bookgodess15

Worlds Away From Who I Was
Chapter 8

The sound of crying woke him up.

He forced his eyes open, feeling the heavy weight of sleep still upon him, refusing to pull away. The crying was high-pitched and piercing, making his head throb, and he tried to move past the pull of sleep to find the source of it—it was close, very close, and something was struggling in his arms like—

Natalie.

Chase blinked repeatedly, eyes widening with each one. Natalie. She was crying, something must be... He looked over to her monitors to see if she was crashing, but her stats were fine. A little elevated, but from the way she was squalling, that was to be expected. What else could it be? He pushed the blanket back and carefully picked her up, out of the blanket, but the surgical site looked like it was well on its way to healing. Her IV wasn't showing any blood, the circulation to her legs looked good...

Suppressing a groan as his head pounded, he pushed himself out of the chair (his back protested sharply) and moved towards Natalie's incubator. She continued to scream her head off, her arms flailing and her legs jerking about awkwardly.

He set her down and grabbed the stethoscope, quickly putting it on and placing the bell against her chest, trying to listen to her breathing sounds past the crying.

It sounded normal. From what he could hear.

He took the stethoscope away and slipped it around the back of his neck, backing away and resting his hands on the incubator wall, trying to think around his headache. What could be wrong? She might be hungry, but she was being fed intravenously, so that shouldn't...

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he muttered, but he went for the diaper anyway.

One strap, two strap, pull down—

Clear.

What was wrong, then?

She could be hungry, as she was due to be fed in—Chase glanced at his watch after he'd put the diaper back on—an hour or so, but there was nothing he could do about that. They didn't exactly leave orogastric tubes lying around. And it couldn't be constipation, because they weren't giving her anything more than formula... Right?

He grabbed her chart, eyes going to her diet.

Formula only until she was out of the incubator. So there was no way it was constipation.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He'd picked up babysitting jobs as a teenager, he'd worked under House for three years, and he'd worked in NICU for more hours than he cared to depress himself with by counting—he felt like he should be able to figure out what was wrong with her.

Natalie continued to cry in her incubator.

Chase sighed and went back to the chair he'd slept in, searching for clues.

Natalie's screams got—if it was possible—even louder, and his head throbbed sharply in response. He began to hear other babies start to whimper around her. Whose brilliant idea had it been to put fifty babies in the same room, anyway?

Muttering something unpleasant under his breath, Chase moved back to the incubator and grabbed Natalie's chart, flipping through for something that might give him a hint. Anything. Her pain meds had been reduced yesterday evening, but they hadn't ever been at levels high enough to cause a detox reaction, and there hadn't been any new meds, there had been no initial bad reaction to the reduction...

Okay, so it wasn't something pre-existing. That meant it was new, probably something environmental, but what...

"C'mon," he muttered, picking Natalie up again, and—

It stopped.

Well, it didn't stop exactly, but almost immediately her screams quieted to whimpers.

Chase was so surprised that he stopped mid-step and nearly tripped. Blinking, he stared down at Natalie, who was burying her face into his scrubs, grabbing at them with one of her hands—the whimpers were dying down to sniffling little breaths, and it seemed like seconds later that she was sleeping.

He stared.

"What the fuck?" he breathed.

Yeah, this was why he was never having kids.

oOo

Chase had enough time before pre-rounds with the interns to sneak over to the ER and bagel-bribe the nurse into telling him Cameron's work schedule for today, which told him that Cameron would be in from this evening until tomorrow at five. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do about their relationship—he knew that he didn't want to break up with her, and she'd already sought him out once and that hadn't ended so well, meaning that the only option left was to go to her, but Chase really didn't want to do that. He didn't want to go to her without a plan, or at the very least something to say, and he didn't have anything.

He was sorry that things were the way they were, but hell, if she couldn't admit that she was still in love with House then where were they? If she couldn't accept the fact that he had a history with guys as well as girls then where were they?

Then again, he reminded himself, Cameron had a tendency to plan out speeches for the people that she was angry at ahead of time, just in case they confronted her about it. Chase knew this because if you put her on the spot in an argument, she floundered, but if you gave her twenty minutes to stew, she'd be all over you. If he went and found her tonight, then she'd probably have something planned out for him, and he wouldn't have to worry about having a purpose. She'd be waiting to attack.

