Dr. Chase (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scaredywombat) wrote2014-12-15 11:35 pm
scaredywombat) wrote2014-12-15 11:35 pm
Entry tags:
Take Me To Church
Chase felt empty, fingers playing with the rim of an empty shotglass as he tried to find an answer to a question that wasn't there to ask. There was no question. He didn't feel that what he'd done was wrong. It didn't mean that he didn't feel like shit about it, that he didn't want someone to forgive him. That was a lie. What he wanted was someone to punish him, someone to make him hurt, to take all the acidic feelings inside of him and take it out on his body, until he could take solace in that, bleed these feelings out of him. Foreman kept telling him to talk to Cameron, and Allison kept trying to tell him that they could get through this together, but Chase knew that she couldn't be what he needed. Not for this.
There had been a time when he'd thought that maybe she was, maybe she could be, and they'd tried it once. His wrists, handcuffed to the bed. It was nothing, as far as Chase was concerned, but he never told her that. Not when even that dissolved into alternating giggles and awkwardness. He never brought it up again, and she never asked why he had a pair of handcuffs. He never brought up how much it meant to him, that when things pulled him too taut, it was the feel of restraints, the pain, the biting words, the feeling of having someone guide him through a scene with a hard touch, and catching him after when he crumbled that made it all make some kind of sense. It was what put him back together.
He knew he was hurting Allison, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't call her, because he had no explanations, nothing to offer that she'd accept. He needed to get drunk because he just... couldn't right now. He was pushing her away because he didn't know what else to do, and he couldn't tell her. She wouldn't understand. He knew her well enough to know that once she'd decided not to kill Dibala that she wouldn't forgive him when he did. He was okay with that. It just meant he couldn't tell her, that this was something that would always be between them.
And so he was here, at a bar, trying to find any other answer. Whiskey wasn't an answer, but it was something. A balm, maybe. It made the hurt feel less sharp. He wasn't drunk, even if he was working on it. He was just tipsy enough to dull the pain, and some of his inhibitions, but sober enough to be coherent.
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Slowly, so slowly, he sinks inside him, until the hot skin of his ass is pressed against his hips, and he can feel how Chase reacts to that, too, tensing, whimpering… it makes it more intense for the both of them. For House, just the reality of it, the awareness of how much Chase can take and how much he’s willing to give to get what he needs, and for Chase… he can only begin to imagine. The sensation, the overstimulation, the headspace…
He won’t be able to touch him if he wanted to. The way Chase is tied, there’s no easy reach around to cup or grope him as he fucks him, but he’s got a feeling that won’t make much difference in Chase’s enjoyment of this, in how fast he’s going to get off. Maybe it’s actually better. He doesn’t know, he can only think about how perfect he feels and sounds and how he’s reacting. He’s still for as long as he can be, needing to breathe again, but soon it’s clear that Chase is so far gone, so keyed up that giving him time to adjust is only considerate for so long. Then, he’s anxious, needy, desperate for more, so House gives it to him. Pulls back, pushes Chase away, hands on his hips, and then draws him back again. Slow at first, and then faster. The first time their bodies come together with a wet clap of skin against skin actually pulls a shudder from House, and a hard, low groan. So he does it again.
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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.
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House thought this would be harder than it is, with his leg. Thought that without anything to lean on or brace against, he’d lose balance, but he doesn’t. The timing of it, the swing of Chase’s body back against his works. Even as they’re moving faster, as House is fucking him deeper, it’s fucking perfect. House lets go of one hip and grabs him by the wrist, uses it like a handle, guiding him back, down on his cock again and again, slower now and deeper, using his grip on Chase to grind their bodies together. He wants more of that squirming, wants him louder than this, wants complaints from the neighbors in the morning. He doesn’t give a goddamn fuck about what happens after this, really, he just wants Chase to come apart all over again in a completely different way. Wants him boneless and floating not just from being beaten, but from being fucked so hard that there’s nothing left in him to hurt or feel guilt tonight.
