scaredywombat | Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

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Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

Chase had shown up late to rehearsal, again. "Late" by dancer standards, at least, which meant right under the wire, still pulling his hair back and only just starting his warmups when the director walked in, clapping her hands and calling everyone to attention and to take their places. They were about a month out from their production of Swan Lake, which was the ballet that was considered by dance critics to be their company's strongest production. The company director was trying to make this performance better than the years before, while still trying to finish securing the details of their next run. It was chaotic, and Chase thrived on it. Even as busy as he was with college, he wouldn't give this up for the world. In the studio, he was far more alive than he was in the classroom, even if he was taking it seriously. Medicine. Becoming a doctor. Not what he wanted to do with his life, but he couldn't afford Julliard teaching five year olds how to plie, even if he wishes that he could. His classes and rehearsals run rather tight together, and he knows that a number of the other dancers judge him for it, but Robert pretends not to notice.

Or it's the fact that he's slept with more than a couple of his coworkers. People get so jumpy about sex, about who's having it and who isn't. Chase likes sex, and he's never seen it as a bad thing, never really had the desire to hide his interest. Other people just lie about it.

Rehearsal isn't particularly remarkable, at least not in matters of routine. They start off in pairs, running through movements and lifts, contact and extensions, to the often repeated instructions of grace and evoking simplicity in movement. They work their way in broad strokes through the third act with their instructor tweaking arms and pulling legs and saying hold. The same as the past two weeks. They take a break, she pulls out a notepad and they start back on Act I, Scene I, reviewing sections she had marked in green pen. What was remarkable, at least to Chase, was seeing Greg in those black tights. He stared, not quite shamelessly. He looked away when the older dancer would look his way, watched him through his blond eyelashes. He had a boyfriend, more or less. There were very good reasons not to be looking. But he couldn't help himself, he never could, because there was just something about him, about the way that he looked, the way that he moved, and it caught his breath half the time, and it always made his pulse race. Chase was a little more awkward, a little distracted when he wasn't dancing. He walked into someone during a break when he went for his water bottle.

He tried not to be obvious, but that was one thing that the young blond was not very good at. Much like how at the end of rehearsal, when Greg went off to one of the smaller studios, Chase couldn't help following. Everyone else either wasn't interested or knew better. Either was likely. Chase was terrible at knowing better. He was young, impulsive, and pretty scant on self-control. So there he was, leaning in the doorway, watching, his things still left behind in the other room. House usually wore loose pants, and the man was gorgeous. Older than most, but he made Chase have to struggle to try and not get a hard-on in the middle of rehearsal.

It didn't always work. He wanted to say something, but he didn't want to interrupt, so he just waited, watched. Quietly lingering while he stared.

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Chase flushes, looking off to the side a little sheepishly as he bites his lip and shrugs his shoulders in response to the playful chastisement. He knows what House is referring to, even if he'd been hoping that his dance belt would hide the evidence with the way that House had held him close, let their bodies slide together as he landed on the floor, he's not surprised. He can't help it. Dancing with House is like riding a high, and there's something about how they move together and Chase just can't help himself. He smiles a little shyly, a slow blink of those lashes that frame his bright blues.

"And you're not?" He's trying to deflect, even if it's not much of a deflection at all. House being a pervert doesn't stop Chase from being the one that's hard. There's only a slight flicker of guilt, and he knows he should feel worse about getting so turned on over a man that isn't his boyfriend, but that will maybe come later. He just doesn't want this to stop, for House to think that he's gross or something, anything that stops the other man from holding onto him like this. Lifting him and letting him fly. He leans in again, slow, still up on pointe, and he skims his hands up against House's upper arms as he curls close into his space.

"I like dancing with you," he says softly, like it's some kind of defense, although it isn't. Because Chase doesn't just like dancing with him. He wants him, even if he's been trying to convince himself that he doesn't for a while now. He's with Brett, and while cheating is far from exceptional in the backstage drama of a ballet company, Chase isn't like that. He doesn't see himself like that. He's young, still a virgin, though that's a fact he doesn't advertise. Brett knows, but that's because they've been together for two months and still haven't had sex. He's understanding, nice to Chase, seems to care about him.

House is just... something he can't explain. Magnetic. Draws him in, so he was there in the doorway, even when he knew better.

