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Dec. 29th, 2006 | 02:09 pm
posted by: andrealyn in santahouse_md

Written for simmysim.

Title: In Which Chase Wants to Talk and House Wants to Screw
Pairing: House/Chase
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3500
Summary: It's some random Christmas Eve in the past or future, and well, the title pretty much covers it.
Warnings: light bondage, some D/s, object penetration, dirty talk
Notes: Thousands of words of pure PWP with no redeeming value. Here's hoping you like that sort of thing. ;)



Let’s skip straight to the fun part, shall we?

Consider this: Robert Chase, stark naked, lying spread-eagle on his back. Feet tangled in dark sheets. Hair falling in his eyes, and he’s helpless to push it away because his wrists are bound to the bedposts with two very ugly Christmas ties. Snowmen march across one, candy cane stripes crisscross the other, and they are good knots, sailor’s knots.

Maybe it’s your bed. No? Okay, it’s House’s bed. Do we really care how he got that way, or do we want to see what happens next?

He’s moaning a little. A bead of sweat runs down his neck. He’s awfully pretty like that. I think he wants to see what happens next.

But someone else thinks that the point of this is to torment him. In a fun way, of course.

***

One Hour Earlier

It isn’t the first time that Chase has shown up at House’s door like this, and probably nor will it be the last, despite House giving every indication otherwise. He always does that, makes it clear that this is not a thing, the sort of thing that happens more than once and smacks of that word that starts with an “R” and ends with “ship.” If every time is supposedly the last time, then each is merely an isolated incident… a string of isolated incidents.

Though they don’t bother with the pretext as much as they used to; as soon as the door closes House pushes Chase back against it, crushes their mouths together. One of his knees works its way between Chase’s legs, rubbing against his groin enticingly and then settles there, holding House’s weight in a way that allows him to drop his cane. It clatters loudly on the hardwood floor.

“House,” Chase gasps, and his interruption is ignored in favor of a tongue down his throat. He finally wrestles his mouth free long enough to blurt, “I thought you said this wasn’t a booty call!”

“I lied.” Hand tangling in Chase’s hair, fingers hooking just tightly enough to pull.

“But it’s Christmas Eve…”

“And can you really think of a better way to spend it?” House’s lips drop to Chase’s neck. Sucking lightly. Stubble scratching against throat.

“I wanted to talk,” Chase protests, but still lets out a soft whimper when House’s knee moves again.

“You can talk,” House says. “I’ve got no problem with talking.”

“Really?” For a moment – and it isn’t really all that uncommon in their interactions – Chase sounds like a small child, eager for House’s attention.

“Sure. But you know how I am. Can’t concentrate when I’m horny.” He rubs his jeans-clad erection against Chase’s thigh as if to prove his point.

"So I suppose - "

"You know how much more amenable I am to discussion after a blow job." House takes a step backwards with his good leg, and Chase sucks in a breath at the sudden lack of friction against his crotch.

Then House lifts an eyebrow as if to say, well?, and Chase drops immediately to his knees, fingers fumbling at House's fly. They've done this, what, three, maybe four times, and Chase already feels like he's got House's cock practically memorized.

"It is Christmas, after - ooooooh." House gropes behind him for the edge of the piano as soon as Chase's tongue touches his cock. As it licks a steady line from hilt to tip, House steadies himself and keeps a hold on the black lacquer for balance. "Oh holy…"

"Night," Chase finishes, pulling back just long enough to get the word out and then going back to work on House's cock. He gives great head, he's been told. Must be that oral fixation. And as House had said not long ago, If you fellate enough pencils in front of me I'm obviously going to invite you onto your knees.

"Aren't you clever," House mumbles, letting his eyes drop closed. "Oh fuck yes, Chase…"

Chase's hands are hooked on the back of House's thighs as he starts moving a little faster, mouth slipping wetly along the shaft, eyes open because he likes seeing the expression on House's face. It's one of the few times where he sees the other man's control slipping and he doesn't want to miss anything. Plus there's this way that House's mouth forms a small "O" when he's really aroused, and it's sexy as hell. As Chase watches him, senses filled with the familiar taste and smell, he starts to get turned on himself, feeling his erection press insistently against the inside of his pants.

