in less than 24 hours. She was heading back to a life of mundanity with her precious Mark after admitting that she loved House and that he was more exciting in every possible way. Nothing would ever make up for the leg, but he had won last licks in the “who dumped whom” department.

Meanwhile, Wilson was sighing his way back to Prison Camp Julie.

He didn’t have to leave like that. All he had to do was stay and give House time to explain that Stacy meant nothing, maybe even that he’d done it for them. Except there hadn’t been a “them” since Christmas. Stacy had come through the revolving door of PPTH just as Vogler was leaving. Once she’d arrived, there hadn’t been time to let Wilson know how much he appreciated his sacrifice during “the terror.”

Of course, Wilson should have known. House suppressed another wave of irritation at his friend’s dramatic tendencies. Instead of acting like a jealous girlfriend, he should have given House a high-five for getting rid of the wicked witch. Now he was heading home to tell his wife how lucky he was to have her.

House couldn’t help it if Wilson was a schmuck. He was free. That was what mattered and if he’d gotten a bit of revenge, that was icing on the cake.

There were no secret messages to be found in the stars over Princeton and House was getting cold. His leg was especially displeased with the recent increase in stair climbing and was letting him know it was time to go home.

He decided on an extra Vicodin to shut his leg up. While he was waiting for that extra level of “fuck you, world” to kick in, the door opened slowly, as if pushed by someone without much upper body strength.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Shouldn’t she be home celebrating her negative HIV test with an extra celery stick or something? House was poised to run by her, claiming an urgent need to pee, when the body came through the door and it wasn’t Dr. Let Me Fix You.

House stopped in mid-stride.

What the hell was Chase doing up here, in his brown sweater that wouldn’t be keeping him warm for very long?

“Patient’s cured, aside from that pathetic charade of a marriage. Class dismissed. Go home.”

“It’s a nice night,” Chase observed with what he clearly took to be his most adorable smile, which would have been effective if he were trying to con an extra dessert out of the cafeteria cashier.

“Did Wilson send you up here to babysit me?”

“He told me not to bother you.”

“And yet here you are. You think you’re a better judge of my moods than he is?”

House let his indifference give in to a flicker of curiosity. Lately, he’d reached a new conclusion about his three trained seals: Cameron was not the weakest emotional link on Team House. He’d watched Chase abandon principles and common sense yet again, just because Cameron got high and found his number on her speed-dial. Then he’d suffered a meltdown after hearing about the death of his still-more-or-less-estranged father. Robert Chase was the most vulnerable of them all. Whether he was the fairest depended on House’s ever-changing sexual moods.

Chase had gotten close enough to block House from getting off the roof without a fight or a parachute. “Cameron’s naïve and Foreman doesn’t give a shit, but I can see what’s been going on around here.”

“Feel free to alert the media. Now get out of my way.”

He should have no problem getting past an obstacle with the body mass of an underfed platypus. House brandished his cane to show he meant business, expecting the little twerp to back off immediately.

Instead Chase turned on the other smile, the one that made nine-year-old cancer victims giddy, and did something with his eyes that managed to cause a blip of interest in a 50-year-old cripple.

“If you’ve been paying such close attention, you might have noticed that Stacy is a woman. As in female. Jugs, hoo-hoo, all that good stuff. What makes you think…?”

“We’re not all as dumb as you think we are.”

“That would be difficult.”

Chase was close enough for House to notice that moonlight became him. His hands were now on the wall on either side of House’s shoulders. There was nothing the least bit threatening in Chase’s manner, yet he had House trapped by his unwillingness to hurt him.

“If I’m wrong, stop me. Hit me. Reject me.”

House felt himself smiling, which he hadn’t expected to happen again tonight. Certainly not after Wilson left.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, letting it come out as a rough, taunting growl.

He wasn’t surprised to hear a sharp intake of breath or feel an insistent hand on his wrist. The hint of smugness around the mouth, that was a surprise.
“Rejection, abuse and some daddy issues thrown in for good measure. That’s your catnip, huh Robbie?”

“Yeah.” Chase shrugged, not even making a pretense at embarrassment. “But why shouldn’t you accept pleasure if you get to give out pain along the way?”

There was something wrong with that formulation, but House couldn’t figure out exactly what.

“Just don’t try to kiss me,” he admonished, giving in to the inevitable. What kind of idiot turns down sexual favors from a pretty blond? Maybe something involving that oh-so-obvious oral fixation.

Chase was already working on his belt and jeans with a sense of urgency that House didn’t feel himself. He’d been with Stacy just last night. He’d have that memory at his disposal for as long as he needed it, at least until Wilson came to his senses again. But in the meantime, he didn’t mind playing into Chase’s twisted fantasies.

House wasn’t a sadist, at least not sexually. He insulted his staff to make them better doctors and the idiots who passed through the clinic because they had it coming, but generally not his lovers, at least not while in the act. Chase wasn’t a lover. He was an underling who’d offered himself as the vessel of House’s disappointment with Stacy, Wilson and the world at large.

“Get on with it. If you want to impress me, do your job. You want to suck cock, get on your knees and do it.”

The kid knew how to take orders. In short order House’s cock was briefly out and shocked by the cold air before being welcomed into the warmth of Chase’s mouth. Why lie to himself? He’d had the fantasies about his pretty-boy, the same way he occasionally got off thinking of Cameron. Sometimes he even shared them with Wilson, getting a rise of lust and jealousy at the same time.

