she's your cocaine. (kohlrimmedeye) wrote in house_chase,
she's your cocaine.

Fic; "Hail Mary"; kohl_rimmed_eye

Heya, I haven't written any H/C in a while (too much Wilson/Chase), but here's one now, since it is such a lovely pairing :D

Title: Hail Mary
Author: kohlrimmedeye
Pairing: House/Chase
Warnings: Possible underage/non-con sex references
Rating: PG-15? Just to be sure
Summary: Another Chase fallout from his dad dying, but darker than the last one I did. Kinda scares me.
A/N: Written during a latin exam and smuggled out on spare paper supposedly used for translations. There. Something useless you never needed to know.

He said “First let’s just unzip your religion down… heard that you were once temptation’s girl…”
- Tori Amos

On the morning that he finds out his father has died, Robert Chase finds the small box full of things from past lives he doesn’t live any more, and uncovers his rosary. He runs his fingers over the small, round beads, worn from years of empty prayer and-

Chase doesn’t pray as he slides the chain between his fingers in an experienced way, because he doesn’t need to, and he doesn’t want to. It’s been years since he prayed with this anyway, years since he mumbled hail marys, beads slick with sweat as they slipped through trembling fingers, until the words faltered and then stopped coming all together. He can’t exactly remember the day he lost his faith, can’t pinpoint the time exactly. Just one day he stopped and never really went back.

Chase runs his thumb repeatedly over one bead, remembering his Catholic High School, remembering days when sex was new and exciting and a kick in the teeth to God, and all the teachings they bent under day after day. They were teenage boys and they barely knew what they were doing but they did it anyway. Chase’s hands shake on the beads as he recalls the feel of them wrapped around his wrist, and another boy’s bound around his other wrist. He remembers being tied with his arms above his head, and tugging at the beads, although they never gave way, and hands on his hips and no kissing, never kissing, and the way the round, purple bruises took weeks to fade from his wrists.

Chase slides the beads into his pocket, feeling sick and ashamed.
House breaks the rosary that afternoon. Chase is attempting to run a hundred gels (at least it feels like it) with one hand, while the other runs through the beads, leaving a large loop dangling from his fist. House, for reasons of his own, slides the head of his cane through the loop and pulls. The chain breaks and beads litter the floor. Chase looks at them and then at House. The older doctor does not appear to be sorry at all. Chase sighs. They were going to break some time. He’s pulled at them enough times.

“You’d better pick those up.” House whispers, and Chase drops to his knees and begins to gather the beads around the other man’s feet. House’s breath hitches slightly, and Chase realises something. To test it, he looks at House from under his eyelashes and then drops his eyes back to the floor.

House is getting hard as Chase picks up the last bead, wishing he’d known years ago that one more hard tug would break them. He takes care to brush his head gently against House’s groin as he straightens up.

“I need time off for the funeral.” He says.

“You can have a week.” House replies calmly, like nothing is happening between them right now. Chase almost says “thanks”, except that would imply this is a favour and Chase doesn’t want to be in anyone’s debt. He closes his hand harder around the beads and walks out.

Chase looks hard at Wilson, just to make him uncomfortable, as he tips the beads into the bin. He feels dirty and used and he isn’t sure why. Wilson walks away and Chase considers his options as he runs his fingers across the grooves the beads left in the palm of his hand. He realises he hates himself.

Chase turns back to the lab with House and his hard-on and it’s like the bruises never really left his wrists.


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