House never could have imagined the swell of satisfaction and unparalleled glee that built inside him at the sight of Foreman's reaction. He couldn't even repress his grin, despite the fact that he was sure that he was showing off his ridiculous dimples, as Foreman froze, as motionless as a rabbit on-guard, only his eyes and chest moving, almost imperceptibly. House forced himself to stay still, leaning against the archway, watching Foreman take in his appearance, his gaze moving over his body. Foreman couldn't possibly be that angry if he was looking at him like that, his eyes lingering long enough for House to guess that his imagination had kicked in along with his libido.
House pushed himself away from the archway, leaning on his cane now, but not walking, and watched Foreman toss food into the fridge, almost as if he was trying to show him that he was angry. House raised an eyebrow, giving Foreman no other response to his question. He let his gaze follow Foreman as he turned back toward the counter, taking a second to watch the muscles in Foreman's back shift as he moved, admire the way the broadness of his shoulders tapered to a slim waist. God, he loved when all that refined muscle and smooth skin was pressing him down harder than--fuck, he had to stop, or Foreman would catch him watching and would have something else to throw in his face. He shook his head, just hearing Foreman's words, and raised his eyes to Foreman's face--his profile.
He knew there was a lot of truth to Foreman's words. If Foreman had ever pulled something like this, rifled through House's clothes, his things, House would have unapologetically shoved him onto the street, dressed or not. House, however, would never have been trusting--stupid, close enough--enough to leave Foreman unsupervised in his bedroom. Or his bathroom. House pretended that a decision like that would have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the closer Foreman was, the closer House could monitor his behavior, the more House would learn, the more Foreman would slip, the more House could push--as long as House thought it was convenient, of course. Regardless of the double-standards he seemed to enforce, House wasn't going to let Foreman believe he'd figured him out, or that he was one step ahead, even if he dished out a lie to accomplish it. Maybe if it was crude or evocative enough, Foreman wouldn't see through it.
House stepped across the kitchen, coming to a stop behind Foreman where he stood at the counter. The close proximity just helped prove his point; it had nothing to do with wanting to be there. He leaned his head over Foreman's right shoulder, "If I thought my private property was important," he said, angling his head to push his breath across Foreman's ear as he spoke, "then I never would've let you shove your dick up my ass. Good thing for you."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-26 08:48 pm (UTC)House pushed himself away from the archway, leaning on his cane now, but not walking, and watched Foreman toss food into the fridge, almost as if he was trying to show him that he was angry. House raised an eyebrow, giving Foreman no other response to his question. He let his gaze follow Foreman as he turned back toward the counter, taking a second to watch the muscles in Foreman's back shift as he moved, admire the way the broadness of his shoulders tapered to a slim waist. God, he loved when all that refined muscle and smooth skin was pressing him down harder than--fuck, he had to stop, or Foreman would catch him watching and would have something else to throw in his face. He shook his head, just hearing Foreman's words, and raised his eyes to Foreman's face--his profile.
He knew there was a lot of truth to Foreman's words. If Foreman had ever pulled something like this, rifled through House's clothes, his things, House would have unapologetically shoved him onto the street, dressed or not. House, however, would never have been trusting--stupid, close enough--enough to leave Foreman unsupervised in his bedroom. Or his bathroom. House pretended that a decision like that would have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the closer Foreman was, the closer House could monitor his behavior, the more House would learn, the more Foreman would slip, the more House could push--as long as House thought it was convenient, of course. Regardless of the double-standards he seemed to enforce, House wasn't going to let Foreman believe he'd figured him out, or that he was one step ahead, even if he dished out a lie to accomplish it. Maybe if it was crude or evocative enough, Foreman wouldn't see through it.
House stepped across the kitchen, coming to a stop behind Foreman where he stood at the counter. The close proximity just helped prove his point; it had nothing to do with wanting to be there. He leaned his head over Foreman's right shoulder, "If I thought my private property was important," he said, angling his head to push his breath across Foreman's ear as he spoke, "then I never would've let you shove your dick up my ass. Good thing for you."