Apparently the piano isn't sufficient, and House stabilizes himself further by reaching out with his other hand and threading his fingers through Chase's hair. Not pulling, not holding him there, just resting, encouraging. But in a few minutes when House's grip tightens a little, Chase doesn't mind; the quick sting of pain actually makes him open his throat and take House's cock deeper, and it's not long after before House lets out a strangled cry and comes. Chase swallows the moment the salty warmth hits his tongue, and then pulls back, looking up at House almost expectantly. For approval, perhaps? Praise?

But House just tucks his cock back into his jeans and zips up before grabbing his cane. "Much better," he says.

"Great," Chase says, pulling himself to his feet. He watches House for a moment and then adds, "I could make some coffee. You must have a coffee maker…"

"I don't want coffee. Who drinks coffee at this time of night?" House pulls his Vicodin bottle out of his pocket and pops the lid open with practiced ease, swallows one dry.

"Well I thought we were going to talk..."

"Talk about what?" House lifts an eyebrow.

Chase is beginning to wonder if House had actually been paying attention to a single word out of his mouth before it was wrapped around House's cock. "I don't know, I just thought this uh, this thing between us, we haven't really talked about it…"

"Oh for god's sake," House interrupts. "Are you sure you're not hiding a cunt in there somewhere? If I wanted to deal with this shit I'd be fucking Cameron."

Chase opens his mouth, then closes it again as he realizes he has no idea what he's supposed to say to that.

"On the other hand," House says suddenly, "it's Christmas. I can't afford to be so selfish, can I? Come on." He starts off towards his bedroom, and Chase hesitates briefly before following behind him.

"Strip," House says. He pulls a bottle of scotch off of his nightstand and pours a generous amount into a glass.

"You know, you can't just - "

"Strip," House repeats. He seems unfazed, simply takes a sip of scotch. "Don't look at me like that. Don't you think I owe you something after that blow job?"

Chase regards him skeptically for a moment, but his protest was really only half-hearted anyway. He's not sure why, but he's pretty much powerless to resist House's requests, whether here or at work. He makes a note to put that on his New Year's resolutions: Learn to say no.

He starts to take off his clothes. Slings his shirt over a chair, then neatly folds his khaki pants. When he pulls his white undershirt over his head it musses his hair and he tries to smooth it out. He turns and looks at House, noting his stern, expectant expression before yanking off his green silk boxers as well. His cock is half-hard.

House looks him over appreciatively but just says, "Now, on the bed."

Chase sinks down onto it, immediately pulling the dark sheets up to his chest, and waits for House to join him. But instead he finds himself watching with some degree of apprehension as House roots around in a drawer in his dresser. Chase knows for a fact that he keeps condoms by his bed.

House emerges holding two things: a shiny, full bottle of lubricant, and an anal plug.

Chase balks. "What the fuck is that?"

House smiles. "Merry Christmas."

"Seriously, House, that's a bit much don't you think?"

"It's not that big," House says, and it's almost a purr, which isn't a sound that Chase is used to hearing from him. When House climbs onto the bed with him, Chase realizes that he's gripping the sheets practically up to his chin.

"It's smaller than my cock," House continues. "You'll like it, I promise. I said this was going to be about you now, right?"

"You also said we could talk after that blow job."

"And we will," House promises. "But right now, I'm going to get you all pretty and open for me. Now drop the sheet, Chase."

Chase drops the sheet.

House urges him over on his side, running a hand from his neck to his thigh. Oh, those hands. God, Chase loves his hands. He feels lips on his shoulder, hears the sound of the bottle popping open. Nearly inaudible mumblings against his skin, the vague scent of vanilla. One slick finger slides inside him without warning and Chase's entire body tenses.

"Don't forget to breathe," House murmurs as he adds another finger. Pushing in, pulling out. Stretching. Crooking expertly. Stroking Chase's prostate until he moans and shamelessly pushes back.

Chase's cock is so hard it doesn't even move as he squirms a little into House's touch. It just bobs slightly, stiff, leaking, untouched. Unable to stand it anymore, Chase maneuvers a hand around, intent on taking himself in hand, but House must get the idea and immediately swats the hand away.

"That bit will have its turn," he says as he pulls his fingers out. Chase gasps at the sudden loss, and it's only the tip of his tongue to beg him to put them back, to beg House to fuck him already, to fill him, oh please…

But before he can say anything at all, he feels the slow slide of something different, something slick pushing at his entrance. Too wide to be House's cock…. "Ooh," Chase groans, just as he realizes that it's the plug. Stretching him open, but it's just what he wanted. "Yeah," he rasps out before he can stop himself.

