Chapter Text
When Chase's eyes lazily flicked open, shuttering against the early sunlight, the first thing he noticed was just how warm the bed sheets were. And, annoyingly enough, how blinding the morning sun was.
Blinds were installed on the windows but he was pretty sure they were probably - most likely - definitely broken if the way they were twisted up into themselves was any indication. The apartment's owner could never be bothered to ever fix anything and, frankly, it really wasn't Chase’s problem.
Except now it was.
His hand drifted up to scrub at his face as he turned away from the window, finger pads digging into the backs of his eyelids as he yawned. He sniffed quietly, scratching at the stubble at his chin and adjusting to the new-old concept of waking up and hating it as he turned onto his back and away from the sun. As he turned, his elbow lightly bumped against something warm and fleshly. Said warm and fleshy something in question proceeded to let out a less than welcoming sound of disapproval.
Chase startled briefly, head jerking to the side before his brain could fully catch up to speed. House. Of course it was House - it was his bed and his apartment after all. Nothing noteworthy about any of that. But something was still triggering Chase’s alert response, that little voice in the back of his head insistently nagging that something wasn't right - out of place. Chase tilted his field of vision upwards to peer up and over House’s mess of grey bedhead to stare at the alarm clock.
10:23 A.M.
Hm. So that was it. Normally House would have left by now - not for the hospital, no, especially not on his day off. No, instead he would partake of harassing the locals (i.e. Wilson) by experimenting with just how loudly and just how fast he could take his motorcycle around the block. Minor vandalism sometimes included free of charge. Occasionally, very occasionally, it would end up turning out to be a simple one shot joy ride that lacked the usual flair and finesse that typically accompanied House…but usually not.
If he couldn't be found terrorizing his friend - co-worker? gossip buddy? victim?? were they friends? - then he could most probably be found lounging in the living room.
Sometimes, on the rare occasion he allowed Chase to stay the night, he would break the routine of kicking him out by offering Chase a spot beside him on the couch the following morning. Chase was used to House wanting him out once the sun showed its face, he was used to House wanting ample and more time alone. Didn't make him feel any better about it but he was used to it. So when House started letting him stay through the mornings - and sometimes even until the next day - Chase would take a note of it, to hang it up on the figurative wall of his mind and think about for the next few weeks.
Chase would wake up, groggy and hair a mess, and would shuffle his way out of bed and down the hall. He'd be all bleary eyed and his steps would be uneven and he would stop at the end of the hall, post himself just at the entrance to the living room. House would turn away from whatever soap or latest series he'd been binging, his feet propped atop the coffee table, and look at Chase. They'd enter a silent staring contest for a while where Chase would have a steady stream of this is it, he's about to throw me out again running through his head the whole time or something very close to that train of thought.
Eventually though, House would raise his brows in question and pat the cushion next to him, clearly saying what are you waiting for? without needing to verbalize it. Chase would then smile, quickly try to hide it, and sleepily shuffle over to the couch - feeling better that he hadn't been cast out into the wilds if only for a moment longer.
When he would finally sit, House would try (and fail) to keep his distance and end up with an armful of Chase within moments of him sitting down. Silence would settle over them, the TV droning through the morning air, and House would eventually shift forward to the side table to offer Chase a still lukewarm cup of coffee. Chase would thank him and mean it and House would lie and say whatever.
This though - House’s presence still being in bed?
This was out of routine. This was different.
Sleepily he sunk back against the pillows, now turned fully on his side towards House's still snoozing figure. The sun was warm against his back as he gazed at House underneath hooded eyes. Little flecks of pale yellow dappled against the curve of House's jaw and along his brow, illuminating the deepened lines of his face. Chase wanted to reach out, to touch and to hold, to have a solid press upon his skin to remind him House was very real.
House was almost never still around by the time Chase had time to see the light of day and that was fine. Chase told himself he didn't mind it, even if he did wish he could have a little more time with him - that House would want a little more time with him.
Chase's lashes fluttered as he swept closer to House, burrowing further into the blankets and soaking up the older man's scent - cocooning himself in and all but making it his own. House had probably just been extra tired from the night before, or maybe the allergies he got every spring were extending into the summertime and exhausting him. Couldn't be because he wanted to spend the morning with Chase. That was…it was just…
Too intimate Chase’s brain supplied.
House's eyes twitched in his sleep, his arm swinging out and lightly slapping on top of Chase’s hip over the covers. A smile began to tug at Chase's lips and he immediately bit down on his lip to try and hide it as if it just existing would be evidence enough for House to get up and leave.
He decided he didn't care if House had planned this or not because House was here right now, warm and sleepy and very present next to him. And that was enough. Even if House up and left the room at the first sign of consciousness - it would be enough. Just to lay here and simply be for a few moments was all Chase needed.
Chase's hand slowly climbed out from below the covers, hesitant and unsure, but eventually coming to a stop upon House’s chest. His fingers splayed over the flat plane of it, tenderly and softly and barely there at all. He couldn't help but admire House, everything about him - all of it. Everything from the way the bridge of his nose crooked slightly to the left to the grey in his hair - he was everything to Chase. House could ask him for the world and he would give it to him or run himself ragged trying, would allow House to take just about anything if it pleased him.
Chase would let him break him down and build him back up if it meant he could just stay awhile, to stay and hold him in the morning while the sun lapped across his shoulders.
Chase supposed that that probably - most likely - definitely had something to do with his upbringing. Something in the muddled in between of his conflicted views of the Catholic church he turned heel to toe on and the desecrated relationship with his father - to worship this man like a patron saint when he was anything but.
It was easier not to speculate and to just let things be Chase would reason to himself whenever he started thinking too hard about it.
He liked to please House and by extension House liked to be pleased. It was a (mostly Chase’s brain added helpfully) ideal give and take arrangement. Except for when Chase wanted a hand in his or a warm bed to wake up to - when he didn't want to be alone just for the sake of not being alone.
He wasn't sure what they were. They'd been together long enough to be a considerable candidate to the dating world according to societal norms, but lacked the foundation and communication to define it. To put it simply: their dynamic was strange.
It wasn't just sex, but it wasn't domestic enough to be considered anything more than that. Sure, Chase would stay over for a few nights sometimes. Sure, he'd end up wearing one of House’s shirts the next morning as he made coffee for two. Sure, he'd wake up at 2:37 in the morning to House hissing in pained little notches through his teeth - his hands clutched around his aching leg as he sat on the edge of the bed. And sure, Chase would then sit up with him, grab him a glass of Scotch from the kitchen, and come back to kiss and massage the cramps away - where he would knead the stiff band of scar tissue of House’s thigh until his hands ached, until House would let out a quiet and relieved sigh. Would close his eyes just to open them back up, to motion Chase up and onto the bed from where he was kneeled at House’s feet on the floor.
Worshipping him like a patron saint his mind chided quietly.
Chase closed his eyes.
Yes, their dynamic was strange and Chase didn't want to attach any other labels to it than that.
