House achieved what he'd aimed for, sure that his movements and, more than any of it, his words--not entirely spontaneous, but completely true--spurred Foreman to act. Wrap a warm hand around his erection. Stroke and tease so deliberately that House's rhythm faltered, and his body was suddenly unsure of the direction to push--into Foreman's hand or onto his cock. The combined feel of it all, the sensations plus the solid warmth of Foreman's body behind him almost made him dizzy, and he inhaled a breath so fast he almost fucking choked on it the moment he felt Foreman snap, spring into action.
Foreman had listened faster than House ever expected, making a grab for his wrist and pushing him onto his front. He'd always doubted that Foreman was capable of such unquestioning compliance, especially when it involved him, and House wasn't prepared to witness Foreman give him what he wanted so fast, so damn willingly. The push was hard, sudden, a little rough, matching the tone of Foreman's voice as he spoke. Nothing careful about that, the tight hold on his wrist, the solid, heavy press of Foreman's body, holding him down, the way he demanded a damn answer out of him. House turned his head to lay his right cheek, the side of his face, on the mattress. Closing his eyes, he squirmed, staying silent for a moment, and jerked his hips up as far as he could, wanting to push Foreman even more, pretend like there was more control left for Foreman to steal. But he wasn't sure what Foreman could do to leave him any more helpless, besides fuck him senseless, and speechless, and thoughtless. Besides a shallow rock of his hips, House could barely move. With the moment that Foreman began to thrust again, driving into him without much restraint, House's muscles gave up any fight they had left. His body practically melted underneath Foreman, and House just let Foreman fuck him. And, holy fuck, Foreman knew how to do it. Fucking amazing.
"Yeah," House finally answered, speaking half into the mattress, the sound of his voice gritty, a little muffled. Rough, eager, too fucking breathless. Didn't have the desire or the energy to start berating, or lying. He wanted Foreman to keep going. More. House swallowed, opened his mouth to speak again, groaning before the next word made it out of his mouth. "Do it. Like--"
Another groan cut him off as Foreman reached around him and took hold of his cock, wasting no fucking time at all before he began stroking him. It made him lightheaded, and all he could do was squirm weakly, too flooded with pleasure to work up the strength to push back much. Foreman was driving into him like he was trying to force him to let go completely, and, fuck it, Foreman would get what he wanted, if that was his goal. Even if it wasn't, he was still going to see it, because House wasn't going to fucking hold back. Couldn't. Didn't want to, didn't have the willpower, the control. The brainpower. God, he couldn't think. Felt so good. So fucking good. Oh, fuck, this was what he'd wanted. Foreman was thrusting so hard, hand curled around his cock and pumping so fast, that Foreman forced a grunt, or a broken groan, a half-word out of him every time that he pushed into him. He could feel his body tightening, the pressure building fast in his groin. God, he was already getting close. He hoped like hell that Foreman wouldn't suddenly slow down and tease him, make him beg. He didn't trust himself not to beg, say anything that Foreman wanted, demanded. In his head, he was already doing it, words flashing across the back of his eyes as he felt Foreman's dick stroke his prostate. Harder. Faster. Oh, God, please. Fuck. Yes, there. Don't fucking stop. Don't stop. House curled his left hand around a fistful of sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and not realizing that a few of those words were making it past his lips to the rhythm of Foreman's thrusts. "Oh--yeah--harder. Harder."
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Foreman had listened faster than House ever expected, making a grab for his wrist and pushing him onto his front. He'd always doubted that Foreman was capable of such unquestioning compliance, especially when it involved him, and House wasn't prepared to witness Foreman give him what he wanted so fast, so damn willingly. The push was hard, sudden, a little rough, matching the tone of Foreman's voice as he spoke. Nothing careful about that, the tight hold on his wrist, the solid, heavy press of Foreman's body, holding him down, the way he demanded a damn answer out of him. House turned his head to lay his right cheek, the side of his face, on the mattress. Closing his eyes, he squirmed, staying silent for a moment, and jerked his hips up as far as he could, wanting to push Foreman even more, pretend like there was more control left for Foreman to steal. But he wasn't sure what Foreman could do to leave him any more helpless, besides fuck him senseless, and speechless, and thoughtless. Besides a shallow rock of his hips, House could barely move. With the moment that Foreman began to thrust again, driving into him without much restraint, House's muscles gave up any fight they had left. His body practically melted underneath Foreman, and House just let Foreman fuck him. And, holy fuck, Foreman knew how to do it. Fucking amazing.
"Yeah," House finally answered, speaking half into the mattress, the sound of his voice gritty, a little muffled. Rough, eager, too fucking breathless. Didn't have the desire or the energy to start berating, or lying. He wanted Foreman to keep going. More. House swallowed, opened his mouth to speak again, groaning before the next word made it out of his mouth. "Do it. Like--"
Another groan cut him off as Foreman reached around him and took hold of his cock, wasting no fucking time at all before he began stroking him. It made him lightheaded, and all he could do was squirm weakly, too flooded with pleasure to work up the strength to push back much. Foreman was driving into him like he was trying to force him to let go completely, and, fuck it, Foreman would get what he wanted, if that was his goal. Even if it wasn't, he was still going to see it, because House wasn't going to fucking hold back. Couldn't. Didn't want to, didn't have the willpower, the control. The brainpower. God, he couldn't think. Felt so good. So fucking good. Oh, fuck, this was what he'd wanted. Foreman was thrusting so hard, hand curled around his cock and pumping so fast, that Foreman forced a grunt, or a broken groan, a half-word out of him every time that he pushed into him. He could feel his body tightening, the pressure building fast in his groin. God, he was already getting close. He hoped like hell that Foreman wouldn't suddenly slow down and tease him, make him beg. He didn't trust himself not to beg, say anything that Foreman wanted, demanded. In his head, he was already doing it, words flashing across the back of his eyes as he felt Foreman's dick stroke his prostate. Harder. Faster. Oh, God, please. Fuck. Yes, there. Don't fucking stop. Don't stop. House curled his left hand around a fistful of sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and not realizing that a few of those words were making it past his lips to the rhythm of Foreman's thrusts. "Oh--yeah--harder. Harder."