Foreman closed his eyes as he kissed the back of House's neck. He fucking loved the way House tilted his head, inviting his touch, letting him in. He loved that he could do this, make House act differently, make him shut up. When House let out a low, hoarse moan, Foreman rested his forehead against House's shoulder just to breathe, his chest heaving as he struggled with his own frustrated arousal. He scraped his teeth across the point of House's shoulder, then kissed him again, sucking and licking. He moved his hand faster, his grip tightening and twisting each time. He wanted to know what it looked like. Fuck, he couldn't see nearly enough. He wasn't tall enough to peer over House's shoulder, watch his own hand moving on House's cock. More importantly, he couldn't see House's face, watch his expressions chase each other across his features, watch for the moment when House truly stopped thinking.
When House reached back to grasp his ass, his fingers spread and gripping lightly, Foreman couldn't help letting out a short, needy "Fuck, yeah," nearly a moan against House's neck. He pushed his hips forward, needing more friction, more heat, more pressure. God, it wasn't enough. He wanted to know that he was turning House on so much that he couldn't help but pull Foreman even closer, but House wasn't cooperating. Holding, not pulling. Too fucking patient by half, even if he was leaning his back into Foreman's chest, off-balance and trusting Foreman to hold him up. His first moan had been gratifying, but it wasn't enough any more, slow wasn't enough, seeing only House's back was definitely not enough.
"I want to see you," he said, his voice harsh and low. Foreman frowned fiercely, hiding it as he ducked his head and rested it against the top of House's arm. House still hadn't said anything, and what the hell was Foreman supposed to do, keep on being the one putting himself out there, exposing everything he wanted? Last time House had been far more vocal--maybe just because he'd been drunk--snapping out comments, and, at the end, saying Foreman's name, his voice rising and broken when he'd asked Foreman to fuck him. Foreman wanted that, wanted House to admit what Foreman was doing to him, admit that it was Foreman doing it.
"Lie down," he said, nudging House, kissing the point of his shoulder one last time before stepping back. He didn't know if House would do as he said; so far, House had been so much more compliant, but at the same time he'd done less. One kiss in the living room when he'd actually touched Foreman, slipped his hands under his shirt, and that was it. Foreman's frustration was beginning to build, because he hadn't exactly signed up to do this solo, to provide for all of House's needs and leave himself hanging. Was it because House didn't really want to be here? That Foreman hadn't really convinced him, that he was humouring him somehow? That he'd take his orgasm and then just check out? Well, fuck that. Foreman could have jerked off if that's all he'd wanted, and avoided the entire humiliating fight with House in the parking lot. If House really was here for him, with him, then he'd damn well listen when Foreman told him what he wanted. He sat down on the bed himself, closing his eyes for a moment--as much as he wanted to see House, he didn't need to see his reaction to Foreman admitting how desperate he was. He lay down, rolled to his back, and reached for his erection, stroking himself to full hardness, groaning once, sharply. "You should--be doing this," he panted out between his teeth, trying to speak through the relief, the pleasure, of finally getting the touch he needed--if not the touch he wanted. I want you to be doing this. It was too much, though, he couldn't say it, and he simply rolled his head back against the pillows and kept going.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-12-09 09:48 pm (UTC)When House reached back to grasp his ass, his fingers spread and gripping lightly, Foreman couldn't help letting out a short, needy "Fuck, yeah," nearly a moan against House's neck. He pushed his hips forward, needing more friction, more heat, more pressure. God, it wasn't enough. He wanted to know that he was turning House on so much that he couldn't help but pull Foreman even closer, but House wasn't cooperating. Holding, not pulling. Too fucking patient by half, even if he was leaning his back into Foreman's chest, off-balance and trusting Foreman to hold him up. His first moan had been gratifying, but it wasn't enough any more, slow wasn't enough, seeing only House's back was definitely not enough.
"I want to see you," he said, his voice harsh and low. Foreman frowned fiercely, hiding it as he ducked his head and rested it against the top of House's arm. House still hadn't said anything, and what the hell was Foreman supposed to do, keep on being the one putting himself out there, exposing everything he wanted? Last time House had been far more vocal--maybe just because he'd been drunk--snapping out comments, and, at the end, saying Foreman's name, his voice rising and broken when he'd asked Foreman to fuck him. Foreman wanted that, wanted House to admit what Foreman was doing to him, admit that it was Foreman doing it.
"Lie down," he said, nudging House, kissing the point of his shoulder one last time before stepping back. He didn't know if House would do as he said; so far, House had been so much more compliant, but at the same time he'd done less. One kiss in the living room when he'd actually touched Foreman, slipped his hands under his shirt, and that was it. Foreman's frustration was beginning to build, because he hadn't exactly signed up to do this solo, to provide for all of House's needs and leave himself hanging. Was it because House didn't really want to be here? That Foreman hadn't really convinced him, that he was humouring him somehow? That he'd take his orgasm and then just check out? Well, fuck that. Foreman could have jerked off if that's all he'd wanted, and avoided the entire humiliating fight with House in the parking lot. If House really was here for him, with him, then he'd damn well listen when Foreman told him what he wanted. He sat down on the bed himself, closing his eyes for a moment--as much as he wanted to see House, he didn't need to see his reaction to Foreman admitting how desperate he was. He lay down, rolled to his back, and reached for his erection, stroking himself to full hardness, groaning once, sharply. "You should--be doing this," he panted out between his teeth, trying to speak through the relief, the pleasure, of finally getting the touch he needed--if not the touch he wanted. I want you to be doing this. It was too much, though, he couldn't say it, and he simply rolled his head back against the pillows and kept going.