Foreman's confident response nearly stopped House mid-step. I know. House barely had the time to struggle with the thoughts and images invading his mind as that tone, and those words, sounded with a low echo in his ears. His imagination leaped to the memory of Foreman pushing him onto the bed, Foreman's hand gripping his arm, his whole body forcing him down, and--fuck--House felt the desire to do it all over again. Jesus. With an unblinking stare in Foreman's direction, communicating clearly that he understood exactly what Foreman meant, unable to disguise the surprise on his face, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
With his thoughts still saturated with sex, House couldn't resist the urge to snap a few male stripper jokes in front of this guy, who claimed he was from the CIA. House didn't completely buy it, but if it meant going along with this--gag or not--would allow him to avoid Foreman for a while, he'd take advantage of it. If all he could think about were memories of the weekend, just because Foreman was six feet away, he might as well take his mind off of it as well as he could, concentrate on something that had the potential to be interesting. Definitely more interesting than heatstroke.
When he stepped back into the room, he listened to several possible diagnoses--all wrong--and to Foreman dismiss it as heatstroke again. He hardly had time to order several procedures, just to irritate Foreman and make all of them do pointless work for being stupid, before Kutner attacked him with a question. "Yeah," House drawled, setting his cane on the desk to pull his jacket off his chair, slipping it on. "I asked him for the scoop on Foreman's new boyfriend. Thought it would be more fun if he dished the goods under the guise of a CIA agent." He adjusted his jacket, then grabbed for his cane and followed Mr. CIA out of the lecture hall, not fully convinced he'd actually been selected for a trip to headquarters. As he opened the door to leave, he looked over his shoulder, his gaze settling on Foreman as he said, as ominously as he could, "My employees have no secrets from me."
He let the door close behind him, sure he'd be back to the lecture hall before the fellows even figured out it really was just heatstroke.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-03 10:19 am (UTC)With his thoughts still saturated with sex, House couldn't resist the urge to snap a few male stripper jokes in front of this guy, who claimed he was from the CIA. House didn't completely buy it, but if it meant going along with this--gag or not--would allow him to avoid Foreman for a while, he'd take advantage of it. If all he could think about were memories of the weekend, just because Foreman was six feet away, he might as well take his mind off of it as well as he could, concentrate on something that had the potential to be interesting. Definitely more interesting than heatstroke.
When he stepped back into the room, he listened to several possible diagnoses--all wrong--and to Foreman dismiss it as heatstroke again. He hardly had time to order several procedures, just to irritate Foreman and make all of them do pointless work for being stupid, before Kutner attacked him with a question. "Yeah," House drawled, setting his cane on the desk to pull his jacket off his chair, slipping it on. "I asked him for the scoop on Foreman's new boyfriend. Thought it would be more fun if he dished the goods under the guise of a CIA agent." He adjusted his jacket, then grabbed for his cane and followed Mr. CIA out of the lecture hall, not fully convinced he'd actually been selected for a trip to headquarters. As he opened the door to leave, he looked over his shoulder, his gaze settling on Foreman as he said, as ominously as he could, "My employees have no secrets from me."
He let the door close behind him, sure he'd be back to the lecture hall before the fellows even figured out it really was just heatstroke.