“I don't remember hiring someone to stare at me,” a gravelly voice suddenly spoke.
Chase snapped his hand back, startled, and shoved it against his own skin, wide eyes dancing up to meet House’s now very much awake ones.
Before he could formulate a retaliation, House was already pushing out more words, “bit jumpy there huh, wombat?” He let out a drawling yawn, grey eyes sleepy but already taking Chase in - analyzing him. Observing.
Chase huffed quietly, rolling his eyes as he leaned back against the pillows, knowing his actions were being scrutinized and rolled around in House's head. He would know why Chase jerked his hand back so quickly, he would know and it made Chase nervous about what he would do with that information. With any luck he would do what he normally did when he caught Chase being a bit too intimate: pretend it never happened and smooth over it. It stung every time but it was better than the alternative of House getting up and leaving, closing himself off and denying even one way affections. At least this way Chase could still pretend - could still touch him and let his imagination fill in the gaps.
A sympathy yawn escaped Chase as he rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin up onto his hand so he could look at House.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of the slightly eerie morning stare down?” House asked, crossing his arms under the back of his head, “I've got two guesses: either you've got a staring problem or you’re acknowledging what a drop dead stunning specimen I am and you have a staring problem.” He put extra emphasis on the word ‘stunning’ and Chase wanted to roll his eyes into the back of his head. House paused, “or I guess Cuddy could’ve hired you as her super secret not so secret spy - guess that makes three guesses.”
Chase couldn't help but look away, smiling against his better wishes. He was allowed to admire House and if the price to pay for that was light admonishment then so be it. But when he looked back up the older man was smiling back at him, small - just a tug of the corner of his lip, but a smile all the same.
Chase drank it all in, his eyes going heavy and dazed as he stared at House and - fuck, maybe he did have a staring problem.
House's hand shuffled out from underneath his head, smoothing a lock of hair behind Chase's ear before landing home and pressing against the side of his jaw. Chase’s breath stuttered briefly and he felt so stupid for it. But House’s hand was so warm and so broad and pressed up against Chase’s skin just right that he couldn't help but lean into it and give in.
A small sigh slipped from him, his eyes falling shut as he dipped his head into the curve of House’s palm. House's other hand reached down and grabbed onto Chase’s free one, tugging on it until it rested back atop his chest. This prompted Chase’s eyes back open, focus strictly on where the skin of his hand met the light fuzz of House’s torso. For the life of him he couldn't understand why House had done that because House was always so withdrawn from such…such blatant displays of affection. Unless, of course, they were very obviously leading to something much more sultry.
Chase glanced up to House’s face for answers and found his face still pressed into his version of a smile, though smaller than before but still noticeably present. That answered just about nothing, in fact that tiny (albeit handsome Chase’s mind submitted, though he would never attest to it) smile just added more questions to the mix. Chase almost wanted to reach up and see if House had smeared something across his face.
House's brow furrowed slightly, steely eyes directed back at the blond, “you know you can touch me.” He started, quickly adding - deflecting - “I mean, I know I haven't paid you yet - or ever - dunno how much you Aussies charge and all that.”
At this Chase actually laughed, teeth flashing as the sun caught in his hair, “you wouldn't be able to afford me anyway.”
He let his eyes shut again before he turned into House’s hand, pressing a kiss to the palm. His own hand reached from where it rested on top of House to grab at the arm in front of him, his lips ghosting along the inside of House’s wrist.
He left a slow line of kisses down the length of House’s inner forearm, soft and unhurried and deliberate. He wanted to take his time since it seemed House was in a giving mood, he wanted to appreciate House and by extension let House know he appreciated him. For once House had nothing snarky to say, just simply allowed Chase to do as he pleased with no complaint. Chase kissed each of his fingertips for it.
When he opened his eyes, House was still looking at him, his face soft and smoothed of all the stress lines he normally paraded around to the world, the permanent crease on his brow relaxed. It made Chase feel warm - that he was the reason why House looked like that, that he was capable of making this prickly man even a little happy.
Chase leaned forward, hand reaching upwards to frame House’s face as he pressed in until the curve of his mouth fit snugly against House’s. Hands snaked around to tangle into Chase’s hair and the blankets around his waist, lightly digging into the skin underneath.
Chase couldn't help but smile into the kiss, his head dipping and moving slowly, in tune with House’s until he felt himself go dizzy. Maybe House did want him around after all, maybe he did want to actually spend time with him…
Maybe Chase really did mean something to him.
Those thoughts were dangerous, Chase knew it, but right now - just for a little while he told himself - he couldn't care less. He just wanted to succumb, let House devour him and swallow him down until there was nothing left.
House slowly retreated, hands moving to cradle the sides of Chase's face. Chase preened, felt his insides melt and turn to nothing more than malleable warmth. All of House’s attention was on him and it was maddening - wonderful and terrifying and addictive - everything Chase wanted and couldn't get enough of.
House looked like he was thinking very hard about something, his smile falling through and the crease in his brow returning. It effectively squashed Chase’s fuzzy love drunk daze, forcibly sobering him back up onto his toes.
Frankly, House looked as if he were about to deal with a particularly unpleasant patient and Chase felt his own brow begin to furrow in response.
Had the kiss been bad? No, couldn't have been, House definitely would’ve let him know. Probably by making some smartass remark and asking if he'd learned to kiss from wombats or something. Did he want Chase to leave? A more likely option, Chase surmised. He'd spent the night on more than one occasion - even spending multiple nights in succession with no complaint from House. But maybe House had finally realized that all of that was too much too fast and he’d open his mouth and give Chase the boot. Very possible - likely even.
Or potentially even the worst option: was he about to tell Chase he’d made a mistake? That he actually just now realized Chase was a terrible lay on top of being a terrible person on top of being a huge waste of time - hit Chase with a loud haha the look on your face is priceless, you really thought I would ever like you! Chase could hear the cruel mocking laughter of the imaginary House his brain had fabricated. You really thought! What a fucking idiot! Fake house continued.
Chase suddenly felt very nauseous.
The blond could feel his palms begin to grow clammy and forced the solid mask of neutrality to stay sealed across his face.
No.
No. House surely wouldn't do that because…
Chase blanked on any reasonable explanations that could even begin to make sense for a how or why House wouldn't hypothetically just end things here and now.
His own voice had joined imaginary House’s in a duet of berating him for being so fucking dumb - for allowing himself to submit to this level of vulnerability while also jammering out pointless (although Chase continued to listen despite this) hypotheticals. Together they talked and talked and talked and Chase could feel the beginnings of a headache starting to form. Jesus, maybe he really was gonna be sick.
Pathetic the two voices behind his skull sneered.
What if.What if.What if.What if.
Suddenly House was speaking, grinding Chase’s thoughts to a standstill before he could further dig himself even farther into what if's and what about that's.
