karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,
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"Bargain" House/Chase NC17 Wordcount-3231

No season three spoilers. UK SAFE!

Title: Bargain
Author: karaokegal
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Chase (and a hint of stealth H/W)
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 3231
Notes: Written as a birthday gift for haldane who requestd Chase and a male and not too much angst. I tried, really I did. This is pretty damn fluffy for me.
Warnings: Spoiler for "Acceptance," Drunk!House.

Summary: Missing scene from Acceptance.



Chase returned from his mission to search Death Row Guy’s cell at Rahway in a state that could best be described as “not in the fucking mood.”

In his two years as House’s fellow, he’d learned to put up with a continuous stream of insults and abuse just to hang on to the position. The guy was a genius as well as a lunatic. Some days that was enough to make it worthwhile. This was not one of those days.

The trip to the prison had been harrowing enough, with the inmates leering and shouting obscene invitations at him. The officer who was supposed to be his escort didn’t seem all that interested in his well-being. Chase knew what could happen in those places. He'd once seen an episode of Oz under the mistaken impression that it was a show about Australia.

Having House snipe at him for refusing to risk his life talking to any of those thugs was enough to make him wonder why he’d fought so hard to hang on to the job.

He got back to the hospital feeling like it would be all he could do not to tell House to go fuck himself. It wasn’t as if the bastard didn’t have it coming. And if he did get fired, would it really be the worst thing in the world? Yes, he reminded himself, it would. Because he still had something to prove to the other bastard in his life and he couldn’t run away again. He just needed to avoid House until he’d managed to calm down.

Unfortunately, the first thing he saw when he got out of his car was House wandering around the back end of the parking lot. That was odd. House’s car should be right out front of the hospital in his official handicapped spot, not out here in the no man’s land reserved for serfs. Even odder was the way House was walking. Not his usual purposeful stride, but a sort of lurching…he watched a bit longer, realizing that must be what it looked like when a man with a limp staggered. What the hell? He knew more than he wanted to about House’s consumption of Vicodin, especially since Stacy had shown up.

“House!” he called out, moving to catch up. House turned slowly, looking Chase up and down as if trying to place him. Chase got the whiff of whiskey and a good look at House’s eyes at the same time. It wasn’t pills. House was drunk.

Any desire to tell off his boss was replaced by concern. How much alcohol had led to this situation and how many pills before that? What was he doing roaming around the parking lot in this condition? Had anyone else seen him? House might think he was bulletproof after the whole Vogler mess, but public drunkenness might be too much for Cuddy to overlook.

“Is it Easter already?”

Chase was so utterly confused he found himself answering the question, as if he didn’t know how ridiculous it was.

“Of course not. It’s only September.”

House wasn’t listening. He was staring at Chase’s pants, probably about to make some annoying comment about his lack of fashion sense.

“Because if you’re going to show up with a basket like that, you’d better have some candy for me.” There was a hint of a slur on the word “basket,” making it sound even sleazier. “You got some candy for me, Dr. Chase?”

Chase tried to ignore the fact that House was leering at his crotch as well as any response, beyond embarrassment, he might be feeling as a result.

“You’re drunk,” he said, helpless to prevent the obvious from coming out of his mouth.

“In the line of duty.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. Probably he got all mopey over Stacy and decided to tie one on while watching his soaps with Wilson.

“Where the hell is Wilson anyway?” He muttered. Dealing with House’s insanity was supposed to be his job.

House had heard him, of course.

“Wilson’s no fun,” he said petulantly. “Come on Chase, less go have some fun.”

Chase should have been happy that House had moved his gaze away from his trousers, but even bleary with alcohol, House’s eyes were the bluest he had ever seen, and having them focused on his face was equally disconcerting. House had never looked at him in that way before. It had to be the booze.

“We need to get you sobered up. Maybe some coffee?”

That’s what you want. A nice wide-awake drunk. You know better than that.”

He winced at the reminder of how much he knew about dealing with alcoholics.

