Characters: Chase, Wilson, House
Prompt: 042. Triangle
Word Count: 556
Rating: PG-15 or something.
Summary: House/Chase, Wilson/Chase. Chase belongs to House and he makes that abundantly clear but that doesn’t mean that Wilson can’t borrow him from time to time.
Author's Notes: Written in exactly 38 minutes. Stream of consciousness without nearly enough grammar. Inspired a little bit by the radiohead song, and dedicated to __bleed_me__
You do it to yourself, you do, and that’s what really hurts
You do it to yourself, just you and no one else
Chase belongs to House and he makes that abundantly clear but that doesn’t mean that Wilson can’t borrow him from time to time. Which he does. Usually on evenings when it’s late and the Vicodin bottle is much more empty than it was at three that afternoon, and House isn’t registering anything and Chase is angry enough for Wilson’s questing fingers to get exactly what they’re looking for.
Chase doesn’t kiss him on the mouth and Wilson is fine with that, if only because Julie always spends hours checking his lips for another woman’s colour (ever since she found that #609 mocha glimmer on his shirt collar, she’s been suspicious. Wilson can’t bring himself to explain to her that that was actually a complete misunderstanding involving House, a clinic patient, and a long and, up to that point at least, boring afternoon, except that he never wants to mentally relive that moment ever again).
Sunday afternoons are usually the best time, when Julie’s lost her temper from the last week and all his little indelicate screw-ups (some of which are starting to feel deliberate, but she can’t prove anything and Wilson’s really got that ‘innocent blinking’ thing down) and has stormed out, and House is in a bad enough pain mood to shut Chase out from whatever he’s choosing to do this Sunday. Wilson makes the phonecall, and Chase appears maybe half an hour later, his car stereo screaming whatever he’s feeling most angry about (Placebo’s Nancy Boy or Radiohead’s Just or maybe the Rolling Stones if he’s pissed enough at House; and hey, that happens).
Julie suspects but once again can’t do anything about it, if only because Wilson’s honed his manipulative skills from all those wives and lovers and hey; House even learned a couple of tricks off him (not that anyone would ever believe it; besides, Wilson is manipulating into making everyone believe he’s the nice one. The stable one. Really, he’s just a cheap fuck and no one seems to have noticed that yet if only because the targets he picks tend to be cheaper than even him).
No, Wilson is a heartbreaking bastard waiting for House to hit him with that cane, harder than he ever has before, warning him away from that cheap little blonde thing sucking a lollipop and looking innocent with his eyes promising nights resulting in carpet burn in compromising places, and maybe he’ll make you coffee in the morning but the chances are he won’t. House doesn’t seem to have worked it out yet or perhaps he doesn’t mind, and that’s a thought that makes Wilson feel both sick and kind of turned on. House’s fingers tangling in Chase’s hair and Chase moaning with stubble burn on his neck.
But he’s the good one, the nice one, and House and Chase seem to be the only ones with the ability to see through him, underneath the ties and the charm that has that edge of smugness, knowing what he can do to people and taking delight in it, and yeah, maybe he’s House, but he’s still got Chase on a string with those blue, blue eyes swearing that he may be House’s but that the rent rate is disturbingly low. Wilson doesn’t ever say “do you charge by the hour” but it’s a close-run thing sometimes.
My other Chase/Wilson fics live here