“You know I…” House stopped, mouth opening again before just as quickly shutting. His eyes would dance between meeting Chase’s and the nearest wall like just looking at Chase hurt. Chase felt his mouth start to sour, felt as his throat began the process of closing around itself as it commenced the casual beginnings of a Very Good Cry because what the fuck else could House possibly have to say other than some sort of fuck you (not the good kind) to warrant this type of body behavior?
Chase watched as his lips twitched like he was having some sort of spasm and wished for all the world he would just spit whatever the fuck he had to say out.
I know what? Do I know you replaced my coffee with decaf last week? Yes! Do I know if you're sleeping with Wilson? Not sure, hope not! Do I know if you're gonna remember it's your turn for dinner tonight? Nope!
“You know I love you, right?”
Rushed and quiet - spoken like his mouth was on fire and the only way to put it out was to speak that sentence like a spell - but words House had just said. To him. House had said those words to him and by the way he looked down and tried to hide his eyes from Chase but ended up forcing himself to hold his stare anyway - Chase could tell he meant them. Really meant them.
Chase's lips parted, the forced and meticulously placed mask of neutrality slipping as House’s admission seared itself into his memory, carving out new questions and emotions alike in its wake as it clawed into his neurons. The implications of such a statement burned over him like a wave.
It felt…good. Great, even. A type of good that made his eyes go hot and stinging and made his throat feel small. A verbalized validation Chase hadn't even realized he'd been wanting so badly. It was relieving, assuring, invigorating, terrifying, insane, and borderline unbelievable.
He wanted House to say it again, to say it until Chase was sick of it - even though he knew he never would be. He could probably listen to House say it forever maybe.
Like House would ever indulge that his mind mused.
He wanted House to say it until he could internalize it and roll it around in his mind to hold and keep close.
He realized that if he didn’t slip the mask of indifference on and soon that the great and mysterious creature known as Gregory House may startle and retreat back into its shell.
His fingers twitched where they still lay against House’s face as he worked on urging his expression into one of passive contemplation. What could he say to that? What was he supposed to say to that? Of course he could say I love you too, always have - that is if he wanted to dissolve any progress that had just been established, along with the strong chance of driving away any vulnerability House was willing to toss at him. What was he even supposed to say to that to someone like House? Up until just this very second he hadn’t even been sure the word love was in House’s vocabulary. Chase was still even slightly unsure if House even knew what the word meant.
Chase’s mouth moved on its own before his brain could fully process and begin the task of picking the best answer from the limited multiple choice selection.
“Course.”
Great. Perfect answer, expertly done. Neat and tidy, an affirmation without the risk. But his mouth just kept running, traitorously pushing out extra sounds when the reply part of the conversation was already finished - jammering out the exact words he wasn’t supposed to say.
“Course I know. I've always known. I love you too.”
Immediately panic set upon Chase, draping over his shoulders in a numbing cold static and erasing any of the warmth the sun poured onto him. His mind was fumbling and falling and doing circles around itself trying to figure a loophole out of what he’d just said because there was no way House - emotionally constipated, affectionately repressed House - was going to respond well to any sort of reply involving the word love. It was just one of those things, a thing where if he did it - it was okay, but if anyone else so much as dared - that was too much.
Surprisingly enough though, it brought back House’s smile, a smile in place of what Chase had expected to be a great big frown attached to a great big get out of my bed. Or in the very best of cases - radio silence.
“Oh, you've always known, huh? What - the nuns teach you clairvoyance in seminary school?” House snarked.
Whatever anxiety Chase had been letting fester around in his gut instantly dissipated. He could feel his mouth curving into a grin, pressing the apples of his cheeks up and creasing his eyes.
“No, actually, all Australians are just born with it. Jealous?” Chase shot back, pressing his lips together in an attempt to reel in his smile, make it less glaring. He couldn't appear too relieved - couldn't let House see just how disgustingly happy he was that his confession was not only reciprocated (even though he knew it was because House had said it first) but that it hadn’t triggered any of House’s knee jerk self isolation responses.
House furrowed his brow into an expression of exaggerated repulsion, “definitely not, you’re gonna be worrying about which hair product is best before it even exists - why would I wanna worry about the future when I barely wanna worry about the present?”
Chase scoffed and rolled his eyes, “right, because if I had the ability to foresee the future I would use it on things like that.”
A grin cut itself across House’s face, “your usage of the word ’if’ implies you aren’t actually clairvoyant - and trust me, I know. You’d definitely be worrying about even dumber things in that scenario.”
“Dumber things like your next Vicodin script,” Chase shot back. As he said this he turned on his side to fully face House, sliding his hand up from House’s chest and onto his neck. Chase’s fingers lightly ghosted over the skin there, grazing against the light stubble under House’s chin. He let his fingers lightly press against the column of House’s throat, tracing meaningless patterns into the flesh under his palm with his thumb.
House’s eyes fluttered shut - whatever retort he had been forming dying on his tongue as a quiet, rumbling groan of appreciation vibrated out of him under Chase's hand. It seemed, for now, Chase had managed to placate him into silence, effectively ceasing the banter for the moment.
One of House's hands reached up to tangle into Chase's hair, long fingers curling and scratching against the base of his skull in such a way that had Chase's own eyes falling shut. Slowly - hesitantly, and only after weighing all the options seventy-five different ways - Chase allowed his head to rest atop of the chest in front of him. The hand in his hair followed, unrelenting and still finely combing and petting at his head.
Chase couldn't help the breathy, blissed out moan of appreciation that bubbled up from him. He was immediately met in reply with one of House’s low chuckles - one of those self satisfied, smug sounding ones that Chase knew meant this was something he'd be getting made fun of for later. For now though…for now he couldn't be bothered. He wanted to indulge in the way House was thumbing through his hair and scratching at his skin, wanted to bask in the glow of House’s verbalized affection.
Affection the quiet voice in Chase’s mind echoed. House was being affectionate.
House was many things but rarely ever was he that. He was an ass, he was ruthless, he took what he wanted from everyone around him and gave nothing back except stinging words and semi-humorous backtalk. But he was also a smart man - a man that deep down, hidden under nine hundred different layers of angst with walled up defenses - a man that cared. Someone who gave a shit if you cried, even if he said otherwise, and wouldn’t leave you alone until you spilled your guts even if he never even had to ask what's wrong. And right now? House was a man who was being affectionate. Petting Chase’s head so softly and so gently and for no other reason than because he knew Chase liked it.
Chase was glad that his head was turned down so House couldn't see the smile on his face. The smile he smooshed into the gentle curve of House’s chest as he pressed the plane of his cheek against his skin. His hand idly reached for House’s free one, fingers lacing together as House kept scritching at his scalp.
“Pretty boy…” House purred the words out, his voice hushed and murmured in the still summer morning air. Chase felt himself melt, go positively gummy and boneless at House’s compliment on top of everything else. His chest ached sweetly and he repeated the words in his head over and over and over like a mantra.
Pretty boy.
Despite the intoxicating touch of House’s hands in his hair, Chase felt himself rise. Still bare from last night but not caring, Chase straddled House’s equally nude waist. He watched with lidded eyes as House’s face morphed from concern to confusion before finally settling into a lax expression of understanding.
