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 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.

House is watching his face, watching intently in the wake of the demand he'd made. Is this alright or is he pushing too far? He doesn't trust Chase to answer right now. If he asked, regardless of what Chase said in response, House would almost invariably have to assume it was a flat denial because with the way he's being, he wouldn't be able to trust that a yes really meant a yes. It'd be just as likely to be a push back, acting out, challenging him to see if he'd dare try. Just going by his face is easier, by his actions, and there's nothing there that tells him Chase doesn't want this. In fact, he's flushed and there are subtle cues that give away that he wants this, beyond the simple fact that he moves in without much hesitation past that initial surprise, and lays himself over his lap.

"Good," he murmurs the praise softly, hand skimming over Chase's tights-clad ass, appreciating up-close the perfect division of his cheeks afforded by the obvious thong cut of his dance belt and some artful tugging of his tights.

"I'm glad you're at least capable of following directions..." he pauses, hand pulling away, and murmurs, "...ready?"

And he waits just long enough that he probably isn't, and spanks him. It's not hard at first, firm and perfectly aimed over one cheek, but nowhere near as hard as he wants to spank him. Then he pairs it with a second strike to the other cheek, just as firmly.

Chase doesn't know what he wants, so really, if House had asked and he'd given him a straight answer at all, he'd have been lying. He doesn't even understand how he feels about House yet, how it plays into his lingering confusion about everything that happened and didn't happen with Brett. And now they're talking about kinky things, and that's probably skipping a good few steps in the usual process of things, but that doesn't stop Chase from wanting it. He's confused and overwhelmed but he still wants.

He relaxes a little at the praise, just that word good as Chase positions himself over the older man's lap. His breath catches, and he shivers a little as House's hand skims down over his ass. There's hardly anything to dampen the impact; tights not liable to offer much in the way of protection. He flushes as that encouragement turns a little sharp, just a little pushing at the edge as he asks if he's ready. Chase takes a deep breath and he's about to try and say something when that first impact lands.

His breath catches sharp and it sounds so loud in the room, even if it's not nearly as loud as House's hand against his ass. It lands again, on the other cheek, and Chase is gasping, trying to catch his breath. There's a tremble in his slender body, but it's not protest, not a complaint. He squirms a little, though at this stage it's an intentional tease and not because of the spanking.

He tilts his head to the side, so that he can look up at the other man. "If you can lift me over your head, that can't be the best that you can do," Chase points out cheekily.

Well, that? That answers any lingering questions he had about whether or not Chase was really comfortable with this. House can't quite help the look he gives him at first, a mix of surprise and subtle amusement, because really it had had the desired effect - he'd broken through the young man's sullen refuse-to-talk exterior, even if what's underneath is sassy as hell.

"Brat," he calls him out, and if Chase wants it harder? Then harder is what he's going to get. The next blows are harder, not as hard as he's capable of, but it's giving him a taste of what's to come, back and forth from one cheek to the other. Maybe Chase isn't impressed still, but House isn't concerned about that. Maybe he'll push him for more, for harder, needle him about not doing the best he could - but House will get him to the point where he's not sassing back for more, but instead, squirming on his lap.

When it's House, Chase can't resist reacting. But, more than that, he can't resist pushing, either. He was a brat, albeit coy and teasing, playful more than petulant. So there's a small smile that curves his mouth when House calls him on it. And then he gasps, his body jerking as the impact of House's hand on his ass comes harder, sharper. He knows it's not as hard as the man can give it to him, but he's not trying to get himself too over his head. At least not yet.

So there's a slight look for a brief moment, but he doesn't needle him about it. Of course, the spanking might have something to do with that too. The impacts are hard enough to start warming his skin, no doubt turning pale skin rosy as it continues. He's not squirming yet, but the impact is sharp enough that he's not quiet, either. There's soft sounds, gasps and murmurs, his body not actively trying to squirm away, but he's not staying still, either.

"If I didn't.. know better.. I'd think you were just looking for an excuse," Chase muses outloud, unable to entirely keep his mouth shut. He likes House, wants him, but that fact is as worrying as it is enthralling. There's something about him that keeps drawing Chase in, keeps tempting him into pushing.

Chase glances back briefly, and House meets his eyes in that split second.

He won't be this mouthy when he's done with him, but at the same time he doesn't really mind the continued inability to keep his mouth shut. Nothing that Chase is saying has House questioning whether he wants to be here or not. He's just being a brat because he knows how. He's still reacting, body jerking as the spanks come harder, though not hard enough, not as hard as they could be coming. He's not squirming yet, but the sounds he's making giving away the fact that squirming probably isn't that far away.

