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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There's helpless hope, and not a small amount of pleasure in his face when House tells him that he can stay with him, and he's looking over his shoulder back at him with a smile. Then he shifts, not away from his hands, but just so that he can drape a little more comfortably over his lap, his cheek leaning against the cool wood of the piano bench. He's quiet, but only for a moment before it cracks, in light of House offering to let him stay, not caring how long he stays for, that silence cracks.

"I couldn't sleep with him," he says, almost in a rush, and a tremble that shivers through his body. "We.. tried a few times, but I always chickened out. I'd get scared. I didn't trust him, I guess, I could never let him touch me. And Brett said he wasn't interested in 'gradeschool hand-holding' so he broke up with me." He doesn't know why he's telling him about this, except that it frames the second part. The part that's even more frightening than talking about Brett and how things had gone wrong.

"You don't scare me," he admits softly, almost shy, a little timid. He swallows, tries to figure out what he's trying to say here, but he has only half a clue, and he keeps talking anyway. "I.. I want you. I think about you fucking me. That night, when you were, you know, touching me." His face is about as red as his ass, but he's not looking at House for a reason. "I don't understand why it feels okay with you when it never did with Brett. He was nice and sweet and funny. He was the kind of guy I've been having fantasies about dating and settling down with and adopting kids with once I can't dance classical ballet anymore since I was eleven and realized what liking boys more than girls meant."

He finally shuts up, curls a little onto House's lap, that hand against his heated skin somehow almost a comfort.

He watches him move, watches how he shifts in his lap, how he lays his cheek against the piano bench, glancing back up at him, and in the wake of Chase admitting that he hadn't been able to sleep with him, that they'd tried but he got scared and that's why they broke up, House wants to rush and say that he doesn't expect Chase to sleep with him to earn a place to stay. It'd be a nice perk, but he's not going to push for more than he wants. He's an ass, but he's not a monster.

But he doesn't manage to get anything out before Chase continues, tells him he doesn't scare him and House stays quiet to listen. He rambles on, gets it all out in one rush of breath, and House can't help the little hint of a smile at what he says. Now isn't the time to tell him that Brett is not at all the kind of guy he wanted to settle down with, because the truth is that he isn't, either, and saying something now will hint that he thinks he might be, or should be. Instead, he quietly rubs a circle over Chase's sore ass, and just pats him gently.

"I think about fucking you, too," is what he finally settles on saying, and he feels as though there should be something else. Some explanation as to why Chase feels okay with him but not Brett, but it's nothing House wants to speculate on. So he fills the empty space with a spank, not quite as hard as before, but enough to smart on that bright, hot cheek.

Chase doesn't really have a chance to respond to those words, even though he wants to. The fact that House thinks about fucking him is intoxicating, arousing. He might not be saying that he wants to, but Chase doesn't think House is the sort of person to say that kind of thing without intent. And maybe it's naive, but Chase is pretty sure that they'd established intent the night that they'd been dancing together last time. Aiming for Odile and just ending up with touching, and that guileless admission that Chase might be a virgin but he didn't want him to stop. He doesn't get a chance to say anything because House spanks him, not as hard as before, but hard enough that he squirms with how it burns on his already abused skin.

There's a moment where he considers, debates between staying like this, letting House keeps spanking him, and pushing that subject, that comment. And really, it's no contest at all. There wasn't much chance that Chase would choose anything different, in honesty. He sits up, shifting, moving so instead of laying across House's lap, he's kicking his tights off one leg, and then straddling him. Sitting up and looking into his eyes, his hands coming up to catch on his shoulders with a hint of a smile as Chase tries to ignore his erection for the moment.

"Do you really want to fuck me?" Which isn't technically what House had said, but who's going to quibble the point?

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.

Chase murmurs softly as House's hands come to rest on his hips, and it's both security and affectionate, and Chase leans into it a little, even as he leans in more toward House's chest, slightly draped against the taller dancer's chest. His erection isn't easy to ignore, and it's maybe more accurate to say that Chase isn't doing anything about it than properly ignoring it. It's not as if he's unaware of it, especially not now that it's pressed in against House's body, and the heat and the arousal hums through him so hard he trembles.

