i spent three years driving around

“Tell me where you are, Chase.”

“I’m in your apartment.”

“Where, specifically?”

“In—the living room.  There’s a desk.  Cleared off.  I’m leaning over it.”

“What are you wearing?”

“My work clothes.  A striped shirt and brown khakis.  You took my tie and belt off earlier.”

“And where am I?”

“Sitting on the other side of the desk.  Watching me.”

“Good.  And how long have you been here for?”

“I don’t know, Dr. House.”

“Well, why don’t you?  The clock’s right there behind you.”

“I don’t have your permission to turn around.”

“Ah, very good.  If you’re curious, you’ve been bent over like that for the past forty-five minutes.  Does it seem longer to you?”

“No, Dr. House.”

“No?”

“I can wait as long as you want me to.”

“Are you mocking me, Chase?”

“N-no, Dr. House.  I wouldn’t—”

“Because you’ve been good so far.  Almost too good.  Like you’re planning to do something sudden and take me by surprise.”

“I swear, Dr. House, I’m not planning anything—”

“You may stop talking right now.”  House shifted in his chair, tapping his cane petulantly.  His eyes had turned down the hallway, to the bathroom that Chase hadn’t even noticed was occupied.  Water ran and a light switch clicked off.  “I think he’s finally ready.”

“He?”

There was a flash of movement, and only when Chase’s cheek started stinging did he realize House had actually slapped him across the face.  He blinked, catching his breath.  A strand of blond hair toppled into his shocked eyes.  His fingers curled defensively against the top of the darkly-stained desk.

“I told you,” House snapped, “no more talking.  Don’t make me remind you again.”

Chase shook his head in acquiescence, swallowing a stray whimper.  It hadn’t hurt that badly, really—it was flagrant but brief.  The annoyance in House’s eyes scathed him far worse.

Footsteps drifted toward him, but Chase clearly remembered House saying he was not to move in the slightest, so he kept his head hovering above the desk.  His neck had cramped awhile ago, screaming for relief, but he’d picked a spot on House’s neck to gaze at—eye contact wasn’t allowed, either—and clung to that the entire time.  He could feel his tight muscles trembling like faulty bridges.  It didn’t matter.  House had told him to stay still.

He didn’t need visual confirmation, though; Chase recognized the languid, professional tap of shoes almost immediately.

“Dr. Wilson.  The only man on the planet who takes forty-five minutes to shower and another thirty to blow-dry his hair.  Luckily you started before we got here.  Chase would have been waiting even longer for you.”

Chase forced himself to keep his eyes down.  A question wavered on his tongue, but he couldn’t decide whether or not it was worth the risk to ask.  Getting hit was one thing.  Getting hit in front of Dr. Wilson was another.

“Do you want to say something, Chase?” House asked lightly.

Chase nodded.  The tendons in his neck screeched.

“Keep it quick and concise.  Go.”

“Why is Dr. Wilson here?”

He wondered if House was smiling.  “Why?  Why don’t you tell him, Dr. Wilson?”

“Because Dr. House wants me here.”

“See?  That’s all the answer you need.”

“But Dr. Hou—”

Chase cringed at the freezing metal suddenly thrust under his chin, forced back against his neck and stifling air flow.  House hadn’t even bothered to move; he just shoved his cane out at him.  The handle was inordinately chilly.  Either House hadn’t been using it or his hands were completely devoid of heat.

“That’s twice, now, Chase.  You don’t get second chances here.  I might tolerate your screw-ups at work, but we’re not at work anymore, are we?”

“N—”

House pressed the cane’s handle firmly against his windpipe.  Chase’s gasp ripped off into nothing, his fingers flexing desperately against the desk.

“Nothing you have to say is ever worth anything, do you understand?  So shut your mouth until I tell you otherwise.”

Chase nodded, eyes glazing over rapidly.  The second the cane retreated, air rushing back to his lungs, his head collapsing between his arms and rested his forehead against the cool indifference of the desk.  A distinct, inky smell of pens pervaded his nose, mixing with the wood grains.  There was an odd invasion of sharp shampoo, too, and suddenly he became overwhelmingly aware of Wilson, whom he had not yet seen, but felt hovering somewhere behind him.  His tall shadow loomed, much less willowy than how Chase remembered from meetings at the hospital.  He wished the light wasn’t so distorted in the room.  When they entered the apartment after work, House had flicked on only one lamp.  It was much later now, the room’s growing dimness elbowing out the illuminating realm of lamplight.

