It’s in the little things, and the hands that hold him.
His mouth so subtle, Chase can only smile against the press of House’s lips.
Gentle fingers run through his hair with pleasure, a murmur against his ear.
He feels almost the moment his heart shatters; still, the tears, he denies himself.
Chase doesn’t know how he does it, but somehow, for some reason, House’s diagnoses stems from watching him eat a baked potato.
It’s raining, it’s pouring, and House is snoring; Chase buries his face in the pillow and jabs him in the ribs.
‘Come taste it,’ he urges, tongue laving at chocolate-dipped fingers.
When House wraps his arms tight about him, and deigns only to keep him close, Chase is happy and holds him back.
The silence is long, but never awkward- ‘So…goodnight?’ he calls and you hang up with a smile.
A playful nip to the lobe has Chase laughing and shoving him away.
‘What’s in a name, Chase?’ House asks when you ask him to call you Robert.
There are kisses and touches and his hands, so hot- searing against his flesh- and Chase’s mind is a blur with the sensations of House’s attention.
‘No shame in crying,’ House assures him, standing uncomfortably at Chase’s impassive account over his father’s death.
It was never a question of when, but when not to; House really should learn to close his blinds.
Chase reaches out with sureness of touch to run his fingers over the stubble of House’s jaw, receiving only a grunt of response at the contact; he knows how much House savours the attention.
The contempt in his eyes when Chase cannot be as strong as he wants hurts almost as much as his silence.
But Chase never cries, not even when his father died, so why now does he shed his tears- now at the end of all things when House turns his back and walks away?
There is a certain rush of adrenaline, of passion ignited, when House lets Chase ride his bike- House’s arms pulling them close as they ride the roads to oblivion.
House smiles at him all mockery and wry amusement as Chase steps inside with flustered face and his hair unkempt; outside the blustery autumn weather continues its assault.
‘I’m quite over you,’ He assures House, though they both know he’s lying.
it goes one, day by day by day, the monotony broken only when House looks at him, and hope is rekindled if only for a little while; he can’t go on much longer.
Green has never suited Chase, and it suits him even less when House’s hands linger just a little too long, his eyes stray a little too low, his concentration caught so wholly by another.
Pianists’ fingers, that’s what they are, running so effortlessly over keys to produce sound- music to his ears when House plays only for his attentions.
House’s tongue tastes its way down his body, laving at his navel with relish till his breath hitches and he is arching at the mere breath of a touch.
It is House who urges him to find his faith once more; House’s God complex is met with scepticism from Chase.
Only it doesn’t mean forever, it can never be forever- not for them.
Chase’s panic is absolute as he sees House lying on the floor, all that blood, and Chase cannot move, forgetting for the moment how to be a doctor.
He tends to your fever with a sureness of touch, whispers soothing to your ears as you mutter whimsical nothings safe in the knowledge you are loved and looked after.
His laugh is as music to your ears, you listen and smile; that small curve of a smile as you watch him in his mirth, and you are contented just to hear the sound of his happiness.
‘Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight…’ House is quick to call Chase on his folly for wishing on the stars, Chase is quick to inform House that he’d be dying to know about Chase’s wishes before the night’s end; House pulls his answers from Chase with his tongue and teeth and hands.
‘Home? Home is where the heart is,’ that’s what Chase tells him when House snaps at him to leave, to go home, to not come back, it’s what he tells House as he steps in and wraps his arms about him, whispering that House is his home.
He can feel the moment his heart rips itself in half as House tells him it’s over, feels his heart breaking even as he gives House a puzzled little smile and a frown and asks him what he means, because surely, this can’t really be the end?
It’s lying awake at night under cold sheets in a bed you’ve not used for months, the darkness suppressing and suffocating and you swallow back the bile and choke back the tears and you’re too scared to move though all you really want to do is run, run back to him and beg him to take you back; you do no move.
Chase cannot contain his laughter as House jumps at the rolling clap of thunder and stands in stillness like some startled animal, he’s imagined a thousand thing House could be scared of, but a storm was never something that crossed his mind.
‘You and me,’ he says as you smile, ‘together, forever,’ and slips the ring onto your finger, a testament of his love and of the bond you both share.
Chase’s laugh is rich and full, full of embarrassment and joy as he squirms to get his foot away from House’s tickling hands, ‘And this little piggy went to market…’ House laughs with him, wiggling Chase’s baby toe.
Such a marvellous thing, he muses with that devilish smirk of his as he inserts the tape and presses play, Chase’s angelic face flickers onto the screen and House knows there’ll be no L-Word tonight.
House mutters a gruff and awkward thank you the first time Chase gives him a present, his head lowered and eyes peeking up at him through his lashes.
Chase is beautiful when he’s offended, that rose-tint to his cheekbones so endearing to House as he grins his wicked smile.
‘Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll never leave me,’ Chase laughs and House smiles.
House smirks at his ducklings, making sure they all know that it was his final diagnosis that solved their latest case (whether Chase thought of it first or not).
House is on the roof again, watching the sky and the crimson clouds of sunset; Chase watches from the doorway and wonders when it became so hard to just walk on over.
It’s a grey and dreary day, the sky overcast and miserable much like his mood; Chase wonders what it is that he’s done wrong.
Chase asks him if he believes, House only scowls softly at him and shushes him to sleep; his lingering kiss the only declaration he will give.
House asks him if he believes, Chase looks at him with wounded eyes and tells him this is it.
House doesn’t mind the sweltering heat of summer all that much anymore, especially not when Chase willingly wears his short-shorts.
House berates him for being a romantic, wanting to watch the full moon and wish upon stars, but when Chase wants to play with candles, House doesn’t seem to mind so much anymore.
Goodbye, he whispers with eyes closed tight and head dropped low.
There’s always a comment to be made when others are about, but for all House’s apparent derision he can spend hours running his fingers through Chase’s mussed up locks with a smile on is face and a kiss on his lips, which he’ll willingly bestow upon his brow.
When the ducklings ask what he did over the weekend, House looks directly at Chase and mentions something about explosions and stars; the others are confused, Chase is just mortified.
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