Chase crept into work the next day with dread twisting his insides and bags of shadow camped quite the thing beneath his tired eyes. As surprised as he’d been to find that by one drink, House and Wilson had actually meant one drink, it was not nearly enough to alleviate his suspicions over the fact that House was about to make his day job all the more unpleasant.
Though nothing had been mentioned at The Shala the night before whilst the three of them sat and sipped their drinks in what Chase felt was a strained sort of silence, he could not help but feel that the whole sham of it all was merely an excuse to feel him out and perhaps even lure him into believing that House had no intention whatsoever of disclosing this piece of information.
Chase fancied that House would toy with him to begin with, dropping subtle hints for a couple of weeks at least, before he’d grow bored with the whole situation and spill the beans enough to expose Chase to the derision of the hospital and its intolerant board of directors. Not even Wilson could keep House occupied indefinitely.
“You look like shit,” Was House’s first comment as he slinked his way into the Diagnostics Department and over towards the coffee machine, biting his tongue to keep from snapping that it was mostly House’s fault that Chase looked like he hadn’t slept for weeks. A night spent fretting over the whole sorry situation of having ones boss find out that one was an exotic dancer, was enough to keep anyone awake at night.
“Up all night?” House pressed, twirling his black marker between his fingers and waiting for a reply. Chase turned a baleful glare on House, knowing that despite the mock of sincerity he could hear in House’s voice, House’s smirk more than justified his feelings of resentment.
“You would know,” Chase replied tersely, looking up through hooded eyes. House’s smirk widened at the implication in Chase’s words and the misinterpretation they received in the stunned looks shared by Foreman and Cameron both.
House made no further reply, turning instead to face his other two employees in order to better discuss the differential of their latest case, the patient of which appeared to have developed at least three new symptoms over the last eight hours.
Cameron turned a look of undisguised scrutiny on him and Chase inwardly cringed at the resentment he sensed behind the look, turning his eyes to the brown brew swirling about his mug in order to avoid meeting Cameron’s eyes. An innuendo-laced response from House would have been more dismissible than his silence for sure.
As it was, Chase found that House’s silence was to last almost the full day- the promise of secrecy Wilson made on his behalf seemingly true; though Chase was pleased to note that nowhere throughout the course of the day did he find Wilson keeping House’s tongue otherwise occupied.
What Chase did find, however, was that he spent the rest of the day on tenterhooks, walking on eggshells whenever he was in the vicinity of either House or Wilson and outright panicking whenever they appeared together, stalking the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro as if they had nothing better to do. Their shared smiles and pointed glances in his direction made Chase feel like the hunted, and that he was slowly and expertly being manipulated into a corner there would be no escaping from.
It was towards the end of the working day, when Chase’s agitation had gotten the better of him, that he found himself needing definitive answers. The thought of a inducing a confrontation with House and Wilson wasn’t enough to deter him from following them into the parking lot, intent on finding out just what the two of them planned to do with their newly acquired knowledge of him.
Chase watched as they approached House’s bike in the disabled parking, talking little until House pulled out his keys and jangled them before Wilson’s face, the look the oncologist shot House was one of expiration as he reluctantly acquiesced to ride with House. House grinned widely at Wilson before manoeuvring himself onto the bike.
“Doctor Wilson! House!” Chase called out, hurrying over towards the pair before he lost his resolve.
“Do you want to ride?” House asked almost as soon as Chase reached them, his words stilling the younger man and halting any immediate demand for answers.
“What?” Chase asked with a frown of misunderstanding, watching as Wilson nudged House in the shoulder with his elbow, an amused little smile playing about his lips.
“I said,” House began with elaboration, “‘do you want a ride’?”
Chase looked at House dubiously, his eyes flickering briefly over the garishly coloured motorbike he sat on and assumed that he’d no doubt heard right the first time. Chase supposed he should be vaguely grateful that House had lasted as long as this before turning his particular own-brand of humour upon him.
“We could take my car?” Wilson suggested innocuously, cocking his head in question and receiving a shake of refusal from Chase.
“No thanks,” Chase replied slowly, “I’m not heading home.”
“Neither were we,” Wilson replied as House slipped his key into the bike’s ignition and revved the engine.
