Chase can't resist giving House a look at the overwrought sarcasm that's dripping from the words. It's maybe not as good as conversation, words, talking about what's going on with him, but it's something, at least. House gets under his skin, pulls reactions from him, and that's both very good and exactly the thing that has Chase so confused and conflicted in the first place. Other teenagers might listen to angry music and write bad poetry, but dancing is Chase's outlet. It's part of, but not the whole story, of why he's been at the studio so much more than usual.

He's not expecting it when House slaps him on the ass, hard enough that it makes a sound, that it would be loud if not for the music that was still playing. Chase trembles, shivers, in a full body sort of way that pushed him up into demi-pointe on his toe shoes. His eyelashes fluttering, that slight arch to his back, like for a quarter-second he was leaning into it, and when he looks up at House, he's flushed, a little confused, but it's a different kind of confusion. Not sullen and troubled, but interested and uncertain.

"And why's that? Are you going to spank me over your knee?" There's an arched eyebrow, a hint of uncertain interest, tinged with amusement. He didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing here, but that wasn't stopping him.