Work Text:
Chase hasn’t seen his face this red in a long time. The blush extends from a splotchy pattern across his chest to the tips of his ears. He feels almost nauseous, from embarrassment or fear or shame–probably all three.
He doesn’t want to get his ears pierced, or he does, but he doesn’t want there to be evidence of it in his day-to-day, so he buys fake ones that pinch his earlobes. They’re just little dangly, pink flowers on a silver clasp, but against the wavy tips of his hair, it adds another element of realism to the whole look that makes it easier to forget he’s not actually a teenage girl.
He isn’t sure about the outfit, though. It looks really bad on him at first. Like a political cartoon making fun of feminists. So he makes some adjustments, like pulling the skirt up and tying the lace-trimmed camisole behind his back so it’s skin-tight around his upper torso. Then he gets the stockings pulled up. They flirt with the hem of the skirt, only held up by the way the trim digs into his thighs. He thinks he might be the ugliest girl in the world, but that’s not the point. House doesn’t want him to be a girl. House doesn’t care. He just wants to torture him for his own amusement and curiosity. So it doesn’t matter.
And, really, for Chase, he doesn’t want to care about anything, either. He wants to not think about anything at all except daddy’s cock.
Or, well, daddy’s fingers, since House’s cock probably hasn’t had a successful take-off in a decade.
Part of him secretly hopes that looking like a girl will make House hard. He just wants something more than what they’ve been doing. That’s part of why he’s indulging this fantasy in the first place; just trying to find something that works for both of them, since Chase has been the one getting all of the orgasms out of their arrangement so far.
And he really, desperately needs a real, hot, throbbing cock inside of him. For once. Just once. Or more than once. But he would settle for once.
Chase peers into the bathroom mirror to make sure his bottom half doesn’t look terrible, and he can see the bottom of his cheeks hanging out of the skirt, and he smiles to himself. Because he has a really nice ass, because House loves his ass, and because House having to see his ass hanging out of a skirt is going to piss him off, which will make whatever he intends to do to Chase as punishment even worse. Which means better.
He takes a few deep breaths and leaves the bathroom, slowly making his way to the front door to give House time to react. As predicted, House is none too pleased, but he doesn’t just yell at him. House stalks over, grabs him by the arm, and squeezes just a little too hard as he asks, “Where the hell do you think you’re going, young lady?”
Chase’s pulse races. He almost taps out. But then he thinks about how good he’s going to feel soon, and he waits, takes another breath. “Out with friends. ‘Scuse me.”
House takes hold of Chase’s face with one hand and shoves him against the door. And oh, that’s not good, because Chase is pretty sure House is actually angry, and it’s making Chase really hard, but also flighty, panic knotting in his chest even as his arousal deepens.
“You’re not going anywhere dressed like such a slut,” House spits, looking him up and down like he’s considering killing and eating him.
Chase feels suddenly, feverishly hot and his balls ache.
This was supposed to be about House.
Chase swallows air and stutters, garbled by the way House’s fingers are squishing his cheeks, “I-I think I am, actually, so…”
House continues to hold him firmly in place while his other hand brushes lightly against the fabric of Chase’s skirt. Chase shivers, squirming in his grasp.
“Turn around,” House says simply.
Chase gasps and tries to be convincingly resistant to the way House manhandles him while he’s being pressed up against the door face-first.
House slowly raises the skirt, leaning back to get a good look. Chase makes a humiliating sound in his anticipation of being slapped or touched or molested.
“You’re a disgusting, filthy little pervert,” House admonishes, and then he smacks Chase hard on his right cheek. Chase yelps, thrusting himself bodily against the door. “Trying to seduce your own father? You’ve got to try harder than this.”
Chase closes his eyes and focuses really hard on not giving in and begging House to fuck him.
“I pay for hookers who know how to put on make-up. You thought this would impress me? Make me so desperate I can’t help myself?”
Chase rests his forehead against the door as he pants. House knows that degrading him is effective, and he’s barely hanging on by a thread when House’s finger suddenly touches his back, between his shoulder blades.
“What the fuck is this?” he growls, pulls the strap, lets it thwack hard into Chase’s spine.
“Ah!”
“You think those mosquito bites you call tits need lingerie–?”
Another sharp flick of elastic makes Chase yelp, “Fuck!”
House doesn’t give him a solitary second to think before he spanks him again. “Watch your pretty little mouth.”
“Sorry…” Chase grumbles, squeezing his legs together. “Sorry, daddy…” He grimaces inwardly at the words even as his dick twitches in his panties. The shame feeds the arousal, the arousal belittles him, on and on.
“Stupid virgin–” House stops speaking, and very possibly breathing as well, as his finger swipes against the base of the anal plug currently sitting in Chase’s rectum.
Chase shivers at the minute pressure, pushing back his hips for more, hissing, “Shit, please. God. Please.”
“Thought you were going out with friends?”
“I am!”
“Then what’s…” He pushes on the plug. “This?”
Chase keens, his knees buckling. House angles it, presses harder and holds it there on the perfect spot, and Chase makes sounds like he’s just set his hand on a hot stove and hasn’t learned his lesson.
And then the pressure is gone, and so is House’s attention.
Chase is surprisingly okay with this; he just needs to take a second to breathe and mentally freak out and– House wraps his hand around Chase’s mouth, his other arm tucking around his waist, and drags him to the couch. He’s tossed onto it like a sack of potatoes, jostling the plug in such a way that he screams, fully screams with his whole chest uncontrollably. He claps a hand over his mouth and stares up at House, heart racing, hot bolts of pain and pleasure still twitching through his body.
“Bet you’ve never felt that before,” House says, amused, flipping the skirt off of Chase’s lap to gawk at the white cotton underwear with lace around the sides and hem. Then House rolls his eyes. “Red bra, white panties?”
Chase struggles to speak. House is lightly swiping and fingering and poking everywhere except his dick, which is hard to miss as it pokes out the top, flushed and slick with precum. “You’re an asshole,” he grits out eventually.
“Watch your tone, little girl.”
“Or what?”
House grins, pushes the end of the plug again, over and over at a punishing pace that makes Chase feel like his insides are aflame until:
“OhmygodpleaseI’mgonnaahfuckhhh–!”
“Pathetic.”
“Auh… Ah.. Killing me…”
“Can’t even last two minutes…”
Chase covers his face with his hands as he gasps for air and trembles. Eventually he says, quiet and a little scared, “...Did you get hard?”
House squeezes Chase’s sensitive cock and plops down beside him. “Maybe next time, kid.”