The reality is that unless he'd made some offhandedly perverse comment simply to shock and offend, he very rarely says he wants someone unless there's intent. And they had absolutely established intent the other night, when dancing had turned into a hell of a lot more. Every time he strikes Chase and every time he squirms, it's tugging at the strings of his self control because he can feel how hard Chase is through the thin fabric of his tights, and his ass - as perfectly round and gorgeous as it was normally - was downright distracted now, mottled deep pink, near red here and there.

Then he's moving suddenly, and House isn't quite sure at first why, whether it was a good sign or a bad sign, but that's made clear very quickly as he moves, slipping out of one leg of his tights and crawling into his lap instead of draping across it, legs astride him. House's hands find their way to his hips practically without thought, resting there both as an excuse to touch him and to keep him from slipping off. Chase may be ignoring his erection, but House certainly can't, not with how it's pressed between them and his own erection trapped neatly in his clothes, well behaved only by circumstance.

Rather than dignify that with an answer, House brings a hand up to catch him and haul him in for a kiss. Not a chaste one like the last time, like that one Chase had initiated, but one that easily reveals just how true the statement is. He wants to fuck him. He wants to take him home and strip him bare and learn his lithe little body until he can play him like a piano, take him from squirming pain to screaming pleasure as easily as changing keys. While that one hand loses itself in his hair, the other slips around to cup his warm and well spanked ass. As if there were any question left, there isn't anymore.