Take Me To Church

[scaredywombat]

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.

Comments

[the_house_rules]

He’d followed him here. Maybe he’d given him a head start, if we’re calling it that. Truth be told, he’d been following him a while, to the church and now here, and here he’d waited in the car, watching the door, expecting that after a half hour, forty five minutes, he’d come out. It had been over and hour and he’s still inside, and that’s when House decides it’s time to follow him in.

He walks in, stiff from sitting so long in the car, and it has his limp more pronounced than it sometimes is, at least by the door. Once he’s managed a half dozen steps or so inside the bar, he’s falling into that old familiar gait that looks less pained than it is. He doesn’t say anything, just hooks his cane loudly on the edge of the bar next to Chase, making sure it’s noisy enough to be jarring, and then settles himself down on the barstool directly to his left. He doesn’t say hello because Chase knows who he is, and if he doesn’t know that he’d stalked him here, then he hasn’t been paying attention for the last few years.

And he’s not subtle about eyeing Chase, the level of his drink (nearly gone), the color of his face, the dilation of his eyes. Then he leans in closer a little bit and smells him.

“…so I take it you’re planning to take a cab home to your apartment? Or maybe you were going to walk the fifteen blocks. You know, to keep with the theme of the evening, punish yourself a little bit more… maybe toss a couple broken beer bottles in your shoes for dramatic effect…?”

[scaredywombat]

He startles a little when House hooks his cane on the edge of the bar and his blue eyes look up, wide, startled from his thoughts, from yearnings he's trying to handle or ignore. The problem with being married is that there's really no one he can call without feeling like he's cheating on Allison, and there's that self-deluded desire to hold on to the things that she represents that wont let him do that. At least not so consciously, so intentionally.

He tilts his head slightly to the side and knocks back the very last of his drink, before setting it back on the surface of the bar. He lets his fingers touch against the rim, rocking it from one side to another, watching House as he tries to figure out why he's here. Knowing House curiosity is generally the most likely culprit, but he's not sure what he wants to know. He knows what Chase did, he knows why he's distracted, why he's here.

The only other option is to be an asshole, and Chase can admit that it's the one that he's hoping for. He waves at the bartender for another round, almost defiantly. He's thirty; he's old enough to get desperately drunk when he needs to, isn't he?

"How long have you been following me?" He asks, because that's really the only thing up in the air here. It's not an if. He's quietly hoping that House didn't follow him from the church, even if he knows it's the most likely option. It was weak and bitter. He wanted forgiveness, but more than that, he wanted to be hurt, punished. Something even the church couldn't give him, ironically.

[the_house_rules]

House is assholishly pleased to see that Chase jumped when he banged the cane on the bar. It's a smug, self-satisfied feeling, and he just waits. Lurks in Chase's personal space and lets that and his words push what they will from him, and he just waits and watches it happen. He glances up at the bartender, barely moving, just following him with his eyes and then he's looking back at Chase. He's got that kind of owlish expression, like he's weighing every possibility, figuring things out actively and there's nothing you can do to avoid giving yourself away.

He gestures to himself and nods, "I'll have the same," he says to the bartender. Then, it's back to Chase.

"Long enough to know that you're about a shot away from sinning all over whatever salvation you found on your last stop," he says.

He eyes the new drink that the bartender left. He knocks back the shot and then pushes the empty glass away. It's not shitty shot whiskey, but sipping whiskey. Chase isn't just looking to get desperately drunk, he's wasting perfectly good booze on punishing himself. Now, House just looks disapproving.

"You don't just knock back whiskey like this. What are you, some kind of heathen?"

[scaredywombat]

Chase laughs at the implication of sinning all over his salvation, but there's not much humor in it. It's sharp and sad and bitter. "I didn't go there looking for salvation," he admits quietly, head tilting back an his blue eyes looking up at the ceiling briefly. Then his gaze flicks back to House, and his gaze is heavy, too intense. The fact that House is here to be a dick seems to be fairly decently established, and that makes this easier. Better than House looking for nuances that aren't there. Chase doesn't think that at this point there's anything left to give away, not really.

