This story is not quite slash as I understand it… at least not yet. For now, call it guy-on-guy BDSM without a sexual component. For now.
In Merry Little Christmas, when House returns to the hospital towards the end to run into Wilson and steal the dead guy's pills: What if he ran into Chase instead – and Chase had a creative idea about how to help?
"House!" Chase rushed across the lobby and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I was just going to go looking for you."
"You've found me. Congratulations. Got pills?"
"No- I mean… look, we have to talk." He looked around quickly. "Two questions. One: how desperate are you? Cameron says-"
"Look at me."
Chase did; it was answer enough. "Understood. Second question, and please don't be insulted: I need to know how much of this is pain and withdrawal, and how much is… is you needing a fix." He dropped his eyes for the last bit.
There was a long silence. "I'm not looking for a joyride," House snapped at last. "I need help. If you've got so much as an anti-puking pill, cough it up."
"Thought so. Come on – your office. It's empty."
House followed him through a roundabout, loopy path that would keep them from running into Cuddy or Wilson or Foreman or Cameron. On the way, Chase handed him pills and warned, "Don't get excited – it's not Vicodin. I went upstairs and talked very nicely to the rehab people..."
"Let me guess: at the mere mention of my name, they immediately filled your pockets with enough methadone and pamphlets to tackle Saigon."
"Something like that." Chase was unapologetic. "This will help with the withdrawal… which is half your problem."
House didn't say anything else until they had made it to his office and locked the door behind them. "And the other half?" he prompted at last.
"Pain." Chase planted his feet apart and crossed his arms. "Cameron says you've been cutting."
"Yah. The endorphins-"
"I get it. I dated a masochist, remember?"
Another long, silent moment. House's lips twitched and he opened his mouth, but before he could speak he got distracted by the realization that he already felt enough better to be making snarky comments. Well… better wasn't quite the word. He felt slightly less sick unto death. "So…?"
"So I know that Cuddy and Wilson are both about half an inch from caving… and I'm thinking that if you had an actual diagnosis to bargain with – not to mention it could save the girl's life – it might push them over the edge. They can get you your pills, and you'll turn normal again, and then we can all, together, figure out how to get rid of that cop."
House's head ached with the effort of thinking. "But until they cave, we can't get me pills. And there's no way I can solve the dwarf feeling like this."
"I know. That's why I brought up the cutting." Chase went over to the blinds and closed them. "Drop your pants and bend over."
At first House just stared. Was he so sick he'd started hallucinating?
No… the way Chase was toying with the long fiberglass curtain rod was anything but idle. He still wouldn't turn to make eye contact… which was no surprise, after all – how the hell could you look at your boss with a straight face and say that?
House cleared his throat. "Um…"
"I know how to give you a beating that would feel good," Chase continued as he fiddled around detaching his weapon from its place on the wall. "I also know how to hit you hard enough to make that leg the least of your problems… which is probably more what you're after." Finally it came free, and he gave it an experimental swing through the air. It made a whoosh House could hear from across the room. "I can guarantee it'll do you better than the cutting, it's less dangerous, and it will be a hell of a lot less disabling than… oh, I don't know, breaking your hand. Not that you've ever done anything so stupid." House still hadn't moved, so he pressed: "All you'll have to show for it at the end of the day is a couple of welts on your behind. Do it – you'll be glad you did."
House's hands went slowly to his fly. "I'd be gladder if you were about to give me a shot of heroin in the butt," he said hopefully, but pushed his jeans down without further protest than that and turned to face his desk. "You know, if you delivered your diagnostic theories with half that much confidence, I'd probably listen to you a whole lot more."
"Quiet," Chase said shortly, stepping up beside him. "Brace your hands on the desk. Try not to make noise. This is what it will feel like:" He drew his arm back and swung the rod in a wide arc to land straight across House's butt cheeks.
A bright shocking flash of ow burst over him so fast that House straightened up with a gasp, clutching at his burning ass with both hands.
"Distracting enough for you?" Chase couldn't help sounding a little smug, even when House turned, face screwed up in pain, to shoot him a glare. "Let me know when you're ready."
"Ah hold on… … Okay. Yeah – do it again. Give me a whole bunch of them."
"You got it. Keep your hands out of the way."
Chase hated not being able to see what he was doing, but he knew he would really be pushing his luck if he asked his boss to remove the boxers too. He figured he would just do his best to remember where he was putting the hardest strokes, and try not to land them on top of each other.
