Foreman snatched the key ring back, out of House's reach, careful not to let his smirk show. He wasn't laughing at House, although he was having a damn good time screwing with him. It wasn't about whether House was a good driver, but Foreman had seen plenty of road rash and worse during his surgical internship, and he wasn't as indifferent to House killing himself in a stupid, preventable accident as House probably thought. He'd seen House nearly die when he'd been shot, had had his hands covered in House's blood, and he didn't need a repeat. The streets weren't dry, and it was cold enough that they'd be icing over before morning. "My car has seat-warmers," he said, as though he was remembering it for the first time. "Do motorcycles come with those?"
House looked apoplectic, like he was getting close to coming up with a devious plan to murder Foreman and hide his corpse somewhere it would never be found, but Foreman couldn't help pushing even further. Whatever Foreman had thought would happen after he'd gotten House into his bed--and he hadn't ever actually thought about what would happen after, although it wasn't much of a stretch to guess that fucking infuriating would top the list--he'd never once suspected that parts of it might be fun. "You want 'em, you can have them." Foreman stuffed House's keys into his back pocket, not far from where House had nearly been groping him during the kiss. He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be reluctant that it had come to this. "You played games with me for three years," he said, shaking his head innocently. "I think I'm about due."
"You're freezing, you're probably hurting, and you think you're going to make it home in one piece." Foreman advanced again, spreading his fingers to show his hands were empty. That if House wanted his keys so badly, there was one sure way to get to them. Foreman itched to get his hands back on House, to push him, to force House to admit he was right. He hadn't been lying when he said he wanted to blow him, because he wanted House to let go, make all those sounds Foreman knew he could force out of him, make him say he wanted Foreman just as much. The thought alone had him breathing quickly, his body starting to react. "Go on," he said, letting the challenge come out low and intense. "Take them."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-05 09:02 am (UTC)House looked apoplectic, like he was getting close to coming up with a devious plan to murder Foreman and hide his corpse somewhere it would never be found, but Foreman couldn't help pushing even further. Whatever Foreman had thought would happen after he'd gotten House into his bed--and he hadn't ever actually thought about what would happen after, although it wasn't much of a stretch to guess that fucking infuriating would top the list--he'd never once suspected that parts of it might be fun. "You want 'em, you can have them." Foreman stuffed House's keys into his back pocket, not far from where House had nearly been groping him during the kiss. He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be reluctant that it had come to this. "You played games with me for three years," he said, shaking his head innocently. "I think I'm about due."
"You're freezing, you're probably hurting, and you think you're going to make it home in one piece." Foreman advanced again, spreading his fingers to show his hands were empty. That if House wanted his keys so badly, there was one sure way to get to them. Foreman itched to get his hands back on House, to push him, to force House to admit he was right. He hadn't been lying when he said he wanted to blow him, because he wanted House to let go, make all those sounds Foreman knew he could force out of him, make him say he wanted Foreman just as much. The thought alone had him breathing quickly, his body starting to react. "Go on," he said, letting the challenge come out low and intense. "Take them."