“I never claimed I wasn’t…” but, clearly, so is Chase. There’s no reason to say it again because they both know that Chase is hard as a rock under the convenient cover of his dance belt and tights, and however much he wants to stand there and try to pretend that he’s not, they both know the truth. But he doesn’t think worse of him for it, quite the opposite, and there’s no way that this is going to keep him from dancing with him. It only makes him want to dance with him more.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” it’s another subtle dig at the fact that he’s aroused and that he obviously really likes dancing with him, but the truth is that he really knows. Chase can’t have many people in his life that know, that understand. Maybe his boyfriend does, but he’s got an inkling that he doesn’t. He knows Brett, knows that however much he likes chasing after the hot new talented young men that join the company, that he’s just as much a stickler for gender roles as anyone else who’s breakneck desperate to get ahead. House just doesn’t care. He’s old enough that he’s aware his time is limited, and he’s happy with his position in the company, the roles he gets to dance… he has no problem, himself. But he can see that for Chase, it’s a very big problem. Which means that this is almost certainly going to become a regular thing, private dance rehearsals together after the big one ends.

“I know you can dance Odette,” he says, because he’d seen him practicing it the day (or days, if we’re being really honest here) that he’d looked in on Chase when he was dancing alone, “…you’ve got to be familiar with Odile, too, right? Let’s see some of that.”

They both know that the black swan is the more sexual role, that it’s all about seduction and guile, and so far House doesn’t really see that in Chase. He’s been flirting, yes, but it’s a different sort of flirting. He brings to it this vulnerability, this wide eyed innocence and honest joy that’s more spot on to Odette than young woman slated to play the Swan Queen. House isn’t sure Chase really has it in him, but if he does, he absolutely wants to see it. He moves to the iPod and flips through the playlists, turns it to the music that starts the scene when Odile comes in disguised as Odette to seduce Siegfried.

House has all but invited Chase to seduce him.

House's retort makes a smile waver on his mouth, a faint sigh and a shake of his head, but there's a warmth in his face at the easy way that House admits to being a pervert. "Dirty old man," Chase teases, half under his breath, but a grin on his face. He doesn't seem to actually object to it any more than House seems to object to Chase's perversion. Because he is a pervert, even if he is a virgin. He watches porn, is interested- cautiously- in kinky things, even if he's never done any of them

He could tell him, admit outloud that he's never really danced with anyone else like this. That the last time someone lifted him, he was about half as tall as he is now, and it was his mother, laughing, telling him to extend his arms, curve his fingers. And yet all of this was somehow perfect. It's like they can read each others' rhythm. Dancing with House is effortless, feels as magical as ballet looks on stage. He wants to do it again, but doesn't quite have the courage to ask outright, not yet, anyway. He looks up at the statement that House knows he can dance Odette, and there's a brief shy look, because yes, he's been practicing.

Chase prefers Odette, which comes as a surprise to no one, but he doesn't bother saying that. Odile is more sexual, and aside from her variation is mostly done in pas de deux with Siegfried, which makes it slightly awkward to practice alone, though Chase has been working on both roles. Not that he'll ever dance either on stage, but Swan Lake is a beautiful ballet, and one of his favorites. He also loves dancing Giselle, but who doesn't? The invitation in what House is asking, the implication of it isn't lost on Chase and he smiles, mischievous as the music starts. He moves away from House so that he has enough room to move, getting in synch with the music, starting with that first jump, and then his arms flapping, light and airy like swan's wings, but perhaps too light and airy for the swan he's trying to personify as he moves out and then comes back to the center of the room.

The movement of his arms as they come to cross in front of his more sweet than seductive and then his leg slides back and his arms comes up again, that pause, right before the music speeds up.

At the accusing comment that he's a dirty old man, House just looks back at him with the barest hint of a grin and a twinkle in his eye that suggests that it's truer than Chase has any idea of.

House isn't expecting for him to dance Odile as well as he dances Odette. It's a difficult role to dance, for one, but there's something about Chase that fits so much with Odette. There's a lightness and delicacy to his movements, an effortless perfection and grace that's so spot on to Odette that House had actually stood, watching through the window, wishing there were a way for him to dance the role for the production. If the company was struggling to find a way to market ballet to an audience who increasingly cares less for traditional, it could hardly hurt them, and it might just be exactly what they need.

So when Chase dances through the solo with those easy, light movements, delicate and far too sweet for Odile, he's not surprised really. Maybe he needs a push. He certainly responds well enough to guidance. House moves in when the music changes, and this should be when Odile, disguised, seduces Siegfried to betray Odette. It's supposed to be sensual and heavy with suggestion, the role Chase is dancing should be all allure and guile. But that's not how it's happening now. It's kind of funny, honestly, how Chase can be so skilled in the subtle flirtatious language of his own body and simultaneously so unaware of the corresponding language of seduction. His flirting is sweet rather than sultry, innocent rather than intentional.