That slow deep fucking changes, speeds up, but not before an abrupt swat to his raw, red ass, not hard, but not light either. Just hard enough to sound loud and startling through the sounds of their rough fucking, and then House is pulling him back again, harder and faster, letting the fact that he’s hanging suspended allow him to do things he couldn’t normally. Letting it bounce Chase down on his cock and he’s suddenly so close to coming that he can fucking feel it. He’s breathing hard and moaning as he keeps moving, keeps pulling Chase back on him, and gives another slap. This one lighter, and it comes without really thinking about it, just urging him on, and he grinds out a rough command, “Come on, come…”
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Each rock of their bodies, accented by the slap of skin, makes Chase flinch. His ass is still bright red, and every hard rock that moves his body into contact with the other man's makes his skin feel like it's burning and tears high-pitched whines from his mouth. He's fucking him deeper, and Chase feels like he's starting to come apart all over again, but he tries not to. He wants to hold on, wants this to last, even if it's impossible. His voice getting louder, shifting into cries that are nearly screams. He's loud, only barely holding back from the edge and every time their bodies meet it becomes that much harder.
When House swats at his ass, Chase does scream. It's the mix of it, pleasure and pain, punishment and reward, freedom and restraint. The sound of it echoes in the room, a sharp crack and the ring of his hand on skin, and it makes Chase's eyelashes flutter, his head back as he tries to look at the ceiling through a hazy latticework of black ropes. There's something phenomenally erotic about the way that House bounces Chase's slim body over his cock. He feels small, insubstantial, almost weightless in House's hands. There are plenty of reasons that Chase loves suspensions, and this is one of them.
He jerks again at the slap, even though it's softer than the last, it still lights Chase's body up like a Christmas tree, and not necessarily in the pleasant way. He's so close, that when House tells him to come, all he has to do is stop fighting. Unclench his hands, uncurl his toes; relax and just let it hit him. He's screaming again when it does.
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When Chase comes, it’s like everything inside him that was held tight is suddenly let out, all the tension exploding outward, tearing from his throat in a harsh scream. House isn’t far behind him, and when he comes, there’s one more thrust, maybe two, then he holds Chase close. He’s not present enough to think, and soon all he can do is just hold Chase tight against him, hips grinding against the heat of his ass as that scream quiets into a string of moans that House hardly realizes he’s contributing to.
When he starts to come down he’s wishing he were laying down or at least sitting, wishes there weren’t so many steps to follow through to get to where he can collapse and breathe and enjoy the feeling that comes after. He grabs the rope that’s holding Chase suspended with one hand, for stability, because the cane is nowhere to be seen and he takes a few long moments to breathe, hand rubbing up Chase’s side, over the ropes that hold him bound. Finally, he pulls out but doesn’t move away, really. He stays near enough that Chase can still feel him there, so his body is leaning against his side as he peels off his t-shirt and uses it to clean himself up and gives it a toss towards the bed. He’ll use it, later, to clean Chase up, but now’s not the time. First, he’s got to get him down, get him to the bed, give him time to desensitize just a little bit before he cleans him up. He tucks himself back into his jeans and zips them up, and then he’s got his hands on Chase again.
“I’m gonna get you down… left leg first,” he says as he starts undoing the knots to free it, first his ankle and then his thigh. Loosened, he helps guide it down, shaking the rope free from his leg.
“Okay, now the right… lean into me,” he says, keeping an arm around Chase as he unties his right leg one handedly, holding him close as he tries to right him before continuing untying him.
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A murmur of protest hums on his lips when House pulls back, withdrawing from Chase's body, and he knows it's necessary, but it's also the last thing in the world that he wants. He knows, logically, that they have to undo the suspension and move somewhere else. But he wants to just stay in this moment. This is the part where it's good. The quiet, the pleasure as the orgasm and the intensity washes through him. Of course, this is House, and that makes this different. Chase doesn't even know what to expect from here. For now, he just lets himself focus on House as he moves, the sound of fabric and the zipper of his jeans.
There's that brief moment when he's not entirely sure that House will take him down. That maybe this is the punchline he was waiting for at first, but no. House starts undoing the knots, releasing his left leg and guiding it down to the floor. Chase doesn't really have any strength in his limb, and it tingles. There's obvious, red imprints in his skin, the rope leaving clear marks that Chase is going to have to try and hide later.
He tries to lean into House, but he's so uncoordinated in the moment that it's awkward, the support more of House's arm on him than his own ability. When he has two feet on the floor, the fact that he's not actually standing yet is fairly obvious. "Greg," he whispers softly, a flutter of eyelashes as he can finally manage it. "Thank you," he said it before, but he means it maybe even more now. It was perfect, is perfect, and even if House knows, Chase can't help the urge to say it.
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“Don’t mention it. I’ve got you,” he says softly, voice low and reassuring.