There's a brief flicker of surprise when House kisses him, not sweet and chaste and unsure affection like Chase had, those days ago. Instead it's hard and intent and full of smouldering intent. That kiss is an answer to his question, and Chase is responding, one hand coming up to slide up against the man's short hair, kissing him back. There's that faint way that he grinds up against him, his body asking for more, for what they both want, even if Chase hasn't actually said it, only implied it with all the subtlety of a two-by-four.

God, it's so fucking tempting to just... keep pushing. But he doesn't have lube here, and it's not very private, and it's going to be Chase's first time and it shouldn't be rushed and frantic in a dance studio. There's a terrible nagging feeling in the back of his mind that's saying that being his first was an awful idea, that he's going to leave Chase messed up over this, if not now then later, eventually, when things inevitably went south. But the part of his mind in charge of making good decisions was overruled right now by the part that wanted to keep hearing and feeling Chase react. The teen is grinding on him, for Christ's sake. Is there a man in the world who could resist this? And yes, he's absolutely including straight men, because, well, look at Chase.

It takes a while, but he pulls back from the kiss and takes a deep breath before managing, "...this isn't the place for this..."

It's another few seconds of awkward, stumbling silence before he finishes the thought, fingers trailing through the strands of blond hair that slipped from the elastic hair tie. "You should come back to my apartment... we can pick up where we leave off..."

Chase whimpers when House pulls back. His pupils dilated and his eyelids heavy and the way he looks at him is wanton, almost pleading, because he wants this, he wants more. He doesn't really know what he's doing, he just knows that he doesn't want to stop. It takes a little for the first statement to register, and by the time that it does, House is trailing fingers through the stray strands of blond hair, and Chase is leaning into the touch with a soft smile, tinged with an awkward kind of eagerness. He doesn't really know how to say. He wants to protest, but instead he nods slowly, leaning in and brushing another sweet kiss briefly against House's lips.

"Okay," he breathes, hot and murmured almost against the man's lips. "I want you," he says, as if it's something that even still needs to be said at this point. But he wants to say it, wants House to hear it, hear that he means it. And maybe that was the difference. That when House looked at him, he believed that he wanted him. With Brett, it had been almost less specific. He wanted someone. This was better, even if it was new and strange and different, and maybe not really a thing at all.

Chase was going to spare him the talk about how he wanted more than just sex, because they both knew that. It's been said, maybe not in specific, but well enough. And maybe he's a little scared that like before it would give House an excuse to try and stop. "Let me get some clothes on," he says softly, nuzzling a little into his jaw before starting to move away.

"I figured that out..." he murmurs against Chase's mouth, unable to hide the hint of a grin that's tugging at his lips. God, but Chase is gorgeous, eager and leaning into his hand like a puppy desperate for attention. But it's not just the want to be touched, a mindless need to find anyone willing to pay attention to him, but it's so focused that it's almost hard to believe. He's twenty years older than Chase, nowhere near as attractive as the younger men in the company... he knows there's more to him than his looks, but Chase is so attractive that he'd have to be stupid not to wonder at it.

"Okay," he says, pressing a kiss to Chase's cheek before he pulls away to go get dressed. Very belatedly, House realizes he should change too if they're going to be leaving. He's not riding the subway like this. Finally, he's up and moving for his duffel, and he pulls out a rolled up pair of jeans and starts to peel his tights off.

Chase grins, beaming with warmth as House kisses him on the cheek. Chase doesn't want just anyone. He couldn't articulate it, explain it, which was why he'd been so weird and quiet the past several days, but he wanted House. He hadn't wanted Brett, he wanted this, wanted him. There was just something about him. A sharpness in his eyes, a rhythm in how he moved, the wit of his sharp tongue. Chase had actually had a bit of a crush on House for a while. Then they'd danced together... how do you come back from that?

Chase slowly, carefully, climbs down so that he's standing on the floor. His toe shoes come off, then his tights, and there's a wicked smile over his shoulder as he stands there for a moment mostly naked. Then he's moving over to his bag, and his underwear are every bit as risque as they had been the last time, except this time they're black. Low on his hips, edged in lace, and high and tight against his ass, and he's a little stiff, a soft whine as he pulls them on, the black lace a sharp contrast against the deep pink-red color of his skin. Then it's skinny jeans, and his black converse, and he's putting everything else in his bag.