There's a moment when Chase comes in close through a spin and hovers just for a moment, their bodies inches apart, and it should feel like a tease, thick with sexual tension and dark promise, but it's not. It feels like anything but. Chase is dancing through the choreography, and yet he's coming off just as sweet as Odette. There's no call to touch him, and yet he does, catches him by the hips and smooths his hands down the front of his body to rub at the tops of his thighs and pull him back flush against his body, so that he can feel that tight, perfect ass pressed against his body. One hand skims back up and presses between his legs as he subtly grinds against his ass, and his breath comes warm against Chase's ear as he murmurs, softly commanding him, "Seduce me..."

The way they move together feels perfect. He knows that his performance, the way that he moves, how he sells the choreography with gestures is off, but he doesn't quite know how to fix it, what he's doing wrong. He's never had a director, someone to guide him, and his focus has mainly been on Odette, trying to make it flawless, perfect. And even then, all he has is the choreography and filmed performances, trying to replicate Svetlana Zakharova, Gillian Murphy, Polina Semionova, and the other great Principals of the major ballet companies as he stares at himself in the mirrored wall.

He gasps, his breath sharp as he's pulled from the dance, the motion, the way that they move together when House touches him, grabbing him around his thin hips, and it's not part of the dance. His strong hands slide down and rub against the top of Chase's thighs, and he's flushed, still hard in his tights and he groans helplessly as House pulls him back flush against him. His ass pressed firmly into him. His breathing is rough and heavy, almost gasping as House grinds into his ass, and Chase is breathing fast, his heart racing at the awareness of how House has one hand between his legs, and Chase should be telling him to stop.

He's glad that House is behind him, because Chase is wrecked, and he's just glad that House can't see. He's squirming, pressing back into him and the grip that the man has on his hips, fighting to catch his breath but not quite managing it. He nods- emphatic- when House makes that demand, voices it like a command. Seduce me. Chase still doesn't really know how to do that, but he felt like he would have agreed to anything that House said in that tone of voice.

He wants to pull away from him, but he doesn't. There's a shameful part of him that just wants to stay like this, wants to feel the heat of House's body bleeding through the thin fabric of his tights and his shirt, almost searing where it's just bare skin. His lips are parted, his breath coming out as inarticulate noises, like he wants to say something, but there's just no words.

Chase’s reaction is electric. House had intended the grope to jolt him into changing, into realizing that to dance Odile he needs to tap into his sexuality, that he needs to feel it, use it, flaunt it… but that’s not what’s happening. Chase is reacting like he’s starving for touch, like he just can’t get enough. He’s still hard - not hard again, but still hard - groaning as he’s pulled back against House. He moves as he’s guided, back against House, pressing the firm swell of his ass back against House’s hips. Chase is squirming desperately and breathing hard and House isn’t capable of fighting against his own reaction. He’s getting hard, the more that Chase moves against him, and this… this isn’t how this is supposed to go at all. He’d intended to let go after a few seconds and see if Chase was any better at dancing the seduction, but he couldn’t just let go of him with the way he’s acting like he’s starving for touch.

“…you’re fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

House’s exhales a shaky breath against Chase’s ear that betrays the smile on his face, and now that hand rubs its way up from between his legs, feeling its way up the length of his cock through the layers of tights and dance belt, the heel of his hand dragging up and then back down while the other hand holds tight against his hip, keeps him close, guides him to keep grinding back on him.

“…just can’t get enough, can you…” he accuses him openly, and he’s got a sudden urge to lower his mouth to his neck but he resists, chews at his lower lip for a moment and murmurs, “You’re either a virgin or a slut… and there’s no way you’re a virgin…” he just can’t be. Not with how he’s reacting now, not with how young and gorgeous he is, dating Brett, living in NYC… there’s just no way he’s gotten this far without getting fucked.

“You shouldn’t have any problem dancing Odile…” there’s an unspoken what’s your excuse? and a not very subtle accusation that Chase is a little slut.

"Y-yes," Chase answers, helpless, like he doesn't know how not to react, how to not bend to the rasp of House's voice against his ear. He shakes at the feel of it, the heat, and he can hear that smile. His breath stutters, a sharp whine as his hand rubs up between his legs, against his hard cock, the man's other hand still tight on his hips, making it so his ass rocked back into him. He should stop this, say no, but he can't manage it. Brett has tried to grope him, get him into the mood, get him into sex, but it's never been like this, never taken him apart so all he can do is ache for it.

Chase flushes, and he betrays it in how he drops his head to the side slightly. There's a tremor that runs through him when House says he's either a virgin or a slut. And when he says he can't be a virgin, Chase honestly wants to sell it, make him believe it, but the truth is that he's as bad at it as he was at selling Odile's seduction and guile. There's something about how he moves, reacts, that says inexperienced more than greedy.