“Chase.” House said the name offhandedly, like he was reading it from a list for the first time.  “Dr. Wilson told you why he’s here.  But he still doesn’t know why you’re here.  Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?”

Chase wanted to gesture in agreement but figured his quickening breaths answered for him.

“Tell him, Chase.  Tell Dr. Wilson why you’re here.”

“I’m—I’m here—because…”

He could hear the cane tapping irreverently on the floor.  It might as well have been chipping away at his spine.  Chase shuddered and wet his lips, words fleeing in foggy directions.

“Dr. Wilson, you may encourage him however you’d like.”

Chase hardly had time to interpret the words before he felt a firm hand pressing palm-down on his lower back.  He flinched, not expecting the contact, his balance thrown off and stiff body complaining of the unwelcome interference.  He sensed five fingers curling, capturing part of his shirt, wrinkling, wrinkling, bending closer.

The hot breath in his ear startled him twice as much.  Fingers kept massaging as Wilson hoarsely whispered tell me, Chase shivering when he felt a tongue’s wetness flicker across his earlobe on the l’s.

“I—I wanted him,” Chase managed quietly.

Wilson tugged up part of Chase’s shirt, so slowly that a protest never even formed in his head.  The air’s coolness was astounding, and Chase buried his head in his arms.

“Who did you want?”

“Dr. House.”

“You don’t want this?” Wilson fluttered his fingers across Chase’s revealed skin, not straying from that particular spot on his back.  Chase gasped and fidgeted at the long-awaited contact.  It belonged to the wrong hand, but his straining body was already reacting to the blunt fingernails, heated fingertips, the way touches scaled his spine before stopping far too abruptly.

A frustrated sigh wrought its way from his throat.  “Dr. Wilson…”

“What did he do to you, Chase?” House asked.

Chase glanced up momentarily, too embarrassed to let House see his eyes growing heavy-lidded already.  “Touched me.  My back.”

“Did you like that?”

“I want you, Dr. House.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Chase squirmed, humiliation competing with the heat rapidly pooling in his stomach and digressing centrally to his hips.  “Yes,” he whispered.

“This is your problem, Chase,” House said after a moment’s consideration.  Chase could see him, out of the corner of his eye, leaning regally back in his seat until his body was slanted sharply.  His hand ghosted languorous paths along his cane, which he spun every so often, still keeping it stabilized against the floor.  “Your problem is that you’d rather play both sides and lose your reputation, than to stick one side and risk defeat.”

House glanced above him momentarily.  Chase was wondering what look he exchanged with Wilson when he suddenly tossed his cane over Chase and back toward the other man.  It must have been a clean catch, because there was no clatter of it hitting the ground.

“By deciding to come here, you agreed to several things:  You would do as I said.  You would ask no questions except when allowed.  And you would finally pick a side.”

Chase tried breathing through his nose to keep himself steady, but there just wasn’t enough oxygen that way.

“Here are your choices.  I advise you to choose carefully.  There’s Dr. Wilson’s side, or there’s outside.  Either one.”

Chase risked glancing up into House’s face, ignoring the no eye-contact rule.  He silently hoped he looked pathetic enough for House not to lash out at him.

“B-but I want—”

“I’m not a choice for you,” House retorted.

“You said—”

“I promised you nothing.  Now shut up and deal with what you’ve got.  Dr. Wilson is ready to do everything I tell him to.  I can’t promise you’ll like all of it, but...” House’s voice trailed off as Chase lowered his eyes.  “Or you can leave right now and we’ll never mention this again.  Decide.”

Chase’s heartbeat raced dauntingly in his ears.  He shifted his legs slightly, embarrassed to find that his aroused body was already too invested in this for him to leave now.  It wasn’t a sense of dignity or courage that held him back.  Those were far too lofty for him to even consider.

“I’ll stay,” he murmured.  “I choose Dr. Wilson.”

Immediately, there was a raucous smacking sound as the cane thrashed his backside.  He tensed and barely stifled a scream.

