House had been determinedly standing his ground, despite the anger flashing through Foreman's eyes, and he was already formulating sarcastic retorts to anything Foreman might say, just for one last push before he forced Foreman's control to snap. When the pad of Foreman's thumb touched his lip, however, the path from his brain to his mouth shorted out--House swore he could hear the crackle-hiss; it could have been his breath, and he suddenly wasn't sure. House's lips automatically parted, and his eyes closed as Foreman's thumb brushed across his lip, leaving a wet trail behind it. House held his breath, felt it burn in his lungs, until Foreman bent his thumb over his lip, and a breath blustered out of him, hard and fast. His eyelids fluttered open as Foreman spoke again, whispered almost inaudibly. If House hadn't opened his eyes, watched Foreman's mouth form the words, he might have missed what Foreman had said. Jesus, he was glad he hadn't missed it, and he raised his eyes to meet Foreman's, mirror the serious expression he found on his face. He was too turned on to make a damn joke of it.
He had wanted Foreman to ask, but Foreman's tone and the press of his thumb on his lip, just inside his mouth was better. Damn. I want you to make me come. House couldn't stop the playback loop, and, fuck, it sounded so damn hot. It was so hard not to reach down and touch himself, but, even though he intended to comply, he couldn't let Foreman see how much those words had turned him on, made him this hot just to hear them. It hadn't been, 'I want to come'. No. 'I want you to make me come.' The echoing words combined with the persistent nudge of Foreman's thumb, the pressure on his lip, and, Jesus, it made him fucking throb, heat racing over his skin. Even the action spoke of how badly Foreman wanted him to do something, applying pressure almost as though he wanted to pull his jaw down, force his way into his mouth, like he would accept anything. Like he was desperate for whatever he could get from him. From him. Fuck.
Despite it, Foreman seemed incredibly in-control, his gaze and expression holding steady, and House suddenly wasn't sure who had broken. House barely felt in control of his body as it leaned forward, his lips parting wider to take Foreman's thumb, just past the knuckle, inside his mouth before his lips closed again. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Foreman's as he swirled his tongue around Foreman's thumb, sucking hard enough to draw blood to the tip underneath the skin. House could feel the pulse in the pad of his finger before he pulled back, only several seconds later, licking his lips, tasting the precome that Foreman had finger-painted there. Lifting his chin, he sucked the taste off his tongue and swallowed, letting Foreman see his throat work--a fifteen-second preview, beginning to end, of what House knew he wanted, what he'd admitted he wanted.
House already felt more in-control, still holding Foreman's gaze. He guessed he'd already proven Foreman wrong, just with that display, that small act of compliance, and House felt a wave of satisfaction from it. The idea of actually doing what Foreman wanted, the reaction that would earn, would make him feel like a fucking god. Watching Foreman writhe, and buck, listening to him try to hold back a groan and fail. Making him come. Fuck, yes.
House couldn't repress the faint smirk tugging at his mouth, and he quickly ducked his head so Foreman couldn't see his face as he pushed away from him. He shifted awkwardly on the bed, looking for a good, comfortable way to position himself and realizing it would be much easier if he had a little more room. He wasn't going to bend himself in half for this. When he managed to force the smirk off his face, he raised his head again. "Move," he said gruffly, nodding toward the head of the bed. He wasn't about to elaborate and if Foreman didn't want to listen, then he could take care of himself.
![[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: 2008-12-12 12:39 pm (UTC)He had wanted Foreman to ask, but Foreman's tone and the press of his thumb on his lip, just inside his mouth was better. Damn. I want you to make me come. House couldn't stop the playback loop, and, fuck, it sounded so damn hot. It was so hard not to reach down and touch himself, but, even though he intended to comply, he couldn't let Foreman see how much those words had turned him on, made him this hot just to hear them. It hadn't been, 'I want to come'. No. 'I want you to make me come.' The echoing words combined with the persistent nudge of Foreman's thumb, the pressure on his lip, and, Jesus, it made him fucking throb, heat racing over his skin. Even the action spoke of how badly Foreman wanted him to do something, applying pressure almost as though he wanted to pull his jaw down, force his way into his mouth, like he would accept anything. Like he was desperate for whatever he could get from him. From him. Fuck.
Despite it, Foreman seemed incredibly in-control, his gaze and expression holding steady, and House suddenly wasn't sure who had broken. House barely felt in control of his body as it leaned forward, his lips parting wider to take Foreman's thumb, just past the knuckle, inside his mouth before his lips closed again. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Foreman's as he swirled his tongue around Foreman's thumb, sucking hard enough to draw blood to the tip underneath the skin. House could feel the pulse in the pad of his finger before he pulled back, only several seconds later, licking his lips, tasting the precome that Foreman had finger-painted there. Lifting his chin, he sucked the taste off his tongue and swallowed, letting Foreman see his throat work--a fifteen-second preview, beginning to end, of what House knew he wanted, what he'd admitted he wanted.
House already felt more in-control, still holding Foreman's gaze. He guessed he'd already proven Foreman wrong, just with that display, that small act of compliance, and House felt a wave of satisfaction from it. The idea of actually doing what Foreman wanted, the reaction that would earn, would make him feel like a fucking god. Watching Foreman writhe, and buck, listening to him try to hold back a groan and fail. Making him come. Fuck, yes.
House couldn't repress the faint smirk tugging at his mouth, and he quickly ducked his head so Foreman couldn't see his face as he pushed away from him. He shifted awkwardly on the bed, looking for a good, comfortable way to position himself and realizing it would be much easier if he had a little more room. He wasn't going to bend himself in half for this. When he managed to force the smirk off his face, he raised his head again. "Move," he said gruffly, nodding toward the head of the bed. He wasn't about to elaborate and if Foreman didn't want to listen, then he could take care of himself.