Are we roleplaying? Am I you? I don't want to be you.

"So, did you guys ever…?" Chase asked.

Wilson was intoxicated past the point of embarrassment. The offer of 'a drink after work' had turned into four or five. "We used to," he said.

"Used to?" Chase leaned across the table and grabbed a napkin, mopping up the condensation rings left by his cold beer.

"It…we stopped." Wilson leaned back in his chair, leaning his head against the wall.

Chase raised his bottle to his lips and took a drink. "Why?"

Wilson shrugged, looking down into his lap. "Dunno. Do you guys ever…?"

Chase laughed. "No, he doesn't…did you think we were?"

Wilson shrugged again. "I figured he had to be sleeping with someone."

"Why?"

Wilson laughed and swallowed the last of his drink. "I dunno."

Later, when they were outside Chase's apartment door, when they were kissing, when Chase was fumbling with a key and a stuck door, he asked, "Does he kiss?"

"What?"

The door finally opened and they stumbled inside, their bodies too close together. Wilson stepped between Chase's feet. Chase circled around him, breaking the dance.

"House," Chase said, closing the door behind them. "Does he kiss?"

The light was bright as he followed Chase's overly casual walk into the kitchen. The table was covered with breakfast dishes, papers and unopened mail. Wilson walked up to it, noting its odd fit, like it had been bought for a bigger home. He stood looking down at the table for a moment, sweeping his eyes over several newspapers.

Chase touched his neck and he turned around.

"Well…" Chase asked.

"Well?"

"Does he kiss?"

Wilson nodded as Chase ran his hands under Wilson's coat, squeezed Wilson's shoulders, pushing the coat to the floor.

"How?"

"How does he kiss?" Wilson clarified. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it made his stomach lurch.

"Yeah."

"Depends," Wilson said.

"Show me."

Wilson looked into Chase's face for maybe the first time that night. Eyes open and earnest, lips slightly parted. Wilson sank his hand into Chase's hair. "If he doesn't have something to lean on it's like this," he said, then pulled Chase towards him in a rough open mouthed kiss.

When they parted, Chase gasped and his eyes slid closed. Wilson fluttered his fingers.

"If he has something to lean on, like a table or a wall," Wilson said, leaning back against the table, "it's like this." He grabbed Chase's tie, pulling him off balance and then catching him around his back, grabbing him close into another hard kiss.

"Like that?" Chase asked, eyes still closed.

"Not quite. He has a cane."

Chase swallowed loudly. "And he uses it?"

"Against your back, to pull you closer, sometimes. And even if you're close enough you feel it, here." Wilson made a fist and jammed it into Chase's side, the other hand finding a similar spot on the other side and laying a steadying hand. "Sometimes down your leg."

Chase flushed as he spoke. "Does he fuck hard?"

Now was Wilson's turn to gulp. He took a breath and looked to the floor. "Yes."

Chase ran off for a moment, giving Wilson enough time to assemble his racing thoughts. When Chase reappeared it was with hands clutching the tools of the trade and missing his expensive dress shirt.

"Show me," Chase said, and Wilson sidestepped his embrace, pushing him face first into the kitchen table.

There was foreplay and the fumbling of belt buckles and prep work, and Wilson said some dirty words in a voice a little lower then his own, but once Wilson was in, really in all the way, and his eyes closed, it didn't matter. Because he had lied.

He wasn't playing House's part. Chase was.

With his eyes closed, Wilson saw House just like House liked it, wriggling and sweaty, making little moaning sounds in the back of his throat. He saw House arching back into him to take every thrust, and nobody ever had to know about this did they? He'd painted a reasonable picture of a rough, hot, believable encounter and Chase never had to know, never had to guess. He saw House's hands twitching on the table, except it was on Wilson's desk and they were making love in the middle of a boring afternoon.

Chase moaned and Wilson shut his eyes tighter, as if it would block out everything but the sensation of a body underneath him. He conjured up the sound of House's grunt and gasp and played them over and over in his mind.

When he came, he bit his tongue to keep from yelling a name. Respect, he supposed, though he wasn't sure for who. Wilson pulled away, sinking to the ground and letting Chase finish in his own hand. As he caught his breath and listened to Chase groan, he stared down at his knees and his pants bunched around his ankles, wondering how he'd gotten there.

"Oh wow," Chase said, leaning forward across the kitchen table.

"Yeah." Wilson pulled the latex away and dropped it to the floor. He swooned slightly as he stood, shaking his head to clear the dizziness.

"That was…" Chase said.

"Yeah." Wilson buttoned his fly.

Chase straightened, stepping out of his jeans as he crossed the room. The hand he put on Wilson's arm felt far too hot and Wilson flinched from the touch. Chase either didn't notice or pretended not to.

"Want to stay the night?" Chase asked.

Wilson swallowed. "Can't. Early meeting."

They made small talk as Chase walked him to the door. Wilson assured him he was alright to drive and stepped into the hallway, giving a slight smile when Chase hid behind the door, only his face sticking out.

"Maybe next time you'll make it to the bedroom," Chase said.

Wilson nodded, aware he should have laughed. The door closed.

Later, in his bed at the hotel, he had a nightmare he couldn't remember and woke drenched in sweat.