Chase always gives himself away when it comes to House. It's not a new phenomenon, just perhaps more telling like this than it had been before. He's less guarded, less able to pretend, to lie with his reactions. And House knows it, and Chase knows he's more than willing to take advantage of it. He says it, that one single word, that's like a threat or a promise. That House will make him beg. Chase doesn't bother denying it, and he's not sure if it's because he believes him, or because he doesn't.
He knows it's intentional, how House walks around him, keeping Chase's field of vision on the bed. His strewn clothes, the paddle, that bottle of lube. House had told him to buy things he wanted used on him, and the implication there is painfully clear. It's not even inaccurate, and they both know it, because they both know exactly how long Chase has wanted House. There's no point in denying that he wants him, because he does, the question is just whether that means more than his desire to hold on to that ideal of devotion. Was it even really a question?
House's hand moves over his ass, and he can't resist leaning into it, just a little. Having his hands on him, groping him, touching, heats his skin and teeth bite softly at his full bottom lip. He wants this, and for all his fear that there's a punchline in here somewhere, House seems to want him, and he doesn't know how to act like that doesn't matter, because it means more than anything. Chase makes an undignified noise as House's fingers drag along the rope that's between his cheeks, and his voice is just barely this side of wrecked.
Then House's hand impacts against his ass, and he gasps, sharp, vocal. He's not quiet as the other man layers the strikes against both cheeks, but he figures that if House had wanted him to be, he would have gagged him. It's fairly clear that he has the means to do so. Chase's pale skin shows color very well, pinking with each strike of his hand. It's not too hard, but not gentle. Even, firm, and his body jolts a little at each strike.
His breath comes fast and rough when he stops, and Chase whines softly at the way the cool metal of those chains feel against the heat of his ass. Not yet red, but a nice deep pink, and he can't help squirming a little at the contrast of heat and chill. And then House hits him with it. Those thin chains are wicked, and even with House starting out light, they sting, starting to leave welts as the impacts come harder, and Chase makes inarticulate noises, somewhere between pain and pleasure as he trembles in the confines of the ropes.
no subject
He knows it's intentional, how House walks around him, keeping Chase's field of vision on the bed. His strewn clothes, the paddle, that bottle of lube. House had told him to buy things he wanted used on him, and the implication there is painfully clear. It's not even inaccurate, and they both know it, because they both know exactly how long Chase has wanted House. There's no point in denying that he wants him, because he does, the question is just whether that means more than his desire to hold on to that ideal of devotion. Was it even really a question?
House's hand moves over his ass, and he can't resist leaning into it, just a little. Having his hands on him, groping him, touching, heats his skin and teeth bite softly at his full bottom lip. He wants this, and for all his fear that there's a punchline in here somewhere, House seems to want him, and he doesn't know how to act like that doesn't matter, because it means more than anything. Chase makes an undignified noise as House's fingers drag along the rope that's between his cheeks, and his voice is just barely this side of wrecked.
Then House's hand impacts against his ass, and he gasps, sharp, vocal. He's not quiet as the other man layers the strikes against both cheeks, but he figures that if House had wanted him to be, he would have gagged him. It's fairly clear that he has the means to do so. Chase's pale skin shows color very well, pinking with each strike of his hand. It's not too hard, but not gentle. Even, firm, and his body jolts a little at each strike.
His breath comes fast and rough when he stops, and Chase whines softly at the way the cool metal of those chains feel against the heat of his ass. Not yet red, but a nice deep pink, and he can't help squirming a little at the contrast of heat and chill. And then House hits him with it. Those thin chains are wicked, and even with House starting out light, they sting, starting to leave welts as the impacts come harder, and Chase makes inarticulate noises, somewhere between pain and pleasure as he trembles in the confines of the ropes.