His main concern here, is getting out fast. He just wants to be at House's apartment, wants to be naked again and feel House's hands on him. He wants him to fuck him, even if the thought still makes him a little jittery with that mix of nerves and anticipation.

Shoes kicked off, he's tugging his tights down and keeping his attention on Chase as he strips down and pulls on these little black lacy panties that the last woman he'd been with would have considered too much effort, and it's the second damned random "everyday" pair of underwear he's seen this kid pull on that are straight from the pages of a lingerie catalog. House is a little distracted, standing with his thumbs under the waist of his dance belt until Chase is done adjusting the lacy panties on his ass - god, that little whine, the contrast of his red ass and the black lace... - and then House remembers what he's doing and his dance belt follows. He's unselfconscious, half-hard and careless. He's got underwear, but he skips them in favor of pulling on his jeans so that later, there's one less layer to remove.

And maybe he's caught Chase's eye as he starts to pull his jeans up and keeps his gaze as he does, not just unselfconscious but as shameless with his nakedness as Chase is. It's not that they're the same brand of attractive - they absolutely aren't. It's not about giving a free show, about knowing he's alluring (or accidentally being so without really trying) but it's another kind of push. It's an almost aggressive act, like with his jeans slowly dragging up his thighs, still half hard cock exposed, he's pushing for a reaction, getting Chase to give just a little bit more by where his eyes go and how long his gaze lingers. It doesn't matter that they've explicitly said they want to fuck, this is still a win in their back and forth game of challenge and push back.

He zips up, pulls on sneakers, and doesn't bother to change his t-shirt. He throws everything else in his duffel bag and closes it, and once Chase is all dressed and ready, he comes over to him and lays a gentle swat to his denim covered ass, and smiles, "Come on..."

Chase likes his lacey underwear. They're soft and comfortable, and he likes having the lace on where no one can see. Usually, anyway. Brett had given him shit about it, about being too "femme" and House has yet to comment. He can feel his attention, however, the way that he looks, how he watches him. He hear that he's stropped stripping, that he's just staring as he changes, and that's hot, hotter than it probably should be, but Chase glows under the attention.

He's dressed and looking back at House when the man catches his eyes, and now it's Chase that's watching, looking at him, leering at his half-hard cock and how he doesn't have any underwear on. The way that it's framed, erotic as he pulls his denims up and slowly tucks himself in, and Chase watches too intently and too long. He knows that this is losing, somehow, but that doesn't make it so that he can tear his eyes away. It isn't until House pulls up the zipper and starts working on his duffel bag that Chase gets his brain back.

He grabs his own bag, hooking the shoulder strap over his shoulder and he squeaks, with a tremble that runs through his spine when House swats at his ass. He straightens, flushed and nodding as he runs a hand through his loose hair. "Yeah, uh, let's go."

The trip to House's apartment seemed to take longer than it ever had, the first leg of it by subway and spent occasionally intentionally brushing up against Chase in the crowded car, until the crowd narrowed as their stop approached and they were able to sit comfortably. Or well, House was. Chase sat but he looked anything but comfortable, shifting a bit in his seat, and House looked as if he had no idea why. They switched to the train, and once they'd reached their stop, House's apartment was in walking distance.

House leads the way in and up the short flight of stairs, and unlocks the door to let them in. Some time has passed, things don't feel quite so urgent once they make it in through the door, but that doesn't mean he wants him any less. He gives his duffel bag a toss into a nearby chair and hands his jacket up by the door and shuts it behind them.

"Livingroom," he says, as if it's not obvious. "Kitchen's through there, bathroom's down the hall, bedroom to the left." His hand finds Chase's and skims past it like he might be thinking about holding hands with him, but instead takes his duffel bag away from him and tosses it down on top of his own.

Chase just wanted to be there already, but he did his best to be patient. It was the anticipation that made it seem like it was taking forever, he figured, since objectively they weren't actually going all that far. The biggest problem, of course, was his spanked-raw ass, and how House made such a point of accidentally brushing against him, halfway between groping and torment, and then the fact of just having to sit down for that long. Needless to say, Chase was grateful when they were walking, and then House was leading the way to his apartment.

