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He Doesn't Look A Thing Like Jesus
by BlueGemEyes
Author's Notes: This picks up right where "The First Stage" left off, but this one won't make sense unless you've read that one already. And yeah, I know it's short, but I was trying to write it in between reviewing for finals, taking my finals, getting ready to move out, and dismantling my dorm room so I can go home on Dec. 15th! So, yeah...please read and review, and I'll love you forever!
Disclaimer: Not mine, but oh-so-lovely playthings to borrow when the need arises. XD Also, do not own "When You Were Young" by The Killers.
"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."
Chase blinked up at him. "Ex...cuse me? You've barely touched me, scratch that, barely looked at me for over a fortnight, and now you want a blowjob?!" This last word came out as a squeak because House was still pressing down on his throat.
"If you want your trachea to expand, then I suggest you do it" House said in a quiet, deadly voice that booked no argument.
Chase's eyes locked with House's icy blue glare. "And if I refuse?" he snarled.
House cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Right" Chase muttered. "What choice do I have?"
House smiled, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes. "The little wombat's wising up. Maybe you aren't totally stupid after all."
Chase rolled his eyes, swallowing hard. "Fine" he muttered. "You win."
"I always win" House replied, no trace of humor or sarcasm in his voice.
Chase reached out and started to undo House's jeans. He noted with a small measure of pride that his fingers were hardly shaking at all. He wasn't going to have House knowing how nervous he really was.
Or how excited he was becoming.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of House's boxers, playing with his cock, teasing it into a full erection.
"You might enjoy this a little bit more if my throat could expand all the way...hell, not even all the way, but definitely more than this" Chase gasped.
House raised an eyebrow. "You know how to deep throat? Why Robbie, maybe you did retain something from your seminary days. House smirked, and though the gesture positively reeked of mockery, he eased up enough to allow Chase to open his throat.
Chase worked his jaw a little, reveling in the sudden rush of oxygen to his lungs. Then, without warning, he swallowed House down to the root.
House generally prided himself on his self-control, but there really is no way to control yourself when you get hit with a sensation like that. Chase's mouth was hot and wet, his tongue slightly rough, and the suction was tugging his hips forward. He tangled his fingers in Chase's hair, pushing him even farther forward, if that were possible. Chase whimpered in response, reaching a hand into his jeans.
House stopped him. "I didn't say you could touch yourself, did I?" Chase let out a sound that was a cross between a moan and a snarl.
House twined his fingers in Chase's hair, forcing him to look up. "I'm in control, remember, wombat? Hands off." He then guided Chase's head back to his throbbing dick. Chase reluctantly took him into his mouth again, feeling extremely miserable for it.
House was close. His control was spiraling away from him, and he was just about to tell Chase to do that flicking thing again, when his pager went off. Both men groaned, but for different reasons.
House looked at the readout, then down at Chase. "We'll pick this up later wombat, shall we?" He smirked at Chase, one last time, and then he was gone.
Chase rocked back on his haunches, staring at the floor. God DAMMIT, he was gonna have a bad case of blue balls for awhile.
As he watched House limp off down the hallway, he couldn't help but think of a line from a song he'd heard on the radio this morning: "He doesn't look a thing like Jesus..."
Because all Chase has ever wanted...was someone to save him. And what's clear to him now, as his life spirals out of control, is that he can't even save himself.
TBC
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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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