He lay one hand over House's waistband to protect the tailbone, and started.
It had been a while since Chase had caned anybody, but he soon discovered he hadn't quite lost his touch. He would hit, wait for House to jerk and hiss, count out a few seconds for the pain to peak, and then hit again. He paused once he'd worked his way over the ass and halfway down the thighs – House was still cooperating brilliantly, but had begun breathing as hard as if he'd sprinted half a mile. "You okay?" He kept his voice brisk and professional, but couldn't help reaching out to pat and soothe the damage.
House nodded. "If I wasn't," he growled after a bit, "I would say something – like stop it, you freak."
"This may not be the best time to pick on me," Chase mused, swatting a little to prove his point.
"Fair enough. Now go over it all again. Mm…"
"But ease up?" Chase guessed. "I will. It's always worse when you land on a spot you've already gotten."
So Chase scooped up the rod and hit him, hard, and only afterwards asked, "Ready?"
"Jerk- ah-" This time around House squirmed and gasped things like fuck and ow and gripped the desk so hard his knuckles turned white – that second trip over his welted ass was pure mind-numbing agony. It occupied every particle of him until there was nothing, at all, but stroke after stroke after stroke.
Finally there was a pause. He came back to himself a little – he was shaking. He throbbed. His ears were buzzing but still he could hear himself whimpering… crying almost.
Chase didn't seem bothered. He put down the rod and began a firm, rhythmic spanking with his hand. "How's it feel?"
This was a new sensation and even though House was twitching with every blow, it was really registering as heat now rather than pain. He found he was arching into it instead of flinching away. "Feels good."
"Okay, good." Chase kept on. "In a minute you're going to count five more for me – hard ones with the stick. That should tide you over for a while, right?" House nodded but didn't say anything that could be construed as a suggestion to stop the spanking, so eventually Chase rolled his eyes and stopped on his own. "Enough break. Ready?"
House took a breath and bowed his head. "Okay, yeah – go."
It was probably the hardest stroke yet, and House heaved several breaths in and out before he managed to gasp: "One."
Chase put the second one a little lower and got a yelp. "…two…"
He waited a moment, then warned, "All right, here we go…" before hitting again.
That one was a doozie; House actually cried out, and slapped his hand wildly on the desk. "Fuck," he wheezed after a moment, "Ah fuck. Fuck! Three."
"Sorry," Chase said calmly, "Must have found a sore spot."
House gave a short agonized laugh. "You little bast- Tsss-" This time it surprised him into a hiss even though it wasn't nearly so bad. "Four."
He shifted on his feet, expecting Chase to really let loose on the last one.
Chase didn't disappoint, and House hardly managed to speak the word Five through his grit teeth.
"And we're done." But House hardly heard – he was too busy shivering in ecstasy at the cool hand on his thigh. "Sit down," Chase laughed, helping him hobble over to his chair with his pants still tripping him up. He gave him a moment to collect himself before asking: "How are you feeling?"
Endorphins were capering around inside him so enthusiastically that he almost didn't hear. "Ladies and gentleman, we have liftoff." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
"How's your leg?"
"What leg?" House asked happily, but even as he said it he could feel a dull little twinge there, the promise of pain to come…
Without chewing up a buttload of Vicodin, though, this was as good as it was going to get. He sat up and nodded. "It'll be eminently bearable for a while. Hopefully, long enough for us to get our patient back to Barnum & Bailey's where she belongs. Go round up the posse and bring 'em up here."
"You look better. They're going to ask if you've been stealing pills."
"I'll tell them I found Jesus," House tossed off, "And he healed me with a touch. If I forget any of the details, I'm sure a nice little altarboy like you can cover for me."
Chase rolled his eyes. "Pull up your damn pants," he ordered, not seeming to realize how much nerve he had just acquired. "And put that stick someplace – we're probably going to need it again."
House will cut himself and smash his bones to chase an endorphin rush, and we know he has no problem calling professionals for sex, so why on earth hasn't he tried out a dominatrix? Or has he, and I just somehow missed that episode?
Funny thing is, I had this in my head long before I saw Love Hurts and found out Chase really does have a bit of BDSM experience.
Anyhow: please leave feedback! And I'll post more to this, hopefully soon. (In case you were wondering, my other story-in-progress will eventually get attention as well, but this one for right now is more fun.)