sortofaman | the cautious losers and emotional wrecks (for Chase)

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chase,
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the cautious losers and emotional wrecks (for Chase)

The Doctor had reverted to Plan C. Plan C was not particularly ideal, and in actuality it was hardly a plan at all, more a reactive mechanism until he could sort out what his actual plan was going to be, if he did at all, or until he couldn't take anymore.

Whichever came first.

Plan C was dealing with the issue by not addressing it head-on, by not engaging. Mostly it was because the Doctor had no energy to do so--Nate had been up nights again off and on with teething, and he'd been trying to write up a thesis on different theoretical reactions to the idea of being fictional, and how people would come to terms with it. He was thinking his project would be to come up with a set programme of therapeutic mechanisms for treatment of said issue...

Anyway.

So he didn't really look up when Chase came in, only mumbled a greeting and underlined some text with a pencil.

Subject lyrics by Bob Seger.

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The Doctor looked at Chase over his shoulder. "Worse," he replied, lifting both brows at him and smirking a little. "I've mellowed. You complete me."

Chase sat down heavily on the bed and wished to god that didn't make him cringe because right after his parents, the thing he hated most was out and out romantic crap. A little was nice, 'you complete me' made him choke on the sugar of it. "Sometimes," he muttered under his breath, "I feel like siccing House on you."

It had been terribly sardonic, though, which was probably why Chase had wanted to toss House on him. The Doctor was a romantic, just not like that.

"I'd give him all he was worth and you know it," he retorted, hands on his hips, turning back to Chase. "Greg House is not the be-all-end-all of smartarse bastards. Close, but not quite."

"No, but he'd feel compelled to argue until you were in submission," Chase replied right back, sarcasm running over the words as he arched a brow the Doctor's way, sitting up in bed and not sure exactly that he wanted to go to bed this angry. "Or do you."

The Doctor took off his jeans, engaging in a massive, massive eyeroll. "Yes, because he's so effectual at either," he said, looking up from the floor and then sitting down on the bed.

Chase just pressed his lips together and eyed the Doctor's neck, thoughts flickering through his mind as he debated what they were doing and why they were sniping and just what the hell was going on in general. "You have an answer for everything, don't you," he said, half under his breath.

"Would I be me if I didn't?" The Doctor slid under the duvet. His posture gave the impression that if he had been standing, his arms would have been crossed over his chest.

Honestly, now he was just being antagonistic for the sake of it, because Chase wouldn't back down.

"No, but some days," Chase said, his tone sounding more like his father than he really liked it to, "I wonder if that maybe wouldn't be a bad thing." He shot the Doctor a glare. "If you know me so inside and out, why do you antagonize me?"

"Because you do it to me," he pointed out, and rolled over onto his side, away from Chase, stubborn as hell. "If I didn't know you, it wouldn't be so damn effective, would it."

Chase levelled a long look on the Doctor, slowly crawling overtop of him and settling on all fours in a mock-straddle. "So then what the hell do I have to do to get you to shut up and to stop harping on my issues?"

"Not be a bloody ponce," said the Doctor, not even startled by Chase being on top of him now, even if he was having a stupid human reaction to the very fact of it. "Does it make you feel any better that if I didn't care, I wouldn't give you shite about it, Robert?"

"Don't call me Robert," he snapped at the Doctor and leaned even closer than before until there was hardly any room between them at all, their faces close. "You're doing everything that pisses me off and I know you know that."

"Then stop being a royal bloody wankjob," the Doctor replied, eyes dark and brown and angry, his hand on Chase's bicep tensing with fingers drawing in against skin and muscle. "Trying to pretend everything's just peachy bleeding keen and ever so delightfully normal. You wanted normal, you wanted someone who'd just roll over and take shite, well, you married the bloody wrong man to do it!"

"I don't want normal. I've never been normal." Each word was heavy and each sentence followed the same heavy cadence as the other. "But I want some respect and consideration and for you to act as if you still love me instead of just tolerate me," he snapped, words hurt and irritated at once.

The Doctor was, in all honesty, slightly stunned, and he looked up at Chase with a wide stare. "I'm trying, but if we don't talk about it or do anything about it, then how can I not react like I do?" he asked, frustrated as hell, and moved up to rest his forehead against Chase's.

Chase pressed his forehead against the Doctor's with a little more firmness, trying to swallow all the dryness in his throat. "If we talk," Chase said, voice low. "You can't rile me up. It makes me feel like we just run ineffective circles. We have to talk, for real."

The Doctor ran his fingers through Chase's hair, considering this, then let out a sigh and nodded, trying to meet those blue, blue eyes. "Yeah," he agreed, openly, honestly without any bullshit.

Chase caught the Doctor's gaze for a moment before leaning in suddenly and pressing his lips to the Doctor's with a desperate momentary need, kissing him desperately and trying to find some kind of connection again. "This good?" he mumbled against the Doctor's lips.

It was both what the Doctor had anticipated and not it at all, and he groaned, moving up to kiss him in reply, lips slightly parted. It was a sudden shift and change in feeling, and he liked it, liked what the need felt like once more. "Yeah," he breathed.

Chase kept in close and even between kisses -- hot breath mixing between them -- he felt as if they were closer than they'd been in a very long time. "I missed your hands," he admitted, blurting out the words. "I know it probably sounds stupid..."

"It doesn't bloody sound stupid," murmured the Doctor, but there was no vitriol behind it, just affection, fingers spreading wide against Chase's back. "It sounds true."

He had missed Chase as well, but more than anything how he tasted, how his upper lip curved in towards his lower one, how it felt to tease it out with a slow drag of his teeth. So he indulged himself.

Chase was breathless within something like minutes of when the kiss first started and he didn't even feel like that was a bad thing, necessarily. He exhaled shakily and drew away to stare down at the Doctor with half-lidded eyes. "I don't think you're going to leave me on purpose. I know that," he insisted, voice low, but it was something he felt as if he needed to get across.

"Okay," said the Doctor, blinking a couple of times to draw away the haze of need that had taken him, just so he could focus. "You...you know that I just give you shite because I know you can keep being better, yeah? That you don't have to be scared or alone or anything..."

His own accent had slipped a little, gone somewhere north of the border.

"You give me shit and I just remember my father," Chase said, his words almost guttural as he got them out. That was all he thought about when he had his back to the wall and was being accused of acting contrary to how it was expected he act.

The Doctor bit into his own lower lip, unable to look at Chase for a moment, then finally met his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'll...I won't do that."

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