"Hey, Dr. Chase," Ricky called as he passed by, jolting Chase out of his musings.

"Hey," Chase replied, shaking himself mentally. Thankfully, his headache from earlier had been reduced to the point where he was almost able to ignore it.

Grinning, Ricky set the stack of pre-round charts at the nurse's station. "So, what do you have for me?"

It took Chase a moment to remember that he'd promised to get Ricky in on an interesting surgery today, and then another to realize that he'd been standing here thinking about Cameron instead of checking the boards for his schedule today, which was what he'd meant to do.

He turned his gaze up to the board, scanning for his name. Appie, appie, and a...

"Score," he breathed, and it was all he could do not to punch the air in victory. He turned to Ricky. "Wanna get in on a reconstruction?"

"The hand one?" Ricky asked, wide-eyed. His eyes went to the board, searching for it. "The dude that got his hand stuck in his garbage disposal? Are you kidding?"

Chase raised an eyebrow, attempting to hide his smile. "That's a yes, then?"

Ricky nodded enthusiastically.

"Great. I'll let Dr. Scott-Englebert know that—"

And then out of nowhere, Thirteen showed up, marching right up to him.

"I'll get you in," Chase promised Ricky quickly, before turning his attention to Thirteen. "Yeah?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you protecting me, now?"

"Protect—" Chase stopped.

Thirteen raised her eyebrows expectantly, and suddenly it clicked.

"Let's walk," Chase said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder and steering her down the hallway. He needed a second to collect his thoughts. Thirteen clearly thought that last night's lack of a firing was due to him (which, in part, it was), which meant that she thought that he had finally given into her demands.

He thought about protesting, but the consequences of that quickly laid themselves out in his mind. Best to go along with it.

"The entire hospital thinks that House has been fucking my brains out," he said in a low voice. "My own bloody girlfriend won't even believe me. I cracked, all right?"

Thirteen eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but when she finally spoke, her voice was amused. "Cameron doesn't believe you?"

Chase gritted his teeth, reminding himself that next week, House was going to fire this bitch and none of this would matter.

"No," he said tightly, still keeping his voice down. "She doesn't. I went to House and convinced him to keep you."

"Just for last night?" Thirteen demanded.

Chase did some very, very quick thinking.

"No," he told her, shaking his head. "I asked him to give you a few weeks of immunity, to get you down to the final four, and he told me that he's already planning on keeping you no matter what you do."

"I don't believe you," Thirteen said immediately, her eyes narrowing again.

Dammit.

Chase shrugged. "Believe what you want. It's what he told me."

"If you're wrong—"

"And why would I be wrong?" Chase interrupted coolly. "I'm telling you what House told me. If he fires you anyway, it's hardly my fault that he lied."

"If you think he lied," Thirteen said tersely, "then you need to get back up there and persuade him to tell the truth."

"I don't think he lied."

"I do."

"You're nervous," Chase stated. "And you don't trust me."

"Of course I don't trust you!"

"When you blackmail a person into helping you keep your job, it only works if you trust the person who's helping you keep your job," Chase snapped. "So shut your mouth. God knows it's done enough damage as it is."

Thirteen stopped walking.

Chase stopped as well, waiting.

She pressed her lips together, looking as though she were doing some very fast thinking of her own, and she finally nodded her head. Warily. "Fine."

Chase frowned, something suddenly occurring to him. "Wait. Does House have a case?"

Thirteen shook her head.

"Then why are you here?" Chase asked.

Thirteen rolled her eyes. "Clinic duty. House is up in his office, reorganizing his iPod or something."

Chase smirked.

oOo

It dawned on him between his first and second appendectomy that as he hadn't eaten a substantial meal in at least a day and a half, his headache was probably due to hunger. This sent him down to the cafeteria, where he found himself in line behind fifty other starving people. Eating was a popular activity.

He was staring ahead, trying to decide whether it was worth taking at shot at the new chili recipe that was rumored to be good, when the sound of his name made him stop.

