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Cure For A Headache

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Since the Vogler incident had ended, House had treated Chase as his personal scut-puppy in revenge for what Chase had done to both him and Wilson. So it was perhaps no surprise that today House sent Chase personally to fetch the oncologist for an urgent consult on their latest patient, when a phone call would have sufficed nicely.

Or perhaps not. Wilson had been avoiding House and the Diagnostics office most of the day with no explanation. House grew increasingly grumpy about Wilson's lack of communication.

"Don't come back without him," House ordered, raising his cane to chase Chase out the door. "I don't care how you do it, just make sure he's with you when you come back or don't bother coming back at all."

Chase was already halfway down the hall when House shouted at his back, "An apology would be a good start!" Chase flinched, knowing full well what House meant.

So as it was, Chase stood at Wilson's office door, rapping gently and waiting nervously for his response. "Dr. Wilson? House wants a stat consult."

"Go away, Chase," came the barely audible reply, followed by a muffled groan of pain.

Chase's brow furrowed in equal parts fear and concern, torn between House's edict and Wilson's plea. Finally he turned the doorknob to let himself in.

Inside the office, the blinds were drawn, the lights were out, and Wilson was only a shadow on the darkened couch, rubbing his neck with an agonized grimace. "Are you all right, Dr. Wilson?" Chase asked worriedly, hurrying to his side and kneeling down to gaze into Wilson's pain-creased face.

"No," Wilson admitted, wincing. "Massive tension headache. God, it feels like a migraine." His face paled, noticeable even in the semi-light. "Chase, get me two aspirin from the top drawer of my desk?"


Chase fetched the aspirin from the drawer as well as a bottle of water from the fridge. He returned to the couch and handed them to Wilson. "Here you are."

"Thanks," Wilson replied, sitting up slowly and swallowing the aspirin at once with a long swig of water.

While Wilson was upright, Chase watched him sway with what looked to be waves of pain-induced nausea. Chase immediately went to kneel behind him on the couch to steady him. Apologize, House had ordered. I don't care how. So he was ready when Wilson lost his balance with another wave of dizziness and half-fell back into Chase's lap.

"What—what are you doing?" Wilson asked nervously, and Chase felt him recoil at the shock of unexpected contact.

Chase caught Wilson and helped him back up to a sitting position. "I'm going to fix your headache," he murmured softly in Wilson's ear. He tried to keep his voice from shaking. "Aspirin's not nearly enough for the tension. It's the least I can do to help so just relax and let me, all right?"

"OK." Wilson exhaled as Chase's fingers began to knead gently at Wilson's neck and shoulders. As Chase slowly worked the pressure points behind his ears and at the base of his skull, the thin wire of tension along his spine visibly loosened and Wilson slumped.

"How's the pain?" Chase asked after a few minutes.

"Much better," Wilson murmured, his head dropping forward. "Just a dull throb now."

Chase nodded behind him. "That's good." He kept massaging Wilson's neck, working out more kinks and thinking about what he should do next. Wilson had just about given everything up for House, all because he, Robert Chase, had sided with the devil. He owed Wilson more than just a massage, more than a mere apology. He hoped what he was about to do, would be enough.

"Thank you," Wilson began after a few more minutes of silent ministration. "I really appreciate you doing this--"

Chase felt Wilson freeze in shock as he replaced his fingers with the soft press of his lips, tasting the salt of Wilson's neck with his tongue.

Wilson struggled and tried to move away, but Chase gripped his upper arms, holding him firm. "It's all right, Dr. Wilson," Chase whispered against his skin. "It's all right."

Chase pulled Wilson back against him, lips still brushing against Wilson's neck; he felt Wilson slowly relax into his embrace, though he was probably wondering what on earth had possessed Chase to do this. He half wanted Wilson to explain it to him, because Chase himself sure as hell didn't know why he decided to find absolution this way either. But Wilson seemed willing and eager enough to accept it, and Chase wasn't going to back down now.

One of Chase's hands slid over Wilson's chest, calm and sure, unbuttoning his shirt buttons to slip beneath the cotton fabric. He felt Wilson gasp and arch at the warmth of Chase's palm brushing across his nipples, and wondered just how long had it been since his wife had touched him like this. That thought almost, almost, justified what would come next: he could deal with bestowing this planned favor out of kindness far better than out of seeking forgiveness.