Chase leaned down and kissed him, pressing his palms to the sides of House’s jawline and licking into his mouth like his life depended on it. House's hands in turn found Chase’s hips, his fingers pressing tightly into the grooves of Chase’s thighs, fingers splayed across where they met the skin.
When Chase pulled back he was breathless and his lips were sore. He was pretty sure he couldn't make House admit his love again, and he's not sure he would even have the courage to attempt luring a second admission from the man if he could, but he was sure he could get House to call him pretty again - so long as he asked very nicely.
“Say that again.”
Chase gasped the words out, whispered them out like a prayer as he gazed down at House with hooded eyes. He could feel the beginnings of House’s erection start to stir under him, twitch slightly against his skin.
“Say what?” House asked, and the glint in his eye gave him away. He knew what he was doing, he knew exactly what Chase wanted because of course he did. Chase might've had the courtesy to indulge him and at least pretend to be annoyed if he wasn't so disgustingly infatuated at the moment.
“Please.” The word dropped from Chase’s lips embarrassingly, sickeningly desperate and entrenched in desire.
House was surprisingly quick to give up the fight, his resolve crumbling away in real time as the teasing crease at the edge of his eyes gave way to a reverent fondness.
“Pretty boy,” House breathed out, meaning it and not just saying it. His hand reached up and up until it could press against the back of Chase's head.
Chase couldn't help the way his lips parted at the praise - the touch. Couldn't help the way his throat let out the most pathetic noise he'd ever heard himself make and certainly couldn't help the way that those words coming from House had him unraveling and losing control. Christ, he was already hard and aching on top of House and he hadn't even been so much as touched yet. Maybe he'd try to act embarrassed, pretend he had any self respect left in the moment if he could be bothered to care. But he couldn't, because House was just as hard as him and petting his hair again.
“My pretty boy,” House murmured again, voice husky and breathy against the skin of Chase's shoulder as he brought the blond down to snag another mouthful of him. One of House’s hands pressed between the two of them, reaching down until he could wrap his fingers snugly around Chase's arousal. This prompted a long and drawn out moan to drop from Chase and into House’s mouth.
“Needy, are we?” House groaned out against kiss swollen lips. Chase responded by rutting up into House’s half closed fist, the curve of his ass brushing against House’s own erection with each thrust of his hips.
“God, look at you,” House started, staring as Chase leaned upwards, the breath catching in his throat as Chase ground down on him. Strands of gold shifted and fell into Chase's face - sticking to his forehead as he gazed down at House through half shut eyes. His lips fell open, releasing breathless gasps and low moans as he gently rocked his hips into House’s now fully closed fist. God, he was positively hard and every press of his hips into House's hand was met with an obscene squelch from how much he was already leaking.
When he finally had enough courage to look at House’s face he looked absolutely mesmerized. Dazed with a kind of awestruck lucidity Chase had only ever really seen the likes of before reserved for supermodels and extra large amounts of Vicodin. Even then, this expression was more raw - pleased. Pleased in a sense that Chase had never really seen before.
House brought his free hand up to press against his flank and Chase could feel himself shudder, the skin of his side sensitive and tingling as House's hand smoothed over it. “You’re fucking beautiful,” House whispered out.
Chase let out a strangled noise between a sob and a moan and he honestly wasn't sure if he was crying or not.
House slowly retrieved his hand from between them and Chase audibly whined at the loss. Below him House chuckled quietly, reaching a hand up and shushing him gently by smoothing the calloused pad of his thumb over the blond’s lower lip. Chase was about to open his mouth, to ask why he had stopped, maybe even take the thumb pressed against his lips inside, but House spoke before he had a chance for either.
“On your back, pretty boy.”
Instead of listening, Chase leaned forward to slot his mouth against House’s, unable to resist the temptation of licking and biting against him and moaning in appreciation when he was finally let in. House’s length throbbed where it rested against the back of Chase’s thighs and he couldn't help but smile into the mouth below him - satisfied and sated at being the cause of his arousal. Slowly but with extreme deliberation, Chase brushed the curve of his ass against the hardness below, a smug grin cutting across his face as he continued to mouth at the edges of House’s lower lip.
Keeping his mouth still sloppily pressed against Chase’s, House clumsily maneuvered him onto his back, one of his hands clinging onto the blond’s flank to ease him onto the mattress.
Once Chase's back had touched the bed he suddenly found himself struck by the realization that House would be on top (obvious) and with that came the realization he'd be needing to use his legs.
His lips parted at this. He was sure House knew what he was getting into, Hell, he could probably already feel the consequences from simply just kneeling already. Maybe it would be unwise to point out the obvious, House might take it as patronizing or pitying or…something.
The last thing Chase wanted was to remind House of his pain, of his inability to do certain things, but he needed to be sure.
“D'you want me on top?” he asked quietly, his hands easing onto the sides of House’s biceps.
House was silent for a moment, a long and agonizing set of moments actually. From the look on his face, something firm that knit his brows and creased the lines of his mouth, the implication had not been lost on him. Chase was sure he'd gone and ruined it all with his ridiculous probing courtesy - sure he'd gone and dampened the mood and turned it into something sour where House would crawl back into his prickly shell.
“If I wanted you on top I wouldn't have put you on your back, you moron.” House rolled his eyes as he spoke, his voice teasing and light and effectively dissipating the heavy tense stillness that had started to accumulate.
Chase, his worries now slightly eased, watched as House leaned upwards, pulling away from his face. His hands were pressed either side of Chase’s head against the sheets and Chase simply watched House watching him and, despite knowing he was being analyzed, the blond couldn't help but smile under his gaze. Barely there at all and slightly hidden, but a stupid smile that spread across his stupid face all the same. God, he even felt stupid.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the lean muscle of House’s foremans planted near his face. Chase knew he wasn't small - not by far. He towered over nurses and doctors alike at the hospital, he'd always been keenly aware of his height. But House made him feel absolutely tiny. Especially underneath him, especially like this…
Chase wasn't sure how to feel about that, but then again he wasn't sure how to feel about a lot of things. He'd never been incredibly submissive before - up until House had bent him over his office desk. He hadn't been sure how to feel about that either at first, but found he'd rather liked it. He decided that he rather liked this, too. Maybe it was just the position of being under House - God, that probably had so many different complexes attached to it. Complexes House would have an absolute field day with if he were to ever find out. Chase didn't want to think about that right now though. All he wanted to think about was how much he liked this and how he wanted more.
Idly his hands reached up to frame House’s face at the jaw, fingers fanning around the edges to thumb at his cheekbones. Against his better wishes his mouth opened, words he had already sworn to never say being whispered as he stared up at the older man.
“Will you…will you please say it again?”
And they both knew what he meant this time. The connotation with which Chase had spoken, the tone just a little too timid - lacking its previous confidence and sureness, packing an air of uncertainty about it as it fled from his lips.
