When Foreman spoke, grasping him even harder, House could feel himself break, his control snapping, replaced with the intense, desperate need he hadn't wanted Foreman to see. He knew that Foreman was looking for a reaction. Knew he was fucking with his head, and House hated that his body reacted, that it gave Foreman a reaction to revel in, rub in his face if he wanted to do it. He was squirming under Foreman, his body shifting with tiny, split-second arches against Foreman's. The hot gust of Foreman's breath in his ear forced him to shiver, goosebumps rising on his arms. His hands rose up, reaching for Foreman, gravitating to his warmth, and slid over his sides, the muscles in his ass, his back. He was already panting hard and noisily, but he refused to speak, determined to keep the words flashing through his brain from slipping out of his mouth. Oh, God. Just do it. Suck me. Fuck me. Stop the fucking teasing and do it. Yeah, you're fucking right, I like that, so please, please do it. Anything. God, I need it. Jesus, he really fucking hated himself. For needing it so much. Wanting it so much. And he hated Foreman for teasing him. Making him wait like this. Hated himself for being so willing to wait.
His thoughts were making it all worse, his reactions growing stronger. His imagination filled with images of Foreman's mouth sealed around his cock, lips tights, tongue moving over the shaft, the head, sucking. The combined sounds of Foreman's mouth and the dirty squelch of his lubed fingers pushing inside him, finding his prostate, and stroking in time with the rhythm of his mouth. Oh, fuck. House couldn't imagine how Foreman would push him, force him to react when he put more of an effort into what he was doing, but House hoped that he'd be able to fucking breathe.
The more House imagined, the more Foreman teased and resisted, the more his mind and body were overwhelmed with the desire to get Foreman to do what he wanted. Push Foreman to match his urgency and eagerness and stop teasing without ever speaking the words that House knew Foreman wanted--an agreement, or verbal acknowledgment that Foreman was right. His body was already sending enough pathetic, needy messages; House refused to let his voice add to it, at least while he still had the presence of mind to prevent it. One hand squeezed Foreman's hip as the other rose up, curved around the back of Foreman's neck and wrenched his face closer. Without giving Foreman a chance to pull away, House arched up and covered Foreman's mouth with a rough kiss. His tongue pushed inside deeply, sliding against Foreman's, reminding Foreman of what he could do with his mouth--how damn good he was--and daring Foreman to prove that he was half as skillful.
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His thoughts were making it all worse, his reactions growing stronger. His imagination filled with images of Foreman's mouth sealed around his cock, lips tights, tongue moving over the shaft, the head, sucking. The combined sounds of Foreman's mouth and the dirty squelch of his lubed fingers pushing inside him, finding his prostate, and stroking in time with the rhythm of his mouth. Oh, fuck. House couldn't imagine how Foreman would push him, force him to react when he put more of an effort into what he was doing, but House hoped that he'd be able to fucking breathe.
The more House imagined, the more Foreman teased and resisted, the more his mind and body were overwhelmed with the desire to get Foreman to do what he wanted. Push Foreman to match his urgency and eagerness and stop teasing without ever speaking the words that House knew Foreman wanted--an agreement, or verbal acknowledgment that Foreman was right. His body was already sending enough pathetic, needy messages; House refused to let his voice add to it, at least while he still had the presence of mind to prevent it. One hand squeezed Foreman's hip as the other rose up, curved around the back of Foreman's neck and wrenched his face closer. Without giving Foreman a chance to pull away, House arched up and covered Foreman's mouth with a rough kiss. His tongue pushed inside deeply, sliding against Foreman's, reminding Foreman of what he could do with his mouth--how damn good he was--and daring Foreman to prove that he was half as skillful.