(no subject)
Title: The Change
Author: Rachel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: violence, sexy time, swearing, being mean to Chase. Also, not yet beta'd...at all.
Chase only wanted to be tied up.
Nevertheless, Wilson felt that a safe word was needed. He didn’t have much experience in this sort of thing, but it seemed only appropriate in this sort of…situation. His last wife, she hadn’t been interested in, well, that sort of thing, she just liked to do it, and that was that.
But Chase wanted to be tied up.
And Wilson, feeling particularly excited at the prospect of something so new, had readily agreed.
His life was going wrong, going wrong in such a horrible way that his frustration had finally reached the point of needing release. Something had to change. And so he had found Chase, so young, so willing and eager, so different from coming home everyday to a wife, so different from coming back to an empty hotel room to think bitterly of how House had screwed him this time. Chase was change.
“Erm, Wilson? Are you all right?”
“What-oh. Right. Yeah, I’m all right, I just drifted off is all.”
Chase smiled back, a little uneasily, and shifted in his chair. Wilson was sitting on the hotel bed, his shoes still on, while Chase stared at him somewhat anxiously.
“I was just wondering…you know, what you wanted the safe word to be. We’ve been thinking about it for too…for a while.”
“What do people normally use?”
Chase shrugged and slouched further back in his chair, quickly losing some of his anxiety to boredom. “Different things. We could…well, if we really can’t think of anything, we could just use ‘safe word’ as our safe word.” Chase gave a small grin, almost a bit shyly, and Wilson felt compelled to force a smile back for him.
“Sure. That sounds fine, Chase.”
Chase blushed slightly at Wilson using his name. Wilson was surprised that someone who had so boldly propositioned a superior now was embarrassed just by the use of a name. It made Wilson feel slightly excited, though he wasn’t sure why.
They sat in silence for a while, maybe even over a minute, Wilson feeling a little unsure and particularly embarrassed, until he cleared his throat loudly and suggested, “Why don’t we go to the bar first?”
Chase, who had tensed up during the long period of quiet, grinned in relief, his whole body relaxing. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Wilson couldn’t help but smile in return. “All right.”
* * * * *
They had gotten to their fourth round, and Wilson was feeling fairly tipsy. Chase was looking sexier by the minute, now laughing freely and allowing his hair to slip into his eyes. They had given in and gotten a pitcher finally, and Chase was pouring it unsteadily into his glass, allowing it to splash over the sides and even spilling some onto the table as he went to pour Wilson another glass. Wilson had to laugh at him, and Chase didn’t seem to mind being laughed at. He was drunk enough to practically be giggling.
“And so,” Chase said, sounding as if he were making an announcement, even going so far as to hold his glass up. Chase had, to the best of his ability, suppressed his laughter enough to make a straight face that was still twitching with the desire to giggle again. Automatically, Wilson did the same, also raising his glass and trying to play serious. “To us! To the ones that betrayed House.”
Wilson felt his stomach lurch a little, and the urge for laughter stopped. He felt his brow furrow, his face sink. Chase, he could see, was peering at him inquisitively, his glass still half-raised, questioning. He looked at Chase. The one who had betrayed House before. He knew what it was, what it was like. It wasn’t so bad. The bruise on Chase’s face was fading now, the brand of what it was to disagree with House about anything. Wilson could feel the alcohol burning, a fire in his stomach, and his anger grew. Chase didn’t deserved to be punched. And he…well, he didn’t deserve any of this. It wasn’t his fault. He had done what was right. And even if he hadn’t, House had deserved it. After all he’d done. He gave a small smile. Fuck House. Fuck him.
“Cheers,” Wilson agreed, clinking glasses with Chase. They chugged their fifth glasses in silence, finishing the bitter toast to go on to a better round.
