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Title: What Happens in Atlanitic City...
Pairing: House/Chase, mentions of Chase/Cameron
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drunk House and Chase?
Summary: Chase's greencard was for him being a diagnostics fellow. He comes to house for help.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Based on something you either recognize from the summary or haven't seen.
T
Chase has long been used to being House’s last resort.
Whether for agreement, or a radical procedure, or bowling, or, more recently, for surgeries and prescriptions.
He figures that it’s fair—House is his last resort, too.
His last resort for someone to look up to, or talk to or hang out with.
Currently, House is his last resort for something completely different.
Because he and Cameron had a fight, and Foreman is being completely smug in his previous convictions that it would never work out.
And Chase has this letter.
Chase never realized, how attached he had become to Princeton and the hospital.
He wants so badly—*needs*—to stay here.
And there is no way Cameron will help him, not right now.
So he drives to House’s apartment, and runs up the steps, knocking vigorously on the door.
House finally appears, scruffy and unkempt, beyond the usual.
He also looks drunk.
“I need to get married.”
House blinks at him for a few moments, then takes the paper Chase is holding out to him.
Chase is no longer here as a diagnostics fellow.
That’s the issue.
House handed the paper back to Chase.
“Or get a different job.”
“Who’s gonna hire me?” asked Chase, desperately, “my reputation is as bad as yours for getting hired, and I know Cuddy won’t let you hire anyone else, even if you wanted to!”
House looked at him for a few moments, “so, what? Why are you here, if you weren’t hoping for employment?”
Chase stares at him for a moment.
Then grabs his head and kisses him.
For a moment, House is frozen, smelling of bourbon whiskey and lips tasting of… peanut butter. He must have just ate.
Chase doesn’t mind the whiskey, because it’s so… *House*.
It’s not gin.
Gin bothers him.
But not this.
House is unfreezing beneath him, hands slowly finding places to rest, not greedily grabbing, just one sliding around his neck, and the other around his waist.
House’s cane hit the floor a while ago.
Chase is crying now.
House has broken the kiss, but not removed his hands.
He’s holding Chase close, and Chase is crying into his shoulder.
House’s hand slides up, off his neck, cradling the back of his head, then lifts, gently stroking his hair.
Chase’s hands tangle themselves in House’s shirt.
He doesn’t know why he’s crying.
He doesn’t know why he’s clinging so desperately to this other man, who he’s never touched except maybe once or twice, and even then, not at all like this.
“Chase,” says House, quietly, and Chase can smell his breath again, somehow intensely familiar.
Chase expects House to either yell at him or pull him closer.
He expects House to know what’s going on.
But all House says is that he needs to sit down.
Chase raises his head off House’s shoulder, and sees that House is in some amount of extra pain.
He lets go, and bends down to pick up House’s cane, handing it to the older doctor.
He follows House to the couch, and sits next to him, and continues to cry, except feeling miserable about it because he’s doing it in front of House instead of into him.
“Boy, you’re screwed up,” says House, and isn’t that the truth?
Chase leans into the older doctor, closing his puffy eyes.
House lets Chase rest against him without comment, and slides his arm around Chase’s waist, pulling him in closer.
Chase rests his head on House’s shoulder.
“Stop crying,” says House, quietly, and Chase nods, wiping his face with a hand that’s already wet.
House stops him, and uses a tissue from the table in front of the couch to wipe the tears off Chase’s cheeks, and takes another one, and holds it to Chase’s nose and tells him to blow, which he does.
House wipes away the snot, and throws the tissue into a trash can by the end of the table.
Chase is an absolute mess.
He’s still breathing in deep, uncontrolled sobs, even if the tears have lessened.
“I don’t want to have to leave,” he says, in a gasping, hiccupy voice, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to have to leave.”
He can’t believe he did that.
He can’t believe he…
Oh, god…
But all House responds with is another tissue to his nose.
He blows, obediently.
By the time he really stops crying, his eyes are barely open.
House nudges him to lay down on the couch, and he does, curling on his side.
He’s asleep before House comes back, but when he wakes, he finds that a pillow has been placed under his head, and a blanket over his body.
House is at the piano, playing something soft.
Chase slowly sits up.
House looks at him, removing his fingers from the keys.
“You calm now?”
Chase nods, miserably.