"—ought to get myself in with Dr. Chase, sometime."

"He's a cool guy."

Chase looked around for a few seconds, before spotting Ricky at a table of other interns, a few feet from where he was standing.

Ricky took a bite of his hamburger. "But seriously, this surgery. You don't even know, man."

"You know that Suhrbi was actually in the ER when they brought him in?" the girl next to him said, looking slightly disgruntled. "All I ever get are the assholes looking to get an excuse for work."

"They're saying it's going to be at least nine hours in the OR," Ricky told them excitedly. "Nine!"

"Whatever, man. Still doesn't top my solo whipple yesterday," the guy next to him said. He stole a handful of french fries off of Ricky's plate.

Ricky took no notice.

"Jake, that totally doesn't count," the disgruntled girl said. "Solo means alone. Without someone to connect the bile duct to the jejunum for you."

"I got flustered," Jake insisted. "I had a dream about the guy that died on me right before the surgery, okay?"

"Bullshit. You got scared."

"You tried to check for a heart murmur without your stethoscope in your ears."

"Seriously?" another intern asked, raising her eyebrows at the girl.

"Jake! I told you not to tell anyone."

"Guys, guys," Ricky cut in, putting a calming hand on each of their shoulders. "Hand reconstruction. Does anything else matter?"

The girl shrugged the hand off, stealing one of Ricky's french fries.

Jake leaned over and attempted to lick Ricky's hand.

"Eugh!" Ricky half-shouted, jumping away. "Jake!"

"Hey, buddy."

Chase jumped, not having realized that he'd been eavesdropping for so long.

The guy behind him gestured impatiently. "C'mon, let's go. I've got places to be."

Chase quickly moved along, grabbing the first thing in front of him.

oOo

"Okay." Chase watched Ricky's hands carefully. "And what are you going to use here?"

"I was thinking the, uh, half-buried mattress stitch?" Ricky looked embarrassed.

Chase raised his eyebrows. "You think that's necessary?"

Ricky shrugged. "I got practice on it last week, I was on rotation in neuro. And he's gonna have enough scars."

"Go for it," Chase said, shrugging. "But do vertical, not horizontal."

Ricky grinned, picking up the needle holder. "Awesome."

Chase watched him start, making sure that he knew what he was doing, before glancing over to the scrub in area, where Adam and Renee were already drying their hands. The surgery had ended up taking nine hours, and as Chase had only been third doctor on this one, he'd volunteered to stay behind and watch the close-up. He was actually thankful that he'd only been assisting for this, because about halfway through, his headache had suddenly worsened to the point that it was affecting his concentration.

And he would have ducked out, but the person in line behind him was Alan Sarghetti and Chase was still sore over the separation surgery, so there was no way that he had been about to let the guy get his reconstruction, too.

Petty, sure. But he'd accepted that he was pathetic like that long ago, and had moved on.

His plans for after the surgery included tracking down some aspirin, possibly tracking down Cameron to talk to her, checking on Natalie, and then going home and sleeping in his own bed for once. He might spend another night with Natalie, depending on whether or not she was out of the incubator (or if her parents had finally come to see her). But he really wanted to be home, in his own—

"Dr. Chase?"

He blinked, focusing on Ricky. "Yeah?"

"Do you think I should reinforce it?" Ricky asked, gesturing to his suturing. He'd partially closed the palm.

Chase shook his head. "It's going to be immobile for a long time, I wouldn't bother."

Ricky nodded and went back to his suturing.

"Those are good," Chase noted, leaning a little closer to check. "Nice spacing."

Ricky didn't look up, but there was a note of pride in his voice as he replied, "Thank you."

Chase glanced up to the viewing gallery, discovering Ricky's friend Jake and another intern standing up there, chowing down on a bag of popcorn and in the middle of some lewd, obnoxious position meant to distract Ricky—and then they realized that they were being watched, and quickly straightened.

Chase rolled his eyes, turning back to Ricky's sutures.

"I see your friends are waiting for you," he remarked lightly.

Ricky laughed. "Yeah. It's Jake's birthday tonight, we're going out as soon as we're done here."

