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Wilson’s door was open, this was unusual and worked to Chase’s advantage. He pushed it open slowly and stood in the doorway leaning against the frame.
Silently he watched the oncologist talking on the phone, ignoring the conversation taking place he watched the movements of the older man.
Wilson put the phone down, and turned in his seat, finally noticing the tall figure standing in the doorway.
Chase smirked as the older mans eyes met his. Pushing himself off from the side of the door he strode over to one of the chairs and sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles.
Getting Wilson off-balance amused him. Confusion was written all over the oncologists face. He had often thought that part of the reason why House kept Wilson was that he could never hide his feelings. God knows the whole hospital knew that he’d tried.
“I’d like you to come out for a drink with me,” Chase said, smiling.
Wilson glanced up at him, with the look of a deer caught in headlights. As the young doctor had hoped that was clearly one of the last things the older man had expected to hear.
“Why. We’re not exactly friends Chase,” he paused, uncertainty filling his voice. “You work for House, that’s how I know you,” irritation started to creep into his tone.
“House treats you like crap,” Chase replied, going off on a slight tangent. Still trying to keep Wilson on edge. “Call it a combination of curiosity and some repayment for your bad treatment by House.”
“Why are you paying House’s account,” Wilson asked, with a hint of mistrust. “Never mind. I’ve had enough of this. When and where.”
It took a considerable amount of self-control for Chase to keep a look of only moderate satisfaction on his face.
He didn’t say anything; unfolding himself from the chair he pulled a matchbook out of his pocket and laid it on the desk in front of Wilson.
“There, at nine this evening,” he said, pointing at the name and address of a bar, outlined in gold. He smiled down at Wilson. Then left, closing the door behind him.
That evening Chase perched on a bar stool nursing a pint, still not convinced Wilson would show up.
Twenty minutes later he saw a familiar figure come through the door. He watched in silent amusement, seeing the wheels of Wilson’s brain churning. Then his sudden realisation that this was a gay bar. Chase looked down at his glass hiding a grin.
“Can I get you something to drink,” he asked, as the older man appeared beside him.
He met the brown eyes; they were filled with confusion mixed with apprehension and exhaustion. He wondered how much fun he was going to get from this, given the fact that Wilson appeared broken already. Pushing the thoughts out of he planned to have a good time tonight, preferably at Wilson’s expense.
Chase bought Wilson a drink and the pair sat making small talk, and watching people on the dance floor.
“Why did you decide to say yes when I asked you out for a drink,” the younger man asked.
Tired brown eyes looked up at him.
“I really don’t know,” Wilson sighed and looked away.
Chase smiled to himself. Then everything he’d hoped for fell into place. He watched silently, as Wilson got down off the stool, and without saying a word headed to the men’s room.
It was a long time since he’d indulged this side of his nature. The part of him that took pleasure in causing pain to others. He’d long since given up trying to work out why he’d chosen the career path that he had; one that involved healing people. His study and planned career at the seminary had been cut short once they realised that this part of him would never change, pain and cruelty would always be the only way he could find pleasure.
He followed Wilson to the toilets, blocking out the noise and music in the background, his mind set on one thing only.
It got quieter, the lights were dimmer as he followed the older man down a short corridor. As he pushed open the door to the men’s room he could see Wilson standing at the urinals, and one other man who was washing his hands. The stranger grunted an acknowledgement as he pushed past Chase in the doorway.
He took a step inside, already hard, and leaking at the thought of what he was about to do.
Wilson was zipping himself up, Chase grabbed his wrist, hard enough to leave bruises, twisting it he flung the older man into one of the empty cubicles.
Chase grabbed a handful of hair and pushed the other man’s face against the dirty wall as he twisted to lock the flimsy door.
He pushed the him down to his knees.
“Unzip me and suck it,” he said, the rolling Aussie accent not softening the impact of what he said.
“Wha. . . ,” the slap of a hand against Wilson’s face echoed round the empty room.
He watched impassively as the other man did what he’d demanded. He held back a groan as his cock entered the warm wet mouth. Wilson had clearly done this before he realised.
He brutally fucked the other mans mouth, holding back as long as he could, he wanted this to last, the heard the other man gag a number of times. He saw the tears pouring down the oncologists face, he grinned, then groaned in pleasure.
White lights flashed behind his eyes as he came, his cock forced down Wilson’s throat, compelling him to swallow.
His hand twisted in the other mans hair.
“Lick me clean,” he commanded, icily, the remnants or pleasure still coursing through him, enhanced by the vision of the man on his knees in front of him.
Once it was done he zipped himself into his trousers and unlocked the door.
“Remember this,” he laughed softly as he left, smiling at the sight of Wilson crying, vomiting onto the dirty cubicle floor.