"You say slut like it's a bad thing," he murmurs, moaning hot and helpless as his hips start to jerk toward House's hand over his cock.

God, it feels like he could get Chase off just like this, just touching him through his tights and grinding against his ass. The boy is shaking, breathless and whining as House gropes him thoroughly, rocking back against him. House knows that when he rolls up on his toes to press back he almost has to feel that he’s hard, too. He’s so sure he’s right, so certain that Chase is just what he’d pegged him ass, incredibly talented and incredibly whorish, until there’s a reaction that doesn’t quite fit. When he says he’s got to be one or the other, it almost seems like he’s hiding, like he’s shy about it. House shakes himself mentally, comes up out of it enough to notice that he seems inexperienced. He’s letting it happen more than he’s active and inviting it, like he doesn’t really know how to move his body into this if left to his own devices, like he needs the hands on him to guide him. If there was any doubt left, it’s gone in the way he responds to that comment, you say slut like it’s a bad thing, like he’s trying to come off more experienced than he is.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, shocked that he was so wrong, and his hands are starting to come away from Chase already, moving away from his cock and letting go of his hip.

“You’re a virgin?”

It’s a question, but he is. House knows he is now, he can tell, even if it’s subtle. But knowing it, he can’t keep pushing, can’t keep taking, because suddenly it’s not just dancing getting out of control but taking advantage.

"Don't," Chase says, and it sounds so loud to his ears in the room that's so quiet aside from heavy breathing and the sounds of soft touching. His hands reach out, catching on House's wrists, and he holds on tight, almost pleading with his soft fingertips. There's not a lot of force in his hands, House could pull away if he really wanted to, but it's clear that Chase doesn't want him to. He's asking him not to, as much as he can, even if he should just let him go.

"Yeah, I'm a virgin," he says finally, admitting it like it's a dirty secret, with that vague air of please don't tell around the words. "I've.. never felt like this before. I don't want you to stop," he says quietly, timidly, with just a small flicker of guilt. He does have a boyfriend, but House is somehow different, somehow better, and all he really knows right now is that he needs this. He needs House to touch him, to make him come alive like this.

He's trying to tell him that he's not taking advantage of him, even if he lacks the right words to say what he means.

He stops pulling back when Chase grabs his wrists to stop him. He’s not sure still, but he hesitates in pulling away because he really doesn’t want to let go of him and it seems like Chase, even if he is completely inexperienced, doesn’t want to stop. Then he says it, and even though he’d guessed, noticed it, hearing it is still surprising. He’s never and yet he’s dating Brett… it’s got to be just a matter of time, then. Brett has a reputation for good reason, and House suddenly has the urge to warn him. Now’s not the time, obviously, but he knows that Brett will be with him until he fucks him, until he gets bored of him, and then he’ll leave him… and that’s one thing with the guys who’ve been around a little bit, but Chase is bound to get hurt. Not that this is much better, what he’s doing - what is he doing? Fuck if he knows. He hardly has enough brain power to think about what he’s doing. All he knows is that Chase doesn’t want him to stop.

Virgin or not, he’s so a pervert… getting off on this, here, standing in the center of the studio leaning back against House, where anyone who wanted to look in the glass window on the door could see.

“Pervert,” he breathes against his ear as his arms slip back around him, right back where they were. One hand caressing Chase through his tights and the other hugging his hip and urging him back, fingertips rubbing down along the groove between hip and thigh to change the angle of his body so that his spine curves just so, so that his ass juts back against him, fits tight against his body. He wants to keep Chase talking, wants to hear him.

“Do you like this…?” he asks as he changes how he’s touching him, thumb rubbing along the length of his cock through his tights while his hand rubs and rocks, long fingered hand spanning as much of him as he can at the awkward angle afforded by his clothes, making a conscious effort to try and get him off.

Chase, for all that he might be a great dancer, is still young and stupid and inexperienced. Brett is going to break his heart, if things get that far. He has a reputation- not unjustly earned- of sexing boys, getting bored, and finding another young pretty boy. Two months is starting to push surprising, if you don't know that Chase is a virgin, if you can't figure out the game that he's playing, here. And Chase is young enough that he's full of dumb ideas about getting married and adopting children, and all those romantic notions that usually run out after a few years of shitty dates.