“OK. Let’s just get you somewhere you can sleep it off.”

“Now you’re talking. Your place or mine?”

House looked almost childishly happy. The leg didn’t seem to be bothering him at all. Chase couldn’t help but smiling back, until he noticed that House was leaning forward, bringing his face closer and closer. The whiff of Scotch broke the spell.

“Stop that,” he snapped, taking a step backward.

House shrugged and tried to turn around, but only managed to lurch a quarter of the way.

“You’re boring too. I’m going to back to the hospital to find someone fun. I’ll bet Cameron’s fun.”

“House,” he sighed, trying not to sound like he was dealing with a child.

“She’s probably thinking up new ways to prove that Mary Lou doesn’t have cancer. Cuddy. We’ll find Cuddy. She’s fun.”

“NO!”

“Whatsamatter Chase?”

Was House emphasizing the slurring just to annoy him?

“Just get in the car. I promise we’ll have fun.”

He knew a lot about telling drunks what they wanted to hear, including the fact that it usually worked. House in the front seat was an improvement over House flaunting his state of inebriation in the hospital or parking lot. Except that House wouldn’t stop reaching for Chase’s legs and arms and hair, making it difficult to concentrate on driving. It would be the crowning irony and a typical example of his rotten luck if they got into an accident while he was driving sober just because House wouldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“House, please,” he said, swatting the hand away from his knee, which caused him to nearly swerve into the oncoming lane.

“You know we drive on right side of the road in this country.”

Chase didn’t bother defending his driving skills or his nationality.

“Hello Mary Lou, Good bye heart. Sweet Mary Lou, I’m so in love with youuuuuu….”

Maybe the singing would keep House occupied until Chase could get him safely into his apartment, and get himself as far away as possible.

House had stopped singing, which was a relief, until he broke the silence by asking ““What is it?” a tipsy version of his “differential” voice.

“What’s what?”

“Is it the ‘not doing it with a man thing’ or the ‘not doing it with your boss thing’?”

“Couldn’t it just be the “not attracted thing”?

“Yeah, that must it…I knew Mary….Louuuuu…we’d never part so hello Mary Lou…goodbye…heart. What’d they do to you in that place anyway?”

“A bunch of thugs yelled at me, salivating like I was the main course at the all you can eat buffet, which is, I assume, what you sent me there for.”

“I meant the seminary.”

They taught me the difference between a need and a calling.

Chase had no intention of sharing that with his boss, whether he was soused to the gills or not. In fact, he was starting to suspect House of either faking or exaggerating the whole thing, given the probing nature of the question. Maybe House drunk was just like House sober with fewer inhibitions.

“Sweet Mary Lou I’m so in love with you.”

And bad singing.

House’s clarity proved temporary when they finally got to his apartment. Chase made sure that House got up to the steps to his front door and then tried to leave.

“Oh no you don’t,” he pouted. “You promised.”

Chase wasn’t sure what he’d promised under the umbrella of “fun”. He’d never had any reason to think that House was anything other than completely heterosexual. The jokes about him being cute or having a pretty mouth were just that, jokes. His reaction to Stacy Warner proved that emphatically. She was the love of his life and he was still hung up on her.

In vino veritas?. Or Whiskey anyway. Which raised another bunch of questions about House.

“I need to get back to the hospital.”

“Bullshit. Clarence is fine. He tried to kill himself.”

“What?”

“The copier fluid. I saved his life.”

Chase put the pieces together in his head and ended up awestruck yet again at the way House’s mind worked. His moment of distraction allowed House to pull him into the kiss he’d managed to avoid before. He barely had time to register the rough whiskers against his face and the tang of scotch on House tongue, before it was over, leaving Chase to realize that House had him figured out as well.

House jangled his keys tauntingly.

“Coming?”

“No.”

“You owe me.”

“Not that,” he protested.

“Or I might just start kissing you again, right out here, where someone can actually see. And if you try to stop me, I’ll make it look like you’re trying to attack the poor cripple.”

