Chase comes rushing into the office.
At the doorway, he stops as though suddenly encountering a glass wall. He looks from side to side, confused.
"You beeped me," he says, holding up the offending electronic device.
House sits in his office chair, arms folded on the desktop, his head lying on his forearms. He pops up a moment, gritting teeth.
"I need those magic hands." Chase wonders if House tries to make everything sound dirty or if it just happens that way.
Chase drops the beeper in his lab coat and removes it, laying the white fabric over a chair. "Your shoulder?"
"Right one."
Chase skirts around behind him with a shy smile. Delicately raising House's arm to slide the suit jacket off it, Chase breathes in a little at the reveal of House's arms.
House's right arm is impressive, the muscles achingly defined. Chase struggles to ignore it.
"Ready?" he asks, pressing on hand against House's shoulder blade and gripping taunt bicep with the other.
"Yeah," House mutters, in a way that sounds like 'no.'
Chase pushes and pulls and something in House's back pops back into its rightful place.
House grunts and lowers his head onto the desk.
House's skin is hot through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He curls his hands around House's shoulders and presses his thumbs into the back of House's neck. House groans and goose bumps introduce themselves all over Chase's body.
He doesn't understand why this keeps happening. If it really hurts, he knows House would go down to PT and trade barbs with the physical therapist. If it really hurt, he'd just up his painkiller schedule. So why this?
Unless House is messing with him.
House groans again and Chase jumps, muscles tensing at the noise.
Yeah, House could be messing with him, Chase decides. He could be recognizing the…effect…these stolen moments had on Chase. He could be pushing it just because he has to push things and…
House groans again, loudly.
Chase flushes. House is definitely messing with him; there is no way he is that good at rubbing shoulders. He pushes his thumbs higher, into the soft spot at the base of House's skull.
"Does that feel good?" he asks. He always winds up asking like this when what he really means is Oh God, please tell me I'm doing this right.
"Yeah," House says in a rough pleased voice. "That feels real good."
Chase's fingers go into House's hair, scratching the scalp. He can feel the shape of House's skull between his hands; the sides of his hands graze House's ears.
"What the hell?"
Chase snatches back his hands, jamming them into the pockets of his jeans before realizing he doesn't really want to call attention to his crotch. He pulls his hands out, tries to put them into the pockets of the jacket he isn't wearing, runs them through his hair and grabs his tie.
He takes a breath, pulling his tie with both hands.
Casual. He thinks. Look casual.
Cameron has stopped in the doorway, an annoyed look causing her mouth to drop open unattractively. "Paige is dying!" she says.
House pulls his head off the desk, looking sleepily from Cameron to Chase. "Who's Paige?" he asks.
Chase shrugs.
"Our patient!"
"Oh Paige," House says, grabbing his cane and rising from his desk. "Why didn't you say so?" He takes the file from Cameron and walks out of the room.