So when Foreman surged forward and kissed him, it took a few moments for House to process what the hell was happening. Foreman kissed with a slow tenderness as if he were testing if House could follow through, participate in it without attempting to force it into something more aggressive. Mild panic still fluttered inside his stomach, but he tried to concentrate on Foreman's kiss, on returning it with the same kind of pressure. He let himself lean into Foreman's touch, though, and, by the time Foreman pulled away, House felt disappointed. God, he hardly knew what the fuck was going on inside his own head, and he couldn't muster up the same anger that Foreman was revealing in his eyes. He felt stunned as he looked at Foreman, watching his lips move as he spoke, trying to figure out what the hell Foreman was trying to accomplish.
House suspected it was a test and stared at Foreman, drawing a deep, shaky breath and swallowing around the knot in his throat. Fucking terrifying. This was fucking terrifying, but House couldn't let Foreman kick him out, reject him again. He wouldn't let Foreman do it, even if he played straight into what Foreman wanted, or expected him to do. Wouldn't. House couldn't arrive at any verbal reply, his thoughts scattered enough as it was, so he acted instead. Pushing down his God damned doubts and fears, he focused on the determination to meet Foreman's challenge, to prove, even just to himself, that he wanted this, and he bowed his head, tucking his face into the curve of Foreman's neck. He opened his mouth wide against Foreman's neck, pressing his lips firmly to Foreman's skin as his tongue smoothed over it, sucked gently before shifting higher, under Foreman's jaw. He could taste salty sweat on his tongue, the lingering, stray bitterness of Foreman's cologne, dragging his tongue over his jawline, for no other purpose than, underneath all of his doubts, he'd fucking wanted to take in his damn taste all night. No, I don't have a problem with that. No, I'm not going to get the hell out. Fuck that. No. House's heart felt as thought it slammed into the back of his sternum with each beat, determination to stay rising through his chest. Determination to make Foreman want him again. House closed his eyes, lifted his mouth barely more than a paper's width away from Foreman's neck, and flattened his hands over Foreman's back. One stayed spread out over the small of Foreman's back, his palm hot and damp, while the other slid around Foreman's body, over his hip to cover his erection.
God, it really was easier now, to do this when Foreman had come to him, when the only movement House needed to make was subtle, a short reach down. Not on orders, but on his own. On his terms. It nudged House nearer to his comfort zone, and he took advantage, gathering confidence. House raised his head to meet Foreman's eyes as he wrapped his hand around Foreman's dick, squeezing gently before he slowly, deliberately began to stroke him. "That seem like a problem?" he whispered, his voice thick, echoing none of Foreman's anger, but his arousal still evident, obvious in his tone.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-10 01:05 pm (UTC)House suspected it was a test and stared at Foreman, drawing a deep, shaky breath and swallowing around the knot in his throat. Fucking terrifying. This was fucking terrifying, but House couldn't let Foreman kick him out, reject him again. He wouldn't let Foreman do it, even if he played straight into what Foreman wanted, or expected him to do. Wouldn't. House couldn't arrive at any verbal reply, his thoughts scattered enough as it was, so he acted instead. Pushing down his God damned doubts and fears, he focused on the determination to meet Foreman's challenge, to prove, even just to himself, that he wanted this, and he bowed his head, tucking his face into the curve of Foreman's neck. He opened his mouth wide against Foreman's neck, pressing his lips firmly to Foreman's skin as his tongue smoothed over it, sucked gently before shifting higher, under Foreman's jaw. He could taste salty sweat on his tongue, the lingering, stray bitterness of Foreman's cologne, dragging his tongue over his jawline, for no other purpose than, underneath all of his doubts, he'd fucking wanted to take in his damn taste all night. No, I don't have a problem with that. No, I'm not going to get the hell out. Fuck that. No. House's heart felt as thought it slammed into the back of his sternum with each beat, determination to stay rising through his chest. Determination to make Foreman want him again. House closed his eyes, lifted his mouth barely more than a paper's width away from Foreman's neck, and flattened his hands over Foreman's back. One stayed spread out over the small of Foreman's back, his palm hot and damp, while the other slid around Foreman's body, over his hip to cover his erection.
God, it really was easier now, to do this when Foreman had come to him, when the only movement House needed to make was subtle, a short reach down. Not on orders, but on his own. On his terms. It nudged House nearer to his comfort zone, and he took advantage, gathering confidence. House raised his head to meet Foreman's eyes as he wrapped his hand around Foreman's dick, squeezing gently before he slowly, deliberately began to stroke him. "That seem like a problem?" he whispered, his voice thick, echoing none of Foreman's anger, but his arousal still evident, obvious in his tone.