Chase pushed, and House can't let that go. He has to push back. Chase's snide comment earns him a swift, harder spank that comes without warning, and another matching spank to the other cheek, like a quick punishment for talking back.

"I don't think you do know better... pull your tights down," he says, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument but he's still watching, still looking for any indication that this is too much to ask.

Chase is a brat because he can't help it, because it's always there around the edges, even if it's typically tempered with that sunny smile and that playful glint in his eyes. It's not defensive, not trying to stop this, push House away without knowing how. It's just how he is, more with House than with most other people because somehow it feels safer with House than it does with almost anyone else. He can push further because he doesn't think there's some boundary he can't come back from. With Brett he was always conscious of that, of not pushing too far.

He cries out, hard and sharp at the unexpected impact that's even harder, hard enough to take his breath away, to make him squirm a little when the second one impacts against the other cheek of his ass. It feels like punishment, and that brings an awkward smile to his mouth. And then there's that demand, and it hangs in the air for a long moment, Chase just blinking as he wraps his head around it. When he's finally nodding, he's wide-eyed, his face down as he reaches for the hem of his tights. He drags them down, catching the thick top of his dance belt in his fingers too, dragging them both down to the tops of his thighs.

It's more than House asked for, because under the sudden quiet, Chase is still pushing, even as he reveals the pink cheeks over House's lap.

It's fortunate that House is wearing a dance belt because it keeps the fact that he's getting turned on by this under wraps, lets him have a little distance from his own reactions and focus on Chase. That's not to say that he's not hyper aware of how he's reacting, of how watching Chase move in his lap and cry out loud and squirm as he's spanked makes him feel. There's a long stretch of silence and then Chase nods, reaching back to the hem of his tights and pushes them down slowly.

And House is just staring, waiting as he does it, watching as his tights inch down, revealing his unevenly pink ass. There's a second he thought that Chase had accidentally caught his dance belt, but it's no accident. He honestly can't quite believe his luck, but he's got this feeling that it's just as much a push as it is an obvious, if really quite abnormal flirtation. As if any of this was really normal.

Chase is giving more than he asked for, like this is some kind of game of chicken, but with spanking. Whatever House gives, he asks if that's all he's got, and when he asks, Chase gives him more, like he's so sure he's in charge of this. Maybe in reality he is, because House would stop the instant he had the feeling that this wasn't okay, but in the game, House can't stand for this kind of behavior. So he spanks him again, hard enough to leave a ghost of the shape of his hand on his cheek and it rings loud in the room as the music hits the end of the playlist and stops.

"I just said the tights... I bet you think you're cute, don't you?" he asks, pushing right back, and he spanks him again, hard on the other cheek.

Chase jerks, a gasp that's loud on his mouth as his head falls back, and it's almost a flinch at how hard House spanks him this time. One cheek, then the other, keeping the punishment more or less even. The noise of the second strike is loud after the music stops, and there's a moment where Chase can't help wondering if someone else will hear it. Who else is still around to listen? He doesn't know, but the feel of it is hard enough the thought only occupies his mind for a brief second.

It's edging in toward too much, but not quite there yet. Or at least not so far in that Chase wants him to stop. But he's shuddering, squirming on House's lap, unable to help himself. It takes him a moment before he can find the words to answer, and it feels like a dumb thing to do, because it feels like House is baiting him, trying to get him to push back so that he can punish him again. Unfortunately, that awareness doesn't stop him from responding, and there's a hint of a laugh, strained though it is.

"You think I'm cute," Chase points out softly, and maybe it's not so much pushing as something else, something he's scared to talk about. And yet somehow it's easier with his tights around his thighs and House's hand slowly turning his ass red.

He can tell that it's getting close to too much. Chase is squirming, shuddering, and it's just starting to be apparent that it might be getting close, in his breathing and in the strain of his laugh and his voice. He's still pushing... or maybe... maybe he's not. He thinks on it, on everything from the little laugh to the tone of his voice, almost shy and afraid to give too much away. It would almost be laughable to think about looking at the situation, that the boy with his tights around his thighs, who'd willingly offered to push his dance belt down too, is afraid.

"Maybe from this side, at least..." but there's an obvious smile behind his voice that says he's fucking with Chase just because he can, and it says that the answer there that he'd left unsaid is yes, that he does indeed think Chase is cute, but he won't just outright say it.

"This side isn't mouthy..." and then comes another spank from another angle, layering blows over his ass so there's a mottled pink that's beginning to spread.

The answer might not be a yes, except that it is. It's flirting, not the same as pushing, but it's there in the smile in House's voice, the warmth of it. Chase understands about leaving things unsaid, about things that you can't quite manage to say out loud. There's a lot of things he wants to say to House, but he can't figure out how. There's that attraction, how things had fallen apart with Brett, how much he likes this, and all the other feelings bouncing around inside his teenaged head.