A short sigh escaped House, not one of exasperation or irritation - Chase could pinpoint that much, but a sigh all the same. He might've been more worried, in fact his brain tried to start the anxious rantings again, but House was looking at him with just a little too much fondness. Something a little too affectionate - too soft - for Chase to muster up any concern.
“Feeling brave tonight, are we?” House asked from his place above him. A sliver of terror snuck its way into the back of Chase’s mind - terror that he’d pushed too far with such a request. But it was too late to take it back - not with the words already out of his mouth.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
And so he stared - stared and returned House’s gaze and tried his best not to betray how he felt, to not advertise the anxiety so clearly rolling around inside him.
If House decided it was in his best interests to remain mute - to refuse him his request - Chase would accept that, they both knew it. If House never said it again for as long as Chase lived...well, Chase would accept that, too. Because once was enough…House just being here was enough.
Chase wouldn't push him, would only take what he could get and that was fine. Even if the thought alone - the thought of never again hearing House say ’I love you’, made Chase ache on the inside - it would be fine.
One of the hands at Chase’s head pressed to his cheek.
“I love you,” House spoke - quiet and barely there at all. His breath softly fanned against Chase’s face from the proximity - the only evidence he'd even spoken. Slowly his thumb smoothed over the barely there stubble at Chase’s jaw, letting his words hang in the air. Chase felt his lips part at both the touch at his face and the words he'd finally been allowed the privilege of hearing again, his eyes shuttering slightly as consequence.
“Even if you do cry during sex,” House finished.
Chase felt his mouth drop open in surprise, his brows shooting up. He was already smiling before the shock could even fully wear off though, shoving lightly at House’s shoulder. “Way to ruin the moment, asshat.”
House sniggered above him, the corner of his lip tugging up, “it was getting too sappy, couldn't have you crying before the sex even started.”
Chase couldn't help but scoff, rolling his eyes from where he still lay underneath the older man, “says you. I don't cry during-”
House pressed his fingers into Chase and whatever witty comeback he had been about to dish out died on his tongue. Instead his eyes fluttered shut and a hushed gasp skipped out and over his teeth.
Ever the multitasker, House quickly reached his free hand out and yanked the bottle of lube off of his nightstand - his thumb and forefinger easily popping the cap to squeeze the gel atop where his fingers were still sunk into Chase. Below him the blond hissed lightly at the chill of it, hands moving to squeeze against the bedsheets below as House’s fingers continued to work into him.
“We both know you cry during sex,” House spoke, easing his face down towards Chase’s.
Chase opened his mouth - an attempt to defend himself - an attempt proven futile as House added another finger that only served to scatter his thoughts and make him go pliant under the older man's touch.
“Now let me take care of you, baby.” It was all that Chase heard before House slowly began to ease his length into him, effectively chasing away the last of his coherent thoughts as he was filled to the brim with nothing but House.
A hand reached around to tangle into Chase’s hair, pulling and tugging and drawing forth such a delicious sting of pain - such a delicious feeling of being owned that all Chase could do was whimper.
“Good boy. Don't worry about thinking, let me do all the work, I want you to just lay there and take it for me, baby. Think you can manage that?” Despite the degrading words, House’s tone was soft - lacking any semblance of biting edge to it. Maybe Chase was already too fucked out of his mind to think straight (probably) but he was pretty sure he'd interpreted that correctly. But House was asking him a question, a question entirely unrelated to the inflection of his voice, and God knows how the fuck Chase was gonna be able to form a coherent answer while being fucked into the bed.
So he nodded, bobbing his head up and down to the tune of his own moans until words eventually came to him, “ye…yes..!”
“Good boy,” House repeated, drawing the words out in a husky voice. Chase felt his cock throb.
It suddenly occured to him, and the revelation left him partly embarrassed - embarrassed it had taken this long to realize, that this was House’s way of showing actual love. Of course sex could be a form of love, one could definitely argue that, the fact that House was doing all the work despite his leg - that's what really clicked the pieces together in Chase’s mind. Not to mention that, to House, sex on its own was not typically an act of love - an act of worship. It was rough, quick, messy - an act of tangled limbs and groaned out gibberish that left them both dizzy. Very seldom was it ever more than just sex.
Or at least had been, if the track record of their…much more slowed and relaxed sessions over the last couple months was any indication.
Then there was the fact House rarely chose missionary. In fact, most often he chose everything as far away from missionary as he could - from making Chase ride him to using furniture as a crutch.
Didn't bother Chase - sex was still sex and he understood House's limitations. Whether those limitations be due to his mental inability for intimacy or due to the physical inability of his leg - Chase understood.
But this - being on his back, being so thoroughly fucked by House in such - such an intimate way. It was a far cry from his usual position atop the older man.
It made his chest ache with emotion.
Chase blindly reached out, hands clumsily seeking House through his sex drunk daze. A hand caught one of his own and he blearily watched as House moved to press the palm of it against his face before leaning down. The skin of Chase’s hand pressed against the stubble along House’s cheek as the older man leaned to kiss him, a kiss that was almost all tongue with only a hint of teeth, something abominably and sinfully sloppy that he couldn't get enough of. Chase moaned into the mouth above him as he was continuously fucked into the mattress, each thrust met with a lewd wet slap of skin to match the wet turn of tongues as House proceeded to bury himself into Chase as deep as he could.
House’s arms trembled where they stood beside him, only stopping when he rose upwards to reach a hand between the two of them to tug at Chase’s neglected arousal. The second House’s skin touched him he was moaning, giving up whatever last shred of self respect he had (if there was ever any at all) and being torn between fucking himself onto House’s cock to meet his thrusts and fucking up into House's fist. Above him the older man chuckled lowly, his voice breathy and ragged and definitely smug.
Chase could feel himself losing control and losing control quick, hushed quick little pants and gasps flying from his mouth as he fucked himself on and against House. God, he'd never felt so full before - so thoroughly and completely fucked out.
A strangled whimper caught in his throat when House twisted the hand still in his hair during a particularly driven thrust.
“Go ahead and cum for me, pretty boy,” House suddenly spoke.
And that was it.
Chase stilled, his head flying back to press against the pillows as he moaned, hair splaying wildly across the pillows below him. His back arched up as he came in House's closed fist, his hips pressing down onto the cock below him as he unraveled. His chest heaved with the exertion, sweat beading along his brow and soaking his bangs as his orgasm wracked through him in twitching waves.
Above him House’s rhythm rapidly lost any of its beat, his hips frantically rutting up and into Chase as he sought his own release. His breath hitched in his throat as he buried himself to the hilt in one juttering motion, his arms shaking. Pressing his face between Chase’s collar and jaw was all he could do as he stilled, a low and broken groan dropping from his mouth. His hips lazily pumped into Chase in stuttering thrusts as he filled him up, riding through his peak in slow deliberate strides.