House felt an evil grin twisting his lips.

He could hardly help responding. Chase was writing House’s cock a love letter with his tongue and making it grow in his mouth, moans escaping from between his lips. House was now most definitely interested in the outcome.

Hey, you. I’m tired. Pain. That was the leg talking. He told it to shut the fuck up and enjoy the show.

He grabbed the back of Chase’s head. His fingers twisted and explored, pulling slightly, wondering how much he could hurt Chase just through his delicate follicles. The idea made him harder. He’d dumped Stacy only after it was clear she’d never make up her mind and he’d let Wilson walk away because neither of them could admit what they meant to each other. It hurt, the way his leg hurt and he wanted to share the pain. If Chase was willing to give his throat for the cause, so be it.

He pushed himself deeply into Chase’s mouth, holding him by the silky hair so there was no means of escape. He waited to see if Chase would gag or struggle, curious to find out what his own reaction would be. How much could he take from a willing victim?

It was a relief not to have to give a damn. Not to have to worry about Wilson’s feelings, or Stacy’s hard-won orgasm. His hips pistoned forward, thrusting deeply. There was no resistance or sound of protest, only gasps of pleasure, some of which, he realized, were his own. He was moaning, cursing softly, each word feeling deliciously wrong in his mouth, the way Chase’s hair felt so vulnerable in his hands. He knew that the verbal abuse -- whore, cocksucker, come-slut -- was making Chase more excited by the minute. He imagined Chase’s dick swelling in his pants, wondering if his little whore was trying to get himself off while his hands and mouth were supposed to be at his boss’s disposal.

Chase was sweating: House could feel dampness on his neck as he pushed himself in even deeper. Whoever had made Chase what he was had done a hell of a job. Better than the pros he usually consorted with or even his favorite amateur.

Wilson had come back and caught them in the act. Their eyes locked and he saw Wilson watching with a mixture of anger and jealousy and his own unspoken lust. His balls were heavy with the release to come. His body shaking with tension. Chase tightened everything. His hands, lips, throat. House knew Chase was getting off, and then Wilson was gone and House was ….almost…he closed his eyes, and focused everything on Chase’s lips…and….oh god…! His whole body jerked forward, then left and right.

Chase kept House’s cock firmly in his mouth through the spasms, swallowing everything, including House’s continued verbal abuse, which continued until the last tremor had rolled through his limbs and the last drop was taken by Chase’s thirsty lips.

“House, are you OK?”

“Who said you could talk?” he snapped, still playing his part. Once his eyes focused, as much as possible in the darkness, he realized that the game was over. Chase had already gotten him covered and zipped up.

He thought Chase was about to break the rules and try to embrace him or make some other attempt at emotional contact, but he only delved into House’s jacket pocket and pulled out the pill bottle. He made a show of opening the lid to prove he’d overcome the manual dexterity problem that had led to the Kayla debacle.

House caught Chase assessing him as he handed over the Vicodin. He would have bristled with indignation if the cold and tired weren’t more urgent. He needed to get off the damn leg. Now you notice? Had to get your jollies first? Thanks a lot.

Chase was too conscientious to take his eyes off House until they’d both gotten inside and down the flight of stairs. I’ve got a good doctor on my staff and the best cocksucker in town, any place or any time I want him. If I want him. The idea was almost too appealing.

He needed to put the kibosh on this as soon as possible. Chase was twice as fucked up as Cameron and there were plenty of good reasons he wasn’t screwing her either. “General Hospital” provided all the drama he could stand on a daily basis.

He tried not to look at Chase, who was holding the door open for him. The relative sanity of PPTH waited on the other side. All he had to do was walk through and it would be as if this had never happened.

So why was he staring at Chase’s mouth? Why did he suddenly want to know what those lips felt like above the belt?

He pulled Chase away from the door and then pushed him up against it with his full body weight. Chase’s mouth was as soft and welcoming to his tongue as it had been to his cock. Maybe House could let this go on a few more minutes or hours or days. Stacy was gone and Wilson had a stick up his otherwise admirable ass, but Chase would do whatever he wanted, wherever, whenever. Certainly an alluring prospect, except apparently mistaken. Chase was pushing him away.

“Don’t. Do. That,” Chase held House at arms’ length, and those arms were stronger than he would have expected. “You wouldn’t let me kiss you. Well, don’t kiss me like that again. Not unless you mean it.”

House considered. Chase’s lips, pressed firmly together to make the point, were suddenly the most desirable thing he’d ever seen, but only because he couldn’t have them.

He nodded and walked through the door.

“It’s a deal.”

He glanced back to find Chase watching him, arms folded, lips tight, and found himself feeling oddly envious of his eminently screwed-up employee.

At least Chase knew what he wanted.

Tags: house/chase, housefic, nc17

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  • RIP Robert Conrad

    Wild, Wild West’ Star Robert Conrad Dies At Age 84 I wax effusive about Baa Baa Black Sheep/Black Sheep Squadron and Mr. Conrad in general.…

  • RIP Peter Sarstedt

    Singer-songwriter who topped the charts in 1969 with Where Do You Go to (My Lovely) I sang this song on Saturday afternoon at the Mint. (I fell in…

  • RIP Sir Terry Wogan

    Sir Terry Wogan: Veteran broadcaster dies, aged 77 From an Anglo-phile and Eurovision fan to my friends in the UK...my condolences.