With all of Foreman's unexpected moves so far, House felt justified in eying Foreman suspiciously, listening to his cheerful reply. He hadn't been kidding; he wasn't willing to put on a show for the next person to walk onto the elevator, no matter how much his body was craving more contact. Foreman failed to push any further, however, and House felt a wash of relief as they both left the hospital, drawing no one's attention as they walked.
It occurred to him that Foreman behaved much more cooperatively when he thought he was going to get laid, or it reflected the fact that Foreman undoubtedly wanted to give House little opportunity to complain or fire off sarcastic insults. Whatever the reason, House actually appreciated Foreman's forethought, that he didn't have to wait in the cold for longer than necessary for Foreman to unlock his car. After tossing his backpack into the backseat, House settled into the soft comfort of the leather passenger seat, aiming the heating vents on the dashboard at himself, and kept quiet. He wasn't about to thank Foreman; that House didn't complain should have been thanks enough.
As he leaned his head back against the headrest, he tried not to think about the last time he was in Foreman's car. His mind went there without his permission, but Foreman's words drew him out of his thoughts. He'd already assumed they would go to Foreman's, although the thought of actually having something to eat sounded appealing, and he felt slightly torn about what he would head for first--the bedroom or the kitchen. He nodded in response to Foreman's remark, then leaned his head back again, turning it to peer out the window as Foreman drove. He was quiet, following the route, clear headed this time, unlike the last time when he'd been in a cab and drunk. God, he hoped this wasn't a stupid idea. There was a big possibility for this to get complicated, to cause problems, and he wasn't sure yet if it would be worth it, but it seemed like whenever Foreman pushed him hard enough, all of that disappeared for a while.
no subject
It occurred to him that Foreman behaved much more cooperatively when he thought he was going to get laid, or it reflected the fact that Foreman undoubtedly wanted to give House little opportunity to complain or fire off sarcastic insults. Whatever the reason, House actually appreciated Foreman's forethought, that he didn't have to wait in the cold for longer than necessary for Foreman to unlock his car. After tossing his backpack into the backseat, House settled into the soft comfort of the leather passenger seat, aiming the heating vents on the dashboard at himself, and kept quiet. He wasn't about to thank Foreman; that House didn't complain should have been thanks enough.
As he leaned his head back against the headrest, he tried not to think about the last time he was in Foreman's car. His mind went there without his permission, but Foreman's words drew him out of his thoughts. He'd already assumed they would go to Foreman's, although the thought of actually having something to eat sounded appealing, and he felt slightly torn about what he would head for first--the bedroom or the kitchen. He nodded in response to Foreman's remark, then leaned his head back again, turning it to peer out the window as Foreman drove. He was quiet, following the route, clear headed this time, unlike the last time when he'd been in a cab and drunk. God, he hoped this wasn't a stupid idea. There was a big possibility for this to get complicated, to cause problems, and he wasn't sure yet if it would be worth it, but it seemed like whenever Foreman pushed him hard enough, all of that disappeared for a while.