“House—”

“I gave you fair warning.  And I gave Dr. Wilson permission earlier.”

Another hit, and Chase was biting his lip raw, trying to lose his face in his arms.  The stinging was terribly vibrant already, not at all helped by his cramped muscles.  A jolt of contorted pleasure accompanied the third strike.

He lost track soon after, wishing desperately someone would say something to drown out his wavering cries and nonsensical pleas.  House threatened him once for talking but let him go after the blows reached double-digits.

There came a strange, numb acceptance of pain after a while.  When Chase suddenly felt the cane stop and hands settle on his empty belt loops he tried to scoot away in sudden panic.  Instead, he only managed to rub himself up against the desk, face burning in shame at what a relief the pressure was, and how fervently he wanted House to be the one shoving his pants to the side and enclosing the throbbing heat within his long, limber hands.

“Dr. Wilson, take his pants off,” House instructed.  His voice had fallen much lower.  “Chase, be still.”

Chase whimpered as he felt the fabric being tugged down from his waist, past his thighs and shrinking penitently around his ankles.  Boxers went at the same time.  Exposed in the cool air, Chase sealed his eyes shut tightly and waited for the relentless smacks to continue.

“You may give me my cane back, Dr. Wilson,” House murmured.  Chase, trembling slightly from apprehension more than relief, heard the exchange from hand-to-hand but hadn’t cracked open his eyes.  His pale, burning skin would be bruised for weeks, he knew, and he tried hard to imagine that the red streaks were all from House, that he was the one looming behind him and making him beg for each assault.

House’s stern voice drifted back to him.  “Chase.  Open your eyes.”

He tried to obey, but Wilson had begun to massage his burning skin, moving from his back down to cup his ass.  Chase arched into the touch, moaning with little inhibition.

“Open your eyes and look at me.  Now.”

“Oh, god…” Chase inhaled sharply and pulled his gaze up.  The color of House’s eyes was almost incredulous to him, absorbing and consuming in combination with Wilson’s unexpected ministrations.

“What’s Dr. Wilson doing to you now?”

“He’s…oh, it feels…please, Dr. Wilson, don’t…”

“Chase.  Or I will make him hurt you again.”

“He’s touching my arse.  Fingers are—god, yes…”

House smirked and Chase gave himself over to the waves of pleasure, closing his eyes once more.  His hid his face within his arms, lips murmuring strings of half-words against his own skin.

“Do you think about me often, Chase?” House pried.

“Yes, Dr. House,” Chase tried breathlessly.  The worlds were muffled against his own skin and the desk.  Wilson ran a finger down the center, not entering but hinting.  “Oh, yes, please, Dr. House.”

“Tell me.  What do you imagine?”

“This,” Chase gasped.  “You—preparing me, talking me through it, making me do whatever you want—”

“Pretend it’s me,” House said, and his voice had become relentlessly husky, a tone Chase hadn’t heard before.  “Beg to me and I’ll tell Dr. Wilson what to do.”

Chase sobbed into his arms, shifting back again and again to Wilson for more contact.  “I want you in me now, I can’t wait any longer…”

House laughed, the sound disoriented in the stifling room, Chase encompassed by stirring contact and the overemphasis on every movement.

“You haven’t even been waiting that long.  I could drag this out for hours, Chase, until you’re ready to break.”

“I am breaking,” Chase cried.  His voice hitched and he dug his fingers into whatever he could find—which was nothing, only air and the evasive desk and the imagined feeling of clinging to House’s shoulders, his skin.  “Please, Dr. House, I need you.”

“It’s always about your needs, isn’t it, Chase?  Doesn’t matter who you have to backstab.  And now you think you deserve payment for treachery?”

Chase desperately raised his head again, unable to stop his legs from spreading wider, pleading, as Wilson made no commitments to slip inside him.  “W-what?”

“I come before you do, figuratively and literally,” House returned smugly.  Chase blinked his drowsy, lusting eyes at him, realizing only now that House was leaning even further back into the chair, legs spread wide and fingers deftly working open his button and zipper.  “Dr. Wilson.  You know your loyalties.”

