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They’re lying on the couch together, and Chase is already fighting off sleep even though the sun is still out. House is nursing a beer and pressing play on the film he’s been talking about watching together for days.
Wrapped up in House’s left arm, tucked neat and snug between his side and the back of the couch, Chase is warm and comfortable and just the feeling of being pressed up against House from head to toe is turning him on a bit.
His eyes slip shut, and the film begins to play, and then…
Bloodcurdling screams emit from the TV’s speakers, shocking Chase awake with his heart beating straight out of his chest. House is smiling only enough to tell him this was on purpose. Chase pouts as he settles back in, sighing.
Then he sees the title flicker on the screen.
Third Tormention: Vampyr.
This time when Chase attempts to bolt upright to gape at House, he’s already one step ahead and locking Chase down against his chest, kicking his good leg over Chase’s for extra security.
Chase is flushing hotter than he possibly ever has.
“House,” he says. “House.”
“Shh, I’m watching a movie.”
“You can’t– Turn it– House!”
At some point in their grapple for the remote, House presses the pause button and regards him with something like contempt. “What?”
“This is. This is snuff.”
“It’s not snuff if it’s not real.”
Chase stammers, “But. Well, yeah, but.”
“But what? It’s Halloween in a few weeks, right?”
“...It’s August.”
“Well, when in Rome, watch the damn movie.”
For a few seconds he actually starts to convince himself that House has forgotten his very embarrassing and awful admission. He gets really close to believing it, to feeling that sweet relief, and then House ruins it by saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, is this your porn?”
Chase loses the battle, and House presses play.
They’re at the part where the vaguely goth twink is having his guts rearranged in a literal sense when House asks, far too casually, “What’s it like?” with a note of genuine curiosity that catches Chase’s attention.
Chase has not stopped feeling mortified, but he has taken a break from trying to run away. “Same as everything else,” he grumbles, cheek squished against House’s ribs. With House, the easiest path is the one of least resistance.
“I mean, is it just ‘cause he’s hot? Do you want to fuck him? Or is it the intestines, the blood? The screaming and crying?”
Chase’s tongue refuses to move for a long moment as he gathers himself. Hearing those words, in House’s voice, when he’s so close he can feel the vibrations as he speaks. Chase has two options and both are bad: He can stay completely still and wait for House to feel his growing erection, or he can jerk away now, making his condition obvious in the process.
He decides the former has a better chance of plausible deniability: It’s not the movie full of gross things that shouldn’t turn me on, and it’s not from you just listing off a bunch of horror-themed nouns–no, it’s just that we’re kind of close together!
Then House puts his hand in Chase’s hair, and Chase is watching the young man gasp and clutch his killer’s arms as he begs and makes sounds that are better suited to actual porn than a splatter film. And he considers where he is, who he is with, and how he’s lucky to be here. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to talk about it, since House obviously isn’t so put off by the concept that he’s…fucked in the head in this particular way. Or any of the other ways, for that matter.
“It’s all of it,” Chase admits, hiding his flushing face by tucking his head down. “It’s everything you said. I want him. I want to be him. I want to…”
He needs to stop talking.
“That’s disgusting,” House says, and Chase’s head snaps up. He searches House’s face for some kind of truth and all he finds there is curiosity and heat.
Chase squirms. His insides have gone all gooey and sticky, and his pants are on their way. “You have to stop. This isn’t–”
“You know,” he interrupts, patting his head lightly. “Abstinence-only prevents pregnancy, not orgasms.”
Chase doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead asking, “You’re really alright with this, aren’t you?”
House smiles again. “I think it’s sexy how perverted you are.”
“That’s almost more fucked up.”
“Almost,” House agrees. “Take out your penis.”
Chase resists his instinct to automatically fulfill House’s whims, and he puts up a good fight, but House’s signature move of breaking him down slowly until he is a useless puddle of sweat and nerves is unfortunately very effective.
Chase, however, also enjoys messing with House right back, and his most consistently effective form of retaliation is malicious compliance, so he thrusts his half-hard dick against House’s leg and moans lewdly, grasping at House like he’s a lot more far gone than he actually is.
“I really like this part,” Chase says, with another thrust and a truly pathetic whimpering sound that wasn’t entirely intentional. “You can see the tear form in his eye before it falls.” He grinds against House again, letting out a shuddering breath.
House pretends to be unaffected by his neediness, but he totally is. “Is it important to you that they actually look like they’re in pain?”
“Yes,” Chase breathes, his hips moving on their own now. “The really good actors– Ah– I can feel what they feel–”
“You’re actually getting off to this,” House observes.
“Didn’t believe me?”
House looks back at the TV. “Doesn’t matter now.”
Chase’s cock starts to burn from the heavy friction, so he relents and shamefully pulls himself out of his pants, grabbing and squeezing with his left hand. “House.”
“Yeah?”
“Would you do it for me?”
House is quiet for a moment. “Yes.”
“Fuck, please. Oh, fuck…”
He’s thinking about House’s hands carefully carving into his chest, reaching in and pulling open his ribcage, lifting out each organ and showing them to Chase. The blood smearing on his gloves, the squishy sounds of his visceral organs as House fondles them.
He’s thinking about the soft, slick, shiny things inside of him, shifted and splattered in House’s come. Smearing it all together and sewing him up.
He’s thinking about House watching him masturbate over a patient in the OR, while the patient’s body is pried open, encouraging him to bring himself off, talking him through it, admonishing him for being so disgusting and wrong and what would his father think if he knew his son was such a freak?
He’s thinking about House fucking him from behind as House struggles to hold all of his guts up, trying and failing to keep him together even as he takes him apart.
He’s thinking about seeing the bulge of House’s cock as it bottoms out inside of him, stretching his intestine to its limit, watching his cum fill him up.
Then House grabs his face and forces Chase’s mouth open, shoves the fingers of his right hand inside and pets his tongue, exploring slowly as he makes his way all the way back until he’s brushing past his tonsils. And now Chase can’t think about anything at all, nothing except that wide-eyed look of determined curiosity that he so often sees on House’s face.
Chase gives him a pleading look, fisting himself in sharp, needy strokes. He just needs that last push, that last intrusion into parts of him that are not supposed to be touched.
House feels around the back of his throat, his tonsils, his uvula, making him gag repeatedly, and then he flicks his eyes up to Chase’s. And the unbridled fascination in his expression, all for Chase, just for him–he presses in deeper, to the place where the epiglottis meets his larynx, and Chase is shooting ropes of cum onto House’s legs and the couch underneath them as he coughs and sputters and dryly retches onto House’s hand.
All he can do is breathe and sag against House’s body. House takes his fingers away and watches the saliva string along with them. His silence makes Chase panic, because now reality is crawling back into his brain, and it’s making a mess, reminding him that if anyone knew what he was into, he would lose his job, maybe even his license, and–
“Robert.”
Chase blinks up at him. “Yeah?”
“Stop thinking. Watch the movie.”