"You thought you could *get away* with this?" he whispers, their faces only centimeters away from each other. And sure, they've hooked up a few times before, but Chase has never seen him quite so angry until now. The sight makes something stir up in his belly, and it's certainly not guilt. 

 

"Get away with what?" he shoots back, eyes sparkling with something like smugness. He's not sure what bug has bit him; maybe in any other situation, he would be already groveling at House's feet, begging for forgiveness. But right now, he wants to push all of House's buttons, see him get angrier and angrier until he snaps. The thought only makes him more aroused.

 

House grabs his hair and pulls hard, making a gasped moan leave his mouth. "Don't play dumb with me, Chase. You  sold out to Vogler just to keep your cozy little job your daddy made a call for." He yanks his hair again, tipping his head back, hitting the wall lightly. "Don't you have any shame? You ratted me out. You became Vogler's little spy. You *betrayed* me." He growls out the last three words, mouth ghosting over Chase's ear.

 

He whimpers. "I didn't betray—"

 

"Yes you did," he grunts, pressing himself right against Chase. They're both getting hard. "You disobeyed me. Went behind my back. You're ruining this department from the inside— Cameron's already fucking left because of you. I should've listened to Foreman when he said I should fire you, that you don't appreciate what I give you."

 

The words make him shudder; he squirms a little, biting his lip hard, not sure what to say. A vague semblance of regret washes over him, some sort of guilt that plays at him but not for long. The arousal is far stronger than anything else he can attempt to feel, that's for sure.

 

"Did you do all of that just so I could find out?" House continues, relentless. "Just so I could tell you off, punish you?" He grabs Chase by the throat now, tilting his head up, pressing lightly. "What do you want me to do to you, huh? What's the fantasy you think will be sated by this?"

 

Chase's head is swimming with arousal. He whines out, letting him press against his airway, nowhere near hard enough to actually cut it off. "I— I don't, I don't know. Just do whatever you want with me."

 

House's smile is a little manic. "Are you sure about that?"

 

"Yeah," he agrees. "If I change my mind, I'll let you know." 

 

"Good." He pulls his hand away and nips at his bottom lip for a second, kissing him deep and fast. The contact makes him dizzy. "I kinda need some… *implements* for your punishment. So I'll see you at my place. Okay?"

 

Chase grins at him. Things aren't ruined between them, or at least he hopes so. This is just another excuse for a sexual game, another thing to get off on. Well, House clearly *is* very much angry with him, but he can deal with that later. He can apologize during aftercare later. Maybe he'll understand that he just doesn't want to be pulled away from him, that he knows he's the weakest part of the team, that God, he needs to stay by House's side by any means possible. It all sounds like excuses, but they're reasons.

 

"Okay."

 

Later that day, the night is setting in, and Chase is in quite a predicament.

 

He draws in a breath as he gets used to the position he's in. He's in the middle of House's living room, on his knees, the curtains not quite drawn in. The thought of anyone passing by being able to see him through the windows sends a shiver down his spine. But he has bigger matters to worry about; namely, the torture House has put forward on him.

 

His nipples are already aching with the clamps on them, steel things that press against them painfully. His kneeling position makes a fairly thick plug dig into his asshole, opening him up as he whimpers, his hands grabbing at his own thighs uselessly. He's clenching his jaw, trying to enforce some self-control as House stays at the couch, glancing at him from time to time, growling at him to not move if he knew what was good for him.

 

After a while, House finally stops playing to ignore him. He stands up and grabs the steel cord joining the clamps, tugs at it. He wails a little at that, eyes screwed shut as he prepares for the pain to come. House tugs at it again, but he doesn't pull the clamps off. He nearly curses; this torture is going to drive him insane. He's so hard it hurts, his cock hard and unattended and aching for touch he knows he's not going to get.

 

"You're pathetic," House says, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look up. He does, doe eyes looking up at him, a soft whimper leaving his mouth. "You did all of that, just to keep your cushy little job. Like I wouldn't fire you once I found out. You're *worthless*."

 

He bites the inside of his cheek at that, his cock still pulsing, the plug deeper inside him as he gets more comfortable in his position.

 

"You really just wanted to stir trouble. To ruin the department. All so you could just end up like this, at my mercy. You are so unbelievably disgusting. How do you live with yourself, Chase? How do you live with yourself, knowing you're nothing more than a pathetic whore?" He pauses. The way he speaks drives him crazy, how he says it all so matter-of-factly, goes through every word like he means every letter. His tone is calm, lacking in any anger, lacking in any emotion at all. "I don't know how you got through med school. You clearly don't have the brains for it. I guess your father paid good money for it, huh?" He presses his thumb against his bottom lip; he opens his mouth, pliant, always pliant. "Or maybe you whored yourself out to your professors for a better grade. That's all you know how to do, anyway."