"Of course I'm a heathen, I am Australian," he quips back, but his heart isn't in it. It's flat, devoid of inflection or humor or even the pleasure he usually takes in batting jibes with the other man. He knocks back half the shot at once, fully willing to sit there and prove House's point.

He intends to let House sit there, until he gets what he came for or actually asks a question that means something, but Chase isn't that patient. He can't look away from him, but his tone is sharp, almost annoyed, but not really, a different emotion to it. "Why are you here?"

[the_house_rules]

House doesn’t really think that Chase went to church looking for salvation. The kind of church that Chase is looking for probably doesn’t exist in New Jersey, the kind that takes repayment for sin in blood. It’s more Dan Brown novel than it is confession. It’s not really a to-do list of Our Fathers that Chase wants, but punishment. He’s not getting it, not from anyone, and he can tell he’s not wired to cope with that. Cameron’s not mad at him, she blames House. And House? He’s not mad at him either. House thinks he did the right thing, thought for himself and followed his beliefs and in the end, it probably saved thousands of lives. House would probably not have done it, but he can respect that Chase had. He can recognize that for Chase, that was the right decision.

“Now you’re stealing my lines. I’ll just add that to your list of sins,” he says with what can only be described as a sarcastic, condescending half-nod.

Then he’s just watching Chase. Just staring back at him, the same hard, hawkish look on his face that Chase has, stony and staring, like a dare. When Chase asks him why he’s here, he almost smiles. Just a quirk of his lips, and then it’s gone.

“I’m just wondering where we’re going next. We’ve got self-loathing’s greatest hits so far… confession, wasting really good whiskey trying to get wasted… what next? Going to go home and watch the fur trade documentary and torture yourself watching your long distant wombat cousins be turned into coats?”

[scaredywombat]

"It's not self-loathing," Chase corrects, and there's a sharpness in his eyes and his voice that isn't deception as he looks at House with blues on blue. He doesn't hate himself. He's not sure if he's somehow proving one of House's little tests, but he can't be bothered to care.

"I don't regret the choice that I made, or what I did. If I had to, I'd still do the same thing over again, just better." His voice is soft, raw, alcohol making him a little too honest. He does, however, seem to fold to House's needling about the whiskey that he's drinking and instead of just downing the second half of his shot, this time he sips at it. "That doesn't mean I don't feel anything."

"And there is no next. I stay here until I can't put one foot in front of the other, and then I go home, and Cameron yells at me for not calling, even though that's not actually what she's pissed about." There is deception there. Something he's trying to hide, obscure. He's committed to staying at the bar, but it's not what he wants. There is a next, something that Chase has dismissed, and is doing his best not to think about.

Mired in the pain, there's also temptation.

[the_house_rules]

House knows he’s looking to take all this guilt out on himself, to make himself suffer for what he’d done. He wants to punish himself, but not enough to turn himself in to the cops, because at the end of the day he thinks he’s done the right thing. And he’s right. House agrees, he did. At least he did what he believed was right, and he saved thousands of lives, and for House, that’s all that matters. He made a decision and stuck by it. He doesn’t regret it, but it’s still tearing him apart, but the problem is that it’s not tearing him apart enough. He needs to feel more than he does. He doesn’t feel nothing, but it’s not the right kind of something, maybe. Right now it’s just a suspicion, a theory he hasn’t tested. Yet.

House nods once, lip shrug saying he doesn’t buy Chase’s lie, but he’s going with it. Acting like he does while making it clear that he doesn’t.

“Alright, then. Better get going with that before your buzz wears off,” he says, and he reaches over and picks up Chase’s glass and presses the rim against his lower lip and tips it, all but forcing him to drink it. “Sipping never got anybody faced. Drink up.”

