It's stupid, but Chase has already said yes. This isn't something where things got out of hand and he got carried away with it. He made a choice, and that was to hang onto this. He doesn't know why it doesn't feel like this with Brett, not really, not consciously. He's so taken in by the persona that Brett presents when they're alone that it's hard to combine with the warning signs he gets from him. Thus far, it's not been enough for Chase to break up with him, but it is enough to keep him away from sex, or even anything really sexual, much to Brett's continued frustration.
He shivers as House's fingers caress softly over the exposed skin of his flat stomach, and then they're slipping in under the hem of his tights and he moans, his head falling back toward House's chest. It steals his breath away at that first touch of real contact as the man's fingers slip in under his dance belt, and curl around his cock. He's hard, aching, and there's a fullbody shudder as the sensation snakes through him hard and rough and fast. Chase isn't so out of it that he doesn't know that it's risky; it is. The window in the door was more than enough for someone to look through, figure out what was going on and between who. There's that part of Chase that likes the risk. He's kinky, even if he hasn't had much room to express such urges.
House's fingers are stroking faster, and those moans are coming faster, the way that he squirms against the man behind him. He trusts him wordlessly, leaning into him, trusting him to catch him as surely as he did through the lifts while they were dancing. He trusts House, somehow feels like he accepts him more than anyone else he's known. He cries out, rough and sharp when those fingers brush over his nipples before sliding back down his torso. He likes the contact, the warmth of House's hand over his skin. The way that he makes Chase come alive, so that everything feels electric.
Chase is too lost in it to remember what the point had been, that this had anything to do with Swan Lake, anything to do with anything, aside from just the touch and the pleasure and how good everything felt. He was lost in it, craving more, more of that feeling, the heat and the contact, and he wants all off this and more. In an absent, lust-filled craving sort of way, he wants House to fuck him, even if he knows that's so far off the table for anything that can happen now. But the desire is there, under the cries he's too lost in to really think to muffle. He's so close, and he's young, and he wants to hold out, to answer House and see where he's going with it, but it's not in the cards.
An almost choked sound happens after the first syllable -- Chase gets ye out before he's trailing off into a sharp moan, and his whole body shakes as he comes, helpless, gasping for breath in between the sounds of pure pleasure that slip from his lips.
no subject
He shivers as House's fingers caress softly over the exposed skin of his flat stomach, and then they're slipping in under the hem of his tights and he moans, his head falling back toward House's chest. It steals his breath away at that first touch of real contact as the man's fingers slip in under his dance belt, and curl around his cock. He's hard, aching, and there's a fullbody shudder as the sensation snakes through him hard and rough and fast. Chase isn't so out of it that he doesn't know that it's risky; it is. The window in the door was more than enough for someone to look through, figure out what was going on and between who. There's that part of Chase that likes the risk. He's kinky, even if he hasn't had much room to express such urges.
House's fingers are stroking faster, and those moans are coming faster, the way that he squirms against the man behind him. He trusts him wordlessly, leaning into him, trusting him to catch him as surely as he did through the lifts while they were dancing. He trusts House, somehow feels like he accepts him more than anyone else he's known. He cries out, rough and sharp when those fingers brush over his nipples before sliding back down his torso. He likes the contact, the warmth of House's hand over his skin. The way that he makes Chase come alive, so that everything feels electric.
Chase is too lost in it to remember what the point had been, that this had anything to do with Swan Lake, anything to do with anything, aside from just the touch and the pleasure and how good everything felt. He was lost in it, craving more, more of that feeling, the heat and the contact, and he wants all off this and more. In an absent, lust-filled craving sort of way, he wants House to fuck him, even if he knows that's so far off the table for anything that can happen now. But the desire is there, under the cries he's too lost in to really think to muffle. He's so close, and he's young, and he wants to hold out, to answer House and see where he's going with it, but it's not in the cards.
An almost choked sound happens after the first syllable -- Chase gets ye out before he's trailing off into a sharp moan, and his whole body shakes as he comes, helpless, gasping for breath in between the sounds of pure pleasure that slip from his lips.