Chase cried aloud when suddenly he was left alone.  Seeing Wilson glide unemotionally behind the desk, kneeling unquestioningly between House’s legs, he uttered a curse and squirmed in endless streams of worthless objections.

“Dr. House, no, please, let me—”

“Don’t sound so pathetic,” House snapped.  “You’re like—” He sighed in obvious relief as Wilson freed him from his constraints.  Chase had barely gotten a second-long look at him before Wilson was taking him in his mouth, House grabbing at his hair, far darker in the half-light, and groaning as rhythm was quickly established.

Chase tried to watch each slide of Wilson’s mouth and flick of tongue, but it was quickly becoming too painful for his own unrelieved pressure.  “Oh, god, Dr. House—”

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” House warned.  Chase saw his head falling back and yearned to catch his neck for him.  House’s hands deepened their strokes through Wilson’s hair before he closed his eyes again.  “You will wait, do you understand?”

“Yes, Dr. House, yes.”  He moaned into the desk, the sound echoing hollowly back at him.  He forced his aching body still until he felt his head cloud and nearly float away.  He was babbling without discretion now, not listening to House’s warnings to wait, to pick a side and stay there.  “Please, come for me, Dr. House, come on, I want you to—”

“Wilson—”

Chase felt something snap inside his chest, his tenor moan raveling seamlessly with House’s as the older man tumbled over the edge.  Chase didn’t even have the energy to check if Wilson swallowed, though he was certain he did.

“…are you still hard?” The voice drifted in from some unearthly realm, eons later.  “Chase, did you come yet?”

Chase lifted his head weakly from the desk, realizing he’d nearly blacked out from just watching.  No, he hadn’t been relieved yet.  He writhed against mere air and shook his head.  “Please…”

“Even begging gets old with you,” House muttered as Wilson rose from his knees and disappeared out of Chase’s vision again.  Chase vaguely heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down, but he was gazing with lustful despondence at House and hardly gave it a thought.  Only House could still sound disgruntled after sex.  Chase wanted to smile but lost it in a groan the second Wilson started to enter him, not bothering to waste time with the preliminary preparation for either Chase or himself.

He practically screamed into his arms, body clenching defensively.  “Dr. House, wait—”

“You don’t like that?  Dr. Wilson, stop right now.”

It felt like the world had suddenly dropped out from under him.  The emptiness was intense, but not nearly as much as House’s tiredly disappointed tone.

“No,” Chase gasped between clenched teeth.  He would not back down now.  House was challenging him, and he wouldn’t screw it up this time.  Not this time.  “That’s f-fine.  I want it, Dr. House.”

“No, it’s more than you can handle,” House sighed, flippant.  “Dr. Wilson, stop immediately.  Chase wasn’t ready for this.  He’s never ready for anything.”

“No!” Chase growled, shoving himself back before Wilson could pull out completely.  “Do it, Dr. Wilson.  Now—”

His own scream cut him short, and then it was one dry thrust after another, stringent pain mingling with harsh pleasure and Wilson’s fingers digging into his hips, and he wasn’t paying attention to anything anymore.  Except the desk beneath his head.  And how much he wished it was House’s skin, and he could’ve pressed his lips there, and when he was close he could have—

A rough pair of hands, callused and coarse, suddenly pinned his own down against the desk.  Chase forced himself to look up, finding House leaning so close their noses almost brushed.  He instinctively flexed his fingers just to brush House’s arm, and felt House unapologetically tighten the grip on his wrists, pale white turning red.

“How close are you, Chase?”

“So close—Dr. House, touch me—”

“No.  Dr. Wilson, don’t stop, but don’t touch him either.  Chase is going to imagine what I won’t give him.”

“Dr. House, please…” Chase bit back another scream as Wilson deepened each stroke.  The table vibrated from their rhythm, Chase gasping as he leaned in toward House, open-mouthed.

“I’m not going to kiss you, Chase.” House wrenched Chase’s hands closer to him, completely throwing off his precarious balance.  Chase’s chin smacked the desk, elbows splaying, and he turned his cheek against the wooden grains, struggling to breathe and speak without moaning incoherently.  House smirked.  “But I’m amused that you think I might.”