It’s not passive aggressive, it’s just plain aggressive. He tips the glass enough that it spills in rivulets down Chase’s chin, spatters over his jacket and soaks a part of the collar of his shirt. The look on House’s face is dark and hard, and he’s pushing like he never has before, pushing into Chase’s space, past his boundaries. Except he has before, just once he’s gotten this close, this far beyond the trench of no-man’s-land that lay between them that he’s crossing enemy lines and making a bid for war. The look in his eyes is hard and dark, challenging, like he’s entitled to this and whatever else he dares lay claim to, like Chase is just undiscovered country and his hand a flag.

[scaredywombat]

He can see that House doesn't buy it, doesn't believe him, but Chase doesn't really care, because he's not planning on going anywhere. He's going to sit here and drink his whiskey until he's waster, and then he'll go home to Cameron's accusing eyes, and he'll watch his life twisting around him and stare blankly. But then House grabs the shot glass away from him and there's a sharp sound of shock that shifts into a brief murmur of protest as House puts it to his lower lip and tips it, forcing him to drink it.

Something changes. It's in his eyes, in his body language, how he holds himself, the way that he looks at House. He's softer, he's not fighting, and he's not hurting. House is aggressive, and Chase doesn't protest. Instead, he's tilting his head, sticking his tongue out to try and catch as much of the liquid as he can, even as it spills down the skin of his throat, soaking into his shirt and dripping from his jacket. They've been here before. Years ago. Just close enough to make it real.

"I- I'm sorry," Chase gasps once he's swallowed, off his tongue before he can think better of it, resist the urge. There's that look in House's eyes and it catches on all of the raw, broken parts of Chase that he's trying to ignore, deny, pretend that this isn't exactly what he needs. That he doesn't need harsh words and getting shoved up against a wall. And more than that. It's a secret that House already knows, and as much as he might have been able to ignore it in concept, he can't when it's House.

Then it hits him what just happened and his body tenses, but he doesn't pull away. He resists the urge to say something because anything he says can only make it worse.

[the_house_rules]

Shock and protest turns soft and pliant and House sees the minute it changes, like a switch being flipped. It's not just giving in, but it's relief, like this is what he wanted, what he'd been waiting for, looking for, and here it is, finally. He's seen this look before but it had never held his interest quite this much. Most people only hold his interest just so long. And it's one thing, it's easy enough to find someone who'll submit, but it's something else entirely to find someone who'll stand up to you as well. Chase is better now that he's got a backbone, now that he'll push back rather than folding at the slightest pressure.

And this is what's left. Chase is changed, jaded, and yet they're here again. He can see it again in his face, what he saw then, and it's a hell of a lot more interesting than it was before. The first time he'd half chalked it up to all that hero worship, a dumb crush and a brown nosing desire to be whatever was wanted of him. But now? Now he knows him. Now, there are layers peeled away, and he can see that it's so much more than that. It's deep and it's nagging, clawing at him, it's a raw desire to be pushed like this and harder, to be taken past the lines he's drawn almost until it's too much, and then farther.

The bartender is looking at them when House finally puts the glass down. It's empty and his hand is wet with whiskey. He knows, and the expression is all over his face, in the glittering expression in his eyes. He reaches over, reaches inside Chase's leather jacket and wipes his hand dry on his shirt, probably his tie, too. Because the leather wouldn't do any good.

"Not as sorry as you want to be..." it's soft, and it's a push. It's almost a question, almost asking, do you want to take this further? And it's a guess, a quiet bet, a way to say I know what you want, so just ask for it.

[scaredywombat]

Chase is awkward, his cheeks flushed, because that hadn't been supposed to happen, but it had, and now he's left here standing in the aftermath. He tries to straighten his shoulders and brush it off, because House had already known, hadn't he? That night all those years ago when House had cornered him, tossing sharp, cutting insults and Chase had clutched to them like praise until he'd been back against the wall and House had been too close and he'd pushed too far, and House has always known.

"Yes," he agrees, soft and breathless. And maybe it doesn't quite answer what House said, but it answers the implied question, the way that he's pushing, asking him that question with his eyes. The answer should be no. He should say no for all the reasons that he hadn't scrolled through his cell phone and called one of his old partners, or swung by that club that he liked. Although knowing House had been following him, he's suddenly very glad he didn't. He'd say that House is safer, that with House it's less likely to be sexual, but he's not sure that he believes that.

