1NOTE: This latest part is a definite M with good old explicit H/W sex with a large side order of Chase. The last two chapters got a little mushy and somehow Wilson got a little weepy on me. Sorry 'bout that. His idea, not mine. But here's some nice hot sex to make up for it.Besides, it's about time Chase gets some props!
Because you should really check for wandering ducklings before having sex in your office...
Chase slumped back in House's chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been researching his paper for almost three hours and he wasn't even halfway finished.
Bloody stupid time for my home computer to go wonky on me, he thought. Here he was, stuck in House's office at almost eight o'clock at night, but at least the hospital was quiet. Most of the staff was gone for the nightleaving Chase to pound away at what he hoped would be a halfway decent and publishable paper on ethical issues in intensive care. Working with the likes of Greg House for the past three years had left him a plethora of ethical issues to write about: when to violate a DNR order, busting a cap in a corpse, accusing a patient to his face of lying.
How about ethical treatment of co-workers? he thought wryly. I could definitely do a few hundred pages on House's violations of that. Might be an idea. Maybe me, Cameron, and Foreman could form the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Underlings. Lobby worldwide. Make sure House isn't inflicted on anyone else.
Amusing thought, but it wasn't getting his paper done. Chase stood and stretched, wincing at the pinched feeling of sore back muscles and tingling feeling of a bum squashed into a chair too long. A gnawing sensation in his middle reminded him that lunch had been seven long hours ago. He briefly considered pilfering the Oreos that House kept in his desk drawer, more for entertainment value than actual nutrition. When House discovered them missing he would blame Foreman purely for the hell of it. Chase grinned to himself, hearing his boss' snarky, First grand theft auto, then snack foods. It was bound to escalate sooner or later.
One more hour and I'll call it a night. Pick up some Thai takeaway and a six-pack, check out what's on pay-per-view, and then bed. Alone. He sighed. Bed alone had been happening too frequently lately. If he ever got a few days off he definitely intended to do something about that. All he could do for the moment, however, was take in some night air to revive him and plug away for the hour he'd promised himself.
Chase flung open the double door and stepped out onto the balcony. The New Jersey night was crisp and the night cloudless; he took a deep breath and felt life flood back into his body. A few moments of deep breathing and he felt enough energy come back to allow maybe an hour's more work.
Make it half an hour, he thought expansively. Skive off a bit early tonight and make up the difference tomorrow. I could even-
A soft groan sounded from somewhere in the still night. Thoughts of home, food, and sex fled as Chase's medical training kicked in. The groan came again.
Wilson's office, directly to the left of him. He hadn't noticed the door to the oncologist's office before, but now he realized it was open and the pained sound was coming from within. Chase quickly jumped the low wall between House's office and Wilson's, heading for the open door as a series of harsh gasps reached him.
Chase hurried to the door and stuck his head in, already running through emergency medical procedures for various accidents and illnesses. Chase knew that many colleagues were at first tempted to dismiss him as a pretty boy who had glided through med school under the aegis of the rich and formidable Dr. Rowan Chase, but the misguided quickly found that the younger Dr. Chase had a sharp mind lurking behind big blue eyes and the sheet of choirboy-blonde hair. Fast and decisive in a crisis, he often left the doubting colleagues in the dust with the speed and accuracy of his treatments.
And If something's happened to Dr. Wilson I'd fucking well better do everything right or House will have me.
"Dr. Wilson, are you okay?" dried up in his throat, along with all saliva.
Wilson was lying on his couch, naked, eyes closed, head thrown back. Kneeling beside him was House himself, mouth attached to his lover's left nipple, hands rubbing slow circles on the oncologist's quivering belly.
"Oh God, Greg, yes," Wilson whispered hoarsely, arching into the touch.
Chase's sharp mind had blown a tie rod. Greg??? Since when does Wilson call House by his first name? In his shock, this piece of minutiae was the only thing he could comprehend, so he seized on it. Even when he was shot and bleeding everywhere Wilson called him House. Everyone calls him House. They-Jesus Christ, they're having it off right here in front of me!
House chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that Chase would never have thought him capable of. "I'm not God, Jimmy, but you'll think I am in a minute." Slowly, gently, he moved lower, planting his hands between Wilson's thighs and his lips to Wilson's abdomen. House's mouth danced across the slick skin, exploring, tasting.
Chase's breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded in his chest. Go! he ordered, panicked. Get out before they see you! His mind screamed for him to escape, but his body didn't want to obey.
House and Wilson-everyone knew about them, or thought they knew. Best friends, always together, more important to each other than the women they dated. Or married. House's single-minded campaign to separate Wilson from any woman who came close to him was a legendary topic of gossip around the hospital, as was Wilson's persistent devotion in spite of House's miserable mood changes and abrasive personality. Chase himself had made many a speculative comment to his co-workers, but this-
Chase swallowed convulsively, frozen in place, as Wilson twined his hands in House's hair, tugging restlessly. "Shit, Greg, do something!" he begged. "You're driving me crazy."
House lifted his head and grinned. "No one does that better." He rubbed circles on Wilson's legs, avoiding the bulge between them. Wilson hissed and arched his hips. House gave another low chuckle. "No one does you better, do they?" He dipped down to lick Wilson's belly button.
"No, God no!" came the fevered reply. "You're the best. Please."
House moved down, kissing Wilson's right hipbone. "I'm the best, but am I the only one, Jimmy?"
"You know you are." Soft, pleading.
Chase's breath hitched and suddenly his jeans seemed too tight. A throbbing started somewhere in his lower belly and spread downward. I'm not enjoying this! The bulge in his jeans said otherwise. Fuck, I'm turned on by watching House do Wilson! What the hell is wrong with me?
He'd always recognized, along with everyone else, that Wilson was attractive, not to mention one of the only people Chase had ever met who was honestly as dedicated and compassionateas he seemed. Patients loved him, co-workers loved him, and the man who held everyone else in the world in contempt loved him most of all.
House, on the other hand...the man was handsome, no denying that, but his toxic personality and cutting tongue always knocked Chase off balance. Once or twice Chase had thought about reaching out to House, trying to get close, but the diagnostician's fierce displays of his lightning intellect always scared him off in the end. The younger doctor was afraid of being judged and deemed unworthy of his attention.
What had brought these two opposite forces together? More important, what kept them together? Silently, mesmerized by both the question and the scene as they related to each other, Chase dared moved a step closer, angling for a better view, still half-hidden by the wall.
"Now, Greg! God, now, please!" Wilson's voice was soft and strangled, choked with heat and desire.
House abandoned all pretense of teasing and took the young doctor in his mouth. Wilson's hands left his hair and clutched the sides of the couch instead, opening and closing convulsively in rhythm with House's smooth, practiced movements.
Chase's breathing came faster, in synch with Wilson's harsh panting. He watched as Wilson muttered incoherently, then cried out sharply and arched his back. He slumped onto the couch and lay there limp and sated.
Chase turned to make a silent retreat when Wilson's voice stopped him.
"Why do you always ask me that?" Wilson's soft voice, still slightly out of breath. "You know you're the only one. You know that."
House looked up into his lover's eyes and said nothing.
"Come here." Wilson sat up and tugged at House's hair, pulling the older man's head against his chest. They sat like that, quiet and content, while Chase studied them. The moonlight from the cloudless night streamed in the window and he could see them clearly. If either opened his eyes he'd be able to see Chase as well, but Chase took an extra moment to study them.
Wilson had a small smile on his face as he stroked the silver-streaked hair of the man he held to his chest. He looked sleepy and content. And House...Chase struggled to think of what it was, and then realized that this was House without the ever-present defenses with which he punished the rest of the world. Everyone in the world but the man holding him. Relaxed, without pain, without barriers, House looked ten years younger and-
-happy. Chase realized that only Wilson had seen House like this in years, maybe ever.
God, they're beautiful together! The thought came and Chase smiled, suddenly understanding that this was the answer to his earlier question.
He moved away from the door and slipped back into House's office, unseen. He thought he'd long ago buried the feelings that had surfaced tonight. After he'd had to leave seminary school he thought he'd left the reason for fleeing behind him. Now, thinking about what Wilson and House had together, he wondered if it was time to stop running.