House raised his head, alarmed to see Foreman sitting up on the bed, hands clenched into fists that pressed into the mattress. Great. Foreman was not only staring at him, making House want to cover himself and slink away, out of sight, but Foreman looked as though he might leap off the bed and kick him out the door if he couldn't come up with an answer soon. Now he couldn't think, had no idea what he could say. He couldn't make sense of any of the phrases and thoughts rampaging through his brain, feeling the pressure to say something, his face growing hot under Foreman's hard glare. House was too nervous, too taken aback to be angry, and his respiration sped up, breaths coming fast and noisy through his mouth.
"I--" House forced himself to swallow all the saliva in his mouth, gently shaking his head to help along his words. He couldn't look Foreman in the eyes as he spoke, looking down at the floor. "I don't know. I--" I want this. I want to know that you want me. It's fucking terrifying. Terrifying that any of it matters. I want you to kiss me, and touch me, and fuck me, and just fucking let me stay because you won't spread this around, or make this more complicated than it would need to be--and why the fuck am I thinking about this? No use saying any of it, even if he could; Foreman wouldn't believe it. It wouldn't do any good. Foreman would believe what he wanted to believe.
House glanced towards the door of the bedroom before turning his head to face Foreman again, still cemented to the damn floor. He didn't want to leave. Not really. If he walked out this time, he had a feeling Foreman would refuse to ever let him in again, that it would be the one push that shoved Foreman too hard. He didn't know what the hell he should do--try to pretend nothing had happened, or kiss him, or keep standing there, wait for Foreman to do something for the both of them. He had no fucking idea. God, he was a moron. A real fucking moron. He was sure that he'd just ruined his chances of getting laid. He might have just pushed Foreman to take a new job in who the fuck knew where. He didn't fucking want that. But he didn't know what to do about it, if Foreman would even let him do anything about it.
Hell, if Foreman stood up, got in his face, or put any more pressure on him, House wasn't sure how he would respond, but at least he'd have something to go on. He might blurt out the first thought that came to his mind, and, as fucking scary as that was, he'd at least have a better answer than a pathetic 'I don't know'.
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"I--" House forced himself to swallow all the saliva in his mouth, gently shaking his head to help along his words. He couldn't look Foreman in the eyes as he spoke, looking down at the floor. "I don't know. I--" I want this. I want to know that you want me. It's fucking terrifying. Terrifying that any of it matters. I want you to kiss me, and touch me, and fuck me, and just fucking let me stay because you won't spread this around, or make this more complicated than it would need to be--and why the fuck am I thinking about this? No use saying any of it, even if he could; Foreman wouldn't believe it. It wouldn't do any good. Foreman would believe what he wanted to believe.
House glanced towards the door of the bedroom before turning his head to face Foreman again, still cemented to the damn floor. He didn't want to leave. Not really. If he walked out this time, he had a feeling Foreman would refuse to ever let him in again, that it would be the one push that shoved Foreman too hard. He didn't know what the hell he should do--try to pretend nothing had happened, or kiss him, or keep standing there, wait for Foreman to do something for the both of them. He had no fucking idea. God, he was a moron. A real fucking moron. He was sure that he'd just ruined his chances of getting laid. He might have just pushed Foreman to take a new job in who the fuck knew where. He didn't fucking want that. But he didn't know what to do about it, if Foreman would even let him do anything about it.
Hell, if Foreman stood up, got in his face, or put any more pressure on him, House wasn't sure how he would respond, but at least he'd have something to go on. He might blurt out the first thought that came to his mind, and, as fucking scary as that was, he'd at least have a better answer than a pathetic 'I don't know'.