A SOFT PLACE TO LAND

The doors open and a stone-faced brunette motions him inside, then stops him as soon as he enters, and starts patting him down. So, that takes “important client” to a whole new level.

Thankfully, she doesn’t take his phone or his condoms, Chase is not sure how he would’ve proceeded, if she had.

They go up a flight of stairs and then take just enough turns that he’s not 100% sure that he can make his way back out of here on his own. Though what he is sure of is that the woman in front of him has a gun under her blazer and it is absolutely none of his business.

Finally, she knocks on a door and ushers him forward as soon as a gruff voice tells them to come in.

Chase does his best to scan client and terrain quickly – the latter is definitely expensively decorated but not opulent or extravagant, he likes the piano in the corner and the tacky globe bar. There’s a door and a corridor to the side – a luxury apartment within a luxury mansion. The couch looks comfy, a single glass of something golden on a stone coaster on the table, a cane of polished wood resting against it.

His client matches his surroundings well. He looks unpretentious, almost a little unkempt but he commands the room without having to so much as twitch a muscle. His eyes are nailing Chase to the spot and scanning him like a piece of questionable meat on his plate. And Chase fights against the instinct to freeze up. He has a very specific role to play here – subservient, yet entertaining, definitely not scared or uncomfortable.

He’s met the head of the agency all of twice and yet, one of the first things Cuddy ever said to him has played in his head during every single job he’s taken since.

“You have to be the most convenient thing that’s ever happened to them.”

So, he allows his lips to twitch up and slowly, enticingly, does a little twirl on the spot, so the man sitting across from him can have a look at the entirety of his purchase for the night.

He hears a snort of derisive laughter to the right and purposefully doesn’t look at the woman. What she thinks doesn’t matter.

“Don’t mind 13, she’s just annoyed I’m encroaching on her territory.”

He does look at the man though, meets his eyes and smiles – effortless and charming.

“Not here to mind anyone but you,” he almost ads a “sir” at the end but thinks he should test the waters first, some people are put off by it and he wants to play this one just right.

Gregory House gives him a different once over this time.

“Do you drink on the job?”

Chase allows himself a little smirk but really, he’s pleased with a question over a direct order.

“Just the one,” he says truthfully, he’d never allow himself to get drunk, let alone sloppy, but sharing a drink usually helps things go smoother and he’s willing to be more lenient with this one.

“Can I go?” the woman at the door – 13, interesting name that, interrupts.

“By all means,” his client waves her off, then inclines his head towards the globe bar.

Chase makes his way over, pours himself a finger of a whisky he recognizes and knows isn’t the most expensive of the offerings. He’d like some ice with that. Normally, a silly thing like what he’d like to drink quickly loses over the mantra – be the most convenient thing, but his gut is telling him he should try to be as genuine as he allows himself on a job.

“Can I get some ice?”

The client twists around to look at him. It’s another long look and all the measuring is starting to chafe at Chase just a little bit. He smiles pleasantly and keeps his mouth shut, naturally.

“Kitchen’s over there,” the client nods to the left and Chase doesn’t push his luck, making quick work of finding the fridge, the ice and then a seat on the sofa, just a handprint between them.

“So, Mr House, anything particular you’re after tonight?”

“Dropping the “Mr” would be top of the list, dropping your pants – a close second.”

Chase smirks, puts his glass on the table – careful to pick another from the small pile of stone coasters that could probably kill a man with enough of a swing, and stands up, starting to unbuckle his belt.

House doesn’t stop him, though Chase notes the aborted twitch of his eyebrows, glad to surprise with the ease with which he takes commands.

He tosses his belt on the armchair across from him, toes off his shoes and quickly follows with his tight jeans and shirt, then makes slipping out of his socks as sexy as possible, which is to say not much, but he knows there’s nothing attractive about sitting in front of someone in just your socks and underwear.

When he drops back on the couch, House lets himself arch an eyebrow this time, nodding to his underwear.

“What, maintaining some modesty?”

“Just didn’t know if we’re close enough yet for my bare arse to be touching your lounge.”

House’s lips lift in a half smile and Chase has the distinct feeling that this is not something that happens very often.

“Well, your bare arse is certainly supposed to be touching something.”

“By all means,” Chase says and waves an inviting hand over his body – carefully arranged to look carelessly sprawled.

Not for one second did he think that House would be the kind of shy client that he needs to be coaxed into taking what he wants. And he supposes he’s glad to find that his instincts are still as sharp and true as ever.

The older man pounces on him – his hands going immediately for Chases hips and his lips attaching themselves to his neck, and Chase lets himself go pliant as butter left out on a sunny afternoon. He lets his client touch and kiss and bite (thankfully, they’re small, light things, nothing like the vicious gnawing that he’s suffered on occasion) for a few minutes before he starts to participate. His arms go around broad shoulders, his lips skimming down a stubbled jawline. He opens his mouth and lets himself pant for air until House’s fingers dig into the crease of his thighs and make him moan a little.

Chase learnt early on that he could fake most things but not sounds. The clients weren’t the problem, they were paying, why shouldn’t they also be buying his noises of faux pleasure. No, it’s him who can’t stand his own fake moans and groans and exclamations. They always come out so cheap, make him feel self-conscious, make him go stiff and not in the fun way.

