"Yeah, you really have room to talk," Foreman muttered. House was the one practically sprawling between his legs, looking pretty damn eager for someone who 'wasn't desperate'. If he didn't think it would scare House out of his bed and probably out of his apartment, Foreman would bring up how impatiently House had been moaning for it in the living room, when Foreman hadn't so much as stripped his pants off yet. And after Foreman came--and after he took a good long time recovering while House waited, tense and horny and untouched--then House would learn what desperation felt like. Foreman would be sated, relaxed, ready to be playful if it meant driving House out of his fucking mind. He deserved any revenge Foreman could come up with. His mouth was an inch from Foreman's cock, one hand gripping his hip, looking up with a smirk on his face instead of doing anything. Fuck, he hated it when House was right. Foreman was desperate. Wanting House's mouth, but more certain than ever that saying anything would only prompt House to draw it out interminably, leave him hanging.
A short, breathy yes was wrenched out of Foreman when House finally lowered his head and sucked him in. God, House was moving his mouth and hand in concert, and fucking taunting him with the light, almost exploratory touch. Foreman's thighs tensed, and he pushed his heels back against the bed, flexing upwards as if that would make House use some goddamn pressure. The head of his cock was incredibly sensitive, and he could feel House's every breath gusting from his nose, the hint of roughness from House's stubble when he lowered his mouth. Foreman touched the back of House's head, forcing himself not to grab or push; he wasn't the only one who could exact some payback once the tables were turned. He couldn't stop moving his hand--it was either that or crush the back of House's neck and thrust up into his mouth without warning--so he ended up nearly petting House's thin, fine hair, brushing his fingertips lightly around his ears and down the back of his neck, then kneading his shoulder as firmly as he wanted House's hand stroking his dick.
Foreman knew he wasn't going to be able to stay silent, wasn't going to get through House's teasing without asking for more. He hated himself for giving in, for feeding House's ego if only it meant getting something--anything--in return. That was a losing proposition where House was concerned. Ask and get nothing except insults and taunts. But Foreman had never been driven this far before, never gotten so close to the edge, with House's mouth wrapped hot and willing around his cock. "Yeah," he said, letting his head fall back against the headboard, ignoring the dull pain as it was washed away in the rush of tingling, nerve-searing sensation. "House. Suck it, ohh--"
If Foreman knew House at all, then he was waiting for Foreman to break, to beg. He bit his lip, his pride fighting with the slow, hot build of pleasure in the pit of his stomach, the heaviness in his balls. His hips twitched up, looking again for that final pressure that would be enough, that would let him come, the growing, impossibly good sensation when he finally tipped over into orgasm. Foreman pushed out another harsh breath. He didn't want to say it, God, but he wanted more, needed it. House was waiting for it. That fucking bastard, he was waiting for Foreman to ask nicely, as if House ever responded to politeness, ever did anything for someone just because they asked. Foreman almost laughed through his desperation at the idea of House responding to a civil request. He would now, though, Foreman was sure of it. He squeezed his eyes shut. If that's all he could win then he'd take it: getting House to act like a goddamn human being, probably without even thinking. "Please," he said tightly, and echoed it again in his mind, harder, please, now.
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A short, breathy yes was wrenched out of Foreman when House finally lowered his head and sucked him in. God, House was moving his mouth and hand in concert, and fucking taunting him with the light, almost exploratory touch. Foreman's thighs tensed, and he pushed his heels back against the bed, flexing upwards as if that would make House use some goddamn pressure. The head of his cock was incredibly sensitive, and he could feel House's every breath gusting from his nose, the hint of roughness from House's stubble when he lowered his mouth. Foreman touched the back of House's head, forcing himself not to grab or push; he wasn't the only one who could exact some payback once the tables were turned. He couldn't stop moving his hand--it was either that or crush the back of House's neck and thrust up into his mouth without warning--so he ended up nearly petting House's thin, fine hair, brushing his fingertips lightly around his ears and down the back of his neck, then kneading his shoulder as firmly as he wanted House's hand stroking his dick.
Foreman knew he wasn't going to be able to stay silent, wasn't going to get through House's teasing without asking for more. He hated himself for giving in, for feeding House's ego if only it meant getting something--anything--in return. That was a losing proposition where House was concerned. Ask and get nothing except insults and taunts. But Foreman had never been driven this far before, never gotten so close to the edge, with House's mouth wrapped hot and willing around his cock. "Yeah," he said, letting his head fall back against the headboard, ignoring the dull pain as it was washed away in the rush of tingling, nerve-searing sensation. "House. Suck it, ohh--"
If Foreman knew House at all, then he was waiting for Foreman to break, to beg. He bit his lip, his pride fighting with the slow, hot build of pleasure in the pit of his stomach, the heaviness in his balls. His hips twitched up, looking again for that final pressure that would be enough, that would let him come, the growing, impossibly good sensation when he finally tipped over into orgasm. Foreman pushed out another harsh breath. He didn't want to say it, God, but he wanted more, needed it. House was waiting for it. That fucking bastard, he was waiting for Foreman to ask nicely, as if House ever responded to politeness, ever did anything for someone just because they asked. Foreman almost laughed through his desperation at the idea of House responding to a civil request. He would now, though, Foreman was sure of it. He squeezed his eyes shut. If that's all he could win then he'd take it: getting House to act like a goddamn human being, probably without even thinking. "Please," he said tightly, and echoed it again in his mind, harder, please, now.