He swallows, and he slips from his stool at the bar in order to press back into House's personal space. He catches a hand in his shirt, and his hands don't push, but his body, the proximity does. He wants this. He's not sure if it's enough and he swallows, bites his bottom lip softly.

"I want you to hurt me, please," he says softly. It seems important, that he says you, doesn't try to depersonalize it. But doing so makes him feel like he's back against the wall, waiting with a racing heart and parted lips. Waiting for House to lean in and say something ugly.

[the_house_rules]

There’s a thrill he always gets from being right. At this point in his life, everyone around him knows it. Knows that when he unravels a mystery, solves a puzzle, and finally gets it right that there’s a high, a spike of pleasure, something that finally bites into the pain. Here, it’s not really a high. Not yet, anyway. It feels like the promise of a high, like a fresh prescription or a new drug that he hasn’t had a chance to take yet. Chase is blushing, obvious, saying yes, breathless, and he looks so disheveled for so little having been done to him that Chase doesn’t need to ask for House to know he’s right.

He glances down, sees Chase move to stand, press into his space, a hand fisted in his shirt, tugging at the fabric as he pushes into his space and asks. Says what he wants. Says please, and it’s better than a pill dangled in front of his nose. Power is a high, especially when it’s played like this, fast and loose, just this side of dangerous, and the smile that crosses House’s face is just that.

Now he’s gotten him to say it, he wants him to prove it. Wants him not just to admit but to lay that desire bare, make it explicit what exactly he wants.

“Since you asked so nicely…” and it definitely seems like there’s more to that sentence than just that, seems like he’s left a chunk off of the end. The rest of it, what’s left unsaid, that’s in his eyes. The way he looks at Chase is like he’s peeling away the layers of leather and fabric and stripping him bare. And then he grabs hold of Chase’s hand to knock it away from his shirt, but before he lets go, briefly holds his wrist in a tight grip. Once he lets go, he pulls out cash, more than enough to cover both tabs, and then he tucks his wallet away. The look he shoots Chase all but says follow me, and then he takes up his cane and stands, leading the way to the door, and he expects that Chase is going to follow.

[scaredywombat]

Chase knows.

He knows how much House likes solving his puzzles, he knows how much he likes power. But Chase likes giving power away, and he likes that glow that he gets about him, that look in his blue eyes when he sees the pattern, how things fall together. He shouldn't have said please, in an objective, dealing-with-House sense, but he's on the edge of that place where he can't help it. Please is substituted for titles like Sir and Professor, depending on the particular kink.

House smiles, and Chase knows that he's in trouble. But that's what he wants. He wants this dangerous, wants someone who isn't going to lecture him about safe sane and consensual or judge him for him inability to have a safe word. At least like this, tonight, right now. Looking into House's eyes, he thinks the other man already knows that. It's ridiculous, the feeling that surges in him when House says since you asked so nicely. It's ridiculous, because Chase knows there's an invisible clause there.

There's an if or a however; something trailing with contingencies. But Chase can't bring himself to worry too much, not with House's eyes on him, stripping him with the heat of his gaze and he swallows hard, wide-eyed, softer than he's allowed himself to be around House in at least three years, maybe longer. He pulls Chase's hand from his shirt, but briefly tightens his fingers around his wrist like an echo of restraint. He knows, in a vague sort of way, that House covered his tab, but it's hardly a concern.

House doesn't need that look to make Chase follow, but it commands obedience, and Chase likes that. He likes how House seems so easily to step into this, like he knows exactly what Chase is offering and asking, and Chase quietly thinks that maybe he does. It's not like it's much of a stretch.

The autumn night is warm for New Jersey, the days just starting to cool, and it makes how flushed Chase is more obvious. He suspects it's less about the alcohol and more about House. There are a half dozen questions he wants to ask, but he doesn't. He's quiet, soft. This had always been part of who he was, but never the entirety.