Chase couldn't help but moan out weakly below him, overstimulated and sensitive but still being so wonderfully used, every last ounce of pleasure he had left to give being wrung out. Between House’s frantic last few thrusts and the warmth filling him up and leaking down his thighs - Chase was pretty confident if he hadn't just woken up a half hour ago he'd be hard all over again
When he finally opened his eyes House’s face was still tightly nudged into the crook of his neck, his chest still heaving slightly from the exertion. Chase reached a hand up to pet at the scraggly hair in front of him, combing his fingers through it while simultaneously (after some small hesitation) twisting his head just enough so he could plant a chaste kiss to the crown of the head below him.
It felt…strange. Strange to be this intimate and touchy with House. Even though the last few months had been different - had been more domestic than either of them dared to verbalize - there was always this unspoken rule that Chase had always diligently followed: to never initiate intimacy, to only receive of it. It'd been a lesson taught to him over and over again in the forms of House's disappearances and meticulously planned silent treatments that lasted for days on end - leaving him to fret and fuss about what he'd done wrong.
Yes, Chase had learned very early and very repetitively to not initiate intimacy, despite the quiet part of him that had wished it could be different. Ultimately though, he had been okay with that, that had been just fine he had told himself.
But House had broken that rule today, had told him he could touch him - that he loved him. He had effectively broken that invisible line they’d been pretending they hadn't been dancing around and had shifted whatever strange dynamic they'd had going on. Something in between that wasn't quite dating because that would be too serious, yet something more than fuck buddies because fuck buddies don’t say ’I love you’ and kiss you on the mouth and wake up early just to make you coffee.
...But maybe? Was that really so dangerous to hope for? Chase’s mind mused and fantasized quietly from somewhere deep behind his skull. Chase knew the answer to that.
Of course it was.
House - his boyfriend.
He almost had a laugh at that, at just how impossible the concept seemed.
It was only when House started to soften inside of him that he began to sober up. The notion of just how much pain House must be in after holding that position for so long - Chase wanted to ease it if he could. He tapped the outer side of the older man's arm lightly.
“Up. I'll get you some Vicodin and clean us up,” Chase spoke quietly, rolling his head down awkwardly in an attempt to see House’s face better.
House didn't move, instead choosing to sleepily mumble his words into Chase’s skin, “think me incapable of aftercare?”
Chase rolled his eyes at the statement, still continuing to pet at House’s hair despite it, “I know you're incapable of aftercare.”
The body below him sniggered quietly and Chase could feel the rumble of the laugh transfer from House’s chest to his own.
“Yeah.”
It was all House had to say in his defense and that seemed about par for the course Chase surmised. At least the bastard could own up to it, that was certainly something.
“C’mon, up then,” Chase tried again.
House still refused to budge and it was only when Chase ever so slightly shifted that one of the older man's hands clamped around his arm, not hard - but firm enough to keep him still.
“Stay.”
The voice was no longer muffled, now a soft whisper that rang clear when spoken. It wouldn't be accurate to call it a demand, no, it was more of a…more of a plea. When Chase looked down steely blue flashed into his vision, House’s face turned just enough so their eyes could meet. It hardly warranted any consideration on his end because Chase had already made up his mind the second the word had dropped out of House’s mouth.
Chase sighed quietly, “five minutes - your cums starting to feel gross. And take your dick out of me, it feels weird soft.”
House gasped in mock hurt despite already readjusting his lower half to fulfill the request, “the Robert Chase - dick sucking, dick riding extraordinaire Robert Chase - doesn’t like being covered in cum and stuffed with dick? Count me surprised.”
“If the cum isn't dry and the dick is actually hard, then yeah, maybe, you wank,” Chase laughed. “Not when it's crusty like your socks.”
“If it makes you feel any better I imagine the socks are you,” House replied.
Chase had to actually blink at that and take a moment to process, feeling just a little disgusting that a small part of him actually found that slightly endearing. Only slightly though.
“I'm not sure…how that makes me feel, but, y’know…thanks? I guess?”
For a moment the room fell into comfortable silence - House staring up at Chase and Chase staring down at House. It was only when Chase was about to open his mouth to ask House why he was staring so hard that a hand reached up to ghost across his cheek. House’s thumb swiped neatly under his eye and the skin went slightly cold at the motion - wet.
Did the bastard really just wipe something on his face??
Chase was about to accuse him as such but the older man spoke first.
“Told you you cry during sex.”
It was only lightly teasing and when Chase looked back to House his face was surprisingly kind. Chase flushed red all the same. Flushed red as if he'd been caught doing something oh so terrible that warranted proper embarrassment.
Repentance.
“Whatever,” was all he could muster up as his defense.
Despite his teasing, House still had his hand pressed to Chase’s face and was still looking at him with that tired softness that was quickly becoming Chase’s favorite thing to look at. He knew, once House had woken up a little, that the teasing would be relentless but right now he just looked so…appreciative. Chase almost startled at the thought and wanted to take it back because it was just such an impossible concept to him - that House could appreciate anything let alone someone like him.
Chase didn't feel he was worth very much - not enough to warrant such genuine appreciation from someone like House anyway. He knew his skills, his assets - he was little more than a pretty face with some decency at medical practice. Everyone had said so, so why shouldn't he be inclined to believe them? He wasn't dominating like Cuddy and he wasn't respectable like Stacy. He was just…kind of there he supposed.
But he couldn't deny it - that perfectly profound look of…something that House was still giving him.
House’s hands were swiping at the tears Chase hadn't even known were there and suddenly he was leaning up from his place against Chase's ribcage. Chase watched as his eyes fluttered and then shut before the swell of his lips met his own. The kiss was slow and lazy and Chase leaned into it, his mouth slipping open as House’s tongue swiped across his lip. His hands, which had still been in House’s hair up until this point, slowly fell down to rest against his shoulders as the older man's mouth worked against his. His lips felt wonderfully sore, already kiss swollen from the several other times House had swallowed him down, but he couldn't get enough. It felt good, felt right.
By the time House had pulled away Chase’s lips were red and shining, his cheeks looking about the same as the tears turned to stains. Chase pressed forward into House’s space when the older man leaned back, just as eager to be kissed and touched again as if he hadn't just came moments ago, his eyes hooded and drowsy.
Eager to please.
It seemed that's all Chase lived for - lived to please House. He craved it - needed it. Wanted nothing more than to show House just how much he cared and how much he wanted to make him feel good. Especially now, after everything that was said, after everything that followed. If House didn't have him wrapped around his finger before he certainly did now. Chase couldn't even be bothered to pretend that the notion embarrassed him. House may as well own him now and, if permitted - if House deemed him worthy - Chase would like to own him too.
A smirk caught at the edge of House’s lip, his eyes briefly sliding shut as he allowed Chase to steal another kiss before ultimately he pulled away from the blond.
“Maybe I should say I love you more often if it guarantees sex,” House spoke, his hand carding through the hair at Chase’s temple.
Chase gazed up at him with half shut eyes, his limbs still tangled in a heap around the older man from where he still lay.
“Dunno, maybe you should and find out if it does,” he replied. His eyes quickly danced down to House’s mouth again, his own lips parting slightly in response before he returned his eyes upwards.