House shifts the way he’s holding him, gets a better grip before he works to bring him down from the suspension. It takes a bit of effort, a fair amount of rearranging his grip again, but when he’s got him free from the ceiling, he starts to move him to the bed. He’s still bound, arms behind his back, and as unsteady as he is, there’s no way to get him untied until they get him onto the bed. It’s difficult to get him in bed. He’d just let him sit, but his ass is raw and sore and he’s not pushing him to sit just yet.
“Gonna lay you face down while I untie you,” he says, and he manages to get him in bed, on his side, angled mostly face down, and he works quickly at untying his arms, first at the wrists and then the upper arms, pulling the ropes away and off.
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But House has him, safe. He leans into him, tries to offer as much help as he can as House moves him over to the bed. He winces a little, predicting that he'll end up sitting on the edge while House unties his arms, but instead, the other man places him on his side, more or less. He ends up mostly face-down in the pillows, and lets House's fingers work over the ropes.
It feels good, the way they come away from skin, leaving red marks in their wake. There's a freedom in it, a feeling of all the tension and the hurt coming away with the ropes in those moments. His arm is floppy, unsteady, but he reaches out for House anyway, wanting to touch, to hold onto him, feel him.
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Completely untied, Chase reaches out for him, and House lets him but looks at the bed, assesses the situation - Chase is too close to this edge of the bed for him to join him, and while he might normally take great pleasure in making him move, he's not now.
"Hang on," he says, fingers skimming over Chase's arm, and he makes his way around the bed, limp heavier than usual, and climbs in the far side. He struggles his way closer across the mess of sheets towards Chase, and he pulls a blanket up over him. He may not be cold yet, but he will be once he really starts to come down, once the sweat on his skin cools in the air.
This isn't something they've done before. But then, neither is impact play and kinky bondage sex. Still, for House, for whatever reason, this feels more wrong than fucking and beating him. Maybe it's because he's got the time and mental distance to really think about it. He's not caught up in the moment, in giving Chase what he needs and being wrapped up in the energy of it. They're in his bed together. That's different than standing in the bedroom together, than fucking in the middle of the room. It's intimate, but it's necessary. It doesn't matter to House that whatever this is may not be a relationship and may never happen again. It doesn't matter that, tomorrow, he's going to do everything in his power to lord this over Chase at work. All that matters is that he's opened something up in Chase, put his thumb on something that needed to come out and brought it to the surface and left it raw and angry and now there's work still to be done. He can't just let him go, or take him home. He's got to let Chase come down first. Really come down, come back into his skin and feel whole and okay again before he considers bringing him home.
They're facing each other, and he scoots a little closer, until their legs are touching, and he throws an arm around Chase's shoulders and hauls him in closer, cuddling him up against his chest because he can tell from the way he reached for him the second his arms were free that he needs contact. Maybe he doesn't usually like to cuddle - maybe he does - but he is now.
"C'mere," he says softly, talking mostly into Chase's hair.
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The words hang on are a comfort, in that when House pulls away, he's expecting it. It doesn't entirely feel like the world falling out from underneath his feet. He notices how heavy House's limp is, but he's still too out of it for it to really connect to what they'd just done, to feel bad for it. He cuddles into the blanket, and toward House's body as the man places a blanket over him. He's almost feverishly warm, but he knows it wont stay that way. There's something uncertain in his body, even as he leans toward House.
This is strange, makes his heart race, because Chase usually gets out and away as soon as possible. He should be putting his clothes on, heading outside, letting the cold air make his head stop spinning, and then taking a cab back home, pretending this didn't mean anything at all. Most of the time it didn't. But after years of wanting House, there was no way to pretend this didn't mean anything. It showed the cracks between Allison and him that he wasn't talking about, that he had spent two years trying to ignore. House had been the thing between them they couldn't address without falling apart. He knows that even if he walks away now, it wont stop House from holding this over his head. In fact, it just might make it worse. But that's not why he's staying.
It's because he needs this. So eventually the tension calms a little and he shifts, dragging his legs gently against House's as he leans in against his chest, an invisible smile against his skin. His hands are clinging to him again, against his sides, trembling fingers against skin, and a low murmur on his lips that he shyly kisses into House's flesh. He's still reeling, and having House holding him makes it feel better, makes it okay.
The shift out of subspace is always slow for Chase, and he usually doesn't like to let anyone else see it.