“You bastard.”

“Is that anyway to talk to the guy whose about to make your wet dreams come true?”

Chase told himself he could away with getting House into bed so he could sleep it off, even though he was showing no sign of being ready for anything resembling rest. The kiss had been…nothing. It was all a drunken joke. If he had dreams like that, it was his business. He wasn’t giving House another opportunity to humiliate him.

He followed House into the apartment, noting the piano that dominated the living room and the piles of magazines, books and record albums that made it a minefield to cross.
House nimbly picked his way through the mess and Chase had to stumble after him, as though he were the one who’d been drinking.

After stopping to use the bathroom (and harass Chase for refusing to go in with him) House finally led Chase to the bedroom, humming the funeral march while banging out the rhythm with his cane. The room was nondescript, except for more piles. Not surprisingly, the bed was unmade.

“Can I go now?” Chase asked. He’d delivered House safely to his own bedroom. What more could be reasonably asked?

“Absolutely.”

He nodded, but his feet didn’t move.

“Waiting for something?” House asked playfully.

Chase couldn’t speak.

“This, maybe?”

The cane dropped to the floor and House grabbed Chase firmly by the shoulders, bending down to kiss him again, picking up exactly where he’d left off. This time Chase didn’t resist, physically or mentally. He let himself give in to what he'd been dreaming about, although he didn’t taste alcohol in his sleep. House was drunk, but skillful. He kissed the way he did everything else, thoroughly. No part of Chase’s mouth was left untouched. He wrapped his arms around House back in a tentative embrace that strengthened into a full hug as the kiss continued. He felt House stepping backwards and the next thing he knew they had both tumbled, fully dressed onto the bed.

Bed. He was in bed with House. Maybe he’d wanted the kiss. OK, definitely. But bed was a different matter entirely. The things he’d thought about House doing in bed…
No. This had to stop.

It should have been easy to fight off a drunken cripple, but somehow Chase lacked the will to keep House from straddling his hips and leaning over to possess his mouth so completely that he could barely breathe. He realized that House was undoing his shirt buttons, fingers clumsy with alcohol or maybe lust. The last possibility of putting an end to this went out the window the minute he felt House’s fingers on the bare skin of his chest.

He moaned with frustration when the kiss finally broke, only to moan louder as House started kissing his neck as fiercely as he’d taken Chase’s mouth. He knew the teeth were marking him and he didn’t care. He arched his neck up, wanting more. If he had to wear a turtleneck, if he had to quit, it didn’t matter. He wanted this, now, more than anything. A last voice of guilt told him he was taking advantage of House’s intoxication and no doubt going to hell, but he knew that anyway.

As House moved downward, sucking gently at one nipple, sending shivers through his whole body, Chase started to think that House needed this as much as he did, maybe more.

He certainly knew what he was doing. There was nothing tentative in the way his mouth and hands touched Chase. No fumbling or hesitation as he explored Chase’s chest with soft lips. The fact that House was still fully clothed, the coarse fabric of his jacket against Chase’s skin, made it even dirtier. Somewhere in what was left of his mind, House was pushing him against a wall in a dark alley and reaching into his pants…no, the reaching was happening now. House was already touching him, those long fingers holding his cock, finding out that he’d been right about Chase all along.

His whole body tensed and arched up, pushing him further in House’s grip. House squeezed, causing him to harden further. He reached out, wanting to touch something, finding only sheets and pillows. House was too far away to touch, about to take Chase into his mouth. It couldn’t and shouldn’t be happening but oh it was. He felt stubble scratching his inner thighs at the same time his cock was enveloped in heat and wet.

Eyes closed tightly, sheets grasped in his straining fist, and everything centered on what House was doing. Sucking, licking, stroking. Finding every spot that could drive him crazy and using it until Chase felt like he wanted to scream from the overload. How many times had he wanted to tell House to do this? The thought flitted through his mind making him giggle childishly. He must sound as drunk as House, he thought, and then gave up conscious thought to the pure sensation of House moving up and down making a sound that was completely, wonderfully obscene.