[the_house_rules]

House is parked across the street. He slips a hand into his pocket and the four-ways flash, and he hasn’t looked back to see if Chase is coming or not, because he is. He can hear him walking behind him. He opens the driver’s door and moves to get in but stops, turns to face Chase as he approaches, and leans against the body of the car after tucking his cane down along between the seat and the door.

“Hey,” he calls as he approaches, to slow him, stop him from just going around and getting in. “Listen, you can change your mind, but you’ve got to tell me now,” he says. “Because you need to be sure that this is really what you want. If it’s not, I’ll take you home.”

There’s a kind of finality about this that almost seems like this is the moment of safe wording out. House is watching him, neck craned in to make out every shifting expression, every flicker of emotion in the dim street lights. This is how it’ll be if he says yes, too, not the questions and waiting to see if he’ll lie, but just keeping tabs on how close he is to his limits through body language, through all the little things that give him away. It’ll be safe word enough, because House has this sense that Chase isn’t looking to jump with a net beneath to catch him if he really falls, he’s looking for a blind leap, a free fall, one where the only failsafe is trust and entirely out of his own hands.

[scaredywombat]

House is everything he expected, in all the little ways. The way that he holds himself, that he doesn't look back, the way that he grabbed his wrist, but didn't hold on. They're walking out to the man's car, and Robert still isn't sure if there's a punchline, a moment when House pushes him away with that glitter in his eyes. But then House says hey, grabbing his attention, and the words that come after catch him by surprise, almost awe for a moment.

There's that finality, something in the tone and the look, and he recognizes it as one of those gateway moments, one of those last breaths where you can still say no, say stop. Chase never does, and this is no exception, except that the question in itself seems strange. He doesn't say anything at first, just walks in closer, until he's pushing into House's personal space. His head tilting slightly, like he's trying to put together some puzzle that doesn't quite fit together. It's a bad habit, and a dumb thing to get caught on, but he wants to know what he's really asking.

"You know the answer to that. You've known that for seven years. You know what I want. You've always known what I wanted." There could be a flicker of something bitter there, but there isn't. If anything it's a little resigned, but also a little breathless. And the answer, he supposes, is obvious, even if it takes a little too long for it to click in his slightly-tipsy head.

You can want something without acting on it. Chase has several reasons to tap out of his own desires, but he isn't that good a person, even if he wants to be. Part of it is that his relationship with Cameron has always been broken. But this... he can't back out. He doesn't even want to try.

"But I need this. If that's what you're asking." He says this instead of you because the later seems both too intimate and almost redundant.

[the_house_rules]

House sees the moment that Chase switches from just listening to what he’s saying to really digging beneath. It’s when he leans in a little closer, head tipped to the side like he’s an inquisitive, floppy haired puppy trying to work out what language the people speak and figuring it out with alarming precision. He’s right this time, too. House knew. He’d known for a long time. But there’s a difference between wanting and thinking it’s a good idea. A big difference between desire and indulging that desire at the probably cost of a marriage. But then, House also knew that marriage wasn’t going to last anyway. He’d never tried to do anything to break them up because he knew he didn’t need to, and he’s not, here, either. He’s only pushing at the fact that he knows Chase wants to punish himself, and now, now he’s asking if he’s sure. If Chase gets in the car, that’s all on him. Hell, he hadn’t even offered to hurt him. Chase had asked.

House isn’t leading him into a goddamn thing. He’s just giving him what he’s asking for, and even offering him an out. An out he’s not taking.

House smiles, slow and almost predatory. Proud. More than a little smug. There’s a nod, agreement. Yes, he knows what Chase wants. He knows this is what he needs.

“Good. Get in the car,” he says with a nod and one last sliding look over Chase’s body as he gets in the driver’s seat and shuts the door.