“You in your right mind again?”
Chase nods again.
House gets up, and limps over, sitting on the couch next to Chase.
To Chase’s shock, surprise and delight, House takes hold of the sides of his face, and kisses him silly.
“Guess what?” asks House, voice husky, mouth an inch away from Chase’s ear, “I don’t want you to have to leave either.”
A drive to Atlantic City and many drinks later, Chase was sitting basically in House’s lap, scooted up so he wasn’t sitting on the damaged part of the thigh, arms and a good deal of his body draped over the older doctor.
House smirks slightly lopsidedly, as Chase hiccups a little.
“I don’t think we should drive back.”
“m’neither,” slurs Chase in reply.
House chuckles, rubbing Chase’s back.
Chase murmurs contentedly into House’s neck, as several men smile in the bar they’re sitting at smile at them.
House slides his hand up under Chase’s shirt, and Chase shivers happily, and says they should get a hotel room.
House does not disagree.
Chase moans, raising his head off a warm surface.
He looks around.
House is on the bed next to and partly under him.
He has the worst hangover he’s had in his life.
He is also wearing a ring.
As is House.
He closes his eyes, and rests his head back down.
Funny.
He’s never been married before.
He always thought, that if he ever was, it would be to a woman.
And definitely not House.
But he wasn’t that drunk yet, when it happened.
And neither was House.
He wonders what Cameron will think of this.
Oh… god.
Cameron.
Chase sits up, and shakes House’s shoulder.
House moans, and pushes him away.
He persists, and House finally opens his eyes and looks at him.
“House!”
House winces, “quiet.”
“House. I… I cheated. On Cameron. And got married. To someone not her,” Chase swallows, then continues, “and it feels wonderful.”
House looks at him for a moment.
Then wraps his arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close.
“Uh-huh.”
“This is so screwed up.”
“Yep.”
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Uh-huh.”
“House?”
“What?”
“Do you love me?”
“I might have been drunk, but I don't make a habit of marrying people I don’t love.”
Chase starts to cry.
“Chase? What’s up?”
“I love you too.”
Pairing: House/Chase, mentions of Chase/Cameron
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drunk House and Chase?
Summary: Chase's greencard was for him being a diagnostics fellow. He comes to house for help.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Based on something you either recognize from the summary or haven't seen.
T
Chase has long been used to being House’s last resort.
Whether for agreement, or a radical procedure, or bowling, or, more recently, for surgeries and prescriptions.
He figures that it’s fair—House is his last resort, too.
His last resort for someone to look up to, or talk to or hang out with.
Currently, House is his last resort for something completely different.
Because he and Cameron had a fight, and Foreman is being completely smug in his previous convictions that it would never work out.
And Chase has this letter.
Chase never realized, how attached he had become to Princeton and the hospital.
He wants so badly—*needs*—to stay here.
And there is no way Cameron will help him, not right now.
So he drives to House’s apartment, and runs up the steps, knocking vigorously on the door.
House finally appears, scruffy and unkempt, beyond the usual.
He also looks drunk.
“I need to get married.”
House blinks at him for a few moments, then takes the paper Chase is holding out to him.
Chase is no longer here as a diagnostics fellow.
That’s the issue.
House handed the paper back to Chase.
“Or get a different job.”
“Who’s gonna hire me?” asked Chase, desperately, “my reputation is as bad as yours for getting hired, and I know Cuddy won’t let you hire anyone else, even if you wanted to!”
House looked at him for a few moments, “so, what? Why are you here, if you weren’t hoping for employment?”
Chase stares at him for a moment.
Then grabs his head and kisses him.
For a moment, House is frozen, smelling of bourbon whiskey and lips tasting of… peanut butter. He must have just ate.
Chase doesn’t mind the whiskey, because it’s so… *House*.
It’s not gin.
Gin bothers him.
But not this.
House is unfreezing beneath him, hands slowly finding places to rest, not greedily grabbing, just one sliding around his neck, and the other around his waist.
House’s cane hit the floor a while ago.
Chase is crying now.
House has broken the kiss, but not removed his hands.
He’s holding Chase close, and Chase is crying into his shoulder.
House’s hand slides up, off his neck, cradling the back of his head, then lifts, gently stroking his hair.
Chase’s hands tangle themselves in House’s shirt.
