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The First Stage
by BlueGemEyes
He sees it. He sees it in his face. Like Stacy before him...desperation. He wants so badly to hang on, to make this work, but it doesn't work that way.
He remembers how Stacy was at the end. She went through the three stages of stress. Chase shows every indication of heading down that path too.
Stage #1: Denial
Chase refuses to believe it's over.
He walks through the halls of PPTH, a semblance of his old smile pasted on his face. Whenever someone asks him how he's doing (always with that damn concern in their eyes, always!), he talks over them, or makes his excuses to be elsewhere. Because if he stuck around, pretty soon the questions would become "So...how are things with Dr. House?"
And he can't handle that right now.
So he pretends there is no problem, they never had that fight about House admitting they were together...that he never called House a bitter and scared old man.
Now, both of them walk on eggshells around each other. They're exceedingly polite and formal, and they haven't had sex in at least two weeks. Chase was feeling really sexually frustrated, masturbation can only satisfy you for so long. House didn't look uncomfortable at all, Chase suspected he's been hiring more hookers than usual lately. But he preferred not to think about it.
It wasn't as though he hadn't seen this coming, tension between him and House had been building for months. It all had to come to a head sometime. He just wishes...he wishes it didn't have to end this way.
`No' he thought, shaking his head, as if doing so could rid it of all the negative thoughts building up inside it. `No, that's not going to happen. House and I are fine. I can fix this.'
And so he tried. But as week after week wore on, it became more and more difficult for him to deny that everything he loved was crumbling around him. Finally, as week four rolled around, he decided to try what every other desperate lover has tried since the beginning of time: He decided to try to make House jealous.
Sleeping with Cameron was a last resort, but he figured, if it would get House interested, even in that selfish, possessive way of his, then it was worth it. House noticed, of course, but said nothing. Only the slight tightening of his jaw gave away that he might be angry at all.
Later that night, as Chase was preparing to go home, House cornered him in the conference room.
"What the fuck was that all about?!" demanded House, pinning Chase to the wall with his cane.
"What was what all about?!" Chase asked, genuinely confused. He was also a little worried about the cane, it was starting to hinder his breathing a little.
"You. Sleeping with Cameron" House replied stiffly. "I'll grant you the fact that she was high, but still...why?"
Chase sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, which he always did with increased frequency when he was nervous.
Like right now.
"Like you said, she was high...and I can only go so long without sex, House, seeing as how you won't give me any." He glared fiercely at House, or as fiercely as he could, seeing as how there was a cane cutting off his windpipe.
House smirked, and applied a bit more pressure to Chase's throat. "I wasn't aware you still thought of me that way, Robbie. Or I would've done something sooner."
"You wouldn't have done a damn thing, you son of a bitch" Chase growled, still managing to sound angry, despite only being able to fill his lungs halfway.
"Your trachea sounds like it's collapsed partway, Robbie" House observed mockingly. "And you still haven't explained why you slept with Ms. Perfect while she was high as a kite."
Chase rolled his eyes, and raked his fingers through his hair again. "I went over there because she'd agreed to have a drink with me, and the next thing I know, she's telling me not to turn into the `good guy' on her...the next morning, I woke up in her bed." He looked down at the floor.
House stared at him intently. "That's not the only reason." Chase snapped his head up, opening his mouth to protest. House pressed his cane down still harder, making speech impossible now. He continued as if nothing had happened. "You had another reason, and I think I know what it is." Chase stared at him, his blue eyes huge. "You wanted to make me jealous. Am I right, Robbie?"
Chase made an unintelligible sound, and several hand movements which seemed to say `I'd answer you, but your cane is crushing my windpipe and speech is kind of impossible for me right now, you bastard.'
House eased up the pressure a little bit, and Chase took a shallow breath. He coughed and tried to speak. When he realized he could, the first thing he said was "House, you fucking bastard! Was there a point to crushing my trachea until I almost blacked out?!"
House simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say `Is there ever a point with me?'
"Right then" Chase muttered, massaging his throat. "Is the cane to my throat really necessary?" he added, turning pleading eyes on House. House just looked at him. "What do I have to do, beg?!"
A conniving look crept onto House's face, and suddenly Chase wished he'd never said that. "Yes..." he said slowly. "You do. On your knees, to boot. You want your next breath? I want you to beg for it." Chase just looked at him. "You wanna kiss the sky, gotta learn how to kneel. On your knees, boy" House sang softly.
Chase would have objected, except for the fact that he was becoming slightly lightheaded from lack of oxygen. He sighed, knowing it would be better to just comply than to try to fight House off-for being rather lean and wiry, he was much stronger than he looked.
He lowered himself onto his knees, never taking his eyes off House. "How do you want me to beg, Master?" he asked sarcastically, but still taking care to voice the capital `M'.
House smirked, quite evilly this time. "I want you to suck me off."
TBC
A/N: Ha ha, cliffhanger!!! But the second part is already in the works, there might even be a third, if I can wrangle it! Comments are my crack...thanks for reading this far!
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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