It was so good he wanted it go on forever and so good it had to end soon because he couldn‘t handle that much pleasure. House still knew exactly what he was doing, as he took Chase deeper, sucked hard, and dug harsh fingers into Chase’s thighs. The pain and pleasure collided, sending Chase into a screaming, writhing release that left him stunned and sweating.

The minute he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of House, stark naked, lying next to him on the bed, one hand lazily stroking an already impressive erection. Chase was still drained from his own orgasm, but the sight of House's hand and cock was enough to get his full attention. He could barely take his eyes off the rhythmic motion and when he did he found an expression of total smugness.

“Nice of you to join us,” he smiled, still showing some effects of the alcohol in his speech.

“Did you…uh… require some assistance?” How could the sight of a man touching himself make it so hard to think or speak?

“Got it under control. Thanks though. Had lots of practice since Cuddy cut off my hooker allowance. But don’t even think of looking away.”

Everybody’s got a kink and if House’s wanted an audience, Chase was happy to provide it, although he felt a twinge of guilt that he wasn’t reciprocating. He was torn between staring at the quickening motion of House’s hand and looking into those eyes with their damned hypnotic color. The eyes won, as they always did. House had looked into him and stripped away all his secrets without even trying. The longer he watched the more he wanted to touch and wondered if House was still punishing him.

House’s face started contorting in pleasure and small groans escaped clenched teeth.

“Kiss me,” he ordered, unexpectedly, and Chase immediately obeyed, kissing House deeply enough to muffle further moans and holding on so tightly he could feel the jerking off hit maximum velocity and the tremors shake House’s body as he came.

Later on, he thought the whole thing must have been a dream. House asking to be kissed? House letting himself be held? Sometime in the same dream, the one where they were actually lying in bed, snuggling each other, House asked him for a favor involving a Vicodin prescription. Wasn’t that Wilson’s job?

The dream ended with an insistent knocking on the front door that Chase barely heard until House stirred against him and mumbled, “That’ll be Wilson. Go put some clothes on and tell him I’m OK. See how guilty he looks.”

Chase still had most of his clothes on, so he managed to get to the door while Wilson was still there. He couldn’t tell if Wilson was more surprised or annoyed to see him in House’s apartment, especially when a glance outside told Chase it was night time. He and House had been conspicuously out of touch for hours.

“He’s OK. I found him in the parking lot and got him back here to sleep it off. He’ll have a bad head in the morning but he didn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”

“He paged me,” Wilson said, looking down. Chase assessed the guilt factor at nearly a nine. “I thought it was one of his games and I was with a patient. I didn’t know about the drinking until Cameron told me. If I’d know he was…I would have…” Obviously Wilson had something he needed to say and couldn’t. “I’m glad you were there to help him, but you need to be careful. When House drinks, he gets very…affectionate.”

Chase felt a surge of regret. It had nothing to do with him at all. Just House getting drunk and horny and Wilson being unavailable. He tried to hold on to the feeling of House kissing him as though he really cared. The embarrassment turned into anger at Wilson, for sharing this piece of information after it was too late.

“I noticed,” he said flatly, giving Wilson the bad news, as though his bare feet and disheveled hair wouldn’t have told a more keen observer (like House) already.

“Oh.” Wilson frowned and Chase was once again given a choice as to what he might be feeling. Was it concern or jealousy? “Just so you know, he’s also prone to convenient blackouts. If anything happened, he won’t remember it.” Wilson’s sigh gave Chase an unwelcome insight into House and Wilson’s relationship.

“That’s a blessing,” he said, not meaning to be ironic. Having sex with House had been a need, but working for him was still Chase’s true calling. A convenient blackout meant they could both go on as if nothing had ever happened.

Now Chase had a new problem to deal with. House might not remember what they’d done tonight, but Wilson would never forget.

Tags: house/chase, housefic, nc17
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