Categories > TV > House

Faded Beaches

by seldra 0 reviews

House/Chase. SLASH. Old postcards stir up memories.

Category: House - Rating: PG - Genres: Romance - Characters: Gregory House,Robert Chase - Published: 2007-11-04 - Updated: 2007-11-04 - 801 words - Complete

Title: Faded Beaches
Author: seldra
Fandom: House M.D.
Pairing: House/Chase (established relationship)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: not mine.
Summary: Old postcards stir up memories.
Notes: written for the "10 Snuggles" challenge on LiveJournal. The prompt was "beaches."

Chase gazed at the old postcards. They were all pictures of beaches, many from Florida and Hawaii. Some revealed miles of fine white sand stretched against brilliant blue water, others showcased massive palm trees silhouetted against burnt orange sunsets. The heavy pieces of paper they were printed on were creased and damaged with age, the ink in the photographs washed out and faded.

“Get your head out of the clouds, wombat. You’re supposed to be packing up all this crap, not staring at it with teary eyes,” said House, looking up from his Nintendo DS with a scowl.

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Chase frowned. “And you could be helping.”

“What? Oh, so now you want the poor old crippled guy to do all the work?” House pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his cane and jabbing Chase in the side. “And I’ll call you whatever I want. Pet names are so sickening it’s cute.”

Chase settled for glaring at the older man. “It’s demeaning. Do you really feel the need to publicly humiliate me?”

“Every chance I get. But don’t worry, everyone knows you’re a closet masochist. Otherwise you wouldn’t put up with me.”

There’s no denying that, Chase thought as House limped across the bedroom, pausing to glance over his shoulder.

“What’s so interesting you feel the need to delay the sex we’re going to have when we get back to my place? Wow, mouldy photos. I feel insulted.”

“They were my mother’s.”

“Oh joy, a trip down memory lane with the Chase family, that’s sure to be an uplifting experience.”

“She used to travel a lot,” he continued, pretending not to hear House. He kept his eyes fixed on the faded pictures of the sea. “With my dad. Before I was born.”

He kept staring at the pictures. They were blurry and faded, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine how vibrant that orange sunset must have once looked. If he concentrated he could hear the sound of the waves, smell the salty air and feel the warm wind that moved the leaves of the palm trees. If he kept looking, maybe he would see her there, as she must have been once, alive and happy and carefree.

But he couldn’t find her there. He couldn’t even imagine her.

“She loved warm places, and the sound of waves.”

“Good for her. Can we back out of memory lane yet? The deal was I help you pack, you move in with me, we have sex.”

He ran a finger down the tattered edge of a postcard from Florida. House’s words rolled over him in a dull continuous drone. “I heard she never drank back then. If things had been different maybe she wouldn’t have started—”

“Don’t do this, Chase,” House groaned, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to lower the photographs. “I don’t want to hear any of your self-recriminating family tragedies.”

“Yeah, because Heaven forbid you show an interest in any aspect of my life outside your bedroom,” Chase frowned, jerking out of House's grip. “You know, I get that this is just about the sex to you, but—”

He stopped as House wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him forcefully against his chest. House’s chin dug sharply into the top of head, and he swallowed, wishing his heart didn’t race quite so fast whenever House touched him.

“Aw, is my wombat feeling unloved? I’m sure I can think of a way to fix that.”


“Shut up, Chase,” House mumbled against his throat, playfully biting his ear as his hands slipped lower.

“You bastard, House—” he shivered as the calloused fingers snuck beneath the waistband of his pants. “You weren’t even listening.”

In one movement, House spun him around, ripped the old photographs out of his hands and pulled him into a punishing kiss. “They’re just old scraps of paper,” he said, tossing them unceremoniously into the nearest box. “Your mother had her life and she lived it. And now it’s time for you to start living yours. And by ‘living your life’ I mean ‘having sex with your boss.’ Right now.”

Chase allowed himself to be pushed back onto the stripped mattress between the partially full boxes of clothing and books. House’s hands burned along his skin and by the time it was over he’d forgotten about one unhappy woman and her photographs of faded beaches.

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