038--Touch
Title:Absolution
Fandom:House, MD
Characters:Eric Foreman/Robert Chase
Prompt:038 Touch
Word Count: 560
Rating: R
Author's Notes:Chase never knew how to accept a caress. He always expected pain instead.
Sighs. Gasps. Flat nails digging into his hips as a warm mouth closed around his cock. Heat. Lights. He feels his head going back, the room going hazy. Same nails making five little crescent-shaped indentations on each of his hips. Suddenly everything is floating and he's reached the peak, only to fall. The painful hands have turned into soothing caresses, rubbing away the angry welts. Foreman takes his hand and presses his lips to the center of the palm, an erotic mockery of a holy palmer's kiss. Chase still can't breathe, sweat sheening lightly over his blotched and blushing skin.
He pulls away now, dressing in boxers and an old t-shirt proclaiming his participation in some 5k. Foreman is still on his knees, one eyebrow arching up in a silent question. Chase knows the question. It's always the same. Why do you pull away? Truth is, he ignores it not because he doesn't know the answer but because he doesn't want to examine that part of himself any longer. It's gone, locked away with old bottles of gin and recommendation letters stamped with Rowan Chase, MD.
He can't handle the touch. When Foreman touches him, he's asking for nothing. Chase can't handle that.
She's reaching for him again, bottle broken and glass spread around her head in some cruel parody of the haloes Rob saw encircling the heads of saints in stained glass windows. Her hand closes painfully around his ankle as he stands there, looking down. She's bleeding and Rob mops it up with his school tie before going to find the First Aid kit he keeps stored under the bar. She's apologizing again, words soft and slurred by gin and crying.
"Robbie, so sorry. Give Mummy a kiss. Don't be angry again." Rob doesn't look at her as he clears away the glass. She grabs him again, the glass pressed to her fingers slicing his ankle through the dark uniform trousers and socks.
"Chase?" Chase has already slid into bed, careful to stay on his side. His knees are tucked under him as he curls around the pillow, back turned away from Foreman. Foreman exhales loudly, fingers making the perilous journey across the Egyptian cotton sheets to stroke Chase's hip. Chase pretends to be asleep.
His hands barely brush Rowan's as he passes him the rosary that had belonged to Elise. He found that it was easier to refer to his parents as Rowan and Elise: Dad and Mum made them like everyone else's parents. Calling them Dad and Mum was more of a compliment than they deserved. Rowan's fingers are cool, deft. He bows his head slightly, his lips forming the words of the mysteries as efficient as a priest's but with none of the fervor. Rob bows his own head, peering through his lashes to see Elise's ashen face and hands clutching a rosary that wasn't hers. This one was smooth, ebony and new...no longer the well-worn rosewood he knew so well. He reaches for his father one last time, only to be greeted with empty air. He's gone.
"Chase. Chase." Foreman is more insistent now, his chest pressed against the worn fabric stretched across Chase's back. He strokes the back of his neck, lips pressing slightly above cervical vertebra two. He whispers softly and Chase smiles and leans into the touch. He's there. He's home.
Whew. Angsty.