"Yeah," Chase responds with a smile as he leans back into him, and there's something in how he relaxes back into him. He'd been scared that House was going to leave for reasons he couldn't quite explain. House got under his skin, did things to him. He liked the way his voice sounded, felt, as it curled against his ear, felt like it curled through him, molten hot. He let House's fingers shift his body, his ass pressing back against him, fitting tight against his hips. He likes how House is taller than him, significantly so now that he's down off the tips of his pointe shoes, and with House it feels like he wraps around him.

"Nn... I, uh, yes." Chase gasps hotly, squirming so that he's pressing his perfectly curved dancers ass back up against House as the older man strokes over his cock through the unfortunate layers, and Chase is almost tempted to pull them down. Except that this is dumb to begin with, and getting caught with his tights around his knees and someone's hand around his cock that is not his boyfriend, is not the sort of excitement he wants to end his night with. So he leaves the layers, for now anyway.

"Feels so good," he murmurs, his voice half blissed out as his eyes close.

House really isn't thinking about anything beyond what's happening right here and now. It had started out because he'd wanted to make a point, but they're so far beyond that that House isn't entirely sure he quite remembers the point he was trying to make. The sounds that Chase is making, gasping for breath and moaning as he presses back against him, squirming so that his ass rubs against him with the kind of friction that's making it hard to focus on anything but how good it would feel to lose the layers of fabric between them. With the way that Chase's tights cling perfectly to his cheeks, the only thing that's keeping him from really feeling how it would be to grind against his ass is his own dance belt and the snug, padded hold it has on him. It's still good, he just knows that it could be so much better.

This is stupid, but they're past that. House's hand slides up Chase's front, briefly caressing against his soft, bare belly, before his fingertips trace the edge of his tights and slip beneath, working to slip beneath the waist of his dance belt as well, and his hand slips down to first just brush against and then curl around his cock, and he gives him a good stroke. Just the act of having his hand down the front of his tights, and the angle, has them inching down a little on his hips, has his cock exposed to the room. The direction they're facing means that if someone looks in they'll have a fair idea what's going on, the same as a few seconds prior, but they won't see exactly what's going on. It's still risky and that makes it better somehow, but at the same time he half wishes they were somewhere more private, somewhere this could go further...

He's stroking faster, touching and learning every inch of his cock and the way every touch makes him react, has him squirming and breathless. His free hand rubs up over the young dancer's belly, fingertips briefly skimming high enough to graze his nipples before rubbing back down again. He doesn't need to tell him to lean into him, to just trust him and relax against him, because he already is, leaning and pressing into his body and trusting blindly that he'll be there to catch him, to support him, to push right back against him.

House's breath is coming heavy and hot against Chase's neck, and this is the kind of thing he'd been after. Maybe not quite this far, but he had wanted to push Chase away from his sweet, too delicately flirtatious movements and get him to embrace some of this, brazen and shamelessly pressing back and using his sexuality as a weapon and as bait. Right now, House is completely wrapped up in it, in the promise of how they're moving together, in the absolute obscenity of the sounds he's making... obviously he's not looking for this mid-dance, but if he could tap into this...

"Do you wanna come?" he breathes against his ear as his grip on his cock tightens, as his hand slows and then speeds back up.

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.

Chase is so sensitive to touch. That gentle brush of fingertips over his nipples earns a shiver that House can feel against his body in how the boy moves, how he moans and leans back for support. He's needy and loving this, squirming for more, moaning louder the more that House touches him. And fuck, is he ever loud...

House hadn't really been sure how Chase would react, how quickly he'd get off. He'd hoped he might hold out long enough to tease just a bit longer, long enough to not just ask but tell him to come, but he barely gets an answer out before he's coming and shaking apart in his arms, the sounds he's making an inarticulate jumble of moaning and gasping for air, loud enough that it's frankly shocking that no one can hear him. Thank acoustics and music in other rooms for the fact that they've not yet been intruded on.

House carries on touching him, stroking more slowly as he carries him through his orgasm, most of the mess on his hand and making the last few strokes slick, and he holds him while he comes down, free hand rubbing gently over his hip and low over his belly. House is still worked up, fairly obviously so, but he doesn't want Chase reciprocating. Not here, not now... partly because this shouldn't have happened (not that he actually feels guilty about it, he just knows when to stop pushing, sometimes), but mostly because he knows there's no time to continue. Not as loud as Chase has been, not with the fact that they've been lucky this far. It's the last thing he really wants to do, but he finally pulls his hand away and murmurs in Chase's ear, "Go get yourself cleaned up..."

And then he gives his ass a little swat with his free, clean hand. He has to get away, step back, catch his breath, because he wants so badly to just bend him over something and take him, and they just can't.

