Foreman felt the heat of embarrassment the second he let out that word. He'd always prided himself on his control. Never let the situation get the better of him. He'd just ruined that in House's eyes, if House had ever believed it in the first place. And not that he cared what House thought. But Christ, he'd been close. It had been years since he'd gotten so stupid during sex. Asking took a hell of a lot of trust that Foreman wasn't ready to give to House, not by a fucking long shot. Foreman kept his eyes shut, halfway hoping that House hadn't even heard, knowing that there was no way House would miss that--Foreman didn't have that kind of luck. He could only cling to his idiotic, rationalizing thought, that asking would make House want to finish him off, either to prove himself to Foreman...or because he wanted to.
When House pulled away--a rush of air too cold against Foreman's dick--Foreman thought for an instant that he'd misjudged House completely, that his needy, humiliating please was the last straw--to House running, or else, more likely, to House stopping completely and laughing in his face until Foreman had to kick his crippled ass for being such a fucking cocktease. He couldn't count the seconds, not even by the pounding of his heart. He couldn't look.
Foreman felt even more pathetic at how fucking grateful he was when House didn't say anything, but dove back to the blowjob with a vengeance. Fuck, oh God, he was actually sucking now, taking Foreman in deeper, his hand squeezing and stroking, his mouth--Foreman couldn't hold back a moan, higher in his throat, and he rocked his hips up, staying as mindful as he could of House's restraining hand. Everything he'd been waiting for, everything he'd humiliated himself to get--Foreman couldn't spare a thought towards feeling pathetic, not when House was working his mouth, his tongue wet and swirling and fucking dirty. The wild, pulsing sensation grew until he knew he was going to come, the only thing holding him back was his own desire to keep House going, to keep feeling House doing everything in his power to bring Foreman off.
He was still able to think enough to know that he should warn House, gasp out now, oh fuck, I'm coming, give House enough time to back away. But Foreman wasn't interested in being polite. House had had enough of that out of him for one night. Foreman groaned, long and deep, and let go, right into House's mouth, coming in long, hot waves. His orgasm slammed through his body like thunder, sharp and hard at first and rolling away into heat and pleasure and shuddering aftershocks. For the first, eternal instant, Foreman couldn't breathe at all, his lungs seizing until the need for oxygen left him panting. By the time he finished, he had to press his hands against the bed to hide their trembling. Foreman collapsed back, suddenly feeling the discomfort of his contorted, half-sitting position, but not yet willing to move or think or care in the least about House's solution to the swallow or spit dilemma.
no subject
When House pulled away--a rush of air too cold against Foreman's dick--Foreman thought for an instant that he'd misjudged House completely, that his needy, humiliating please was the last straw--to House running, or else, more likely, to House stopping completely and laughing in his face until Foreman had to kick his crippled ass for being such a fucking cocktease. He couldn't count the seconds, not even by the pounding of his heart. He couldn't look.
Foreman felt even more pathetic at how fucking grateful he was when House didn't say anything, but dove back to the blowjob with a vengeance. Fuck, oh God, he was actually sucking now, taking Foreman in deeper, his hand squeezing and stroking, his mouth--Foreman couldn't hold back a moan, higher in his throat, and he rocked his hips up, staying as mindful as he could of House's restraining hand. Everything he'd been waiting for, everything he'd humiliated himself to get--Foreman couldn't spare a thought towards feeling pathetic, not when House was working his mouth, his tongue wet and swirling and fucking dirty. The wild, pulsing sensation grew until he knew he was going to come, the only thing holding him back was his own desire to keep House going, to keep feeling House doing everything in his power to bring Foreman off.
He was still able to think enough to know that he should warn House, gasp out now, oh fuck, I'm coming, give House enough time to back away. But Foreman wasn't interested in being polite. House had had enough of that out of him for one night. Foreman groaned, long and deep, and let go, right into House's mouth, coming in long, hot waves. His orgasm slammed through his body like thunder, sharp and hard at first and rolling away into heat and pleasure and shuddering aftershocks. For the first, eternal instant, Foreman couldn't breathe at all, his lungs seizing until the need for oxygen left him panting. By the time he finished, he had to press his hands against the bed to hide their trembling. Foreman collapsed back, suddenly feeling the discomfort of his contorted, half-sitting position, but not yet willing to move or think or care in the least about House's solution to the swallow or spit dilemma.