He doesn’t know why he’s crying.
He doesn’t know why he’s clinging so desperately to this other man, who he’s never touched except maybe once or twice, and even then, not at all like this.
“Chase,” says House, quietly, and Chase can smell his breath again, somehow intensely familiar.
Chase expects House to either yell at him or pull him closer.
He expects House to know what’s going on.
But all House says is that he needs to sit down.
Chase raises his head off House’s shoulder, and sees that House is in some amount of extra pain.
He lets go, and bends down to pick up House’s cane, handing it to the older doctor.
He follows House to the couch, and sits next to him, and continues to cry, except feeling miserable about it because he’s doing it in front of House instead of into him.
“Boy, you’re screwed up,” says House, and isn’t that the truth?
Chase leans into the older doctor, closing his puffy eyes.
House lets Chase rest against him without comment, and slides his arm around Chase’s waist, pulling him in closer.
Chase rests his head on House’s shoulder.
“Stop crying,” says House, quietly, and Chase nods, wiping his face with a hand that’s already wet.
House stops him, and uses a tissue from the table in front of the couch to wipe the tears off Chase’s cheeks, and takes another one, and holds it to Chase’s nose and tells him to blow, which he does.
House wipes away the snot, and throws the tissue into a trash can by the end of the table.
Chase is an absolute mess.
He’s still breathing in deep, uncontrolled sobs, even if the tears have lessened.
“I don’t want to have to leave,” he says, in a gasping, hiccupy voice, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to have to leave.”
He can’t believe he did that.
He can’t believe he…
Oh, god…
But all House responds with is another tissue to his nose.
He blows, obediently.
By the time he really stops crying, his eyes are barely open.
House nudges him to lay down on the couch, and he does, curling on his side.
He’s asleep before House comes back, but when he wakes, he finds that a pillow has been placed under his head, and a blanket over his body.
House is at the piano, playing something soft.
Chase slowly sits up.
House looks at him, removing his fingers from the keys.
“You calm now?”
Chase nods, miserably.
“You in your right mind again?”
Chase nods again.
House gets up, and limps over, sitting on the couch next to Chase.
To Chase’s shock, surprise and delight, House takes hold of the sides of his face, and kisses him silly.
“Guess what?” asks House, voice husky, mouth an inch away from Chase’s ear, “I don’t want you to have to leave either.”
A drive to Atlantic City and many drinks later, Chase was sitting basically in House’s lap, scooted up so he wasn’t sitting on the damaged part of the thigh, arms and a good deal of his body draped over the older doctor.
House smirks slightly lopsidedly, as Chase hiccups a little.
“I don’t think we should drive back.”
“m’neither,” slurs Chase in reply.
House chuckles, rubbing Chase’s back.
Chase murmurs contentedly into House’s neck, as several men smile in the bar they’re sitting at smile at them.
House slides his hand up under Chase’s shirt, and Chase shivers happily, and says they should get a hotel room.
House does not disagree.
Chase moans, raising his head off a warm surface.
He looks around.
House is on the bed next to and partly under him.
He has the worst hangover he’s had in his life.
He is also wearing a ring.
As is House.
He closes his eyes, and rests his head back down.
Funny.
He’s never been married before.
He always thought, that if he ever was, it would be to a woman.
And definitely not House.
But he wasn’t that drunk yet, when it happened.
And neither was House.
He wonders what Cameron will think of this.
Oh… god.
Cameron.
Chase sits up, and shakes House’s shoulder.
House moans, and pushes him away.
He persists, and House finally opens his eyes and looks at him.
“House!”
House winces, “quiet.”
“House. I… I cheated. On Cameron. And got married. To someone not her,” Chase swallows, then continues, “and it feels wonderful.”
House looks at him for a moment.
Then wraps his arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close.
“Uh-huh.”
“This is so screwed up.”
“Yep.”
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Uh-huh.”
“House?”
“What?”
“Do you love me?”
“I might have been drunk, but I don't make a habit of marrying people I don’t love.”
Chase starts to cry.
“Chase? What’s up?”
“I love you too.”
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Good stuff :)
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From: (Anonymous)
aww, it was so cute!
Wow--will you go on, or let our imaginations take over (you'd write it better than my brain, i'm sure!)
nice.