"You want me to finish up for you?" Chase asked.

"Nah." Ricky slipped the needle in again. "I'm almost done."

And he was. Ricky must have gotten a lot of practice on this stitch last week in neuro to be moving so efficiently.

Ricky glanced up. "You should come with us, Dr. Chase. We're just going out to a bar, probably play a few rounds of darts."

Chase just barely stopped himself from snorting. "I haven't been out of his hospital since Thursday. Literally. I need to go home."

"You sure?" Ricky glanced up again, waggling his eyebrows. "We could make it a date."

Chase really, really hoped that Ricky wasn't being serious.

"No thanks," he said, shaking his head. "I really need to get home."

"Your lo—" Ricky started to say, but he cut himself off as the door to the OR was pushed open.

"Dr. Chase?" Peters said. "If I might have a word with you?"

Chase glanced at Ricky, who was only three or four stitches away from being done, and then turned his eyes back to Peters. "Sure."

He started walking towards the scrub in room, gesturing for Peters to follow him in. Whatever Peters had to say, it didn't sound as though it were very pressing—it was likely that the only reason Peters had called Chase out early was because he'd had the time at this moment but wouldn't have had it in the ten minutes that it would have taken them to finish closing up, wrapped the hand up in gauze, and scrubbed out.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Peters?" he asked as he pushed open the door. He reached up and pulled the mask off of his face, tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin.

The door closed behind them with a click.

"So rumor is a pretty busy creature around here," Peters commented.

Shit.

Chase worked the knot on his surgical gown quickly, shrugging it off into the biohazard bin seconds later. "Rumor's a bounty hunter, not a mistress."

There was a silence in which Chase knew that Peters paused to think that over. He peeled off his gloves—the biohazard bin as well—then went to the sink, turning on the faucet with his elbow.

"Look," he sighed, running his hands under the water. "Someone's been saying things about me and Dr. House, I know. I can promise you that it's not true."

"I don't care if it's true," Peters countered, taking a step towards him.

Chase took four pumps of soap into his right hand. "You want me to stop the rumors? Because believe me, if I could, I would have. Yesterday."

Peters looked irritated. "Just get your personal life under control, Dr. Chase."

Chase wanted to tell him that it was about as under control as it ever was, but he didn't think that it would go over too well.

"I'll do my best."

oOo

"Still no parents?"

Kate shook her head. "Still no parents."

Chase nodded and set Natalie's chart back down.

Natalie gurgled, blowing spit bubbles at him.

oOo

Chase kind of loved his bed.

oOo

"You realize this is just a dream, right?" House asked for the millionth time.

"Good. Go away," Chase replied, tones clipped. The first thing that had come to his mind upon coming back to this dream was that Natalie and Zoe were supposed to go into surgery, and he prayed that they were alive, that they were separated and that both of them had lived this time—irrationally, he hoped that at least Natalie had survived, if not Zoe—and more than anything, he prayed that their parents were there, because the lousy assholes couldn't be bothered with their surviving daughter, in real life.

"You know that this kind of attachment could get you fired," House said conversationally.

"Don't you have somewhere else you could be?"

House carried on as if he hadn't heard. "Really, you should be fired."

"Go away."

"I would fire you."

"You already did."

House paused. "Oh yeah."

Chase rolled his eyes as they came to a stop in front of the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. "Why don't you go bother Wilson? I'm sure he's in his office."

"No, he won't. It's Saturday."

"No it's not, it's Sunday," Chase said with a frown. "Or maybe even Monday."

"That's in real life. I'm talking about here, wombat," House said, poking him with his cane.

Chase glanced down at the cane in annoyance. "How do you know it's Saturday?"

"Because I looked at a calendar before you took off to go see your precious little circus freaks," House replied dryly.

"That's two days more than last time. It was five days the time before that. I can't figure out if there's some sort of pattern to it or—"

Chase stopped as the elevator dinged, and the doors parted. He waited as the sole occupant—a man wearing a lab coat and a baseball cap—stepped off, before following House onto the elevator. He pushed the button to the second floor.

"There's got to be a pattern to it," House mused. "There's always a pattern."