 

"Sir," he nearly wails. "Please."

 

He grunts. "Please what?"

 

"Please… please, I —"

 

Before he can finish, House slaps him hard, makes him see stars. He moans, the sting and the way his cheek burns only finding him more and more aroused. 

 

"Speak, whore. Or are you too dumb for it? Do I need to keep you gagged, too?"

 

He shakes his head, grinds down on the butt plug desperately. "Please, please take them off, take the— the clamps off, they hurt, sir…"

 

House scoffs. "Of course." 

 

He grabs at the link between the clamps. He doesn't do anything to soothe the pain, to make it go by faster. No, of course he doesn't— he tugs hard until they come clean off.

 

Chase *wails*, his face twisting in pain as pre-come dribbles off his cock. His nails are leaving indents on his thighs as he gasps for air. "Sir!"

 

"Yes?" He slaps him again, much lighter this time around. "You knew it'd hurt. You know how clamps work, boy. You're not that stupid. At least I'd like to think so."

 

The degradation is like music to his ears, how House drives the point home until he's panting and begging for him to touch him. How he tells him all he knows, all he needs reinforced— that he's stupid, that he's a whore, that he's worthless. His therapist would disagree with how he takes care of his self-esteem issues, how all he does is make House reinforce his beliefs about himself before it gets to be too much. Until House reassures him, takes care of him through the motions of aftercare.

 

House stays silent for several seconds, seconds that seem to drag on for hours on end. Chase isn't in pain anymore, but he's still aching for touch.

 

"I'm sure Vogler would like to know what I made out of his little spy," House says.

 

He whimpers. "Sir, I don't think—"

 

"What you think doesn't matter," he growls. Another slap to the face, another harsh sting that makes him go red with need. "I'm sure he'd like to see his mole like this. Your nipples red, your cock pathetically hard, a plug deep inside your ass. I'll make sure that you leave it on during work." He pauses. "Maybe even make you show it off to Foreman."

 

He whines out at that, the idea only making him more aroused.

 

House scoffs. "Of course you'd like that. You'd whore yourself out to the entire hospital staff if you could."

 

House leans down to be at eye level with him, runs his fingers along his cheek, pressing at the bone teasingly. He expects another slap, another hit, but all he gets is that sweet moment of silence, of almost care. He swallows audibly.

 

"I think it's about time to check if you've learned." He straightens up. "I'm done humiliating you. Now *you* need to humiliate yourself. C'mon, toy. Tell me what you are."

 

That's a new one.

 

Chase sucks in a breath. Can't knock it till you try it, right? He always finds it delightful to hear House calling him names, reinforcing all the negative beliefs he has about himself. The slut-shaming ones, the ones about his intelligence, all of them. Hearing them played back at him is like a torture he can't get enough of. But the mere thought of repeating them…

 

He has to go through with it, though. He wants to please House, and maybe he'll even like it after all.

 

"I'm a pathetic whore, sir," he says, stumbling upon the words a little. "I'm worthless. I-I'm too dumb to be a doctor, sir." The words claw their way up his throat, and his eyes glaze over a little. Fuck. He has to continue, he has to keep going, he has to do this. He has to please House; he can't disappoint him, he can't disappoint him again. "I shouldn't be a surgeon, sir. I should be a hooker. I should be a few holes for people to take without any- without any care about if- if I like it or not."

 

House grabs his chin, makes him look up. "That's right. You're learning. And I thought nothing could get in that head of yours."

 

That's what makes him break.

 

Chase's head spins as a quiet sob breaks out of his mouth. "Sarcoidosis," he chokes out, and House immediately pulls his hand away from his chin. He whimpers, frozen in the spot as he tries not to swallow all the words he said, to take them all seriously, to take it as House meaning every single thing he said. 

 

*I don't know how you got through med school. You clearly don't have the brains for it.*

 

"Chase?" 

 

House's look has softened considerably, all the roughness melting away as he grabs him, helps him up, helps him get up from his position. He rubs at his scalp. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Calm down. Calm down, Chase." He talks like he's soothing a frightened animal, but in this state of terror and self-hatred, he can't exactly blame him.

