Esprit de Corps

Title Esprit de Corps
Rating NC-17

It started with a simple phone call. An aunt, his father's sister, a woman to whom he hadn't spoken in around fifteen years and who still called him Bobby. A woman who made the world fall away with a few simple words.

He wasn't focused, he shouldn't be here, but he couldn't seem to leave.

One thing led to another and he knew he was fucking up, knew he was missing things, making mistakes, but no matter what, the world just wouldn't come back into focus enough for him to care.

As the hours passed, the anger began to build. He didn't know who he was angry with – his father, himself, the world. And then he noticed he was being watched. House was observing him like a damn lab rat and abruptly he remembered all the conversations between House and his father that had pointedly stopped when he came within earshot. All the little comments made after his father had left. He knew who he should be angry with.

It seemed to take hours before the other two finally left and he could actually confront him. House was swinging gently from side to side in his chair in his darkened office, tossing that damn stress ball in the air unthinkingly. Displacement activity.

Chase could feel his hands try to form into fists and he clenched his jaw to keep the rage at bay.

"Shouldn't you be off licking your wounds or patting yourself on the back or whatever it is you usually do? And please, spare me the details of your sordid personal life, I can get enough of that online."

"You knew." He was amazed that he managed to keep his voice level.

House's eyes narrowed and he stopped moving. "When did it happen?"

"This morning."

House nodded once. "Well. You good to be here?"

"No, I'm not." Finally his voice cracked a little but he knew it was from anger, not grief.

"Well go home, have a cold one, fire up the barbie, or whatever it is you Ozzie's do. Come back when I can trust you again. No, strike that, I can't trust you, can I? Come back when you're not going to cause any of those lawsuits that so upset Doctor Cuddy."

"You're a cold hearted bastard, you know that?"

"Hi, Greg House, I don't think we've met."

"What gave you the right to keep that from me? You knew... you knew he was dying and you didn't tell me?" He was shouting now, the anger had taken over, and House finally stood and stepped out from behind his desk.

"Maybe I should have told you, but what you have done if you knew?"

"I wouldn't have fought with him. I'd have said goodbye, I'd have... what does it matter? You wouldn't understand... I'd have made things better, easier..."

"For who? Everything I know about you tells me you and your dad fought tooth and nail about everything. If you'd known, you'd have stopped that? It wouldn't have changed anything – you'd have done what you could so you didn't feel guilty about hating him when he died. It would have been easier on you, maybe, not on anyone else." House lowered his voice and took an unsteady step forwards. "Maybe I should have told you, I almost did once. But really, it wouldn't have mattered. He'd still be dead, and you'd still hate him. The only thing that would have changed is that you'd hate yourself as well."

He couldn't stop the punch, it was an automatic reaction, and he didn't want to. As his fist connected with the older man's jaw he had the momentary pleasure of seeing a flash of pain in House's eyes. Then realization dawned and the blood drained from his face. His whole world had just turned upside down in that one moment and he was spiralling. Nothing made sense anymore and he didn't react when he felt an arm over his shoulder as House pulled him close.

"You get one free shot. That was it." There was no anger in House's voice and somehow the words drained away the last of his rage. He couldn't suppress the sob that escaped him but, again, he didn't want to.

House didn't say anything, but the hand against Chase's back made little circling motions that helped him make a connection. He realised it was probably the first thing he'd actually felt since getting that phone call and the realisation helped him focus a little.

Of course, the fact was that he was focusing on something that just didn't happen in the real world. House was comforting someone. Worse that that, House was comforting him. Maybe the world really had fallen away, but right now he didn't care.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, the clinical smell of the hospital was everywhere, but underneath was a spicy wood scent of aftershave and the vaguest hint of sweat. He found himself leaning in closer, trying to let that very human scent override the antiseptic smell of death that hung over him. He was expecting the sharp rebuke at any moment, the derisive comment, the mocking glare.

It didn't come.

House's cane hit the floor as his other arm came up to encircle him, and Chase found himself lost in the sensation.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking straight into House's own; he blinked a little at what he saw there. Compassion. That alone was alien enough, but there was more – need. Want.

It was wrong, he knew that, but right now nothing in the world made sense so why should this? He was moving automatically now, but even wasn't sure who initiated it. It was like stop-motion animation, one frame he was looking into Greg's eyes, the next frame they were locked in a gentle kiss. The rough stubble that was omni-present on Greg's face rasping against his skin. It felt a little strange, but it didn't feel wrong. In fact, Chase couldn't actually think of a time when he'd felt more right.

They were moving, a little awkwardly, a little hesitantly, but moving nonetheless and Chase felt his knees buckle as they bumped up against the couch and he sprawled down. The smirk on House's face should have irritated him, but as Greg leaned down and ran his hand over Chase's chest his breath caught in his throat and all he could do was to reach up and pull Greg down towards him.

