Foreman's reactions just kept getting better, and House was starting to berate himself for being so fucking needy, for not pushing like this in the first place. He let Foreman pull him closer and only had enough time to expel a short puff of air in response to Foreman's comment before Foreman kissed him. Foreman kept doing that, kissing him after he spoke to force him to keep quiet, and the worst fucking part of it was that House couldn't stop himself from falling into the trap of it. The only sound he made was a short groan as Foreman gripped the back of his neck, angling him deeper into the kiss. So fucking good.
He was lying half-over Foreman, nearly straddling Foreman's right leg, his erection throbbing, pressing against Foreman's hip. One arm, bent at the elbow, held him up enough to keep his weight off of Foreman, while the other worked still moved along Foreman's cock, guided by Foreman's hand. He barely had to do any of the work; he only had to keep his grip firm while Foreman controlled most of the movement, his hand pulling his along with it, his hips rising to thrust into their hands. Each time Foreman lifted his hips, little surges of pleasure raced through House's groin, and he moved his own hips to rub himself against Foreman's hip, push into the pressure that already heightened with Foreman's movements. It wasn't close to enough, and he wanted to either shift fully over Foreman, let him take both of their dicks in his hand again, or roll off him, lay back, and demand that Foreman suck him off before he--
Wait, no, this was about Foreman. Pushing him. Breaking him. Making Foreman want him and ask for him--beg him--not the other fucking way around. Foreman's voice cut into his thoughts, and House took the chance for another push, tearing his hand away from Foreman's dick and rolling to Foreman's side again. He made no other move to touch him, too focused on pushing and finding out exactly what Foreman wanted. He wanted to pull the words out of him to prove that he could, to prove that he could hear them and not freeze up. Prove Foreman wrong.
House lowered his mouth to Foreman's ear, not letting his lips touch him--not letting any part of him touch him. "Say it," he rasped out quietly. "Finish it."
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He was lying half-over Foreman, nearly straddling Foreman's right leg, his erection throbbing, pressing against Foreman's hip. One arm, bent at the elbow, held him up enough to keep his weight off of Foreman, while the other worked still moved along Foreman's cock, guided by Foreman's hand. He barely had to do any of the work; he only had to keep his grip firm while Foreman controlled most of the movement, his hand pulling his along with it, his hips rising to thrust into their hands. Each time Foreman lifted his hips, little surges of pleasure raced through House's groin, and he moved his own hips to rub himself against Foreman's hip, push into the pressure that already heightened with Foreman's movements. It wasn't close to enough, and he wanted to either shift fully over Foreman, let him take both of their dicks in his hand again, or roll off him, lay back, and demand that Foreman suck him off before he--
Wait, no, this was about Foreman. Pushing him. Breaking him. Making Foreman want him and ask for him--beg him--not the other fucking way around. Foreman's voice cut into his thoughts, and House took the chance for another push, tearing his hand away from Foreman's dick and rolling to Foreman's side again. He made no other move to touch him, too focused on pushing and finding out exactly what Foreman wanted. He wanted to pull the words out of him to prove that he could, to prove that he could hear them and not freeze up. Prove Foreman wrong.
House lowered his mouth to Foreman's ear, not letting his lips touch him--not letting any part of him touch him. "Say it," he rasped out quietly. "Finish it."