Chase poured them another two glasses, now pouring a good deal of beer over the table as he tried to do so. Wilson ignored it, this time not laughing over it, just vaguely annoyed that Chase was wasting the alcohol. He wondered if House would be angry when he found out about what he and Chase were doing. About what he was about to do to Chase. Tying him up and…Wilson smiled, and Chase, not sure of what Wilson was smiling about but still too drunkenly happy to care, smiled readily back. Wilson couldn’t help it, he reached over and fluffed Chase’s hair, and Chase laughed again, sloshing his beer over the sides of the glass as he did.
“You…you’re drunk,” Chase told him.
Wilson laughed, “So are you.”
“I’m going to get some water. Be right back.” Chase got up, slamming his glass down on the table so beer slopped over the sides, and left. Wilson watched him go, waiting at the bar to order his drink. A pretty girl, one who was ten years younger than he was, maybe even Chase’s age, came over to Chase. He felt the burning in his stomach again. Chase turned to her, smiling still, indiscriminate. She was saying something, and Chase was laughing, moving closer. Unable to stand it anymore, Wilson got up, grabbing Chase by the arm and dragging him from the bar and back into the hotel lobby. He stalked towards the elevator and Chase stumbled to keep up.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wilson hissed, not wanting to draw attention.
“I…what? What do you mean? Why are you so upset?”
“You were flirting with that girl!”
“So?” Chase said, sounding confused, even hurt. “She came up to me. I wasn’t going to do anything. Just…talking.”
The elevator dinged and they got on. Chase was looking worriedly at Wilson, and Wilson suddenly felt ridiculous for being upset. Chase wasn’t his property. He didn’t even care for Chase that much. He had just been so worried that Chase would leave him for that girl, that he’d…
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
They got off the elevator and walked toward their room. Wilson began to fear that the chemistry they had just had only a few minutes ago, before, goddammit, before he’d ruined everything by getting angry and defensive. He grabbed Chase by the upper arm again, and this time, instead of dragging Chase from the room, he kissed him, hard, shoving him against the wall and digging his fingers into Chase’s flesh. Chase was too surprised to respond for a moment, but when he did, he kissed back equally hard, drunk, forcing his tongue into Wilson’s mouth and grabbing Wilson by the waist of his jeans.
“Come on,” Wilson whispered, steering Chase by the same arm, the one he was still clutching tightly, as if Chase would escape to the girl again, to the room. He forced the door open, swearing under his breath as he drunkenly fumbled with the key, and threw Chase toward the bed.
Chase, for someone Wilson had assumed to be so experienced with his talk of being tied up and safe words and this and that, looked surprised and even a little scared of Wilson. “Are we going to…?”
Wilson ignored him, figuring that there wasn’t enough of a question there to answer, and grabbed Chase again, this time wrapping his arms around Chase so that Chase’s body was forced against his own. Chase was warm and small, he tasted like beer. They fell onto the bed together, Chase still in Wilson’s grip, kissing. Chase struggled a bit, trying to wrench his way free from under Wilson, but Wilson refused, still holding him, pinning him.
Finally, Wilson let him go to stand up, and Chase went immediately to undo Wilson’s pants, sliding them down Wilson’s legs along with the boxers. Wilson’s cock, already hard, poked out from under his shirt, and Chase gave a small drunken laugh at this. Annoyed, Wilson took him from the back of the head, his hand gripping Chase’s hair, and forced him close, and Chase obliged and took Wilson deep into his mouth. Chase was too drunk for the finer points of giving a blowjob, and Wilson was too drunk to care, instead content to force Chase’s head along his shaft.
“I’ll tie you up,” Wilson said, so aroused now that it was painful, he almost just wanted it done. Chase stopped and began to unbutton Wilson’s shirt, his hands fumbling over the buttons. When he was done, Wilson realized, to his annoyance, that he was naked while Chase was still fully clothed. He ripped off Chase’s pants, his T-shirt, his boxers, his socks, and then forced Chase, both hands pressed against his chest, onto the bed. Unable to think very well, he found the first tie he could, a red one his wife had given him last Christmas, not that it mattered now, and came back over to Chase. He stared for a minute, Chase lying naked on his back, waiting. Then he climbed onto the bed until he was straddling Chase’s chest, the tie gripped in both of his hands. Chase eyed him excitedly, no, not staring at him, staring at the tie. Fine. It didn’t matter.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked Chase. “On your back?”