Chase leaned against the back wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You said that you thought time passed faster when you weren't here, right?"

House nodded.

"I guess..."

But no ideas were coming to mind.

Time passed faster when House wasn't here—which meant that time passed faster while Chase was awake. But the same amount of time had passed between the first three dreams, so why would one cause a five-day jump and the other a three-day jump?

And what did it mean that Chase had gone to sleep and hadn't dreamt anything at all?

"It doesn't make any sense," he murmured to himself, staring down at the floor.

"We're just thinking about it wrong," House said, shaking his head.

Chase blew out a breath. "Does there even have to be a pattern? It's a bloody dream."

"Everything has a pattern," House insisted.

The elevator doors opened. Chase would have continued the discussion, but then he caught sight of who was waiting to get on the elevator.

"Ricky?" he said incredulously.

Ricky's eyes widened. "Dr. Chase?"

What the hell was Ricky doing here? He wasn't supposed to be in this hospital for another four years—but here he was, looking no different than he had during today's surgery.

Chase scrambled to say something, but before he could get words in, House spoke up.

"Oh, great," he said scathingly. "I love running into my boyfriend's exes."

Ricky's head snapped over to House so fast that Chase thought he heard it crack, his face going red. "I—no, Dr. House—"

"He's not my ex, House," Chase said tiredly, pushing himself off of the wall. "He's one of my interns."

House's eyes narrowed. "You're the one who was running the betting pool for Chase. Randall."

"Ricky," Chase and Ricky corrected in unison.

House waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. What do you want?"

"To get on the elevator," Ricky said. He looked over at Chase. "Are you two really..."

Chase nodded. "Yeah."

"Cool," Ricky said, shrugging. He stepped onto the elevator. "Were you two getting off here?"

"We were—"

"You like him, don't you?" House interrupted, his eyes fixed on Ricky.

Ricky blinked. "Who, Dr. Chase? Of course I do."

"You like him," House repeated, with emphasis.

"House!"

"Wait—are you saying that I have a crush on Dr. Chase?" Ricky asked incredulously. "You're joking, right?"

"He's just being an asshole. Ignore him," Chase told him, rolling his eyes. "House, I'm leaving. I'll see you around, Ricky."

And with that, he strode off of the elevator.

He walked down the hallway, intent on the surgical nursing station, and seconds later heard House's footsteps behind him. He smirked to himself.

"You know that you take the fun out of everything, right?" House asked as he caught up.

Chase worked to get the smirk off of his face. He was only partially successful. "I think you're confusing me with Wilson."

"Randall totally has a crush on you."

"House."

"He does. You didn't see his eyes when he thought you weren't looking."

"Stop it."

"I'm gonna track him down," House decided, a sadistic light coming to his eyes. "How long do you think I'll have to torture him before he wets himself?"

"House, you don't even know his name."

"I do know his name," House countered. "I just choose not to use it."

Chase snorted. "Right."

"Oh, Ricky, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind—hey Ricky! Hey Ricky!" House sang loudly. "Oh Ricky, you're so—"

"Hi," Chase said over the sound of House's singing, coming to a stop at the nurse's station. "I'm looking for Natalie and Zoe Gunten."

oOo

They ended up in a closet, not unlike the microwave pizza days with Cameron. As usual, Chase was the first to lose his shirt. He complained about this as House sucked at the delicate skin over his clavicle.

"You took it off yourself," House reminded him, then he nipped at the skin.

Chase gasped, falling a little more against the wall. "You were—you tugged..."

"Slut."

Panting.

"Fuck you."

House braced himself against the wall and brought his head up, capturing Chase's mouth and effectively shutting him up. It wasn't a lazy, slow kiss, either. House was hard and fast, tongue pushing into Chase's mouth and slamming his head back into the wall—which actually hurt quite a bit, in the few moments of clarity that Chase managed to snatch when they broke for air. Dizzily, his fingers went to House's pants and they were kissing again. A hand came up and cupped the back of his head, massaging the sore spot and ensuring that Chase's head didn't hit the wall this time.

Chase was getting his fingers to work somehow, fumbling until he got the button undone and then working on the zipper. He could feel House getting hard beneath his fingers, only inches away and electricity shot through his body, leaving him breathless.