His moans move into soft murmurs, shaking as House strokes him through the tremors of the aftermath. The strokes of his hand slick from Chase's own come, and he leans into House as the man holds him. Which is a good thing, because the blond's legs are far from steady as he leans into the older man. He knows that House is hard, and part of him wants to offer to get him off. He just doesn't know exactly what to say, and while he's fumbling with words in his head, House pulls his hand away and tells him to go get cleaned up, and Chase grudgingly lets the impulse quiet. There's a sharp squeak, however, when House swats at his ass. Not that it hurts, but just unexpected. He looks up at House with glassy blue eyes and grins. And for one moment, he's more Odile than Odette -- undone, that smile wicked, sensual, inviting.

But then, he moves over to his bag, fishing out a small facetowel and using it to clean up the remnants of his orgasm. In the moment, Chase had been unselfconscious, but now, he's blushing, silently wishing he'd been just a bit quieter. He can't help but wondering who heard, if anyone peeked in through the window... He shakes his head and tries to brush off the thought and the worries. He does his best to get himself cleaned up, but there's still a little bit that got on his dancebelt and his tights.

So, no, he's not stripping just for House's benefit. Changing is the most obvious course of action here. And if it looks shades away from a strip-tease, that's clearly unintentional. Right.

The look on Chase's face in the seconds after the spank and that squeak remind him suddenly why he'd started this. That look is so much more Odile than Odette, and there's a second that it steals his attention away again.

If they were anywhere but here, he would in an instant, but they're not. He forces himself to look away, bends down and picks up his discarded towel and wipes off his hand and when he moves across the room to get a drink of water, expecting to find Chase pulling out a towel and tugging his tights back up, instead he finds him stripping down. He stops, standing by the upright piano and watches as those tights peel away, followed by the dance belt, slow and inviting like he's stripping for him. Chase, the boy who'd struggled so much to dance Odile without looking like some innocent, fragile thing was now stripping in full view, knowing that House would be watching. Oh this... this had been quite effective.

And House is just standing, staring without comment. There's nothing to say that hasn't already been said, and if there is, then he just doesn't trust himself to say anything at all when all he can think about is that perfectly round ass, and fucking it.

There's nothing to say, but Chase doesn't need him to say anything, he just needs him to look. Stripping isn't the same as dancing, but there's a subtle, quiet music in his body as he strips down naked. There's the way that he rolls his shoulders, the cant of his hips, tilts his head back so his hair falls back to whisper against the back of his neck, the elastic now around his wrist. He relishes his nudity, in the fact that House is watching, and that desire is there in so many little gestures. But, then he does have to get dressed.

His underwear is far more frisky than anyone might have guessed. A red thong, silky fabric, and with a thick red lace waistband that comes up to sit provocatively on his hips. There's no way he could have known this was going to happen, which means those panties aren't unusual. But after the toe shoes, his choice in underwear hardly seems remarkable. The rest of his clothes aren't particularly noteworthy -- skinny blue jeans that show off his ass and a grey slightly off the shoulder sweater top. He puts on socks and his Converse, and then he's zipping up his bag, putting it over his shoulder as he walks over to House with a gentle, sweet sort of smile.

"We should do this again," he says softly, going up onto his toes so that he can kiss him. It's soft, affectionate, and brief, and he's pulling away before there's anything to say. He's not running away from this, or else he wouldn't have said what he did -- completely devoid of context as to whether he meant dancing or sex or both. But, he doesn't think there's anything in this moment that can be said that should, and if he doesn't walk away he might make the mistake of trying.

Unfortunately, as good as that moment was, things only go downhill from there. He'd been hoping to spend the night at Brett's, since he's just moved his things from his dorm room into a storage unit. His life is a mess right now, and maybe that's part of why he hasn't broken up with Brett. Holding on to what stability he has. Except that sex comes up, and between thinking about House and that typical feeling that curls in his stomach, he just can't do it. They break up, and without anywhere else to go, Chase ends up sleeping on a few blankets and a pillow he stuffed into a duffel bag.

He's quieter. It's really the only give away, unless you happen to notice that Chase is always there, and that he keeps an extra bag in one of the changing rooms. He's not terse, or unwelcoming- not even to Brett- but there's something tight and terse and held in, repressed. He doesn't know how to talk about it, so he doesn't. House gets a soft, small smile, but there's still something hurt underneath it all. Rehearsal ends and he's gathering his things and moving back into one of the smaller rooms.

He spends half the time working on his part in the performance, and later, when less people are around, he dances Odette.