It's not quite so desperate, not quite so stripping down the second the door is closed that you see in movies, but he still wants it. He wants House, with an intensity that makes him flush as he looks at the man with a soft smile. He nods, letting House explain the layout of his apartment. He goes to catch his hand, but then House grabs Chase's bag instead, tossing it with his own, and the blond smiles a little awkwardly. He wants to ask if he's sleeping on the couch, but he skips it in favor of catching a hand in his shirt and tugging, trying to steal a kiss, or, well, encourage House to share one.

"Thanks."

"Hey," he complains with a slow smile as Chase tugs him closer by the shirt, "Watch it, kid..."

He's teasing, but the charade doesn't last long before his hands are on him, and he's giving in, not just kissing him but walking him back up against the nearest wall. Maybe it's cliched, the kind of shit you see in movies, but he can't keep his hands off him and he doesn't think that Chase minds. One hand slips up beneath his shirt and brushes along his belly and up his side, slow and teasing as he deepens the kiss.

There's a murmur that hums in his throat as their lips touch, kissing softly as House presses in, walking him back to press him against the nearest wall, and Chase lets him, melts into the contact. He gasps softly against House's lips as his hand slips up under his loose shirt, touching against his stomach, and then sliding up against his side. It makes him shiver, and he trembles a little, his own hands moving to rest on House's hips, and then slowly curl around his waist.

He wants him, he wants this. He wants the kisses and the touching and more, he wants all of it. He maybe even wants the spanking, which had been hotter than he'd imagined, even if it smarted after, made sitting on the train burn, impossible for him to sit still. He presses into the kiss, holding onto House, and it's already turning him on all over again.

It's not remotely fair, especially considering how young Chase is, and how inexperienced, but if he had any indication that he wasn't entirely on board he probably wouldn't be quite so all into this now. He pulls from the kiss just enough to talk, lips barely an inch from Chase's, and he murmurs, "So, like I was saying... bedroom's on the left, you can share the bed with me, unless you'd be more comfortable on the couch..."

His hands skim back down and he's groping Chase's ass, knows that it's still raw from the spanking earlier, but that doesn't seem like it's remotely going to stop House now.

"Y'wanna see what you think?" he asks, kissing Chase again and trying to draw him closer, trying to urge him up, get him to curl around his body so he can carry him off. He guides him up, a hand beneath the swell of his ass as the other hand urges his leg up, pulls an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on... let's go check out the couch..."

It sparks a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper as House gropes at his ass through his tight jeans, but Chase still leans into the touch, into the contact, even as it burns. It sends a thrill through him, he feels almost light headed, high on the feeling of it, of having House touching him, wanting him like this. He kisses him with a sort of passionate abandon, like he's giving everything he has, falling into it.

When the kiss breaks, Chase steals a soft kiss at the end of that statement about the couch, and there's a wicked glint in his eyes, a warmth that makes them seem to sparkle in the dim light as he presses off against the floor and lets both of his legs wrap around House's waist as his hands cling to his shoulders.

"Why don't you show me your bedroom," Chase suggests softly, and then he steals another kiss. There's intent there. He wants House, wants him to fuck him, and he wants to share the bed with him, and maybe he's hoping for too much, but he can't help it.

House wants to get more of those noises out of Chase, more of those soft sounds, whimpers or moans. He wants to hear how he sounds with that sensitive ass moving against his sheets, how he looks as he's stripped naked with the backdrop his bedroom and not the quick change of a studio, even if that had been intentionally slowed to get House's eyes on him.

Chase looks positively wicked as he pulls away, troublesome and playful and inviting as he curls around him, arms and legs holding on tight.

"Mm... okay..." he says as they pass right by the sofa, and he's holding Chase close, hand subtly tugging him a little bit closer, as if that were even possible. He pulls from the kiss to see where he's going, but he buries his face in his neck, lays a kiss against his skin and breathes him in. Inside the bedroom, he murmurs against his ear, "Here's the bedroom."

Then he turns around in a circle, stopping to show him the selling points, "Dresser, closet, chair, bed. Nothing special, but it's pretty comfortable..." he turns them back around and carries Chase on up to it and leans over the bed, letting go of Chase until he can't help but fall back against the bed.

There's a soft murmur of laughter, light and sweet and he buries it into the side of House's neck for a moment, smiling still when he pulls away. They pass by the sofa and Chase can't help feeling a little bit giddy. House's face presses into his neck, pressing soft kisses to sensitive skin and it pulls soft murmurs from the blond, his head tilting back. He's hardly paying attention to where they're going, but then, he's not the one walking them there.