"Ch—Chase, you shouldn't--" Wilson stammered with one last ounce of resistance.

"You're right," Chase said, releasing him and rising from the couch. I shouldn't. But I will.

Chase moved to lock the door to Wilson's office, and returned almost immediately to the couch. Wilson followed his movements, his breathing quickening. Suddenly shy, avoiding his gaze, Chase swung Wilson's legs over so that he could kneel on the floor between them. He slid his palms up and down Wilson's thighs, the warmth of Wilson's skin radiating through the thin wool of his trousers. "Let me," he said, half ordering and half-begging as he unzipped Wilson's pants.

Wilson nodded, swallowed and silently lifted his hips so Chase could drag his trousers and boxers down to the floor. Chase settled back down in front of him, head bowed almost in benediction; he carefully spread his thighs apart then nuzzled the tender flesh there, working up towards his groin, sniffing deeply at the skin and hair as his hand reached up to fondle him. "I'm sorry," Chase mumbled against Wilson's leg. "Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you."

Wilson only whimpered in acknowledgment, barely registering the proffered apology; Chase knew his mind was concentrated on the keen pleasure of his cock twitching and growing even harder with each warm puff of breath. Chase drew back on his heels, watching Wilson, whose eyes dilated with need; when Wilson nodded, already half-gone, Chase slowly, deliberately licked his lips, leaned in again and closed his mouth around the head of Wilson's cock. His tongue flicked and swirled around the underside as his hand tightened around the shaft.

Wilson's head banged back against the sofa with a dull thud; glancing up briefly, Chase saw Wilson's eyes squeeze shut and his face crease again, this time tensing in pleasure, not agony. Chase squeezed his eyes shut too, not wanting to witness Wilson's undoing even in the dim light of the room. He did not struggle when Wilson reached down to hold Chase's head in place, threading his fingers through Chase's thick hair while thrusting into the warm wetness of his mouth with increasing force. Chase only nodded and hummed, jaw working steadily in rhythm with his pumping fist. Wilson moaned with each suckle drawing out the pain, that Chase knew would be replaced by white-hot brilliance behind his eyes and in his veins, and he prayed it would be over soon.

It happened, too maddeningly slow for Chase, whose mouth soon began to ache with the effort. Yet obviously it was too incredibly fast for Wilson--unable to keep himself from arching into Chase, Wilson's hips thrusted erratically until he stilled for one eternal instant, Chase knowing about the desire pulsing tighter and tighter to that impossible pinpoint in his spine. Chase felt him let go then, Wilson almost sobbing in relief as his release flooded Chase's mouth.

Chase gagged, but resolutely held on to the end. After it was over, both men trembled, Wilson with sated contentment and Chase with apprehension, wondering if this was indeed enough. Chase leaned his forehead on Wilson's sweaty thigh; then he felt Wilson lay his hand on the top of his head, his thumb slowly stroking above Chase's temple, and Chase felt a glimmer of hope. The smell of sex hung close and heavy over them both as breaths slowed and heartbeats returned to normal.

A few minutes later, Chase looked up, wiping his mouth. Their gazes met again in the semi-darkness of the room. "How's your headache?" Chase asked.

"Almost gone," Wilson replied, a little shakily. "Ummm—thanks. You know--you didn't have to--"

"Yes I did." Chase looked away then, suddenly embarrassed. "About--about that consult--" he began uncertainly, not knowing how to broach the matter that had all led up to this.

Wilson nodded, drawing Chase back and gently touching Chase's cheek. "I know," he murmured. "I know." Their eyes met, and Chase nodded in stunned acknowledgment. Wilson did know. "Just give me a few more minutes, OK?"

Chase rose, feeling much lighter now; he turned away to fetch Kleenex for Wilson to clean up, waiting while Wilson pulled himself back together.

Chase's pager beeped, and he snapped it off his belt to glance at the glowing display. "Yeah," Chase said, shrugging. "Right. Dr. Wilson, House is demanding--"

"Isn't he always?" Wilson replied, zipping up his pants, and he flashed a quick, almost conspiratorial smile at Chase.

Chase found himself grinning back, relieved. "Yeah. Yeah, he is."

Wilson shrugged into his white lab coat and tightened his tie. "OK, I'm ready. Let's go." Wilson clapped his shoulder; and, the weight lifted now from both of them, they made their way out of the office and towards Diagnostics together.