“I…yes. Like this.”
“OK.” Wilson grabbed Chase’s wrists, both lying limply at his sides, and brought them to the headboard, securing them there tightly with the tie. Chase tested the restraints, struggling faintly against the tie, and stopped when they were to the liking. “Good?” Chase nodded slightly.
Wilson grabbed Chase’s hair again, forcing his head back so that the two men locked eyes for a few seconds. Then Wilson forced his cock into Chase’s mouth.
Chase must not have been expecting it, he choked slightly, but he didn’t protest, allowing Wilson to thrust into his mouth while flicking his tongue over Wilson’s head when he could. Wilson couldn’t take anymore. He grabbed the lubricant Chase had bought and placed on the night table, and slicked two of his fingers. Chase had closed his eyes, and Wilson wondered, almost angrily, if he were thinking of someone else. In revenge, his jabbed his lubricated fingers roughly into Chase, causing Chase to cry out, his face clenched and his eyes still shut.
“Jesus,” he said, but he didn’t say anything more. Wilson found Chase’s prostate and rubbed it a few times, and Chase began to moan with pleasure. He couldn’t take it anymore. He removed his fingers and lubricated himself. After he had slipped on a condom, he put Chase’s ankles on his shoulders and, in the same quick fashion, forced himself into Chase.
This time, Chase did more than just cry out. He must have hurt him, for Chase groaned and strained his wrists from within their binds. Wilson stared at him guiltily, holding still and using one hand to brush the sweaty strands of hair from out of Chase’s face. “Are you all right?”
Chase gave him a smile and let out a shaky breath. “I’m…I’m OK.”
Wilson came closer, contorting Chase’s body, and began thrusting. He ignored the cock that Chase was struggling to the best of his ability to rub against Wilson’s stomach.
All of a sudden, as he thrust in and out of Chase, he remembered what Chase had said in the bar, about betraying House. He felt angry. He hadn’t betrayed House like Chase had. Chase had tried to save his job. Wilson was just trying to save House. That was all he was trying to do. Chase was a weasel, a betraying little weasel, a stupid kid. He wasn’t anything like that.
He imagined House, so angry with him, and tried to remember how he had treated Chase, when Chase had been the betrayer. He…he had forgiven Chase. He’d let him keep his job. Why had he…?
“Did you let House fuck you?” Wilson spat angrily. He didn’t stop thrusting, and the question didn’t quite seem to register with Chase, so Wilson repeated, “Did you let House fuck you like this?”
Chase opened his eyes, still gasping a little with every thrust, and managed, painting, “Wh-no. Of course not. I-no!”
Wilson thrust harder. Chase’s knuckles were white, clutching at the tie. “Then why did he forgive you? After you betrayed him, why did he forgive you?” Chase was staring at Wilson in horror, his eyes wide. “Answer me!” Wilson yelled, his face now even closer to Chase’s, and he thrust hard to punctuate his command. Chase whimpered, and the noise annoyed Wilson, so childish, but it also reminded him of what he was doing, and he pulled his face back, not wanting to scare Chase.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Just tell me Chase,” Wilson said, his voice now calm. He’d stopped thrusting and was just staring at Chase, waiting. He gave a kind look, hoping that Chase would realize that he was still the understanding older doctor.
“I never…I never did anything with House! I wouldn’t! Please, Dr. Wilson, I…”
“OK, Chase, it’s OK,” Wilson said softly. He began to thrust again.
“I didn’t do anything with House,” Chase said again. He looked almost angry.
“I don’t care.”
“I didn’t, Wilson! Would you listen to me? I’ve never touched him. I never want to!”
Wilson started to thrust harder, wanting to be done, to send Chase away.
“Stop it! I didn’t do it, Wilson!”
“Shut up!”