“We’re heading to a club we’ve so recently become fond of,” House shouted over the thrumming of the engine, looking up at Chase with a wicked smile.
Chase knew full well as to which club House meant and he felt his anger at the knowledge spike, knowing that there was no likely end in sight for his current predicament. Especially not if House and Wilson had plans to regularly frequent The Shala.
“That’s harassment,” Chase finally got out, glaring at House and feeling annoyed at both himself for becoming so defensive and at House for the damned smirk that now graced his face.
“Only if you weren’t whoring yourself out for the general public every night.” House shot back, shifting his weight so Wilson could climb on behind him.
“I’m not a whore.” Chase flushed at the accusation, hating the label that came attached to the type of dancing he specialised in. Just because he was paid to dance in a way that excited many men- and then, most men were pigs enough to get aroused by anything with so much as a pulse- did not mean he was the same as some corner street hooker, selling his body for the carnal pleasures of others.
It wasn’t the same thing.
“No,” House seemed to agree, raising an eyebrow at Chase and enjoying the flush of anger that ghosted the younger man’s cheeks. Wilson squeezed at House’s waist, one of his hands slipping subtly down to mould itself over House’s crotch, and stilling for a moment any further reply from the older man.
Chase waited for House to continue, knowing that the Diagnostician would never just agree with him for arguments sake. House loved a good debate, and one that had the potential of humiliating Chase was something he knew House could never pass up.
When no reply was forthcoming, Chase shifted, pressing his lips together as he prepared himself to ask just what they wanted from him, what it would take for them to pretend that none of this had ever happened. Opening his mouth however, Chase found his voice stolen away as noticed exactly where Wilson’s hand rested, and though both House and Wilson had their eyes turned to him, Chase seemed unable to wrench his gaze from the rubbing, groping hand that Wilson had over House’s groin.
When finally he was able to tear his eyes away from the sight, it was to meet Wilson’s challenging stare, a look that dared him to say anything, anything at all, and Chase snapped his mouth closed quickly, feeling the colour rising in his face.
“Are you sure we can’t tempt you?” Wilson asked smoothly, and Chase had the distinct impression that a lift to the club was the last thing the Oncologist meant. He felt his cheeks grow darker with the implications, his eyes flickering involuntarily back down to Wilson’s hand which had yet to stop moving over House’s groin, before turning his gaze back up to House’s lustful leer and Wilson’s devious stare.
Chase swallowed heavily, finding himself unable to answer for a moment and harbouring the strong desire to turn and hightail his way from the parking lot as fast as he was able. Only the fact that his feet refused to obey him kept him where he was, feeling exposed and open to their derision and mockery.
“What do you want from me?” Chase forced the words from his lips, gathering his purpose about him as if it were a shield able to protect him. House merely laughed at his words, the sound deeper and more throaty than Chase was used to hearing and he turned his head away from the scene Wilson was making of House, choosing to stare at some far away point instead.
“Haven’t we already had this discussion, Chase?” House asked him with a leer the younger man missed.
“I’m still waiting for a definite answer.” Chase answered tightly, first crossing his arms and then uncrossing them at the thought he must look like a sulking child. Chase shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, his fingers curling fists as he heard a choked-off moan come from House’s general direction.
“Why do you assume we want anything?” House replied roughly, “I haven’t said anything about your extra curricula activities now have I?”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t.” Chase ground out, turning his head to stare angrily at them both.
“Such little faith,” House smirked, his lips pursing in displeasure as Wilson removed his hand from his groin to settle about his waist once more. “Tease,” He mumbled under his breath, revving up his bike once more.
“We’ll be seeing you later,” House promised with a shout over the roar of the engine before pushing off and zooming his way out the parking lot, leaving Chase standing and staring after him, feeling worse now than he had throughout the whole damn day.
The whole confrontation only served to prove that House was toying with him, trying to lead him into some false sense of security until the time came to reveal him to the world, to humiliate and disgrace him for no other reason than that it would serve as a source of great amusement for him.
“Bastard.” Chase ground out through clenched teeth before forcing himself to move, to leave the parking lot and leave behind his fury over the whole pointless confrontation, determined to keep himself together and to hold up the appearance of being as unaffected by the whole mess as he was able. If he walked a little more awkwardly than before, well, that was only to be expected.
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