[scaredywombat]

House hadn't pulled him into this. Chase couldn't blame this on anyone else. But, it wasn't like he wanted to. He didn't need to blame this on someone. He knew this was his choice. Right now even more than back in the bar. He was just incapable of choosing Cameron over House, if he was honest with himself, which he wasn't always. She'd pushed him away, and Chase had clung on to her in reaction like he was incapable of letting go. The problem was that Cameron was too, and that she held on to him just barely tight enough to keep him from giving up. Chase was blind to the reality, but he felt it, even if he couldn't face it.

House isn't some tempter, isn't taking advantage of him, isn't some devil at the crossroads leading him into temptation. House isn't offering anything Chase isn't choosing for himself. Chase doesn't need a vessel for his guilt. He just needs someone to make him suffer for it. He can't walk away from this. And even if he could have, that moment quickly vanishes in smoke.

It's the way that House smiles, predatory, dangerous, and worst of all, is that flash of pride. Even Wilson harassed him about his need for House's approval, which was how you knew it was bad. And now they're standing by his car, he's asking House to hurt him on the tailend of murdering their patient, and he can almost taste it. There's nothing to say and so he smiles, and there's a sly sort of warmth to it that hasn't been there in weeks.

He gets in the car.

[the_house_rules]

Then they're driving.

They're not headed for House's apartment. Chase will know that, since he's been there before on occasion. He might not realize it right away, buzzed as he is, however.

House glances Chase's way as they're approaching a light, and he's waiting to turn onto a busy strip, a main road. By his guess, Chase has had five, maybe six drinks. He may be drunk, but he won't still be when they get back to his apartment. He's definitely under the influence, but he's not incapable of making decisions. If he'd thought he was well and truly impaired, he'd be taking him back to his home rather than to the 24 hour porn store on the boulevard.

The blinker is going, a slow, annoying click, click, click, and still House says nothing. It's not until they're finally pulling in to park beneath the neon sign that lets them know that the back side of the store is a strip club while the front sell porn and sex toys. House leaves the car running, the lights on, but he doesn't unbuckle his seatbelt. Just turns to look over at Chase.

"Go get what you want me to use on you. You've got fifteen minutes."

He glances at the clock. It's just about quarter to ten.

"If you do decide to change you mind after all, call a cab. Don't bother coming back out."

[scaredywombat]

Chase picks up on the fact that they're not going to House's apartment, and he doesn't question it. It could be a motel, or any number of other explanations. And it doesn't matter where they go, because getting in the car was an acceptance of being willing to play by House's rules. Not that he doesn't always, but there's a commitment in the acceptance. It's an offer of obedience, of desire.

Chase might not be capable of driving safely, but he is capable of making decisions. He knows what he's doing, even if his head is a little fuzzy around the edges. His gaze looks at the porn store, then at House, waiting on his instructions, knowing there's going to be something. And then it's there, hanging in the air and he nods, getting out of the car and slipping into the store.

It's not long when he comes back out, maybe seven or eight minutes. However, depending on how close attention House is paying to the slim figure, he might notice him slip something from the bag into the pocket of his leather jacket. It's a small motion, easily overlooked, unless you were looking, mostly covered by how he briefly fidgets with the receipt before dropping it into the bag. The bag isn't particularly heavy; he only got a few things, but he expects it to be more than enough.

He's also curious to see just how into this House is. Chase is used to being the kinky one, the one that wants it harder than most people are comfortable giving. He wants to lose control of the situation, and not in a controlled, the scene ends when I say lollipop sort of way. He wonders what House has, if there are things he's already planning to do to him... the thought alone catches his breath.

"I'm not changing my mind," he offers softly as he slides into the car, setting the bag in his lap and it jingles.

[the_house_rules]

He thinks Chase is coming back, but he can’t be quite sure if the reality of the porn store will jar him out of this. It’s not even ten minutes, and he’s back, and House watches as he walks around the front of the car and approaches the passenger door again. He’s fiddling with something, and House catches the fact that something was tucked into his jacket pocket. Interesting. He makes a mental note to look for that later.

Chase gets in and tells him he’s not changing his mind. He’s sure about this.