This time there was nothing gentle, it was all teeth and duelling tongues and outright lust. Chase felt hands pull at his shirt, yanking it free of his belt and tearing it apart with enough force to send a couple of buttons flying. And then Greg's hands were on him again, running over his chest, his stomach, mapping his torso, and Chase was startled at how smooth his hands were – he'd expected them to be rough, calloused, like the rest of House, but as fingertips traced over the curve of his hip he felt nothing but the steadiness and softness of surgeon's hands.

For just a moment he again heard a little voice telling him this was wrong, that he'd regret this, but his body was too far gone to listen, and besides, it wasn't as if Greg was complaining. In fact, now he came to think about it, Chase realised that he was doing anything but. Greg was taking control, just the way he always did. Normally that would be fine with Chase, but this wasn't a normal situation, and he was pretty much willing to bet he knew a hell of a lot more about than Greg did.

He reached up, gripped Greg's shoulders and flipped them until he was straddled over the taller man. Greg grinned up at him and Chase didn't exactly need any further encouragement. He rested his hand on Greg's chest, feeling the heartbeat there – faster than normal, had he done that? – and marvelling at the sensation. Slowly he trailed his hand down, smirking a little himself as Greg's breath hitched when he stopped just above his belt. He needed to taste him again, and he leaned down to cover Greg's mouth with his own. He caught Greg's bottom lip in his teeth. Chase was rewarded with a groan that he could feel reverberating throughout his body. Greg shifted a little, raising his hips to clue him in, but Chase was enjoying being in control a little too much to take the hint.

He took his time, letting his hands slide under Greg's ridiculously soft band t-shirt and using feather touches to explore the hard muscles there, knowing from personal experience that the almost touch was guaranteed to quickly short-circuit the brain.

Another groan as Greg bucked a little under him, and that time he wasn't so sure who made the noise.

He paused for a moment, thinking about where this was going, not about the consequences but about what he needed. Part of him felt a little sick as he realised that what he wanted most right at that moment was to see Greg submit to him, but again, there were no complaints from the other man as Chase finally worked Greg's belt, button and fly loose. A quick tug and the jeans and boxers were gone. Chase gasped a little at the sight of the wasted muscles on Greg's leg, logically he'd known it would be like that but that logic hadn't prepared him for the reality.

Greg reached up and stifled the gasp with an insistent kiss. This time, Chase was ready to take the hint and he sucked Greg's tongue into his mouth as he reached between them. Fingertips made lazy circles on Greg's unwithered thigh gradually getting closer to his goal. He swallowed the moan as his hand trailed up the length of Greg's straining cock. He dropped his head and nibbled and sucked on Greg's collarbone as he gripped his dick and slowly began to pump.

Chase would be the first to admit that he was more used to being on the flipside of this particular scenario in his past sexual encounters, but as he felt Greg buck up, fucking his hand, he wondered why.

He pumped faster, harder, until Greg's head was thrown back against the arm of the couch and he was thrusting upwards uncontrollably. Greg's come coated his hand and he leaned down for another, softer kiss.

It wasn't exactly comfortable lying sprawled on the couch, but Chase was too wired to move and he figured that Greg would be a little too boneless. He was wrong. Scarcely moments later and Greg had rolled them both onto the floor – Chase found a moment to thank God that the couch was a low one because he already knew he was going to hurt in the morning and he could do without adding couch-induced contusions to the list. As Greg loomed over him with a wicked look in his eyes, he felt the world snap back into focus.

"I told you, you get one free shot and you used it up. Now, it's time for some payback." Greg's voice was raspier than normal and Chase realised it was the first time either of them had spoken for long minutes. Groans didn't count.

He nodded, he'd already figured that one out, and as Greg's tongue found the hollow at his collarbone, Chase was more than willing to take what was coming.

---

Wilson was leaning against the car door blowing on his hands to keep them warm as House finally showed up an hour late.
"Let me see if I understood. You get court side tickets for the game and convince me to cancel dinner plans so that you're not going alone, and then you, what, forget?" He had on his best aggrieved friend tone of voice, which House figured he had to know had no affect by now.

"Um." He pretended to think seriously for a moment, "Let me see, pretty much... yeah." He manoeuvred himself into the car carefully. All the physical exertion had left him a little more weakened than he wanted to let on.

"That's it? No explanations? No excuses? Just 'pretty much yeah'?" Wilson tugged on the passenger door and House reflected again that sometimes his friend could be such a drama queen.

"Pretty much, yeah." He repeated with a smirk.

"Well fine, don't worry about leaving me out in the cold for an hour or anything. I hear they have excellent treatments for hypothermia these days."

"You have a nice warm office upstairs."

"Yes, and the last time I waited for you in my nice warm office you left without me."

"Well, what can you do?" He answered philosophically.

"By the way, what's that on your..." Wilson gestured towards House's jaw and his hand went up to see what it could be.

"Oh, right, the bruise. Let's say I was... engaging in a little staff morale building."

"And this staff morale building resulted in bruising?"

House smirked; sometimes it was like no one really knew him.

"Fair enough, forget I mentioned it. Although, it wasn't the bruise I was talking about. It was more the hickey that caught my eye."