Foreman took a moment to watch House making his uneven-gaited way down the hall. He shook his head and laughed to himself while he slipped his belt free of its loops. God, what was he doing? Leading House on? Leading himself on? Maybe House had been right to worry that he'd leave--it made a lot more sense than hooking up the man who was in all practical ways his boss, not to mention a dozen years older, and a guy. None of those would be problems, except they weren't paired with discretion. Everything he'd said tonight, he was certain House would use against him at some point--maybe not soon, maybe it would be good for a week, a few months--but eventually, House would throw his words in his face. In front of as many witnesses as he could find. Foreman had lost track, had stopped being subtle several whispered assertions ago. He was setting himself up, with every move, every word.
Foreman bowed his head, pressing his hand against his erection, willing himself to calm down, to restrain himself. He still couldn't make himself care, couldn't shut up. He stood up and made his way to the bedroom, opening his fly as he went. By the time he stepped into the room, he'd pushed his pants and boxers off his hips, letting them fall to the floor. House was naked, too, and Foreman took in his back, his ass, his long legs. Except for his uneven stance, he looked perfectly whole. His head was bent slightly, and Foreman hadn't had this chance last time, just to look. Jesus Christ, Foreman didn't care about how he came off, how he sounded, and that almost made him want to stop. House would know--probably already knew--how badly Foreman wanted him, how turned on he was. It should feel a lot more dangerous than it did.
He stepped forward, lifting his hands to House's shoulders and then sweeping them down his arms. A quick grasp at his wrists, a squeeze as a reminder that he could pin House down if he wanted to--and fuck, he wanted to--and then Foreman moved his hands to House's torso, around to his stomach and down to his erection and started stroking him again. Slowly. Firmly. Purposefully. Running his hand over House's entire length, from balls to tip, his thumb rubbing over the head. Foreman kissed the back of House's shoulders, tasting his sweat, brushing his lips higher up House's neck, as far as he could comfortably reach. He was breathing hard, and he thrust his hips forward, rubbing his cock against House's ass. Pleasure surged through him, twisting through his stomach, gathering just behind his balls. So close, and he thought again of Saturday night, of coming while he was thrusting into House without a thought for how he'd looked. He wanted to ask, Is this what you want? because it felt like he'd already said too much himself, revealed too much of what he wanted. Any question he asked would only give House an opportunity to shoot him down, anything he said would be too much. And they were still standing, but Foreman had lost track of his goals the minute he'd stepped foot in the room.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-09 09:02 am (UTC)Foreman bowed his head, pressing his hand against his erection, willing himself to calm down, to restrain himself. He still couldn't make himself care, couldn't shut up. He stood up and made his way to the bedroom, opening his fly as he went. By the time he stepped into the room, he'd pushed his pants and boxers off his hips, letting them fall to the floor. House was naked, too, and Foreman took in his back, his ass, his long legs. Except for his uneven stance, he looked perfectly whole. His head was bent slightly, and Foreman hadn't had this chance last time, just to look. Jesus Christ, Foreman didn't care about how he came off, how he sounded, and that almost made him want to stop. House would know--probably already knew--how badly Foreman wanted him, how turned on he was. It should feel a lot more dangerous than it did.
He stepped forward, lifting his hands to House's shoulders and then sweeping them down his arms. A quick grasp at his wrists, a squeeze as a reminder that he could pin House down if he wanted to--and fuck, he wanted to--and then Foreman moved his hands to House's torso, around to his stomach and down to his erection and started stroking him again. Slowly. Firmly. Purposefully. Running his hand over House's entire length, from balls to tip, his thumb rubbing over the head. Foreman kissed the back of House's shoulders, tasting his sweat, brushing his lips higher up House's neck, as far as he could comfortably reach. He was breathing hard, and he thrust his hips forward, rubbing his cock against House's ass. Pleasure surged through him, twisting through his stomach, gathering just behind his balls. So close, and he thought again of Saturday night, of coming while he was thrusting into House without a thought for how he'd looked. He wanted to ask, Is this what you want? because it felt like he'd already said too much himself, revealed too much of what he wanted. Any question he asked would only give House an opportunity to shoot him down, anything he said would be too much. And they were still standing, but Foreman had lost track of his goals the minute he'd stepped foot in the room.