Last time, House hadn't had the opportunity to concentrate; Foreman had been too busy pushing his cock down his throat. House had been more concerned about breathing--not to mention suppressing his gag reflex and the urge to vomit--than giving Foreman decent head. Now, House focused on the taste of Foreman's cock, the texture of his skin, the fullness of him inside his mouth. The head felt blood-warm, even as it pushed against the heat of his tongue, slipped smoothly over the inside of his cheek. He repressed a grin when Foreman raised his hips, undoubtedly looking for more heat and pressure, more suction, and House raised his head, moving his lips to the tip of Foreman's dick until he lowered his hips again. He refused to rush, just because Foreman was aching to come; House wanted to know the touch, or flick, or kind of pressure that made Foreman's body arch off the bed, made him reach for his head, made him want more. House slowed when he felt Foreman's hand on his head, waiting to see if he'd push, try to force him, but Foreman never did. He practically petted him, stroked his hair like it was a plea, then tried to cover it with harsher words, telling him to 'suck it'. The tone of Foreman's voice, deep and heavy with desire and need, made House close his eyes and want to suck him harder. He could feel the pulse and twitch of his own dick and, God, it might have been the sexiest sound he'd heard from Foreman all night until--
Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck. Foreman had begged. Asked politely. His voice had been strained; House knew Foreman had forced the word out of himself, knew it had been hard for him to say, but he had. He had begged him to suck his dick, as desperate and needy as House had ever seen him, and, God, it was so hot that he had to gather a fistful of the sheets, grip Foreman's hip harder, to keep from touching himself. He'd imagined, but doubted, Foreman would beg him for it, utter that word, and the reality of it was better than he'd ever thought. House couldn't resist raising his head, letting Foreman's cock fall from his mouth with a wet slurp-suck. When House's eyes fell on Foreman's face, House's chest expanded with a sharp, quiet breath, and his cock swelled painfully where it was trapped between his body and the bed. Foreman's eyes were closed, his mouth open, head tipped back against the headboard. His body was tense--Jesus, he must have been close--his muscles flexed and defined, and God damn.
House had to close his eyes to force himself to look away from Foreman, sure that if he didn't resume the blowjob in another few seconds, Foreman might mutilate him. With the image of Foreman, desperate and waiting, in his brain, he would really, really rather a blowjob of his own than mutilation. He bowed his head and eagerly took Foreman back into his mouth, immediately applying the same suction he had used on Foreman's thumb. His head bobbed quickly, his hand stroking the base of Foreman's dick as House took in as much of him as he comfortably could, his breaths gusting out through his nose. His other hand pressed flat against Foreman's hip--a sign not to thrust up too much or too hard--as his lips tightened around Foreman's cock, tongue swirled around and pressed against the head, along the underside of the shaft. It was noisy, and a little messy, saliva sliding down onto his fist, but House didn't--couldn't--stop. Couldn't let himself stop until he made Foreman come, made him surrender himself completely to what he was doing to him. House seriously doubted it could get much hotter than this, but he was very curious to find out.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-14 10:41 am (UTC)Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck. Foreman had begged. Asked politely. His voice had been strained; House knew Foreman had forced the word out of himself, knew it had been hard for him to say, but he had. He had begged him to suck his dick, as desperate and needy as House had ever seen him, and, God, it was so hot that he had to gather a fistful of the sheets, grip Foreman's hip harder, to keep from touching himself. He'd imagined, but doubted, Foreman would beg him for it, utter that word, and the reality of it was better than he'd ever thought. House couldn't resist raising his head, letting Foreman's cock fall from his mouth with a wet slurp-suck. When House's eyes fell on Foreman's face, House's chest expanded with a sharp, quiet breath, and his cock swelled painfully where it was trapped between his body and the bed. Foreman's eyes were closed, his mouth open, head tipped back against the headboard. His body was tense--Jesus, he must have been close--his muscles flexed and defined, and God damn.
House had to close his eyes to force himself to look away from Foreman, sure that if he didn't resume the blowjob in another few seconds, Foreman might mutilate him. With the image of Foreman, desperate and waiting, in his brain, he would really, really rather a blowjob of his own than mutilation. He bowed his head and eagerly took Foreman back into his mouth, immediately applying the same suction he had used on Foreman's thumb. His head bobbed quickly, his hand stroking the base of Foreman's dick as House took in as much of him as he comfortably could, his breaths gusting out through his nose. His other hand pressed flat against Foreman's hip--a sign not to thrust up too much or too hard--as his lips tightened around Foreman's cock, tongue swirled around and pressed against the head, along the underside of the shaft. It was noisy, and a little messy, saliva sliding down onto his fist, but House didn't--couldn't--stop. Couldn't let himself stop until he made Foreman come, made him surrender himself completely to what he was doing to him. House seriously doubted it could get much hotter than this, but he was very curious to find out.