“Good to know,” House says, and without missing a beat, reaches over and snatches the bag from Chase and sets it in his lap and opens it, glancing at Chase before he dives in.

“Let’s see what you’re into,” he says, rifling around in the bag, pulling things out unceremoniously. He pulls out the riding crop first, making a face at the chains dangling from the end, and glances at Chase, an eyebrow raising in silent question and amusement. He sets it on Chase’s lap, using him like a shelf, and pulls out the paddle and the grin on his face then is like a goddamn Cheshire cat.

“Nice,” he says, dropping that on top of the crop and digs around more. Tosses the blindfold on top of the paddle with a nod, and then he pulls out the cuffs. The receipt catches under his thumb and briefly, in the dark car, he tries to figure out what the other item was, but it’s an old-school register that doesn’t list items, just prices. Whatever it was was probably $12.95. Not substantial enough to be the price for any of these, but not nothing either. He’s curious. And he’s not impressed with these cuffs. He drops them in the bag and tosses the whole thing back to Chase.

“Those are some shitty cuffs. I can do way better. Buckle up,” he says, and he’s already got the car in reverse.

[scaredywombat]

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.

[the_house_rules]

House doesn’t offer up any details about what he might or might not have. Let Chase wonder.

They drive in silence until Chase feels the need to make it clear what he wants, as if it wasn’t clear enough already. It’s interesting that he’s trying to make it clear that he’s not looking for sex, when House has known since the day they met that that’s exactly what he does want. He’s never thought it was anything more than sex, the desire to be fucked or get on his knees, never thought that Chase wanted anything like a relationship. And if he had, then getting to know him, working with him all this time should have thoroughly knocked the fantasy off the pedestal. Relationships with House weren’t something to pine for. But sex… he understood that. Even if he doesn’t think he’s the most attractive guy, he knows there’s more, there’s a magnetism that draws people in, but it’s the same force that eventually pushes them away.

“Okay,” House responds, as if he’s humoring him and not pushing, which is, he hopes, more annoying than calling him on the lie or acting like he really bought it. It’s almost sincere enough to let fly, really, so if Chase wants to leave it be, it’ll be left be. House thinks he’s lying, but if all he wants tonight is pain, that’s all he’ll get tonight. House won’t push for more than Chase wants, so if what he wants is to be pushed to his limits and beyond, beaten with the things in the bag and tied up, that’s what he’s going to get. Unless he gets an inkling that Chase wants more…

They park at his apartment and he turns off the car.

“Come on,” he says, and he gets out, takes the cane, and starts heading to the door.

[scaredywombat]

Objectively, Chase knows that House is aware that he's lying, even if he's trying not to think of how much he's lying. He's trying not to address the fact that he's wanted House since that interview, since whatever that first cruel comment was that made him smile and shiver all at the same time. For seven years he's wanted him, whether it was on his knees, sucking on his cock like he does the candy canes that always end up laying around en mass come Christmastime, or bent over and getting fucked so hard his toes curl and he can't string two words together. He's married now, but none of that has changed.

House doesn't push it, which means that Chase doesn't have to bother trying to defend his position. To try and come up with some explanation as to why the kink is less cheating than the sex would be. Offer cheap excuses about how the only path he has to save his marriage is to deal with the fact that he killed Dibala, and that he needs this in order to do that. This isn't altruistic, and he wants House as much as ever, maybe more, and they both know both of these things. Chase knows that, but it's easier to deny as long as House isn't pushing at it.

He slips out of the car, closing the door behind him, the bag in hand as he follows after House.

[the_house_rules]

House leads the way, unlocks the door, goes inside. He hooks his cane on the coat rack and shrugs out of his jacket, hangs it, and takes back the cane. Only then does he give a glance back to Chase, not that he thinks he’s changing his mind at the last minute, but just to see where he is. When he’s in, House gestures to the dark living room.

“Come on in. Shut the door,” he starts to the bedroom, not wasting any time. He’s not offering Chase a drink because he doesn’t want him more drunk than this. The point isn’t to dull the pain, to drown out how he’s feeling, but to finally let himself embrace it.

