House was hard pressed to recall a time Foreman responded so eagerly to a command and he would have told Foreman how needy and pathetic it was if Foreman's last words weren't echoing in his ears. He had made a point not to look at Foreman as he'd spoken, not wanting to see the cloudy desire he knew was floating across his eyes.
"Don't push it," House said, pretending that Foreman's words hadn't forced his whole body to tighten with arousal. It was dirty, and obscene, but hearing Foreman utter what he wanted to do, volunteer the information, nearly made House shiver. Foreman was kidding himself, though, if he thought that their roles wouldn't be reversed in the next fifteen minutes (and, if Foreman thought differently, House would fuck him to bring himself off, and would refuse to settle for a handjob). House wasn't Foreman's little whore, and, no matter how it made him react, another few words like that out of Foreman's mouth and House would be sure to prove Foreman wrong again, deny him what he wanted, let Foreman come all over himself in hot, messy streaks. It would probably rob him of his own chance to come inside Foreman's mouth, but denying Foreman what he seemed to believe was a sure thing would give him just as much pleasure. But, House admitted to himself, he hoped that Foreman would keep his intentions to himself for both their sakes; hearing Foreman tell him what he wanted--better yet, ask for it-- and hearing him boss him around were different, even though both of them were hot enough to make House want to touch himself. House just had a tendency to rebel against orders, and Foreman should know better to keep his words order-free.
He glanced down Foreman's body as Foreman spread his legs, inviting him--practically begging him--to lay between them. "Wow," House said, unable to resist the taunt as he crawled between Foreman's legs and settled on his stomach. "You are desperate."
He peered up at Foreman, feeling in-control, even as his face hovered an inch or two from Foreman's dick, his hand on Foreman's hip, so close to where he knew Foreman wanted it. He waited for a moment, looking intently at Foreman, before he lowered his eyes to take in the sight of Foreman's cock. Swollen, shiny with precome, involuntarily flexing with each hot breath of air House let flow over the skin. House ignored his own arousal, the strain of his own erection, anticipating how fucking high he would feel when he forced Foreman to react without ever thinking, when he made him come. He let himself imagine it for a moment, purposefully drawing out Foreman's wait. Then, without affording Foreman another glance, House curled his fingers around the base of Foreman's cock and took the head into his mouth, closing his lips around the shaft but keeping the pressure lighter, not nearly as powerful and firm as the suction he'd applied to Foreman's thumb. Not yet.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-13 08:00 am (UTC)"Don't push it," House said, pretending that Foreman's words hadn't forced his whole body to tighten with arousal. It was dirty, and obscene, but hearing Foreman utter what he wanted to do, volunteer the information, nearly made House shiver. Foreman was kidding himself, though, if he thought that their roles wouldn't be reversed in the next fifteen minutes (and, if Foreman thought differently, House would fuck him to bring himself off, and would refuse to settle for a handjob). House wasn't Foreman's little whore, and, no matter how it made him react, another few words like that out of Foreman's mouth and House would be sure to prove Foreman wrong again, deny him what he wanted, let Foreman come all over himself in hot, messy streaks. It would probably rob him of his own chance to come inside Foreman's mouth, but denying Foreman what he seemed to believe was a sure thing would give him just as much pleasure. But, House admitted to himself, he hoped that Foreman would keep his intentions to himself for both their sakes; hearing Foreman tell him what he wanted--better yet, ask for it-- and hearing him boss him around were different, even though both of them were hot enough to make House want to touch himself. House just had a tendency to rebel against orders, and Foreman should know better to keep his words order-free.
He glanced down Foreman's body as Foreman spread his legs, inviting him--practically begging him--to lay between them. "Wow," House said, unable to resist the taunt as he crawled between Foreman's legs and settled on his stomach. "You are desperate."
He peered up at Foreman, feeling in-control, even as his face hovered an inch or two from Foreman's dick, his hand on Foreman's hip, so close to where he knew Foreman wanted it. He waited for a moment, looking intently at Foreman, before he lowered his eyes to take in the sight of Foreman's cock. Swollen, shiny with precome, involuntarily flexing with each hot breath of air House let flow over the skin. House ignored his own arousal, the strain of his own erection, anticipating how fucking high he would feel when he forced Foreman to react without ever thinking, when he made him come. He let himself imagine it for a moment, purposefully drawing out Foreman's wait. Then, without affording Foreman another glance, House curled his fingers around the base of Foreman's cock and took the head into his mouth, closing his lips around the shaft but keeping the pressure lighter, not nearly as powerful and firm as the suction he'd applied to Foreman's thumb. Not yet.