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Pillow Talk
by Lex
PILLOW TALK
"You," said House huskily, as he trailed his fingers lightly over Chase's upturned face, "are so beautiful."
"House!" Chase protested, tugging at a lock of House's hair reprovingly. "'Beautiful' is for girls. I'm not a girl!"
"No," smirked House, feeling the insistent push of Chase's hardening cock against his thigh. "No argument there."
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
"What are you thinking about?" Chase asked curiously, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at House.
Silence. House's eyes remained closed. There was no sign that he'd heard Chase's question.
"House?" Chase poked him in the shoulder and said, "I know you're not asleep yet." Another poke.
House exhaled and resignedly opened one blue eye. "What?" he grumbled.
The blond grinned. "You heard me. I asked what you're thinking about."
House slipped the pillow from behind his head and covered his face with it. "I am trying ... trying ... to sleep," he said slowly and with great deliberation, the intended effect of which was somewhat diminished, being muffled by the pillow. "I'm an old man and a cripple; you wore me out."
"Ha!" Chase snorted. "What bollocks! You've got more stamina than I do ... as you're constantly reminding me." He reflexively pushed back the gold bangs falling over his forehead and waited expectantly for House's response. When none came, Chase rolled his eyes and tried to pull the pillow away from the older man's face, but House quickly grabbed it and a little tug-of-war ensued.
At last, the diagnostician, realizing that sleep was a lost cause at the moment, groaned and gave up. House shoved the pillow at Chase, sat up, and glared. "What are you bugging me about?" he snapped.
Chase, unintimidated and now visibly pissed off, glared right back. "Idiot that I am, I wanted to know how you felt after mak - after fucking me," he sharply replied. "I asked you what you were thinking about." Neither the question nor Chase's voice retained any of their original tender intimacy; Chase sounded like an angry prosecuting attorney.
"Cuddy's breasts."
"What?"
"You asked what I was thinking about. I was thinking about Cuddy's breasts. She wore a really low-cut shirt today, and ..."
"You're a real bastard."
"Ok, ok. I was actually thinking about that case we had last week, and what a moronic attempt you made at a diagnosis. Now can you stop the stupid chatter and go to sleep?" And House exasperatedly flopped down on the bed and turned on to his side, his back to Chase. Seconds passed, with no response, no detectable movement from the Australian. House felt increasingly uncomfortable; try as he might to lie still, his uneasiness grew. Insidiously, the suspicion took hold that his treatment of Chase was ... well, questionable, to say the least. Jesus. Would he ever learn when to shut up? Would he ever stop screwing things up? And why wasn't the kid saying anything? Why wasn't he lying down, or even stomping off to sleep on the couch, or moving at all? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. House felt his stomach muscles tighten, and his fists clenched involuntarily. He found himself counting the seconds - how long could the kid stay so fucking still?
Finally, House had to turn around ... and whatever words were on the tip of his tongue died there. His lover - his love - was still sitting beside him, legs tangled in the sheet, House's pillow on his lap, and his young face pale, stricken, and forlorn. Yet he met House's eyes unhesitatingly from behind a curtain of blond hair, and his chin had the stubborn tilt with which House had become familiar, and which he secretly found heartstoppingly endearing. The older man found himself dropping his own eyes, unable to meet the boy's hurt, yet unflinching gaze.
"Chase ..." House's voice trailed off. "Robert." His heart was pounding as he gently brushed the hair back from Chase's pretty eyes, reverently ran his thumb over the boy's temptingly full bottom lip. "I'm ... sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a ... what is it that you British say? A real arse."
This drew a small, reluctant smile from the blond. "Australian," he said, "and, yes, you are."
House felt relief overwhelm him; he hadn't fucked things up beyond recovery. "Ask me again," he whispered.
Chase gave a bitter little laugh. "No way," he answered, his accent thicker than usual.
"Baby ... baby," House breathed. "Please. Ask me again. I swear I'll tell you the truth. I promise." And the one he loved recognized the intensity and the honesty behind House's words. So, trustingly, yet a bit shyly, Chase began to repeat his question - but he never finished. For House's mouth had covered his, House's tongue had stopped Chase's own, and House's arms had drawn him into a tight embrace.
"You want to know?" House's breath tickled the boy's ear. "You want to know what I was thinking?"
Chase's head fell back, smooth neck arching deliciously under House's lips, long eyelashes fluttering helplessly, mouth half-open and gasping softly. "Tell me," he tried to say.
House rested his dark head against Chase's fair one and drew him close. House knew he loved this boy, and he knew that Chase was worthy of his love, would be a creature to hold House's heart - so House told the truth:
"I was thinking how sexy you look when you come. I was thinking that I want to be the only one to see that sex-drugged expression on your pretty face, the only one whose name you whisper, then moan, then finally scream. I was thinking how many times during the workday I remember how my cock looks sliding into your sweet mouth, and how your cock pulses against my tongue when I suck you off. I was thinking of how often I have to stop myself from grabbing that tight little ass of yours because we're at work, and how I get off seeing in your eyes that you want to do the same to me. I was thinking that I could kiss you forever. I was thinking that you'd better stop that nurse in the Clinical Unit from flirting with you before I stop her. I was thinking that you're mine. I was thinking that I'm yours. I was thinking of your tongue in my ear, of my hand on your stomach, of your fingers in my mouth. I was thinking that I know you love me ... I know you love me. I was thinking that I love you, too. I was thinking that I'd never, never, no matter what, let myself tell you what I was thinking." House flipped the speechless Chase on to his back, slid his body over the Australian's, and grinned mischievously. "Ok?"
Chase's eyes were as round as saucers.
"I mean it, you know." House was serious.
"I know," replied Chase quietly ... then suddenly gave an impudent grin. "Just what I'd hoped you'd say ..." Then, as House's mouth touched his, and House's hands pulled him close, "Just what I hoped you'd do ..."
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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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