House knew that Foreman was approaching his orgasm fast, listening to the desperate, high-pitched moans, feeling the muscles in Foreman's legs, his abdomen twitch and tense. House listened closely, waiting to hear a warning over the wet, slick sounds of his own mouth, but Foreman groaned--the only warning House would get, apparently--and came in a one-two punch. The first spurt of semen against the back of his throat made him flinch. House froze, stopped bobbing his head, and held Foreman's dick in his mouth, not interested in pulling away now to get a face-full of Foreman's semen, feeling the involuntary pulses of Foreman's dick as he came, filling his mouth. Foreman's semen was warm, slippery, tasted bitter. For a moment, his options flashed in his brain--spit or swallow--and decided against the fumbling awkwardness of spitting, working his mouth and throat to swallow as quickly as he could. Jesus, it had been a long time since he'd even attempted it; he'd forgotten how it felt, tasted, and wished he'd somehow--he wasn't sure how--prepared himself for it. He tried to keep his lips tightly sealed around Foreman's cock, but it was difficult, with his tongue working in his mouth as he swallowed, and leftover semen dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, down his chin.

When Foreman finally relaxed and sagged back on the bed, House lifted his head, hoping Foreman wouldn't catch him wiping his face with the back of his hand. Making Foreman come, driving him to that point, had been exhilarating. Hot. But he felt mildly annoyed that Foreman hadn't even tried to warn him, and Foreman shouldn't expect him to extent the courtesy, if Foreman ever made a move to return the favor--touch him, blow him, anything to relieve the ache he felt in his groin, throughout the pit of his stomach. "I appreciated the heads-up," he said, shifting and falling back on the bed at Foreman's right side, breathing hard and doing all that he could to keep from touching himself.