At first, Foreman couldn't figure out exactly what House wanted. Foreman wanted to move, wanted to push his hips against House and sink into him even more deeply, and he could feel his body taking over, his thoughts fading out completely. But House tensed up, and Foreman finally heard him say wait. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn't. He needed to move. He bit down on his lip, forcing himself to stop, his body shuddering as he made himself pause mid-thrust, his breath rushing harshly in his throat.
"Sorry." The word gritted out between his teeth--it wasn't quite an apology--but it was enough to let House know that he'd heard him. Foreman thought about pulling out, using his fingers again, but he didn't want to make any surprise moves. Any moves at all. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, feeling a squirm of embarrassment in his stomach, his skin flushing with shame. Not only did he know better, but he'd lost control, in a way that would leave House perfectly justified in telling him never to touch him again. He hated the feeling of compounding the mistake by not thinking, not preparing enough. Probably he should back off. Roll away, just stop right now before he made things worse.
But House was gripping his hip tightly, fingers digging into the muscle, and he was--had to be--the one calling the shots. He wasn't giving Foreman the room or leverage to pull out. Despite his raspy, tense voice, he actually made a joke, and Foreman took his first real breath since he'd realized House was telling him to stop. The absurdity of the idea--of telling his parents anything about this aspect of his life--actually helped to calm Foreman down. It was so beyond the realm of possibility that he could laugh at it, and it eased the feeling that he'd monumentally screwed up. "This--" He stopped again, breathing a silent chuckle against House's shoulder, trying to ease closer without making things worse. "Not a subject my mother ever touched on."
"Sorry," he said again. Not as harshly. Apologies didn't come easy to him, but House's sarcasm had helped, along with the fact that he didn't have to meet House's eyes. Foreman took several deep breaths, trying to force his muscles to unclench. He'd gotten carried away. He was still overpoweringly aware of how hot House's body was around him, how much he wanted to move, but he wasn't as close to the edge, and he was still furious with himself, which allowed him to rein himself in that much more tightly.
Foreman carefully pulled House against him again. After a moment, still frowning, he lowered his mouth to House's neck, kissing him carefully. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd be allowed. He didn't want to ask and show that uncertainty. He knew he'd have to, and he hated himself for it, but that anger was fading as he concentrated on sucking on House's skin. He tasted the difference in texture where his stubble started, moved slowly up and down the tendon in House's neck, trying to feel if House's tension had eased. He traced oily paths with his fingertips over House's chest, circling his nipples and teasing them with light, slippery pinches and pulls. Tried to focus for a few minutes on those simple, cautious touches. "Okay?" he said finally, emphasizing the question by trailing his hand down towards House's dick.
no subject
"Sorry." The word gritted out between his teeth--it wasn't quite an apology--but it was enough to let House know that he'd heard him. Foreman thought about pulling out, using his fingers again, but he didn't want to make any surprise moves. Any moves at all. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, feeling a squirm of embarrassment in his stomach, his skin flushing with shame. Not only did he know better, but he'd lost control, in a way that would leave House perfectly justified in telling him never to touch him again. He hated the feeling of compounding the mistake by not thinking, not preparing enough. Probably he should back off. Roll away, just stop right now before he made things worse.
But House was gripping his hip tightly, fingers digging into the muscle, and he was--had to be--the one calling the shots. He wasn't giving Foreman the room or leverage to pull out. Despite his raspy, tense voice, he actually made a joke, and Foreman took his first real breath since he'd realized House was telling him to stop. The absurdity of the idea--of telling his parents anything about this aspect of his life--actually helped to calm Foreman down. It was so beyond the realm of possibility that he could laugh at it, and it eased the feeling that he'd monumentally screwed up. "This--" He stopped again, breathing a silent chuckle against House's shoulder, trying to ease closer without making things worse. "Not a subject my mother ever touched on."
"Sorry," he said again. Not as harshly. Apologies didn't come easy to him, but House's sarcasm had helped, along with the fact that he didn't have to meet House's eyes. Foreman took several deep breaths, trying to force his muscles to unclench. He'd gotten carried away. He was still overpoweringly aware of how hot House's body was around him, how much he wanted to move, but he wasn't as close to the edge, and he was still furious with himself, which allowed him to rein himself in that much more tightly.
Foreman carefully pulled House against him again. After a moment, still frowning, he lowered his mouth to House's neck, kissing him carefully. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd be allowed. He didn't want to ask and show that uncertainty. He knew he'd have to, and he hated himself for it, but that anger was fading as he concentrated on sucking on House's skin. He tasted the difference in texture where his stubble started, moved slowly up and down the tendon in House's neck, trying to feel if House's tension had eased. He traced oily paths with his fingertips over House's chest, circling his nipples and teasing them with light, slippery pinches and pulls. Tried to focus for a few minutes on those simple, cautious touches. "Okay?" he said finally, emphasizing the question by trailing his hand down towards House's dick.