 

"I'm sorry," he sobs into his shirt. "I didn't mean to ruin the scene, I just—"

 

"Don't apologize for safewording," House says, curtly and seriously. "Whatever line I crossed, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

 

"I d-didn't like degrading- degrading myself," he breathes, shaking like a leaf against House's precarious hold of him.

 

House curses under his breath. "I'm sorry. I won't make you do that again. I should've asked if it was okay."

 

"It's good," he says through tears, choking on his own spit. "You were punishing me, anyway. For something that was a-actually wrong. You should've just ignored my—"

 

House pulls him away. His look is so stern it nearly makes him afraid. "Chase. After you calm down, we're going to have a serious talk about this. About your self-worth and your relationship with kink. Because it looks like you need it."

 

Chase grits his teeth and looks at the floor. "I'm not a charity case. And you're not a therapist."

 

"Well, clearly you aren't listening to your *actual* therapist."

 

Chase sighs and leans back into House's touch. "Can I have a bath?" he asks quietly.

 

House strokes his hair for a few more seconds before pulling away. "Of course. I'll get the water running."

 

He sighs and nods, sinking onto the couch, exhaustion taking over him. "Thank you, House."

 

House gives him *that* look. It's not of pity, necessarily. Simply sympathy. He doesn't know if he likes it. "You have nothing to thank me for. It's basic decency. Now, stay there and don't do anything stupid. I'll get the bath." He pauses. "I've got some bubble soap, if you'd like it."

 

Chase swallows, looks down at his own hands. "That'd be good."

 

House nods. "Of course." He limps out of sight and into the bathroom. Chase curls up in the couch, listening to the water running, trying to calm himself. He knows House is right— he knows his use of kink to cope (quite badly, he might add) with all his issues isn't helping in the long run. But it's one of the few things he knows how to cope with.

 

After a while, House guides him to the bathroom. They sink into the bubble bath together, and House immediately starts washing him without a doubt in the world.

 

"We're not going to keep doing this if it's harming you," House starts after what feels like hours of silence.

 

Chase's stomach lurches. He wants to be mad about that assertion, but all he knows is that House's care turns his stomach upside down. "It's not harming me. Usually."

 

"Degradation seems like it is." 

 

They stay silent for a few more minutes, House working at washing Chase's hair.

 

"Do you like praise?"

 

He sucks in a breath. "Never really considered it." He's had it rain on him on a few separate occasions, the whispers of *good boy* driving him insane with the need to hear it again and again. He's never entertained the thought of bringing that up to House, though. House's approval is like a drug to him— he can't imagine actually getting it in fairly sizable doses every time they fuck. The mere thought makes him dizzy.

 

"Well. If it's something you might enjoy, I'm happy to indulge it."

 

"I didn't know you were so caring," he mumbles.

 

"You're my employee *and* my fuckbuddy," he replies. "I think I have a few fair reasons to care about you."

 

He shrugs a little, staring at the bubbly water. "I doubt you care about Foreman. Or Cameron."

 

"I'm not sleeping with them."

 

Chase knows this game. Chase knows they're both deflecting. It won't stop him from playing it.

 

"Well, even if you were sleeping with them. I doubt you'd sit down with Foreman in a bubble bath to talk at length about how kink affects him."

 

"He's not riddled with daddy issues and a need for validation, so I think I have a good reason to be sitting with you here."

 

Chase lets out a little laugh, leaning onto House's chest. He doesn't stop him in the least, rubbing his side comfortingly.

 

"Do you feel any better?"

 

He swallows. "Yeah. A lot better. Thank you, House."

 

"D'you need anything else? I'm all ears, wombat."

 

His eyes fall back onto the bubbles, onto the edges of the bathtub. His nerves are playing at him, driving him up the wall. This shouldn't be such a big deal. This should be an usual part of aftercare for them. And it is, sometimes, after particularly rough scenes, but it still feels like asking for an impossibly stupid favor. It feels like committing some sort of crime against the very foundation of who House is as a person.

 

"Reassurance," he whispers.

 

House presses a kiss to his temple. "Of course." He squeezes his side. "You're not stupid, Chase. You're not just a whore. You have worth. You're an important asset to the team; I don't know why else I would keep you for so long."

 

He says the praises, the reassurances, with the same matter-of-fact tone from when he was degrading him. But this time, it feels a lot more truthful. 

 

He can't help but smile, grow sleepy as House holds him and praises him, soothes him with his words. He calls him good, smart, gorgeous. The topic of his betrayal is avoided, but he understands that. He supposes they're not going to breach that topic through kink any time soon, if at all. That only calms him down more.

 

He's not much of a frightened animal anymore.