He let his fingers skim the band of House's boxers, pushing his pants down with his thumbs. House worked his hand into Chase's hair, pulling through tangles and sending coils of pleasure straight to Chase's stomach, and he writhed, thrusting against House.

"You like that way too much," House panted, falling forward against Chase, his forehead against the wall.

"I have a sensitive head," Chase said defensively.

House snorted.

Chase slipped a hand into House's boxers, tracing the sharp angle of his hipbone down, down, down—

"Shit!" House gasped, his hips jerking wildly. "Shit, Chase!"

"Talk about a sensitive head." Chase pulled his hand out, smirking.

With a growl, House reached out and yanked on Chase's pants, somehow managing to unbutton and unzip them in one go, grabbed both his pants and boxers and had them down to Chase's knees with one solid pull. Before Chase could get in a word of protest, his hand wrapped around Chase's cock and squeezed.

"Aaaa—not fair!" Chase choked out. "Not—not fair."

House smirked, the tips of his fingers running up and down the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock. "Such coherency."

"If you don't let go," Chase threatened breathlessly, "we're never going to get to the good part."

House considered this for a moment, then reluctantly let his hand slip away—and the sensation of House's long fingers running all the way down him send shocks of need down to the center of his being, and Chase let out a wanton moan that had no air behind it.

"Cheater," he accused, opening his eyes and struggling to breathe.

"Oh, very nice," House said dryly, using his free hand to pull his own pants down. "You make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Chase flipped him off as he pushed himself away from the wall, finding movement difficult. He was boneless and dizzy.

"What are you doing?" House demanded.

"Turning around," Chase said, getting himself all the way around and falling back against the wall. "C'mon. Haven't you done this before?"

"Had gay sex in a closet? You're saying you have?"

Chase looked back at him over his shoulder. "You seriously think that you and Cameron are the only people I've had sex with in the last four years?"

"No talking about Cameron," House muttered, moving forward.

"We're not in your be—bloody hell!"

House was pressed against him, his finger having worked its way into a place that it was most welcome, and he thrust up from behind, making Chase let out a strangled cry as he braced himself against the wall desperately, toes curled with intense pleasure. House's finger was moving, teasing, pushing, and stripping Chase of coherent thought.

"Good," House breathed. "You good?"

Chase nodded, and it took him several tries to find his vocal cords. "Ah—good. You got lube?"

"It's a dream. What the fuck do we need with that?"

"Used it last night," Chase reminded him, shifting impatiently.

"'Cause it was there, not because we needed it," House hissed. "It's a dream."

"So you're telling me that your leg doesn't hurt right now?" Chase asked, turning his head so that he was looking back at House.

There was an awkward pause in which House realized that Chase was right.

"Well what the hell are we supposed to use?" House demanded. "Spit?"

"There's nothing in here you could use?"

House squinted at the shelves around them. "Suturing kits. Want a pair of scissors up your ass?"

"Nothing?" Chase asked desperately. House's hand was in a really good location right now. "It's a dream, can't you just wish some into existence?"

"If I could do that, don't you think I would have wished my leg out of existence?"

Chase whined and shifted again. "House..."

"I'm not using spit," House said irritably. He took a small step backwards, taking his hand off the wall and bracing himself against the shelf. "I don't see anything. Surgical masks, towels, more suture kits..."

Suture kits.

"There's burn gel in the suture kits!" Chase remembered, and he frantically tried to look over her shoulder but his hair was falling in his eyes. "They're not going to start ordering the cheaper ones until Vogler comes in a year from now, use the burn gel."

House grinned, grabbing a kit off the shelf and shaking it until it unrolled, and seized the little tube of burn gel. "Good memory."

"Nothing like a manhunt for lube to get you in the mood," Chase muttered, facing the wall again.

House moved closer, wrapping his arm around Chase instead of bracing himself against the wall. He slid a second, now cold with burn gel, finger and leaned forward, grabbing onto Chase's earlobe with his teeth.