"Slut," House accuses softly, a hint of pleasure in his voice. The plug now completely in, House turns Chase over on his back and leans down to kiss him.

Chase bucks his hips up against House's body, moaning just from the slightest friction as his erection brushes against House's thigh. He kisses him hungrily and manages to gasp, "Please," as he thrashes and squirms, trying to get any contact against his cock and to feel the movement of the plug inside him.

"Not long now," House promises as he pulls away. He leans over and reaches under the bed, and emerges holding two ties. Chase thinks they look familiar.

Though he can hardly form words at this point, Chase manages to observe, "Aren't those… Wilson's ties?"

"Uh huh," House says. "Trust me, I've done him a favor. These are the two most hideous holiday ties every created." Candy cane stripes on one, snowmen on the other.

"Isn't Wilson Jewish?"

"Exactly. This is a much better, and more festive, use for them." And House grabs one of Chase's arms, yanks it up, and begins to tie his wrist to the bedpost.

"What are you doing?" Chase yelps.

"Oh come on, you're not that dense," House says as he gives the knot a good yank. Chase thinks he must've been a boy scout. He doesn't protest as House binds his other wrist. It's actually kind of hot.

Oh god, it's more than kind of hot. He can't remember the last time he was this turned on.

House smirks down at him and then backs off, folding his arms over his chest and looking down on the bed as if admiring his work. "Now that is a beautiful sight," he says.

Then he says, "I'll be right back," and disappears through the doorway, leaving Chase alone in his bedroom. Naked, bound, plugged, and alone.

***

And that's where we left off, with Chase on that bed. You can understand why House thought he made such a pretty picture. Especially the way he's squirming a little, trying to glean every bit of sensation out of that plug.

As nice as he is to look at, though, he's starting to get a little impatient.

As some time passes…

And then more time…

"House?" he calls, yanking slightly at his bonds. Yeah, definitely a boy scout.

No answer.

"House!"

Chase is starting to get… concerned. And the worst part is, his erection isn't fading at all. He cranes his neck to look down, and his cock is pointing up at the ceiling like a fucking weather vane.

He wonders if House planned it like this, the bondage and the, well, humiliation. Maybe he's had his suspicions ever since finding out about Chase's experiences in the BDSM scene. After all, after his and House's first couple of encounters House couldn't possibly mistake him for a dom. God, Chase could remember even now, Becky, how she rode his cock like a madwoman and demand that he burn her. How he'd hated flicking open that lighter but loved the way she ordered him around.

"House!"

A few seconds later, House limps back into the room and leans against the doorframe. He's holding a mug of coffee in his free hand.

"You said you didn't want coffee!" Chase accuses. For some reason this is the first thing he thinks, instead of asking why the fuck he's been left here tied up for twenty minutes.

"Changed my mind," House says with a shrug. "You're wearing me out." He takes a sip, all the while an appreciative gaze lingering on Chase's body.

Chase forces a scowl. "So, what, you're just going to leave me here forever? You'll want to sleep in this bed eventually, you know."

House sets the coffee cup on his dresser and smirks as he walks over to the bed. He drops his cane to the floor and sits down beside Chase. "Doesn’t seem like you mind it so much," he says, reaching over and ghosting his fingers across Chase's erection.

Chase sucks in a breath and stammers, "F-f-fuck." He thrusts his hips up, hoping to brush House's hand again.

"My, aren't you eager." House's voice has that same sort of condescending smoothness that it does when he's mocking one of Chase's diagnoses. Only now it's really hot.

"Please," Chase says between gritted teeth.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me, please!"

House draws a careful circle with his finger over Chase's abdomen. "I thought you wanted to talk," he says with a smirk.

"I - I - " Chase can hardly think straight. He's straining his body as if he can somehow will House's hand lower, but it's not working.

"Well, I certainly don't mind talking," House continues, brushing his thumb against one of Chase's nipples. "For example, I want to hear just how that plug feels shoved inside that tight little ass of yours."

Chase feels his face heat. "House!"

"What, feeling less articulate now?" House puts a hand between Chase's knees and pushes them apart, urging his legs open. Then he reaches between them and presses his fingers to the top of the plug peaking out of Chase's entrance.

Chase lets out a soft whimper. "House, please…"

"Yes, you seem to be saying that a lot. But if we're going to talk, I think you need more than a two word vocabulary." House pinches the end of the plug and begins to push it in and out.