In the days afterwards, one of the things that stick with him most is the image of that lacy red thong as it slid up Chase’s long, shapely legs. The stripping, that was good, too, better than good, but the fact that those had been the underwear he’d had on hand when he hadn’t planned for anything out of the ordinary to happen at all? That’s what stayed with him. That and the we should do this again and that kiss that he’d been far too much in his own head to properly enjoy, like he came to and realized it was happening when it was already too late.

Try as he might not to think on it, he can’t help thinking about what’s going to happen between Chase and Brett. Selfishly, he wants to intervene somehow, but he knows that he already has, and realistically, he’s aware that if they’ve been dating as long as they have and still haven’t had sex that there’s a clock on the relationship that’s quickly running out. Still, his thoughts turn to Chase frequently, and not just later when he’s alone, when he’s bringing himself off and remembering how the young man had felt pressed up against his body, squirming and moaning and begging him not to stop.

In the days that follow, you almost wouldn’t notice anything was different, except that Chase seemed different. Quieter and sadder, like there’s a heaviness weighing on him. The logical guess is to assume that things had gone badly with Brett and leave it at that, but there’s an extra bag in the changing rooms and Chase, who’d previously practically skid in through the doorway at the last second before warm ups started, now seemed never to leave. House knew he was a student, knew that he was in pre-med, even if Chase wasn’t aware that he knew. It was the end of the semester, finals over, but that didn’t quite explain this level of always being here…

After rehearsal, he’s caught talking with the director for a few minutes, making plans for additional rehearsal times with the resident Swan Queen, who needs more time to practice, dance through the choreography, get Odile down, and House’s thoughts again turn to Chase and how, even though he hasn’t got the Odile parts down any more than she has, there’s a chemistry there with Chase that isn’t there with her. A time is set for the following day and House leaves, goes to his usual room to rehearse, but he hasn’t been there long when he decides to go find Chase. He knows the rooms that he typically frequents and after a short search, he finds him in a little room tucked way out of the way. He stands for a few moments, watching him through the glass in the door, enjoying a few moments of watching him while he doesn’t know he’s being watched. He’s dancing Odette, delicate and graceful movements giving it away as much as the familiar choreography.

Finally, he lets himself into the little studio quietly, really only giving himself away when he lets the door click shut none-too-quietly.

Chase pauses in the middle of the sequence, letting the music continue as he stop and turns to look at the door. When he sees that it's House, there's a faint smile, and that brief flash of worry recedes -- mostly. His feelings about House are still conflicted, but it's mostly because he's confused, more than anything else. He's not angry about what happened, even if he thinks that he should be. There's nothing to blame on House, and Chase isn't sure that he could blame him even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

"Hey," he says softly, reaching up and brushing a loose tendril of hair that had slipped from his ponytail back behind his ear. He's a little awkward, a little self-conscious, but more than that, he's just quiet. There's a little bit of sullen teenager about him, even if it's not full-fledged, light on the drama, and more just this persistent stillness. There's a tension in his movements that hadn't been there before, subtle, more noticeable in how he dances Odette than in rehearsals. He goes down to demi-pointe and then flat-footed, and moves in closer, the only sound that of his shoes on the floor.

He feels like he should say something, but there's both too much and not enough for him to say. He still wants him. He wants House to dance with him, and to touch him. He wants House to fuck him, which is terrifying and terrible, because he could never bring himself to want it with Brett. And Brett had been good to him. They went out, he'd bring him flowers, they talked and laughed and things had been good. Except that in the end, if Chase is honest with himself, he hadn't trusted him. And that hurts, somehow, in a way that he can't explain.

Being eighteen, he has no idea how to put any of this into words, and honestly lacks the desire to do so. So he just kind of looks at House, biting softly at his bottom lip.

House watches as Chase pauses in the middle of the dance, falling out of motion suddenly. The look on his face is difficult to read - worried, confused, maybe a little uncertain but he's just so quiet. He's never seen him as quiet as he's been these last few days. In rehearsals, before and after, and during warm ups, he was always chatting with a group of the girls and the other day he'd been so chatty that he'd practically bubbled over with volunteered commentary... this single word hello is odd. If he had to try and guess or pin this down, he'd say sullen, moping teenager. Maybe not even moping, maybe just sad... he doesn't know what happened between him and Brett, but he knows that something had.

"Hey to you too," he says.

House has his bag slung over his shoulder, towel hanging around his neck, looking like he's waiting for an invitation to stay. Until he doesn't wait for it anymore. He drops the duffel by the door and walks further into the room, and asks, "...are you planning to ask me to come in or are you just going to stand there?"

It's a push for him to say something. Something more than hey.