So, he got used to doing just this – keeping his mouth open (any time it wasn’t occupied), in the hopes that his client would do something that would trigger a genuine reaction. It’s a hit and miss usually but he’s not surprised by House’s success.

“As taken as I am with the idea of your ass on my couch now, this works better in a bed,” the man says against his collarbone, his hands tugging at Chase’s underwear.

Chase doesn’t bother to ask what “this” is. Could be his dick, could be his legs, given the cane nearby, could be he needs a headboard to tie Chase to. He can roll with the punches long as there are no literal ones.

He ducks down, nips lightly at House’s ear and whispers “lead the way”. At that, House does pull away, reaching back for his glass, he takes a little orange bottle out of his pocket and pops it open one-handed, chasing the pill with some whisky. Chase doesn’t ask, glad not to be offered any. A drink he would do to put a client at ease, drugs are a whole different ballgame.

House grabs the cane leaning against the coffee table and gets to his feet, waving Chase in what he assumes is the direction of the bedroom and avoiding eye contact for the first time tonight.

Chase reaches over to retrieve the condoms from his pocket, hearing House snort and mutter something about Cuddy running a tight ship.

“Not the only thing that’s tight,” Chase says, corny but just the right mix of coy and self-mocking that it earns him another amused snort.

Then he starts down the hallway, the bedroom door is ajar and he slips in confidently, tosses the condoms on a pillow and drops on the bed, bouncing slightly on his back.

He has to be a tease and a sure thing, confident and playful. He gives himself a moment to luxuriate in the king bed but really to give House a moment to come in, leave his cane aside, make himself comfortable, undress if he wants to.

The bed next to him dips soon enough. House’s t-shirt is gone, his jeans unbuttoned but still on. He wastes no time in attaching his mouth back to Chase’s neck and this time, Chase immediately lets his hands go exploring over the newly exposed flesh.

It’s pretty standard fair, initially – Chase gets his hand on him, then his mouth. House doesn’t seem inclined to undress further and Chase wonders if part of his leg is fake or disfigured. He had a client with burns on 40% of his body once but knows better than to try talking a client into doing something they don’t want to. Access to his dick is all he needs after all.

The interrupted blowjob is par for the course as well, the majority of his clients are House’s age or older and they don’t want to waste their one go coming in his mouth.

Then the script deviates a little – House shuffles up the bed and urges Chase to get on top with a throwaway comment to mind the right leg. Chase can probably bring this to its inevitable conclusion without letting his weight rest on him even once so he’s not too worried. It’s different though. He’s used to being taken from behind, on his side if mobility is an issue, missionary once in a blue moon. Being on top like this – he can’t remember the last time.

He looks at the way House watches him as he moves up and down, drinking him in and this – well, you’re supposed to take pride in your work, right? Because paid for or not, Chase likes to be desired, especially like this, where he can see that the man underneath him has forgotten to school his features, devouring him with his eyes and his mouth, his noises getting more guttural, his forehead and collarbones beading with sweat.

House getting his hand around him is not that unexpected. About half of his clients like to see him come as well, like the validation of it, he imagines, and this has gone more than well enough for Chase to know he can get there, easy.

“No way for you to fake it,” House rasps, a little biting and Chase remembers that he usually hires the girls, grins a little and angles himself to get the timing just right.

“Who said anything about faking it?” he pants, keeps his eyes locked with House’s brilliant blue ones and comes all over him.

Admittedly, he might have surprised even himself with the strength of his orgasm because he feels his body go tight and then loose and then heavy, dropping its weight on House for the first time since they started, his forehead meeting the man’s sweaty shoulder with a small thud. Shit. He needs a moment before he can get back to it and squeezes his muscles in a silent apology for the pause.

His apology seems to be very well received as he feels House groan and come in the condom, his hands skirting up his back and tangling in Chase’s hair, keeping him where he is, pressed flush against him.

Chase allows his body and brain to go offline, just for a minute. When he comes back to, he kisses the shoulder he’s still resting against and nips at the skin, making a gamble and mirroring one of House’s moves.

The man grunts under him but the satisfaction in it is audible. Chase gives himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. House gives him a literal pat on the ass, urging him to go get a towel to clean them off.

By the time he comes back, House seems to have rid himself of his jeans and gotten under the covers, so Chase is not sure if he actually needs the towel he tosses him or just wanted to get Chase out of the room for a bit. Again, he debates telling him that no one gets into this line of work if they’re particularly squeamish. Again, he bites his tongue.

“So, where has Cuddy been hiding you?”

He’s met Cuddy all of twice and is probably barely a name on a sheet of paper to her but Chase preens a little at the implied compliment.

“I’m sure she just thought you were satisfied with the other half of her portfolio.”

“She knows me better than that,” House says breezily before his eyes go back to that probing, analytical look that makes Chase itch. “What’s your name?”

“Bambi.”

“Not your pole dancing name,” House says as if he’s an idiot for even offering him such a poor answer. “Your real one.”

“I can assure you I’m absolutely abysmal at pole dancing,” Chase says, stalling.

Not many clients actually questions a grownass man being named Bambi. He knows he can refuse to answer – though maybe not this time, not if House is that chummy with Cuddy. Or he could lie. Then again—

“It’s Chase.”

“Wow. Didn’t take much for you to break the number one hooker rule?”

Chase rolls his eyes.

“A man who lives in a place like this is not going to have any trouble finding out my name.”