Foreman folded his hands behind his head and watched House get up slowly and head for the bathroom. He thought lazily about rolling to his feet and catching the bathroom door before House closed it, insist on climbing into the shower with him. But that would be way too much. Too close. Too much pressure.
He waited until he heard the water running before he got up. Going to his dresser, he pulled out clean boxers and a pair of sweatpants he usually took to the gym, doing without a shirt, since he didn't want to sweat through another change of clothes before he showered. House's cane was lying on his dresser. Foreman glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door. Heat rushed through him, half unease and half satisfaction, at the physical reminder that House was still here and not leaving soon. He'd need the cane; he'd limped heavily crossing the room. Foreman tilted his head, questioning his own motives, whether he was looking for an excuse to interrupt House's shower. Well, House could just deal with it. Trying the doorknob, Foreman found it locked, and scoffed quietly to himself. That message was more than clear. He hung the cane on the doorknob and left the room, heading for the kitchen.
He didn't know if it was worthwhile to actually cook. The food in the fridge was enough for one guy who didn't eat at home much, but he could probably throw something together. Frowning, Foreman opened the door and stared in. Leftover lasagna. Vegetables, enough to make a salad. A bottle of white wine in the door, a few beers in the back. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and started taking things out, perfectly aware that he was doing it to postpone actually thinking.
The real question was, did he want this to happen again? More importantly, did he want it to happen again so badly that he'd keep on pursuing House? Because so far he'd been the one making all the advances. Foreman didn't believe for a second that House's outright refusals had any truth to them. House had kissed him back, had sucked him off, eagerly and attentively. Foreman might have given the whole thing up as a mistake, if it weren't for that.
House's indecision was more real. Probably he had all the same doubts Foreman did. But it was Foreman's pride on the line, not House's, every time Foreman tried to convince House to get over his damn reluctance. Anybody else--Wendy, or Sharon a few years ago--they didn't need to be convinced that Foreman was worth spending time with. Foreman knew he was successful, intelligent, and hardly the kind of guy who needed to go out with a bag over his face. House respected him, fine. Leaving him in charge proved that. And Foreman knew he turned House on. Christ, he could replay every minute of the evening in his mind and know that. But if it was going to be a fight every time Foreman wanted more, then maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe he should stop, react as little as possible when House tried to jerk him around, and let the whole thing lie until House got the point that it was over, no discussion needed.
Foreman faltered. That was the easy way out. Exactly what House had accused him of. Fuck, he hated second-guessing himself, even more when he was second-guessing himself because of something House had said. Would it be avoidance, or just good sense, to stop now? Automatically, Foreman started chopping up vegetables, trying to push the question out of his mind.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-24 08:29 am (UTC)He waited until he heard the water running before he got up. Going to his dresser, he pulled out clean boxers and a pair of sweatpants he usually took to the gym, doing without a shirt, since he didn't want to sweat through another change of clothes before he showered. House's cane was lying on his dresser. Foreman glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom door. Heat rushed through him, half unease and half satisfaction, at the physical reminder that House was still here and not leaving soon. He'd need the cane; he'd limped heavily crossing the room. Foreman tilted his head, questioning his own motives, whether he was looking for an excuse to interrupt House's shower. Well, House could just deal with it. Trying the doorknob, Foreman found it locked, and scoffed quietly to himself. That message was more than clear. He hung the cane on the doorknob and left the room, heading for the kitchen.
He didn't know if it was worthwhile to actually cook. The food in the fridge was enough for one guy who didn't eat at home much, but he could probably throw something together. Frowning, Foreman opened the door and stared in. Leftover lasagna. Vegetables, enough to make a salad. A bottle of white wine in the door, a few beers in the back. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and started taking things out, perfectly aware that he was doing it to postpone actually thinking.
The real question was, did he want this to happen again? More importantly, did he want it to happen again so badly that he'd keep on pursuing House? Because so far he'd been the one making all the advances. Foreman didn't believe for a second that House's outright refusals had any truth to them. House had kissed him back, had sucked him off, eagerly and attentively. Foreman might have given the whole thing up as a mistake, if it weren't for that.
House's indecision was more real. Probably he had all the same doubts Foreman did. But it was Foreman's pride on the line, not House's, every time Foreman tried to convince House to get over his damn reluctance. Anybody else--Wendy, or Sharon a few years ago--they didn't need to be convinced that Foreman was worth spending time with. Foreman knew he was successful, intelligent, and hardly the kind of guy who needed to go out with a bag over his face. House respected him, fine. Leaving him in charge proved that. And Foreman knew he turned House on. Christ, he could replay every minute of the evening in his mind and know that. But if it was going to be a fight every time Foreman wanted more, then maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe he should stop, react as little as possible when House tried to jerk him around, and let the whole thing lie until House got the point that it was over, no discussion needed.
Foreman faltered. That was the easy way out. Exactly what House had accused him of. Fuck, he hated second-guessing himself, even more when he was second-guessing himself because of something House had said. Would it be avoidance, or just good sense, to stop now? Automatically, Foreman started chopping up vegetables, trying to push the question out of his mind.