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When Robert Chase first started working for House it was an interesting time. He tried to swallow back his nerves and excitement, tried to act like the more mature man he’d sold himself as, but the truth was he wasn’t. Dr Chase had wrapped up medical school quicker than most other doctors; he’d been praised as a prodigy, given an easier time due to the long shadow Rowan Chase cast over his life, his tutors favouring him with little subtlety.
He hadn’t wanted it though, he’d wanted to get somewhere on his own, a sharp rash decision led to him signing up to be an intensivist. The envisioned face of disappointment only fuelled his decision to keep on it, after all it was hardly the area expected on the spawn of the legendary Rowan Chase. If he’d stopped to analyse it, he’d probably realise an unhealthy number of his decisions were made on whether or not his father would approve.
So it would be that under the shocked stares of his peers, trying not to bounce with joy, he would accept an offer for drinks with his ethically dubious boss. A choice that would result in him fumbling in the poor light of House’s bedroom, perched in his lap, fingers slick and fumbling, reaching back and grasping a heavy cock, pushing back and fighting not to scream as the slight burn of discomfort turned to a fiery shot of pain as House thrust up in his impatient, before stilling with a strange look in his eyes. Robert panted at the foreign feeling, toes clenching rhythmically, hands trembling as he rested them against House’s chest, his muscles spasming. Rocking slowly, driving the pain back, then pushing up cautiously, before falling back, impaling himself fully once again, over and over. Then his rhythm faltering at a sudden bright burst of pleasure, before House’s hands grasped his hips, driving him and forcing him to move. Long fingers squeezing, guiding him up, through and over the blinding crescent, keeping him going through the shocks and spasms. Hips driving up now, pleading as pleasure began to twist into pain, until finally he felt that warm hot flood.
Pulling up, then dropping down beside him, he had no regrets, not even foregoing a condom as come slid out and cooled on his thighs. He let his exhaustion lead him into dreams, he would wash up in the morning, as House leered at him in the shower, before they yanked each other off, fast and nasty.
Time and again he’d go back to House, taking what he could get, never asking for more. It was sex, just sex, he told himself over and over. Just sex as House hired the pretty Alison Cameron. Just sex as he watched House flirt over and over, refusing to put a stop to it. Just sex as the compliments and encouragements dried up. Just sex as House let the new fellow Eric Foreman dig his teeth in with little restraint. Just sex as Rowan Chase wandered back in and House played them against each other. Just sex as House screamed at him, threatened his job, tore at him for one small mistake. Just sex his mantra in the face of it all.
Seeking just a few minutes of peace, he slipped out onto the balcony, shaking in frustration and unreleased anger. Turning to go back, he stilled at the slight faint moan, and unable to stop himself he softly treaded closer, close enough to see through the clear glass doors right into the office. His breath thrust out of him as he realised what he was seeing, Wilson braced against the desk as House rolled and thrust his hips behind him, both faces twisted and flushed with pleasure. Stumbling back, fingers sliding along the walls, guiding him back inside, then out and along, and further and further, until he fell into the room, hands grasping at a sink, finally able to breath, heart thundering. Just sex, just sex, just sex - words without comfort.
Staring back into the shocked red rimmed blue eyes, he shuddered, the senseless why floating through his head. He thought he’s long since escaped asking that. Why did his mother drink? Why did his father leave? Why wasn’t he enough to make her stop? Why? Unanswerable questions. Splashing himself, once, twice with a burst of cold water that quickly drove them back, pushed them far enough back to let him calm down.
House’s office was deserted when he returned, his gut twisting as he considered that he was still with Wilson. Turning away, he wanders along, stopping for a brief moment outside of their patient’s room, before quickly darting in, and begins to route through her bags, wrenching open draws, then stilling. Slowly pulling a bottle of Ipecac out, staring at it, his eyes glitter with the promise of revenge as he drops it into his pocket.
The walk to Vogler’s office seems to take forever, he fights not to fidget, not to act like he’s doing something he shouldn’t. He doesn’t dare look around in case someone sees it in his eyes, this means he doesn’t realise who’s upon him until they grasp his arm. Jerking round he stares into Wilson’s eyes, barely noticing what room he’s pulled into, until it hits him that he’s in his office.
Brown eyes spark with anger as hands shove him back against the desk, before thrusting into a pocket, searching for something. He sharply recovers, wrenching at the hands darting about his person, shoving Wilson back.
“Give it to me.” This isn’t the sweet Jimmy Wilson that House pays for being thanked; it’s the harsh Dr. Wilson who’s slept around on numerous girlfriends and wives. “What ever it is you’ve nabbed to hand over to Vogler, give it to me.”
“No.” For once in this whole affair it’s not a decision based on Rowan Chase’s reaction.
“This isn’t just about your job anymore; you’re putting everyone at risk. Now give it to me!” For a moment, Robert just wants to do it, hand it over. But as Wilson stands there, his tongue swipes along his lip, his bitten red lip.
“House fucked you.” No venom behind it, just stated, dumped out there.
“Is that it?” Wilson presses closer, forcing him back away till he feels the wall press against his back. “You’re going to risk everyone’s job because you’re jealous. Fucking hell Chase, it was just sex.” There’s nothing nice in the expression offered to him, Wilson’s mouth his twisted into a cruel smile. “I’m sure of you beg he’ll let you suck him.” A finger traces his lower lip.
He doesn’t think about it, it’s just a snap decision, and then Wilson is huddled at his feet, groaning from a swift knee to the groin, and he’s flying out of the room rushing down the corridor. He doesn’t stop until he’s outside Vogler’s office, looking around; he spots House, his eyes going wide as they make contact. Then he’s twisting the handle and darting inside as House begins to limp over, shutting the door behind him, and shutting out the shout of his name.
Slumping into a chair, he stares at the man opposite him; wonders if this would be considered therapy. It was just sex. He drops the bottle onto the desk.