“No! I didn’t! Why aren’t you listening to me! Wilson, I-Jesus Christ! Safe word! I’m using the bloody safe word!”
“I told you that I believe you!”
“Fuck you!”
Wilson thrust harder, and came hard into Chase, grabbing at the sheets of the bed.
He lay there, on top of Chase for a minute, listening to Chase’s rapid heartbeat and harsh panting. “Could you untie me now?”
Wilson did.
Chase rubbed his wrists, red where the bounds had been, and sat up. Wilson noticed that Chase hadn’t orgasmed. It made him feel badly enough to look away.
“I didn’t sleep with House.”
Wilson looked away, ashamed now that he realized what he had done to Chase. He wanted to apologize, but his throat caught, and he couldn’t say anything.
“You’re a bastard. A fucking bastard.” Chase scrambled to find his clothes, jerking his shirt on as he found it under the blanket and struggling into his boxers and pants. Wilson found his socks and offered them to him, hoping to reconcile, but Chase snatched them from his hand and turned away, sitting down to pull them on. Wilson sat to watch him, the guilt eating him. Chase finished putting his socks on, stopped for a second, and then looked right at Wilson. “You’re both the same. Both of you.” He stood up to find his shoes. “Fucking bastards.” He put his shoes on and grabbed his bag from the ground. Wilson took the lubricant from the nightstand and handed it to Chase, this time looking at the ground.
Chase stuffed it in his bag, swearing under his breath, and opened the door. He looked back at Wilson, but Wilson couldn’t meet his eye, still looking at the floor. He wanted to badly to apologize to explain himself, even to hug Chase, to have him laugh again, to run his hand softly over Chase’s bruise and tell him that everything would work out. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“I’ll get a cab.” Chase waited, his expression softening somewhat as he and Wilson stared at each other. He was expecting exactly what Wilson wanted to give. Things could work out. Wilson tried to make his words come out, but the apology was stuck somewhere. “Fuck this,” Chase said.
“Robert, I-” But Chase had slammed the door shut.
Author: Rachel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Warnings: violence, sexy time, swearing, being mean to Chase. Also, not yet beta'd...at all.
Chase only wanted to be tied up.
Nevertheless, Wilson felt that a safe word was needed. He didn’t have much experience in this sort of thing, but it seemed only appropriate in this sort of…situation. His last wife, she hadn’t been interested in, well, that sort of thing, she just liked to do it, and that was that.
But Chase wanted to be tied up.
And Wilson, feeling particularly excited at the prospect of something so new, had readily agreed.
His life was going wrong, going wrong in such a horrible way that his frustration had finally reached the point of needing release. Something had to change. And so he had found Chase, so young, so willing and eager, so different from coming home everyday to a wife, so different from coming back to an empty hotel room to think bitterly of how House had screwed him this time. Chase was change.
“Erm, Wilson? Are you all right?”
“What-oh. Right. Yeah, I’m all right, I just drifted off is all.”
Chase smiled back, a little uneasily, and shifted in his chair. Wilson was sitting on the hotel bed, his shoes still on, while Chase stared at him somewhat anxiously.
“I was just wondering…you know, what you wanted the safe word to be. We’ve been thinking about it for too…for a while.”
“What do people normally use?”
Chase shrugged and slouched further back in his chair, quickly losing some of his anxiety to boredom. “Different things. We could…well, if we really can’t think of anything, we could just use ‘safe word’ as our safe word.” Chase gave a small grin, almost a bit shyly, and Wilson felt compelled to force a smile back for him.
“Sure. That sounds fine, Chase.”
Chase blushed slightly at Wilson using his name. Wilson was surprised that someone who had so boldly propositioned a superior now was embarrassed just by the use of a name. It made Wilson feel slightly excited, though he wasn’t sure why.
They sat in silence for a while, maybe even over a minute, Wilson feeling a little unsure and particularly embarrassed, until he cleared his throat loudly and suggested, “Why don’t we go to the bar first?”