Despite the interruption Chase was already squirming, biting down on his tongue to keep himself from groaning. House's fingers moved inside of him, there was hot breath on his neck and House's tongue teasing his ear, and he was fast losing track of where the shocks of pleasure were coming from. There was an intensity building, tumbling in the pit of his stomach and going down—

"You could scream, you know," House breathed into his ear, letting his earlobe go. "It's a dream. No one cares that we're having gay sex in a closet."

Chase's toes were curling and uncurling frantically. "House... House, please."

"We're only two fingers in, baby," House said, the amusement in his voice plain. "Hang in there."

Frustrated, impatient, Chase arched against the wall. The movement sent rippling, familiar sensations through him and inspired, he started moving back down, up again, down—

House tightened his arm around him. "This is not a finger fuck. Wait."

Chase was about to protest, a desperate keening noise rising in his throat, when House put his third finger in and Chase sucked in a breath as pain shot up to the small of his back, coming in bursts like a firecracker, and he went completely rigid, clamping his mouth shut. House twisted his hand ever so slightly and Chase stiffened, moving away, but House help him securely in place.

"Relax," House said softly. He shifted, pushing his face into Chase's hair, almost nuzzling it. "Relax."

Chase swallowed and took in deep breaths, forcing his muscles to relax. He knew how to deal with this. He just had to let it come, let himself relax, let his muscles accept it...

The spikes of pain were lessening, slowing. He let out a slow, controlled breath, and let his body relax, coming down slightly, and House tentatively moved one of his fingers. There was the familiar rippling sensation, but no pain. The pain was gone.

He let out a rush of air. "Good. I'm good."

"Ready?" House asked.

Chase nodded.

"Hold on to that thought."

The arm around him fell away and there was a popping noise of a lid opening. Chase wriggled impatiently, his entire body practically throbbing with anticipation. He was hot, so hot, and so ready to have that familiar thickness inside of him that he was in danger of coming at the mere thought. His head was rushing and the darkness around him spun so that there was nothing but him and House, nothing but touch and sweat and heat, and he was drowning. He needed House. He needed touch, he needed House.

And then he felt House's fingers slide out of him, and there was a moment of resonating relief from deep within his body, and then House was there.

Behind him, House let out a long, shuddering breath. "Oh, fuck... Oh, fuck, you're so tight."

Chase's stomach muscles clenched and he bit down on his cheek, holding his breath as he waited.

A tentative thrust from House and Chase braced himself against the wall, trying to breathe evenly and relax his muscles. House's arm had come to wrap itself around him again, and the contact, the feel of House's hand gripping at his flesh, the sound of House's ragged breathing—that was good. He waited as House thrust again, beginning to set a rhythm, and Chase was about to tell House that he was completely off the mark when the the third time turn out to be a charm.

Euphoria exploded inside of him, hot and sweeping, and something incoherent rushed up his throat and spilled out of his mouth.

The sensation was gone a second later, leaving only the aftershocks, but Chase barely had time to breathe before House pushed in again.

Ecstasy ripped through him, nearly tearing him in two. He gasped for breath, hands curling into fists as he tried to grab the wall, wondering how he was possibly still standing when waves of unbelievable pleasure were rattling him senseless. He was pretty sure that some kind of noise was coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't register what it was. He was gone, gone, gone, being pounded to death with bliss.

He was throbbing, he was drowning, he was flying. He needed more.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," House panted. "Fuck."

Chase screwed his eyes shut, moving down when House came up, making the hits harder, stronger, doubling the sensation of pleasure that was rippling through ever muscle in his body. It wasn't enough, the brief seconds in between were too hollow, he needed more, more, needed to be free of his body and explode. He needed. He couldn't get enough.

The arm around him moved down, the hand reaching out, grasping—something dark and hot was building inside of Chase, threatening to explode at any second, and every thrust brought him closer, on the edge, over the edge—

He lost it. He came so hard that his vision blanked and the sound in his ears was reduced to tinnitus, and he had no idea what came tearing out of his mouth. Moments later he felt House come, hot and hard, and Chase slumped against the wall as House pulled out.

It was over.