For once it seemed like he’d taken House by surprise, if his expression was anything to go by anyway. The older man's brows had shot up in a look of mild shock, lips parted slightly before he managed to ease his face back into one of indifference.
“Maybe I will,” he finally said.
And Chase thought that maybe - just maybe - his tone lacked the correct amount of tease to it to establish it as the playful banter it was meant to be. To him it sounded more like a promise. To him it sounded like maybe House just wanted to say those three stupid little words just for the sake of saying them.
Chase decided he'd keep that to himself.
Slowly he untangled himself from underneath House - who didn't stop him this time - and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. He reached his arms up to stretch his back and work out the slight tension that had settled in his spine before standing up. As he stood, House let out a low whistle from where he still lay on the bed.
“Nice view,” House spoke.
When Chase turned to look down at him House’s eyes were unashamedly zeroed in on his ass, staring long enough to make a point that he wanted Chase to know. When House finally looked back up Chase made sure he saw him roll his eyes - even if he was smiling about it.
“I'll be right back.” Chase reached down and grabbed one of the nearest shirts on the floor as he spoke. It was one of House’s, something in a dark blue that was entirely too big on him and smelled wholly like its owner. As an afterthought he tugged at a pair of briefs, carrying them with him to put on after he'd properly cleaned up.
Chase left for only a few moments before lazily shuffling back into the bedroom, footfalls silent as he padded across the wooden floor back towards House. In his left hand was a warm cup of coffee and in his other: a damp rag and House’s script. He set the mug down on the nightstand beside House before leaning down to offer the rest of his supplied loot. House snatched the bottle from his hand, popping the lid and downing two white tablets at breakneck speed before reaching for the coffee.
Chase sat at the edge of the bed beside him, watching quietly and letting his hand slowly drift to rest at House’s hip, just above his scarred thigh. He silently took it as a good sign, progress, when his hand wasn't slapped away.
“How's the leg?” A question with several other underlying questions attached to it. What Chase really meant that he couldn't say was: do you need anything? Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to pick you up anything for it?
House regarded him for a moment before his eyes skirted away, “fine.”
They both knew he was lying.
Chase decided not to push it.
“Are you hungry?” Chase asked instead.
House seemed to perk up at this. “Depends, what's on the menu?”
That brought back Chase’s smile, the corners of his lips tugging up, “well…you've got just about next to nothing in your fridge. So I was thinking microwaveable breakfast sausages and pancakes? If that's alright with you?”
“What, no classic Australian breakfast?” House quipped.
Chase raised his brows, grinning, “you couldn't handle Vegemite if your life depended on it.”
House scrunched up his face in disgust, poking his tongue out and curling his lip, “don't speak that cursed name in my apartment, keep that yeast monstrosity to yourself.”
“So is that a yes to sausage and pancakes?” Chase asked.
After some consideration, which Chase assumed was just for show, House nodded, “yeah. Better than nothing I guess.”
Chase knew this was his way of saying thank you and offered another smile in response, squeezing House’s forearm lightly before standing from the bed.
“I'll let you know when it's done then,” he tossed over his shoulder as he left the room.
It was only when Chase was halfway through frying the pancakes that House emerged into the kitchen, now clad in a loose shirt and a pair of boxers as he peeked his head around the corner like some sort of creep. Chase regarded him out of the corner of his eye, slightly caught off guard by the fact he'd come out of the bedroom so early. He had been so sure that House would've wanted time for himself after everything.
He settled for watching as House slowly inched into the room, the older man setting his now empty cup beside the coffee maker once he was close enough. Eventually he leaned against the counter beside Chase, silently observing through sunken eyes as Chase flipped a pancake to its other side.
“Did I make it right?” Chase asked, breaking the temporary quiet.
House grunted in response, an unsaid question at his lips.
“The coffee,” Chase finished, only turning back to briefly peak a glance at the older man.
House nodded once, small and stiff, one of his satisfied nods, Chase had come to learn. Chase had also come to learn that House liked his coffee sweet. Sickeningly so. Five tablespoons of sugar and a quarter cup of creamer type of sweet. Which was more dessert than drink at that point in Chase’s opinion.
“You had any yet?”
When Chase turned to look back at House, a brow raised in question, the older man pointed at the still warm coffee maker.
Chase shook his head, lips pursing, “nah, got too focused on brekky.”
House scoffed quietly behind him, “brekky?”
Despite his teasing he was moving to stand beside Chase next to the coffee maker, a hand reaching up towards the cabinet to pull out another mug.
“Yeah, y’know, breakfast. Brekky,” Chase spoke, attention flitting between House and the now fifth pancake to be tossed in the pan.
House scrunched his face into one of mocking skepticism before turning his gaze down to fill the cup in front of him. Chase watched quietly, only looking away to slide the finished pancake onto a plate with the others. He watched as House added a tablespoon of sugar before shuffling over to the fridge to add a dash of milk - exactly the way Chase liked it.
Chase bit his lip to mask his grin. He couldn't believe House actually remembered something as unimportant as that.
If House saw him trying (and failing) to hide his contentment he didn't say anything, simply slid the cup over to where Chase could reach and went back to watching him cook.
Chase reached out with his free hand, the other still occupied with the spatula, and took a sip from the mug - looking towards House from under his bangs to softly thank him before setting it back down. In response he was given one of House's Satisfied Nods, the only form of communication House seemed to be capable of when content.
Together they stood like that - Chase bustling around as he finished up breakfast (brekky) and House looming beside him, occasionally swiping a sausage from the counter. Chase had given up at trying to bat his hands away awhile ago and found it much easier to just let him have his way - honestly it was just less of a headache for both of them. Besides, wasn't like they weren't going to be eaten anyway.
By the time the stove was off, Chase had finished half of his coffee and a third of the sausages were missing. And by the time he had actually managed to set up his plate a pancake had been swiped off his dish and half of the sausages were missing.
And when he'd actually finally sat down, House was trying to fork another cake from his plate.
Chase pulled it to himself protectively, partly shielding it with his arm as he lightly batted House’s hand away.
“There's literally, like, seven other pancakes still on the counter,” Chase finally said incredulously.
The two of them now sat on the couch - House with his plate in his lap and Chase, still somewhat stuck in the habit of being proper, with his plate (mostly) on the coffee table, the unfinished now lukewarm cup of coffee beside it.
House responded through a mouthful of pancake, rolling his eyes like whatever he was about to say was just so obvious, “tastes better when it's stolen.”
Chase couldn’t help but arch a brow in response, staring at House as if he could restrain him through sheer force of will alone. For a moment he considered House’s words, eventually reaching a conclusion and setting his plate neatly back onto the table.
Tastes better stolen, huh?
Chase could work with that.
House stopped chewing, eyeing Chase with suspicion through a squinted stare.
“Uh-uh, don't even think about it,” House started.
Before he could ever scrounge up a defense Chase had snatched a sausage off his plate, shoving it into his mouth with a cry of victory before House could even attempt to grab it back.