He could try and push back, say something about how House likes him mouthy, but he doesn't. He's pretty sure it wouldn't come out right, so he settles for letting the silence hang. But it's not the same quiet as before, he's not hiding. Instead, it's the sort of quiet that implies everything is too close to the surface.

That doesn't stop that jerk and the squeal, the way that he squirms shamelessly on House's lap when his hand spanks him again. His back arching a little, unable to stop moving as his ass starts to get physically hot to the touch from the impacts, the generous curves of each cheek now painted in a steadily darkening pink.

He carries on spanking him. Sometimes they're harder, just to watch Chase jerk in his lap, feel the way he moves and squirms against his thighs, hear the sounds he makes as he takes everything House dishes out. He's moving a lot the darker pink his ass gets, the warmer it is to the touch, heat practically radiating off his skin, but that flutter of flirtation seems to have died down a bit. For a little while, House just gets lost in watching, but as the silence stretches on he's getting lost in thought, back on what he's noticed these past few days and the way that this silence is different than before. It's like there's more that the boy wants to say but he doesn't know how or can't figure out where to start. Or maybe that's House projecting, because he's not sure if he wants to try to pick up the flirting or touch on something real. Not that the flirting isn't.

He stops, hand coming to lay gently on one hot cheek, and he's just rubbing slowly, aware that it's probably not making it better really, but he just wants to touch and feel the heat on his skin and feel him squirm. And really, any excuse to fondle that perfect swell of his ass. When he speaks, it's quiet, almost musing, like he knows but he's still giving Chase the opportunity to tell him and elaborate on it.

"When did you start sleeping in the studio?"

Edited 2015-01-10 08:18 (UTC)

Chase isn't quiet, not that House likely finds that surprising. He doesn't have that sense of learned shame about his reactions, he just lets them happen. Whining and squirming and crying out at each impact, so he's writhing in House's lap so that it's impossible for the older man not to feel the rub of Chase's erection against his thigh. House is spanking him so that Chase flinches and cries out at every impact, and the blond is none the less, getting hard over it.

He whines a little when House puts a hand on one of his cheeks, the pressure of it, how his fingers rub at the heated skin is somehow almost worse, and the sound that he makes is almost a whimper, even as he leans into the contact a little. It burns more like this, but the feeling of House touching him is hotter, and he can't resist inviting him to touch more, so he leans into it. He wants House's hands everywhere, even if somehow that still feels wrong, even if there's no longer a neat reason to put to it. He just wants him too much.

There's that shocked inhale, that pause where it's clear that Chase is processing the fact that House knows, resisting the urge to counter by asking how long he's known, how he knew. "Since that night we danced together," he admits softly. There's a pause, like he's about to leave it there, but then he doesn't. "I... I thought I could stay with Brett, you know, just a couple days while I figured things out, and then he broke up with me and I just didn't have anywhere else to go," he answers softly, his voice quiet and small. He's a little self-conscious, a little awkward; more about this than about being naked from waist to thigh and hard from being spanked like the prelude in some straight porno.

He's listening and watching how Chase whines, how he squirms at just the pressure of his hand against his ass, and his free hand rubs at the small of his back gently, like he's trying to calm him back down. Even still, Chase is leaning into it, like he can't get enough even though it clearly hurts. And he's hard, even though it hurts, which House likes. It's interesting. He's so young, so inexperienced, and yet he's more aware of what he likes than many people his age are. House is enjoying the hot press of Chase's cock against his thigh through his tights, and really really wants to get him off again, this time so he can see his face, so he can watch him as he comes...

Then Chase answers the question, and House listens intently. It's been days, as long as he'd figured it had been, and he's just about to ask why when Chase continues and House listens, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. He's not surprised that things had ultimately gone poorly with Brett, and he wonders what happened to cause the breakup and he's selfishly hoping that it was because Chase didn't want to sleep with him. It's not that he's necessarily wanting to be able to be his first, because truthfully he knows just how wrong that can go, it's just that he doesn't want the end of the story to be how heartbroken he is over Brett. Brett doesn't deserve that much emotion, not by a long shot.

"You can stay with me," he says. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't say that he's got a sofa that pulls out to a bed because he doesn't want to make it seem like he'd say no to sharing the bed. Fuck, maybe House is the one who's in too deep here. He'd spent the last few days with his thoughts drifting back to Chase in quiet moments, after all, thinking about him, wondering...

"Couple days, couple weeks, doesn't matter... it's a half hour travel time from here, but it's not the studio."

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.

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

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