“Power’s off, don’t bother with the lights,” Chase knows he’s been living with Wilson. It means the power’s off here and no one’s been in to clean, so there’s a light layer of dust around that in combination with the darkness, gives it an odd, abandoned feeling.

First things first, he opens the curtains, and it brings enough light from the street that the room isn’t pitch black. With their eyes adjusted, it’s good, comfortable actually, if not ideal. House goes to the closet and is rummaging around on a high shelf and brings out a box. He steps to the side holding it, awkward to move without the cane, and sets it on the dresser and then comes back for something else. Another box, smaller, the size to hold CDs. He moves to the dresser with that one, too, and opens it first, pulling out a couple small pillar candles and lights them, setting them in a little cluster on the edge of the dresser.

He takes the lid off the other box and pulls out a couple of neatly coiled and wrapped lengths of rope and turns, tossing them on the foot of the bed that’s uncharacteristically made. Chase barely has a chance to react to the fact that what House had up his sleeve was rope bondage before House announces, “Put the bag on the bed and strip.”

[scaredywombat]

Chase does as he's told, and aside for the energy around him, how he moves, how he holds himself, it's not really too much different. It's like rewinding a few years, back before House fired him and he took the job in surgery. The door shuts behind him, and there's a finality to that, too. But he knew that already. He doesn't want to back out of this.

There's a stillness, a soft chill to House's apartment. No lights, that layer of dust that gives it an almost solemn air, like a church in the middle of the day. Chase stands still and he watches House. He watches him as pulls out a box, and then another. There's a soft smile as he pulls out some candles, lighting them. It gives the place a warm, almost gentle kind of feeling as the candlelight glints off the disturbed dust.

It takes Chase a moment, because for that stretch of time he's still staring at the coiled lengths of rope. Chase has always been good with details, and he can recognize rope, which probably says something about him, but it's nothing they don't both know by this point. It's jute rope. His blue-eyed gaze slips to House, and his look is curiosity that's trying to hide eager excitement, wanton desire.

"Of course you're into Shibari," he comments as he smiles. He puts the bag on the bed and then he starts to shrug out of his clothes, leather jacket, his tie, his shirt, pants, and so on. There's no self-consciousness in it. He holds himself like someone that's been put on display before; it's probably not his first time in ropes.

[the_house_rules]

Chase is staring at the rope and House knows without even asking that Chase knows exactly what it means, knows why House has it, that it’s more than casual, that it’s not just for looping around an adventurous lover’s wrists and tying them to the bed frame. This is one more thing that House has done to excess, obsessed over until he’s almost terrifyingly skilled at it. Chase looks excited by the prospect of what he sees, and House is pleased to see that reaction, both knowing and wanting.

“…and you bought shitty pleather cuffs,” he replies with a sly, knowing grin and an almost playful tone. He’s still joking, they’re still them, there’s still this barrier of bullshit and harassment between them. It’s going to fall away soon enough.

House watches him as he moves, as he sets the bag down and starts to strip out of his clothes. His jacket is laid out on the bed, and it’s followed by his tie, his shirt and pants and the rest, and House is watching. He quietly envies the easy way he undresses, completely unselfconscious. Completely comfortable in his skin. And rightly so, he’s just as gorgeous as he’d imagined he’d be beneath his often stylish and always dorky clothes. Pale perfect skin, and long, slender limbs. They haven’t talked about safe words, and they’re not going to. Chase hasn’t brought it up, and House can tell he doesn’t want to. That he needs not to. That the whole allure to this is not being able to escape, of giving everything.

House unbuttons his shirt and tosses it over onto the bed, one sleeve draped over the pile of Chase’s discarded clothes, leaving him in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt as he goes to sit down on the end of the bed. He picks up a length of rope and undoes the end that holds it tied together, and gestures at Chase to come over, stand in front of him. When he doesn’t move quite fast enough, he speaks up, tone curt.

“Come here.”