Foreman tried to roll his eyes when House spoke, but he was too impatient to make much of the gesture. He should have found his apartment key without looking, but House was standing so close behind him that Foreman was left silently urging him to take one last step forward and press his cock against Foreman's ass. House thought he hadn't been subtle last time? Foreman thought about telling him exactly what he'd been thinking, in as much detail as he could muster, possibly with breathless, frantic pauses for demonstrations. Except that would make House's point for him. House was taunting him--and Foreman didn't know with what. Was he saying that Foreman should convince him he could be subtle? Or that House preferred him aggressive?
"See, House, that's what I mean," he said, finally unlocking the door. He opened it, already shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. "I can do subtle. You--" He paused, dropping his jacket somewhere near the closet, and decided to bluff his way through. Whatever House wanted, it would become pretty damn obvious quickly enough. "--can make sarcastic comments that tell me exactly what you want." Foreman turned back, reaching around House's shoulder and putting one palm flat against the door. He pushed it shut, which put him, once again, in the position of having House trapped up against a wall. And, fuck, Foreman could feel the heat of him, as if their clothes weren't there at all. Which was a good idea. A fucking wonderful idea. Foreman was still debating between subtle and not, and finally decided to go with "both" before simply staring at House and waiting drove him crazy.
He grabbed House's wrist again, not a soft touch searching out his pulse, but a hard, uncompromising grasp, knocking House's hand back against the door with every intention of holding him there as long as Foreman wanted. When he kissed House, though, he barely made contact. He brushed his mouth against the prickle of House's stubble, darted his tongue out just far enough to taste the comparative softness of House's lower lip. It was fucking electric, that nothing of a touch feeling like a thousand pinpricks of pleasure. Foreman was already breathing harshly, and his cock was more than interested. God, he ached, wanted to rub up against House's hip, lean the rest of the way into him, and his grip on House's wrist tightened almost involuntarily. He needed to know first, though, whether House would deepen the kiss or try to tease Foreman back. Whether the point of this was subtlety or not. He kept his hips canted back, and waited to see if House would drag him closer or draw out the tender, barely-there kiss.
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"See, House, that's what I mean," he said, finally unlocking the door. He opened it, already shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. "I can do subtle. You--" He paused, dropping his jacket somewhere near the closet, and decided to bluff his way through. Whatever House wanted, it would become pretty damn obvious quickly enough. "--can make sarcastic comments that tell me exactly what you want." Foreman turned back, reaching around House's shoulder and putting one palm flat against the door. He pushed it shut, which put him, once again, in the position of having House trapped up against a wall. And, fuck, Foreman could feel the heat of him, as if their clothes weren't there at all. Which was a good idea. A fucking wonderful idea. Foreman was still debating between subtle and not, and finally decided to go with "both" before simply staring at House and waiting drove him crazy.
He grabbed House's wrist again, not a soft touch searching out his pulse, but a hard, uncompromising grasp, knocking House's hand back against the door with every intention of holding him there as long as Foreman wanted. When he kissed House, though, he barely made contact. He brushed his mouth against the prickle of House's stubble, darted his tongue out just far enough to taste the comparative softness of House's lower lip. It was fucking electric, that nothing of a touch feeling like a thousand pinpricks of pleasure. Foreman was already breathing harshly, and his cock was more than interested. God, he ached, wanted to rub up against House's hip, lean the rest of the way into him, and his grip on House's wrist tightened almost involuntarily. He needed to know first, though, whether House would deepen the kiss or try to tease Foreman back. Whether the point of this was subtlety or not. He kept his hips canted back, and waited to see if House would drag him closer or draw out the tender, barely-there kiss.