Chase lets House steal the bag from him and just watches House as he opens it and digs through the things he bought. House glances at him, a lifted eyebrow that's questions and curious, but not horrified. There's no trace of too much or too far and that's fairly rare. Because Chase is at heart way past the lines of sane, but he still has an aversion to the ones liable to end him up in pieces in a gutter somewhere. So usually, usually, he deals with people that aren't as kinky as he is. And that's okay.

So he appreciates that House isn't put off. The look in his eyes didn't say freak, even if he is. Chase shivers and leans a little closer at the way that House lights up when he pulls out the paddle. It's a laquered hard wood, with small holes drilled through to make it hit that much harder. It looks like something that might have hung in a Principal's office back when corporal punishment was still institutionalized.

"They are," Chase agrees about the cuffs, "I wasn't sure what you have." It's a vague explanation as he grabs the seatbelt and clicks it, leaning back in the seat as he rearranges the things back in the bag, holding it in his lap. He's quiet for a few moments, then his awkwardness from the lube in his pocket gets the better of him. Because it's more wrong than Chase can allow himself in moderately full control of himself.

"I'm really just interested in the kink and the pain," he says softly, although his face says that he's lying his pretty blond head off. He also knows it's too late to try and set boundaries, and that if it comes down to what House says and that ideal of commitment he actually believes in, more or less, it's not even a fight. Maybe he doesn't want it to be a boundary.

Just another thing to be broken.