“You're right, definitely better stolen,” Chase spoke after swallowing, smugness printed across the entirety of his face.
For a moment all House could do was stare in disbelief, all effort of retaliation briefly blocked from him. Chase watched, with extreme satisfaction he might add, as House was more or less stunlocked into silence. Chase had expected some sort of consequence to follow - some sort of swift divine justice, but it truly seemed House hadn't been anticipating that.
Finally House was roused from his temporary silent vigil, “of course you wouldn't be able to resist not having a sausage in your mouth.”
Honestly? Chase had expected more, had prepared himself for more - for an all out war if it came to that because that's just how House was. Escalating things to the extreme in the name of retaliation and then taking things a little bit more extra just for fun. This was not him rising to Chase's challenge, this was the opposite - this almost felt like he was admitting defeat.
Suspicious as it was, Chase chose to accept the free win.
Chase stuck out his tongue, smirking as he turned back to his own plate, “don't be such a sore loser.”
“Pretty sure out of the two of us you're the sore one here,” House replied, sawing off a portion of one of his pancakes with his fork.
Well he was definitely right about that, Chase was indeed very sore. Sore in a very satisfying way though. A way that if he thought about it for too long and focused on just how much his hips ached and how wonderfully used he still felt he was definitely going to get hard again. A small part of him hoped he bruised, that there would be some souvenirs left to admire by the time he was alone - something he could look at and think about later.
Chase reached forward to grab at his cup, taking a sip and swallowing before replying, “I'm not the one complaining here.”
House eyed him, grumbling under his breath before going back to finishing off his breakfast.
Checkmate.
Together the two of them sat in comfortable silence as they ate and Chase alternated between staring at his plate, House, and the window adjacent from them. He had opened it earlier so the smoke from cooking wouldn't accidentally trigger the fire alarm. Plus he also just liked the fresh air, liked listening to the outside noises of the late morning.
A steady, yet warm breeze gusted through it, carrying the scents of the summer air and the sounds of early birdsong. Chase found himself entranced with the way the sunrays dappled and warbled against the wooden floor of House's apartment, with how fresh the air smelled despite being in the city. It would be June in a few days which obviously meant warmer weather, warmer weather meant inevitable boiling heat. The morning now was mild but he knew by mid afternoon it would turn muggy and hot.
It reminded him of home.
He didn't know how to feel about home.
Home was a place where he had been alone, where he'd been so lost he was sure he'd never find his way back - it'd been a place of nightmares and agony. But it was familiar, it was a place he knew and a place that knew him. It was a place where everyone spoke like him, where he had learned to surf - a place where he had found as close to what he could a passion as he was probably going to find. It was a place where the days were blistering yet satisfactory, where he could forget how hot it was by going out on the waves.
Yes, warmer weather reminded him of home…but home was not where House was.
There was suddenly a touch at his hand and he startled, his eyes flashing over to see House now standing, bent at the hip so he could lean down and grab at the edge of Chase's plate. Chase hadn't even realized he'd finished his breakfast and offered the dish up to House, whispering out a small word of thanks.
House regarded him for a moment, seemingly contemplating, his eyes hard and calculating (always calculating), before he turned and limped back towards the kitchen to set the dishes down in the sink. Chase went back to staring out the window, pulling his still bare legs up onto the couch and folding his arms over his thighs.
No, home was not where House was. Chase tried to imagine House living in Australia and couldn't suppress the grin it brought. House would hate it there, Chase knew. He'd be whining about the heat, the food - would probably make fun of every Aussie slang term he heard. Even if House wouldn't raise hell about it Chase knew he didn't want to go back. He loved it as much as he hated it, unsure which he felt more but certain of two things: that it made him angry and that he wanted to forget everything about that place that made his chest sting. And if that meant leaving the memory of it behind altogether then so be it.
Home was not where House was, but maybe House could be his new home.
Chase felt silly at really having just thought that, it sounded like something every terrible teenage romance book pledged. Yet he couldn't deny the charm to it - the allure. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it and he supposed it wouldn't be the last. It was just so intoxicating to think of House as someone to come back to - someone to anchor himself to.
Someone to have a life with.
Chase suddenly found his lap full as House thwumped onto the couch and dropped his head across Chase's thighs, effectively breaking the blond’s trance and forcing it onto him.
“Looks like you're thinking hard. Try not to hurt yourself,” House spoke quietly.
His sentence was phrased jokingly but Chase knew better by now, this was his way of showing concern - of finding a problem and subtly probing for answers.
Chase gave him a small smile, reaching a hand down to rest in his hair, “just thinking about the weather.”
He turned his attention from House and back towards where the sun was still dancing upon the windowsill. He paused, hesitating and unsure of whether or not he wanted to divulge quite how he was feeling - unsure of if he wanted to bother House with any of it. Unsure if it was even worthy of being brought up at all.
“Makes me think of home,” Chase finally spoke.
House stayed silent under him. Honestly Chase wouldn't be all that surprised if House had already figured out his complicated stance on his home, which by his lack of commentary was as good an indication as any that he had. He supposed he'd already made his ‘daddy issues’, as House had so politely dubbed them, very apparent when his father had shown up at his workplace's doorstep.
Chase didn't really know when he'd attached the thought of his father to the entire country of Australia but he had. Whenever he thought of home he thought of Rowen Chase which made him think of his mother which made him think of all those times he’d been locked in the study.
Guess it really didn't take much thought at all to pinpoint just exactly how Chase felt about where he used to live. Didn't take a genius to figure that one out.
Home made him feel afraid - made him feel angry and tired. No amount of riding the waves and going out with friends could erase or rise above the memories of that.
One of House’s hands smoothed up onto Chase's calves, squeezing gently at the skin there. Chase tipped his head down to look back at him, assuming he wanted his attention for something, but instead he just found House simply laying there. His eyes had closed and he continued to rest his head against Chase's legs, the almost ever present crease in his brow relaxed as he just…lay there.
Chase allowed himself to smile, unashamed and uncaring about the fact House could open his eyes any second and see it. He was allowed to be happy - he was happy - and he was definitely allowed to show it. Even if House would poke fun at him for it.
After a moment he reached down to place his free palm on top of the hand at his knee, leaving the other to continue thumbing through House's hair. He turned his head back to where the summertime morning poured itself across the floor, tipping his head back against the couch cushions and tracing circles into the back of House’s hand with his thumb - his smile brightening when he felt House’s thumb briefly reach up to meet his.
He decided he wouldn't mind if this was what the rest of his life looked like - then realized he'd decided that quite a while ago. When he imagined himself it was with House - not a single scenario flitting through his conjurings where they weren't together. He wanted to wake up next to him like this, to make him coffee in the morning, to bring him comfort when his leg flared up, to work together on cases, to come home to him at the end of the day.
Yes, it would be just fine with Chase if that was what his life became. He stared down at House out of the corner of his eye, watching him as he lounged across his lap. He hoped he would keep him around for a little while, if only to let Chase call him home for a bit.