Chase, who had tensed up during the long period of quiet, grinned in relief, his whole body relaxing. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Wilson couldn’t help but smile in return. “All right.”
* * * * *
They had gotten to their fourth round, and Wilson was feeling fairly tipsy. Chase was looking sexier by the minute, now laughing freely and allowing his hair to slip into his eyes. They had given in and gotten a pitcher finally, and Chase was pouring it unsteadily into his glass, allowing it to splash over the sides and even spilling some onto the table as he went to pour Wilson another glass. Wilson had to laugh at him, and Chase didn’t seem to mind being laughed at. He was drunk enough to practically be giggling.
“And so,” Chase said, sounding as if he were making an announcement, even going so far as to hold his glass up. Chase had, to the best of his ability, suppressed his laughter enough to make a straight face that was still twitching with the desire to giggle again. Automatically, Wilson did the same, also raising his glass and trying to play serious. “To us! To the ones that betrayed House.”
Wilson felt his stomach lurch a little, and the urge for laughter stopped. He felt his brow furrow, his face sink. Chase, he could see, was peering at him inquisitively, his glass still half-raised, questioning. He looked at Chase. The one who had betrayed House before. He knew what it was, what it was like. It wasn’t so bad. The bruise on Chase’s face was fading now, the brand of what it was to disagree with House about anything. Wilson could feel the alcohol burning, a fire in his stomach, and his anger grew. Chase didn’t deserved to be punched. And he…well, he didn’t deserve any of this. It wasn’t his fault. He had done what was right. And even if he hadn’t, House had deserved it. After all he’d done. He gave a small smile. Fuck House. Fuck him.
“Cheers,” Wilson agreed, clinking glasses with Chase. They chugged their fifth glasses in silence, finishing the bitter toast to go on to a better round.
Chase poured them another two glasses, now pouring a good deal of beer over the table as he tried to do so. Wilson ignored it, this time not laughing over it, just vaguely annoyed that Chase was wasting the alcohol. He wondered if House would be angry when he found out about what he and Chase were doing. About what he was about to do to Chase. Tying him up and…Wilson smiled, and Chase, not sure of what Wilson was smiling about but still too drunkenly happy to care, smiled readily back. Wilson couldn’t help it, he reached over and fluffed Chase’s hair, and Chase laughed again, sloshing his beer over the sides of the glass as he did.
“You…you’re drunk,” Chase told him.
Wilson laughed, “So are you.”
“I’m going to get some water. Be right back.” Chase got up, slamming his glass down on the table so beer slopped over the sides, and left. Wilson watched him go, waiting at the bar to order his drink. A pretty girl, one who was ten years younger than he was, maybe even Chase’s age, came over to Chase. He felt the burning in his stomach again. Chase turned to her, smiling still, indiscriminate. She was saying something, and Chase was laughing, moving closer. Unable to stand it anymore, Wilson got up, grabbing Chase by the arm and dragging him from the bar and back into the hotel lobby. He stalked towards the elevator and Chase stumbled to keep up.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Wilson hissed, not wanting to draw attention.
“I…what? What do you mean? Why are you so upset?”
“You were flirting with that girl!”
“So?” Chase said, sounding confused, even hurt. “She came up to me. I wasn’t going to do anything. Just…talking.”
The elevator dinged and they got on. Chase was looking worriedly at Wilson, and Wilson suddenly felt ridiculous for being upset. Chase wasn’t his property. He didn’t even care for Chase that much. He had just been so worried that Chase would leave him for that girl, that he’d…
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
They got off the elevator and walked toward their room. Wilson began to fear that the chemistry they had just had only a few minutes ago, before, goddammit, before he’d ruined everything by getting angry and defensive. He grabbed Chase by the upper arm again, and this time, instead of dragging Chase from the room, he kissed him, hard, shoving him against the wall and digging his fingers into Chase’s flesh. Chase was too surprised to respond for a moment, but when he did, he kissed back equally hard, drunk, forcing his tongue into Wilson’s mouth and grabbing Wilson by the waist of his jeans.