“Dr. House—” Chase shuddered as he felt House relinquish the grip on one of his wrists, and suddenly there was a hand weaving through his sweat-glistening hair, tugging slightly so his neck was bent back awkwardly.  Opening his eyes, Chase stared into House’s intense possession.  Chase wanted to touch Houses face but didn’t dare raise his hand.

“Harder, Dr. Wilson,” House murmured.  He dragged his thumb down the side of Chase’s cheek.  “I want to see his face, and he’s not going to last very long.”

 Chase slammed his eyes shut, exhaling “James!” in mid-cry.  In a blur, he lost himself and didn’t bother to think about how problematic cleaning the desk would be afterwards.  A few more movements within him followed until he felt the familiarity of Wilson groaning, stiffening and then coming over the edge, too, the warmth shooting off inside him.  Wilson frantically kissed his neck before sliding out and collapsing on the floor in exhaustion.  House said nothing, and Chase found his way, curled in Wilson’s arms.

*   *   *

Chase was still trembling minutes later, his blond hair mussed and looking garishly bright against his reddened, tear-streaked face.  Wrapping his arms around him, Wilson guided him off the floor, still cradling him against his chest.  He’d pulled up both their pants and assumed caretaking duties.  Stroking Chase’s cheek with a soothingly curled hand, Wilson ducked his head to clean the tears away with fluttering kisses.

“Shh, it’s all right, it’s all right.  Go clean up.  Bathroom’s at the end of the hall, on the right.  I’ll be in to help you in a second, okay?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

“I brought along some fresh clothes for you, too.  Those sweatpants you like?  And a t-shirt.”  He kissed his mouth tenderly, his lips lingering against the softly-pouted texture even while he spoke.  His tone was so gentle, it was almost inaudible.  “Can I get you anything else, Robert?”

“No, I’m fine.  Just want you.” Chase tightened his arms around Wilson’s shoulders before slowly drifting out of the embrace.  He smiled, giving a small, embarrassed laugh at his own tears.  He swiped the rest away with his badly-creased shirt sleeve.  “Thanks, James.  Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Chase turned and recovered himself slightly, as if remembering that House, their guest for the night, was staring at them analytically.

“Thank you, Dr. House.  For…everything.”

House gave a swift nod.  “That’s a hell of an imagination you have there.”

“It was a joint effort,” Chase mumbled, blushing.  He glanced back at Wilson once more, eyes brimming with words unvoiced, before he walked, stiff and gingerly, down the hallway.

House waited a few seconds until the bathroom door swung securely closed behind him. 

“‘Love you?’” House repeated with a mocking sneer.

Wilson rolled his eyes.  “What do you want?  He said it first.”

“He really has no idea, does he?”

“Shh, keep your voice down.  And why would he?  None of the others did.  And Chase isn’t exactly the brightest.”

House’s lips curled into a smirk.  “I thought I was the one who got to poke at him for his intellect—or lack thereof.”

Wilson waved a hand at the subject, moving around the desk so he stood in front of House, between his splayed knees.  “You managed to stay in character this time, at least.”

“Why shouldn’t I?  I was in charge this time.”

“You’re always in charge.”

“Quit complaining. It was the first time I was in charge with Chase.  Besides, you like it that way.”

Wilson chuckled, low and something House noticed sometimes—something a bit more predatory.  Wilson leaned down to him, sealing his grinning lips with a deep, nipping kiss.  House ran his fingers along Wilson’s smooth jawline before seizing his chin and slanting his face at an angle, so his tongue had greater access into the heat of Wilson’s convoluted mouth.

“Aren’t you glad we worked out a solution for cheating?” Wilson murmured as he pulled away.  His face was brazen, flushed more vigorously than even Chase’s had been.  “Sharing.”

“I believe that was my idea, too.  Just make sure the kid doesn’t get too attached.”

“Why?  You’re not worried about him, are you?”

“No.  But maybe I should be, for my sake.  You’ll have to end this one soon...”

“Another two weeks, I think we established,” Wilson shrugged.

“And you’ll do the whole breaking up thing, and then I’ll be the one who has to deal with him mourning the loss of his true love every work-day.  Told you to stay away from my fellows.” House feigned a glare at him.  “You bastard.”

Wilson smiled.  “Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”  

end (thank god)