Chase lets out a sharp cry and feels his nails digging into the palms of his hands. "More," he pleads.

"Make that three words," House says as he fucks Chase slowly with the plug.

But it's not going deep enough, it's just not enough. "Aren't you going to fuck me?" Chase gasps.

"You want me to?"

"Yes!"

"You don't want to talk anymore?"

"No, god no, House, I just want your cock," Chase groans, face flushing with humiliation and pleasure.

House pulls away and says, "Mmmmm you're such a gorgeous whore," in a way that is obviously meant as the highest praise. He makes quick work of stripping off his clothes. He no longer seems self conscious about the scars on his leg, though Chase can't really see how House could be, not when it's Chase who's spread and open like a turkey waiting to be stuffed.

Chase watches as House takes a condom from the bedside table, rips the wrapper open with his teeth, and then slowly rolls it onto his cock. It's got to be one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

Before settling back onto the bed, House unties both of the knots binding Chase's wrists. Chase winces a little as he brings his arms down, and rubs at them. "How - how do you want me?" he asks softly.

"I want you begging and screaming," House answers, then sinks onto the bed on his back and puts his hands on Chase's waist, yanking him on top.

Chase makes a small sound of surprise and then moans as he feels House's cock pressing against his ass. "Uh huh, yes, I can do that," he agrees, lifting himself up, but finds his movement restricted by House's hands tightly gripping his hips. He might be riding House, but there was no question about who's in charge of this situation.

House's thumbs bruise Chase's hips as he positions him above his cock and then pushes him down. "Yeah," House growls.

Chase agrees with a wordless moan, squirming insistently, wanting even more. When he finally sinks all the way down and then House's grip loosens enough to allow Chase to move, he starts rocking hard, and he's babbling, "Oh god, fuck me, yeah House, fuck me, need it, fuck yeah, oh fuck…"

"Now that's the kind of talk I can get on board with," House says as he reaches up to cup the back of Chase's neck and yank him down into a kiss. His tongue plunges into Chase's mouth almost violently as he thrusts his hips up, forcing Chase to move harder, faster.

Chase moans at the friction against his cock as it's trapped between them. "Please," he finally manages to gasp out. "Touch me. I need… oh god, please…"

"You need?" House whispers, licking a line up Chase's neck to his ear. "You need to come, don't you?"

"Yes." Chase straightens up again so that he can ride House even faster, and his cock is bobbing between them. He reaches out to take hold of it himself but House slaps his hand away.

"You'll come when I think you should come," House says, licking his lips, then he thrusts up even deeper, fingers digging into Chase's thighs, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling.

Chase concentrates on moving even faster, wanting to make this as good as possible for House even though he's having trouble concentrating on anything else other than the fact he thinks he's going to explode if someone doesn't touch his cock soon. He starts to babble again, a litany of profanity and pleading, until he's finally rewarded with House's fingers wrapping suddenly around his cock.

Chase yells, entire body bucking, and House pulls at his cock only twice, maybe three times, before Chase is coming, spilling over House's hand and in sticky lines across his stomach.

That's apparently enough to push House over the edge too, as if he'd just been waiting, and it's not much longer before Chase feels the warmth fill him, hears House's gasp, and looks down for his real reward - House's face when he comes.

Chase carefully pulls himself off of House and collapses onto the bed beside him. Not quite… you know, cuddling, as he knows better than that, but with one leg thrown across him in a comfortable way.

"Jesus Christ," House breathes.

Chase sighs contentedly and says, "Can't you lay off the blaspheming until after Christmas?"

"Pardon me. What I meant was, Jesus fucking Christ." House yawns.

Chase rolls his eyes, and then waits a long moment before saying, "So are we going to talk now?"

Then he hears House snore.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Chase mutters, and sighs heavily. Then he makes himself comfortable, yanking up the sheets and curling into the crook of House's arm.

***

So now imagine this: Greg House, waking up on Christmas day with a touch of a hangover. He reaches for his Vicodin and ends up with a butt plug instead. It's only after grumbling and throwing that across the room that he realizes he's not alone in his bed.

Robert Chase is spooned up against him, snoring quietly and drooling on his pillow.

Now that's bound to force a conversation.

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Comments {3}

[ginger]

(no subject)

from: sleepyheathen
date: Dec. 29th, 2006 07:39 pm (UTC)
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Y'know, I was singing "Oh Holy Night" just before reading this, and what a holy night it was indeed! I'll be in my bunk...

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