“Come on,” Wilson whispered, steering Chase by the same arm, the one he was still clutching tightly, as if Chase would escape to the girl again, to the room. He forced the door open, swearing under his breath as he drunkenly fumbled with the key, and threw Chase toward the bed.
Chase, for someone Wilson had assumed to be so experienced with his talk of being tied up and safe words and this and that, looked surprised and even a little scared of Wilson. “Are we going to…?”
Wilson ignored him, figuring that there wasn’t enough of a question there to answer, and grabbed Chase again, this time wrapping his arms around Chase so that Chase’s body was forced against his own. Chase was warm and small, he tasted like beer. They fell onto the bed together, Chase still in Wilson’s grip, kissing. Chase struggled a bit, trying to wrench his way free from under Wilson, but Wilson refused, still holding him, pinning him.
Finally, Wilson let him go to stand up, and Chase went immediately to undo Wilson’s pants, sliding them down Wilson’s legs along with the boxers. Wilson’s cock, already hard, poked out from under his shirt, and Chase gave a small drunken laugh at this. Annoyed, Wilson took him from the back of the head, his hand gripping Chase’s hair, and forced him close, and Chase obliged and took Wilson deep into his mouth. Chase was too drunk for the finer points of giving a blowjob, and Wilson was too drunk to care, instead content to force Chase’s head along his shaft.
“I’ll tie you up,” Wilson said, so aroused now that it was painful, he almost just wanted it done. Chase stopped and began to unbutton Wilson’s shirt, his hands fumbling over the buttons. When he was done, Wilson realized, to his annoyance, that he was naked while Chase was still fully clothed. He ripped off Chase’s pants, his T-shirt, his boxers, his socks, and then forced Chase, both hands pressed against his chest, onto the bed. Unable to think very well, he found the first tie he could, a red one his wife had given him last Christmas, not that it mattered now, and came back over to Chase. He stared for a minute, Chase lying naked on his back, waiting. Then he climbed onto the bed until he was straddling Chase’s chest, the tie gripped in both of his hands. Chase eyed him excitedly, no, not staring at him, staring at the tie. Fine. It didn’t matter.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked Chase. “On your back?”
“I…yes. Like this.”
“OK.” Wilson grabbed Chase’s wrists, both lying limply at his sides, and brought them to the headboard, securing them there tightly with the tie. Chase tested the restraints, struggling faintly against the tie, and stopped when they were to the liking. “Good?” Chase nodded slightly.
Wilson grabbed Chase’s hair again, forcing his head back so that the two men locked eyes for a few seconds. Then Wilson forced his cock into Chase’s mouth.
Chase must not have been expecting it, he choked slightly, but he didn’t protest, allowing Wilson to thrust into his mouth while flicking his tongue over Wilson’s head when he could. Wilson couldn’t take anymore. He grabbed the lubricant Chase had bought and placed on the night table, and slicked two of his fingers. Chase had closed his eyes, and Wilson wondered, almost angrily, if he were thinking of someone else. In revenge, his jabbed his lubricated fingers roughly into Chase, causing Chase to cry out, his face clenched and his eyes still shut.
“Jesus,” he said, but he didn’t say anything more. Wilson found Chase’s prostate and rubbed it a few times, and Chase began to moan with pleasure. He couldn’t take it anymore. He removed his fingers and lubricated himself. After he had slipped on a condom, he put Chase’s ankles on his shoulders and, in the same quick fashion, forced himself into Chase.
This time, Chase did more than just cry out. He must have hurt him, for Chase groaned and strained his wrists from within their binds. Wilson stared at him guiltily, holding still and using one hand to brush the sweaty strands of hair from out of Chase’s face. “Are you all right?”
Chase gave him a smile and let out a shaky breath. “I’m…I’m OK.”
Wilson came closer, contorting Chase’s body, and began thrusting. He ignored the cock that Chase was struggling to the best of his ability to rub against Wilson’s stomach.