Completely out of breath, he opened his eyes and blinked, trying to get his vision back. His heart was pounding, his mind was reeling, and his veins were singing with happiness despite the distant burn in his ass. Odd. The burn gel should have prevented that. The makers probably hadn't tested it for this use, though.

House fell against him, panting, arms wrapping around his waist—more for balance than for affection, Chase knew, but all the same—and they stood there for several minutes, breathing hard.

Chase shifted, and he realized something. His head whipped around, trying to get a look at House—and his eyes widened.

"You arse—you're still wearing your shirt!"

"That's it. Pull up your pants, we're moving to an on call room."

oOo

Chase swore that he hadn't had this much sex in his dreams since high school. And while it was true that he and Cameron had been too busy working and fighting to do anything more than share a quick kiss for a week and a half, it didn't make him sex-starved. Certainly not this sex-starved. He had absolutely no reason to be having these kind of dreams.

But he did not tell House that. House was currently having too much fun attempting to find out when Chase had lost his virginity.

"Fourteen," he suggested.

Chase sighed. "House, the only reason kids know how to lose their virginity at the age of fourteen is because of Wikipedia. Was Wikipedia around when I was fourteen?"

"Fifteen, then."

"House."

"You weren't one of those idiots who lost it on their eighteenth birthday, were you?"

Chase buried his face in the pillow. "No."

"Were you over the age of eighteen when you lost your virginity?" House pressed.

"Yes."

House paused. "You're kidding."

Chase kept his face planted in the pillow. "Don't you have something else to figure out?"

"Seriously? You made it all the way through high school without popping some girl's cherry?"

"I was busy."

There was another pause, in which Chase figured that House was putting two and two together.

"Were you over the age of twenty-five?" House asked, moving right along.

"Yes."

"Okay, now you're shitting me."

"Why do you even need to know this?"

"Were you over the age of twenty-six?"

"Yes."

"Twenty-seven?"

"Yes."

"Twenty-eight?"

"No."

Chase waited.

"Okay, now you're just fucking with me. I hired you when you were twenty-eight."

Chase was silent.

"Uh, Chase?"

Nothing.

"I didn't actually take your virginity, did I?"

Still nothing.

"Chase. Look at me."

Chase slowly raised his head and turned to look at House, unable to keep the shit-eating grin off of his face.

"Psych."

House blinked.

Chase burst out laughing. "I was seventeen! Twenty-eight? Honestly, House..."

"I knew you were lying," House said, recovering after a moment or so. "You were way too experienced."

"Again—Wikipedia,"

"And if you ever admit to having used Wikipedia as a sexual guide, I am disowning you," House informed him.

Chase snorted but didn't answer, rolling onto his back again. He was still grinning to himself.

"I see you smiling over there."

"'Course I'm smiling," Chase said, rolling his eyes. "I'm happy. It's what normal people do when they're happy."

"I hate to break it to you, blondie, but you're not normal," House put in dryly.

Chase shoved him lightly. "I'm more normal than you are."

"Please. Chase. On a scale of zero to normal, you're somewhere in the negatives."

"House, that puts you in the—" Chase stumbled. "—subnegatives."

House snorted. "Then you're in the sub-subnegatives."

"Then you're in the sub-sub-subnegatives."

"And you're in the sub-sub-sub-subnegatives."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're absolute zero," Chase said smugly. "Hah."

"Which makes you a Bose-Einstein condensate," House returned smoothly.

Chase blinked.

"No, that makes you the Bose-Einstein condensate."

"The Bose-Einstein condensate doesn't exist. Therefore, it has to be you," House concluded.

"I exist!"

"Dream." House gave him a very pointed look.

Chase paused.

"Oh, yeah."

"Speaking of which..." House waggled his eyebrows.

Chase raised one, in turn. "Yes?"

"What good are dreams if you can't do anything fun?" House asked. "C'mon!"

"House, we just went through two rounds. I don't think—"

"Exactly!" House interrupted, pushing himself further up onto his elbow. "One for each of your little brats that survived the stupid surgery. Now one for us."

"No."

"Chase..."

"No."

"You're starting to sound like Wilson."

Chase paused, and came to the grudging conclusion that it was not an association he wanted.

"I hate you."

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