He laughs when House turns in a circle, pointing out the various adornments. "It does look comfortable..." Chase says a little teasingly, of course talking about the bed. He squeals a little in surprise when House leans him over the bed, devolving into a wide grin when he can't help but fall back onto the mattress. He reaches up, looping arms around his neck and pulling him in.

"You should come join me," he all but purrs.

"Mmm... I think I might have to," he says when Chase refuses to fully let go, takes hold of him, arms looped around his neck. So House follows him down, crawls into the bed with him, over him, and when he passes him he drags Chase a little further into the bed, into the center, and leans down to kiss him. He's thinking about getting him naked, thinking about him in those black lace panties and how much better he'll look stripping out of them rather than pulling them on.

"The bed's got rules, you know..." he says, and he pushes away, hand pressed to the mattress as he comes up to his knees, sitting back over Chase as he peels off his t-shirt and tosses it to the floor. "No clothes in bed. C'mon," he says, leaning in again to help Chase get his own shirt off.

There's something about this that feels good, comforting, comfortable. It's not like with Brett, where once things turned sexual his heart would hammer with apprehension and his hands would shake. He trusts House, which is maybe a mistake, but it at least feels like the right mistake to make. He grins as House leans down over him, as he moves, tugs Chase up so that he's in the center of the bed.

"Oh, is that a fact? Then we're both in violation. Might be punishments for that, I hear," he teases. He easily lets House help pull his shirt off, squirming so that he can kick his shoes off so they clatter to the floor. That leaves him topless in just his jeans, and a smile, shifting a little on the bed so that he's back on his back instead of on his ass; shifting the pressure. His ass is still hot, even as he makes vague overtures at more.

Chase is a virgin, but he's also kinky. His hands reach out, greedy in how they run over House's bare skin. "Mm, I like touching you," he breathes with a smile. The kind of smile that says that he wants a whole lot of lusciously bad things.

Chase is fucking adorable - not that he's prepared to admit that to him. It's fairly obvious, anyway, with the way he's looking at him, the way he's acting with him. He's not like this, and truthfully this should be a red flag, because things are only good for so long before they turn bad, because nothing lasts. He's not thinking about that now, though, not with Chase laying beneath him, squirming to help get out of his clothes. While he's still kneeling over him, his hands fall to his waist, undoing the button and zipper and he's tugging them down his hips as he shifts beneath him.

"Do you, really?" he asks as he brings one of Chase's long legs up and tugs his jeans down, the other leg brought up with the first so he can free him of his jeans, tossing them off somewhere behind them, and he hadn't taken the liberty of stealing his underwear at the same time, because he wants to see them on him again. He wants to see him laid out on his bed in that lacy slip of black.

"I'd never have guessed..." he murmurs, hands sliding up Chase's smooth calves and thighs, brushing past his lace clad hips as he lets his legs go, and moves back over him, leaning down to steal another kiss and let Chase's hands roam as they please.

Chase's breath comes out in a strained, low hiss between his teeth as House's hands fall to his waist, undoing the button and then the zipper. He's tugging them down off of his hips, and while House has seen him naked before, seen him as he teased him as he stripped down out of his dance tights, this is still different somehow. They're close, and it's House's hands on his body, and it's deliciously hot, looking up into his eyes.

The older man lifts one of his legs, sliding his denims down, and then the other joins the first and his pants end up somewhere unknowable, that Chase can't even be bothered to think about it. House leaves his underwear on, and that makes Chase smile with a grin, his eyes glinting, because it seems to imply that House likes his lacy underthings. It's not why he wears them, but it's nice, makes him grin as he wraps his arms around House's shoulders, trying to draw him in.

"Oh, I'm sure. I'm just so subtle," Chase teases, shivering as hands slide over his long, slender legs, touching over his hips and then moving over him again. They kiss, and Chase playfully nips at his bottom lip as his hands move in to touch against his chest. Sliding over his upper arms, shoulders, coming up to slide at the sides of his neck so he can cup the other man's face in his hands for a breath. He looks into his eyes, and he smiles, before his hands are moving back down along his sides, just a slight touch of nails, experimenting with the skin under his hands.

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Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

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