All of a sudden, as he thrust in and out of Chase, he remembered what Chase had said in the bar, about betraying House. He felt angry. He hadn’t betrayed House like Chase had. Chase had tried to save his job. Wilson was just trying to save House. That was all he was trying to do. Chase was a weasel, a betraying little weasel, a stupid kid. He wasn’t anything like that.
He imagined House, so angry with him, and tried to remember how he had treated Chase, when Chase had been the betrayer. He…he had forgiven Chase. He’d let him keep his job. Why had he…?
“Did you let House fuck you?” Wilson spat angrily. He didn’t stop thrusting, and the question didn’t quite seem to register with Chase, so Wilson repeated, “Did you let House fuck you like this?”
Chase opened his eyes, still gasping a little with every thrust, and managed, painting, “Wh-no. Of course not. I-no!”
Wilson thrust harder. Chase’s knuckles were white, clutching at the tie. “Then why did he forgive you? After you betrayed him, why did he forgive you?” Chase was staring at Wilson in horror, his eyes wide. “Answer me!” Wilson yelled, his face now even closer to Chase’s, and he thrust hard to punctuate his command. Chase whimpered, and the noise annoyed Wilson, so childish, but it also reminded him of what he was doing, and he pulled his face back, not wanting to scare Chase.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Just tell me Chase,” Wilson said, his voice now calm. He’d stopped thrusting and was just staring at Chase, waiting. He gave a kind look, hoping that Chase would realize that he was still the understanding older doctor.
“I never…I never did anything with House! I wouldn’t! Please, Dr. Wilson, I…”
“OK, Chase, it’s OK,” Wilson said softly. He began to thrust again.
“I didn’t do anything with House,” Chase said again. He looked almost angry.
“I don’t care.”
“I didn’t, Wilson! Would you listen to me? I’ve never touched him. I never want to!”
Wilson started to thrust harder, wanting to be done, to send Chase away.
“Stop it! I didn’t do it, Wilson!”
“Shut up!”
“No! I didn’t! Why aren’t you listening to me! Wilson, I-Jesus Christ! Safe word! I’m using the bloody safe word!”
“I told you that I believe you!”
“Fuck you!”
Wilson thrust harder, and came hard into Chase, grabbing at the sheets of the bed.
He lay there, on top of Chase for a minute, listening to Chase’s rapid heartbeat and harsh panting. “Could you untie me now?”
Wilson did.
Chase rubbed his wrists, red where the bounds had been, and sat up. Wilson noticed that Chase hadn’t orgasmed. It made him feel badly enough to look away.
“I didn’t sleep with House.”
Wilson looked away, ashamed now that he realized what he had done to Chase. He wanted to apologize, but his throat caught, and he couldn’t say anything.
“You’re a bastard. A fucking bastard.” Chase scrambled to find his clothes, jerking his shirt on as he found it under the blanket and struggling into his boxers and pants. Wilson found his socks and offered them to him, hoping to reconcile, but Chase snatched them from his hand and turned away, sitting down to pull them on. Wilson sat to watch him, the guilt eating him. Chase finished putting his socks on, stopped for a second, and then looked right at Wilson. “You’re both the same. Both of you.” He stood up to find his shoes. “Fucking bastards.” He put his shoes on and grabbed his bag from the ground. Wilson took the lubricant from the nightstand and handed it to Chase, this time looking at the ground.
Chase stuffed it in his bag, swearing under his breath, and opened the door. He looked back at Wilson, but Wilson couldn’t meet his eye, still looking at the floor. He wanted to badly to apologize to explain himself, even to hug Chase, to have him laugh again, to run his hand softly over Chase’s bruise and tell him that everything would work out. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“I’ll get a cab.” Chase waited, his expression softening somewhat as he and Wilson stared at each other. He was expecting exactly what Wilson wanted to give. Things could work out. Wilson tried to make his words come out, but the apology was stuck somewhere. “Fuck this,” Chase said.
“Robert, I-” But Chase had slammed the door shut.