If Foreman noticed the change, he failed to acknowledge it. It made House believe that Foreman actually hadn't noticed, probably too distracted by the prospect of getting rid of his shirt. Foreman wouldn't have hesitated to let him know, to shove his face in his own cowardice, and House covered his surprise when the taunt never came, focusing on opening Foreman's shirt to get it off of him. He felt Foreman's hands creeping under the waistband of his jeans, his underwear, and his concentration slipped. He had to fumble to get the rest of the buttons unfastened, and let Foreman actually take the shirt off as House's hands returned to Foreman's hips, gripping harder, urgency bleeding into the touch.
He scoffed at Foreman's words, looking down at him, but a dozen retorts danced straight out of House's head at Foreman's touch, Foreman's hand brushing over his erection through his jeans. His eyes blinked closed as a gusty breath left him in a hurry, cut off by Foreman's kiss. He barely had time to return it before Foreman pulled away. House felt his body sag forward as Foreman's hand moved over him, too lightly, one hand rising to grip Foreman's shoulder, his head drooping to the side of Foreman's. Fuck, it was torturous, that slow touch, the sensation dulled by the denim. His focus narrowed to it, taking in as much as he could. He hardly comprehended Foreman's words, the sound of Foreman's voice muffled in his ears by his own breathing.
"Yeah." The word slipped with a shaky whisper as House pushed into Foreman's hand, and House squeezed his eyes shut, hearing his own voice, hating himself for breaking first. He'd had a plan, damn it. Hold off from touching Foreman where House knew he wanted it until Foreman admitted it, asked for it, and it could still work. Almost. Turning the tables on Foreman would be gratifying, too, but damn it, he couldn't seem to tear himself away from Foreman's touch long enough to execute his own moves. His hips kept pushing forward, wanting more pressure, a fuller touch, and he helplessly held on to Foreman, ducking his head to the curve of Foreman's neck, caught between gathering himself and getting lost in Foreman's touch, the warmth of him. God, it would be so easy. Fighting was harder, and his body wasn't making it any easier.
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He scoffed at Foreman's words, looking down at him, but a dozen retorts danced straight out of House's head at Foreman's touch, Foreman's hand brushing over his erection through his jeans. His eyes blinked closed as a gusty breath left him in a hurry, cut off by Foreman's kiss. He barely had time to return it before Foreman pulled away. House felt his body sag forward as Foreman's hand moved over him, too lightly, one hand rising to grip Foreman's shoulder, his head drooping to the side of Foreman's. Fuck, it was torturous, that slow touch, the sensation dulled by the denim. His focus narrowed to it, taking in as much as he could. He hardly comprehended Foreman's words, the sound of Foreman's voice muffled in his ears by his own breathing.
"Yeah." The word slipped with a shaky whisper as House pushed into Foreman's hand, and House squeezed his eyes shut, hearing his own voice, hating himself for breaking first. He'd had a plan, damn it. Hold off from touching Foreman where House knew he wanted it until Foreman admitted it, asked for it, and it could still work. Almost. Turning the tables on Foreman would be gratifying, too, but damn it, he couldn't seem to tear himself away from Foreman's touch long enough to execute his own moves. His hips kept pushing forward, wanting more pressure, a fuller touch, and he helplessly held on to Foreman, ducking his head to the curve of Foreman's neck, caught between gathering himself and getting lost in Foreman's touch, the warmth of him. God, it would be so easy. Fighting was harder, and his body wasn't making it any easier.