Chase nods, his soft blue eyes looking up at House, something curious, almost analytical in the look. It's like he's trying to solve a puzzle, find an answer, put together something he doesn't quite understand. There's something in that look, a weight to the gaze, sad and confused and heated all at the same time. The quiet is odd, but Chase doesn't know how else to handle just how much he's feeling, all at once, he feels weighed down, mired in it.

At the question he flushes a little shifts awkwardly, his fingers fidgeting as he looks at House through his blond lashes. "You can come in," he says after a moment, as if that was still a topic under contention, even though they both know better than that. They both know that Chase wants him here, and maybe that's part of why this is so hard for him to deal with. He doesn't know what to say, not really. He's hurting, but at the same time, he wants House, and there's that voice that is only too quick to point out that now that Brett broke up with him, there's not much reason not to do anything.

Part of him wants to repeat that kiss and that invitation just to at least know what happens. He's conflicted, maybe more than anything else at the moment.

"Well, good, thank you for the invite..." it's just dripping with sarcasm because, of course, House had taken it upon himself to come in even before Chase offered. It's awkward with Chase acting the way that he is, he won't deny that, but he doesn't think it has anything to do with the last time they danced and what had come after it. Unless, after, he'd changed his mind about what had happened, which he doesn't think he did, it was something else, and that was slowly grating on his nerves, now that he had to face it one on one. It's clear that Chase wants him here, he's just got something on his mind that he's not dealing with well at all.

House is moving to walk past Chase and reaches out to swat him on the ass as he comes to a stop beside him. If it wasn't for the music that played on, the slap would be a hell of a lot louder in the small room.

"...quit being a brat. It doesn't suit you."

Except that it does, actually, suit him very well. House has this overwhelming urge to just spank this sullenness right out of him...

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.

It's not that he necessarily holds it against him. House understands wanting to pull away, needing to recede into yourself for a while when things start to go badly, but he selfishly wants to be let in, in whatever capacity he can manage. Maybe it's just dancing, but he can sense that it's more, that Chase wants a repeat of what happened last time but doesn't know quite how to say it or even maybe what it is he really wants. House can't remember the last time he slept with a virgin since he was one - probably not since - and he knows it's just asking for a world of trouble. He knows that's a huge part of Chase's uncertainty, but he also has a feeling there's more going on than he knows about.

House hadn't quite been prepared for Chase's reaction, though. The way that shiver isn't startled shock or anger at being struck, but looks damned close to pleasure, all things considered. Flushed and arching and for a split second, leaning into it, and the look on his face makes it clear that he's interested but not sure about this. Still, he manages to give himself away in the challenging press of words, asking if House is going to spank him over his knee, and there's something in the way he asks and the look on his face that tells him that he maybe thinks he wants exactly that.

Asking him now, when he's a useless ball of teenage uncertainty, is going to give him nothing, no answers at all. So instead, he decides to push and just watch him to see his reaction.

"Yeah," he says, "I think I'm going to have to."

He tosses his towel on the upright piano and pulls out the bench enough, and sits down on it and pats his lap, indicating that Chase come lay over him. When he's not quick to move, he just stares at him and says, "You're making this worse for yourself... you've got until three. One..."

And he's watching. If the look on Chase's face indicates anything like he doesn't want this, he'll stand up and leave, maybe maybe even apologize. But he's got this feeling that this might be exactly what he needs.

"Two..."

Chase can't help letting House in, even if it's in little pieces, in the fact that he reacts to him as if things were almost normal. Which is nearly as far from the truth as you can get. Not in big ways, for the most part. He's not dying, not starving -- yet -- and he's not physically injured. That still leaves a long list of troubles when you're eighteen, however. The fact that he's still a virgin is one of them, or more accurately the tangled mess that is his attraction to House, and his lack of sexual attraction for the hot, successful 20-something that had been his boyfriend.

Chase is a virgin, but he's kinky. He's interested, curious about this sort of thing. He's seen pictures and videos, read things, from flowery explanations of the intertwined nature of pleasure and pain to discussions on the different kinds of restraints. And when House swats his ass, just that once, he likes it. He's smart enough to know that's different from getting spanked for real, but he's curious. Curious enough that if House had asked, Chase wouldn't have been able to give him a straight answer.

He stares, and there's as much anticipation as there is trepidation in the look that those blue eyes fix House with. He's sitting on the piano bench, gesturing toward his lap after saying that he's going to have to spank him. Chase feels like he should protest, but he doesn't. His mouth slightly parted, but there are no words on his lips.

Instead, he's flushed, his gaze slipping to the floor as he slowly walks over and after inhaling a sharp breath he gently leans over House's lap, arranging himself so that the other dance has the best access to Chase's ass that the teen can manage. It's almost an invitation.

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