The fact that House says your welcome feels important, if for no other reason than the lack of sarcasm or snark or barely-concealed insult. It makes it seem as if House understands why this is so important to him, or at least the fact that it is. And maybe, potentially, that this means something to him more than just an intellectual curiosity, though Chase doesn't hold on to that thought. He nods slightly in quiet thanks for House just accepting what he'd offered.
But in hindsight, it almost seems like a trap. That moment when House paces around him like a predator, then goes for his jacket, and Chase feels like a moron for thinking he could hide it. Rationally, there's nowhere safe he could have put it that House wouldn't have noticed, but that doesn't change how it feels. There's a hint of a whimper of protest, and he squirms against the ropes, his face flushing helplessly pink as House holds up the container. The fact that having House call him not just by his first name, how how he calls him a very bad boy does something utterly horrifying to him, makes his cock twitch. But it's something he tries not to focus on.
House sits on the bed, and Chase looks at him, but his head is slightly bowed, meeting his eyes through his blond eyelashes, a little timid, because he doesn't know where things go from here. House picks up the crop, letting the beaded metal tails drag over his open palm, and Chase shivers, swallowing hard as he watches. There's a quiet threat there, and he likes that. It's a wordless reassurance that he's not going to stop. That fear was obviously illogical, after all, it's not like the lube says anything House hasn't already known for years.
At the accusation that he's going to beg for it, beg House to fuck him, that flush deepens and he leans into the ropes a little, craving that security. "Why? So you can mock me for it?" He says it before he can think better of it and then his head jerks to the side, breaking that gaze. "I don't beg," he adds after a few moments of silence, and there's something odd in how he says it. It's not false bravado, not pushing, trying to get a reaction, trying to get House to push back harder. There's an honesty to it, a revelation that might not be surprising, that Chase doesn't know how to give up control.
As much as he needs this, the pain and the punishment and the humiliation, he has trouble honestly giving up control. In order to get there, he needs to come apart, he needs to break, but no one's ever been willing to take him that far, to where he loses everything, except the trust. Of course, there's an implicit clause in that statement that goes unsaid: for people who aren't you.
Because House has never shied from pushing people past the breaking point before, and Chase doubts he's going to start now. He doesn't believe he's that much better.
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But in hindsight, it almost seems like a trap. That moment when House paces around him like a predator, then goes for his jacket, and Chase feels like a moron for thinking he could hide it. Rationally, there's nowhere safe he could have put it that House wouldn't have noticed, but that doesn't change how it feels. There's a hint of a whimper of protest, and he squirms against the ropes, his face flushing helplessly pink as House holds up the container. The fact that having House call him not just by his first name, how how he calls him a very bad boy does something utterly horrifying to him, makes his cock twitch. But it's something he tries not to focus on.
House sits on the bed, and Chase looks at him, but his head is slightly bowed, meeting his eyes through his blond eyelashes, a little timid, because he doesn't know where things go from here. House picks up the crop, letting the beaded metal tails drag over his open palm, and Chase shivers, swallowing hard as he watches. There's a quiet threat there, and he likes that. It's a wordless reassurance that he's not going to stop. That fear was obviously illogical, after all, it's not like the lube says anything House hasn't already known for years.
At the accusation that he's going to beg for it, beg House to fuck him, that flush deepens and he leans into the ropes a little, craving that security. "Why? So you can mock me for it?" He says it before he can think better of it and then his head jerks to the side, breaking that gaze. "I don't beg," he adds after a few moments of silence, and there's something odd in how he says it. It's not false bravado, not pushing, trying to get a reaction, trying to get House to push back harder. There's an honesty to it, a revelation that might not be surprising, that Chase doesn't know how to give up control.
As much as he needs this, the pain and the punishment and the humiliation, he has trouble honestly giving up control. In order to get there, he needs to come apart, he needs to break, but no one's ever been willing to take him that far, to where he loses everything, except the trust. Of course, there's an implicit clause in that statement that goes unsaid: for people who aren't you.
Because House has never shied from pushing people past the breaking point before, and Chase doubts he's going to start now. He doesn't believe he's that much better.