The lean lines of his suspended frame tremble almost invisibly as House rubs over his hip, the gesture soft and reassuring. Then House is pulling him back again, and Chase is intensely aware of the power dichotomy here, but he likes it. Giving up freedom, giving up power, and letting someone else be entirely in control. It was better with House. Better because he trusted him to insane degrees, better because it was him, better because of the way he uses the control, the inequality, always has. Their relationship has been about inequality since the day that House hired him, and this gloriously sexual expression of it feels like another type of high. But House is right, and however much he might strain, he needs those knots as surely as he needs House's hands on his hips.
Chase tosses his head back, gasping, crying out breathlessly as House slowly sinks inside of him. Their bodies slicked, but it's still tight, so long since Chase has been fucked, and it just makes him crave it that much more. Of course, once House is in all the way, he can't help that brief flash of abused nerves and hurt skin. He jerks in that brief moment, his body tightening, and he whines, squirms helplessly at the contact, but there's nowhere for him to go. He's entirely at House's access, and the fact is that slight jerk and the whine on his full lips doesn't actually mean no, and they both know it. Chase is deep in his head, deep in thrall to House's voice and the demands and the reassurances. He's overstimulated and House is the only thing that makes it make sense.
Chase does his best to stay quiet when House stills, taking a moment to catch his breath, but it's hard. The first few breaths are good, giving him a chance to get some admittedly tenuous grasp on his bearings. He's desperate, aching, craving it, needing this, and breathless sounds spill over his lips in wordless, half-incoherent pleas. He moans when House moves, pulling him back and then drawing him back in, and he all but squeals in answer to House's groan.
The man repeats the gesture, and Chase isn't any better at keeping quiet the second time. He needs this, needs House fucking him, needs it like this, House controlling how they move and how Chase feels.
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Chase tosses his head back, gasping, crying out breathlessly as House slowly sinks inside of him. Their bodies slicked, but it's still tight, so long since Chase has been fucked, and it just makes him crave it that much more. Of course, once House is in all the way, he can't help that brief flash of abused nerves and hurt skin. He jerks in that brief moment, his body tightening, and he whines, squirms helplessly at the contact, but there's nowhere for him to go. He's entirely at House's access, and the fact is that slight jerk and the whine on his full lips doesn't actually mean no, and they both know it. Chase is deep in his head, deep in thrall to House's voice and the demands and the reassurances. He's overstimulated and House is the only thing that makes it make sense.
Chase does his best to stay quiet when House stills, taking a moment to catch his breath, but it's hard. The first few breaths are good, giving him a chance to get some admittedly tenuous grasp on his bearings. He's desperate, aching, craving it, needing this, and breathless sounds spill over his lips in wordless, half-incoherent pleas. He moans when House moves, pulling him back and then drawing him back in, and he all but squeals in answer to House's groan.
The man repeats the gesture, and Chase isn't any better at keeping quiet the second time. He needs this, needs House fucking him, needs it like this, House controlling how they move and how Chase feels.