As Foreman drove, House continued staring out of the window, occasionally turning his head to sneak glances at Foreman, curious as to what was keeping him just as quiet. House tried not to tell himself that Foreman was second-guessing himself. Foreman was just...focused, he told himself. He tried not to second-guess his own action, the decision to leave with Foreman, wondering what in the hell he thought he would discover by going through with a risk like this, besides that, maybe for a while, Foreman didn't hate him. The sex better be worth it. It would be. God, he could already imagine it. He closed his eyes for the rest of the ride, opening them when he felt the car stop. He glanced at Foreman in time to see him open the door, speaking to him as he climbed out of the car first.
House sat in the car for a few seconds in thoughtful silence. Huh. Even though he'd been toying with the idea himself, House was puzzled over Foreman's declaration. Despite the mention of 'actual food', House didn't think Foreman would make eating his first priority at the moment. Climbing out of the car, he peered over the roof, squinting skeptically at Foreman. "You--" House started, pausing for a half-second, still working through Foreman's potential plan for the night in his head. The air felt colder than it should have, since he'd been warmed up in Foreman's car, and he shivered. "--just attacked me, and now you're hungry? I think you're confusing 'hungry' and 'horny'." He shuffled sideways, opened the back door, and retrieved his backpack, shouldering it as he closed the door. Rounding the car, he approached Foreman on the other side, his hands buried inside his coat pockets. "I know they're kind of close. I could see how you might get confused."
As much as House was sure he would raid Foreman's fridge later, he wasn't interested in a sit-down meal at Foreman's dining table--he doubted Foreman ate his dinners on his couch--squirming with the anticipation of what would come next. Foreman would probably expect conversation--about what, House hadn't the faintest idea, not exactly sure what topics Foreman chatted about, and not particularly caring. House didn't chat. Didn't talk just to fill dead space. If Foreman wanted to talk about anything interesting or consequential--or fill his stomach, for that matter--he would have to wait, because House did not plan to sit through a dinner with Foreman while anticipatory arousal churned in him. He'd rather relax with dinner, appease his appetite for food after the one for satisfying, hot sex. Foreman could wolf down whatever he wanted in the kitchen, as long as he didn't mind if House got a head start in the bedroom. House had felt worked up in varying degrees since Foreman had kissed him in the elevator and, despite his nagging doubts and lingering fears, he couldn't rid himself of the desire to lead Foreman into his own bedroom now that he was here.
no subject
House sat in the car for a few seconds in thoughtful silence. Huh. Even though he'd been toying with the idea himself, House was puzzled over Foreman's declaration. Despite the mention of 'actual food', House didn't think Foreman would make eating his first priority at the moment. Climbing out of the car, he peered over the roof, squinting skeptically at Foreman. "You--" House started, pausing for a half-second, still working through Foreman's potential plan for the night in his head. The air felt colder than it should have, since he'd been warmed up in Foreman's car, and he shivered. "--just attacked me, and now you're hungry? I think you're confusing 'hungry' and 'horny'." He shuffled sideways, opened the back door, and retrieved his backpack, shouldering it as he closed the door. Rounding the car, he approached Foreman on the other side, his hands buried inside his coat pockets. "I know they're kind of close. I could see how you might get confused."
As much as House was sure he would raid Foreman's fridge later, he wasn't interested in a sit-down meal at Foreman's dining table--he doubted Foreman ate his dinners on his couch--squirming with the anticipation of what would come next. Foreman would probably expect conversation--about what, House hadn't the faintest idea, not exactly sure what topics Foreman chatted about, and not particularly caring. House didn't chat. Didn't talk just to fill dead space. If Foreman wanted to talk about anything interesting or consequential--or fill his stomach, for that matter--he would have to wait, because House did not plan to sit through a dinner with Foreman while anticipatory arousal churned in him. He'd rather relax with dinner, appease his appetite for food after the one for satisfying, hot sex. Foreman could wolf down whatever he wanted in the kitchen, as long as he didn't mind if House got a head start in the bedroom. House had felt worked up in varying degrees since Foreman had kissed him in the elevator and, despite his nagging doubts and lingering fears, he couldn't rid himself of the desire to lead Foreman into his own bedroom now that he was here.