When Foreman started kissing him back, touching him, House kissed harder, trying to force more reactions. He knew they wouldn't get very far, but knowing that he could make Foreman push back, make him take what he wanted--or at least try--would be enough to give him more than adequate masturbation material and would give him the satisfaction of proving Foreman wrong. He already knew Foreman was wrong, but seeing Foreman come over to his side of the argument--really see it, act on it, even if Foreman never verbally admitted it--was extremely gratifying. House felt a wave of confusion wash over him when Foreman suddenly pulled out of the kiss, forced his hand away from his head and told him 'yes'. Yes? What the fuck was he saying 'yes' to, or for, or--
What a fucking bastard. Foreman thought he'd been fucking asking. Asking for what, House wasn't sure. It didn't matter. It was enough that Foreman thought he was asking for anything at all. "It wasn't a question, you moron," House said, punctuating the last word with a shove to Foreman's hip, not caring if it jarred Foreman against the edge of the counter, half-hoping it actually did. The push wasn't forceful enough to knock himself off balance, and he stepped back far enough to force Foreman's hands away from him. If Foreman was that stupid, then he didn't deserve to touch him until he got that he was wrong through his thick fucking head. It pissed him off, because he wanted Foreman to push back, to realize that he wasn't going to get anywhere with House if he asked--for anything. He'd rather Foreman be invasive, even if it meant crossing a line that caused him to toss Foreman out of his place (if he ever got there), than have Foreman back down completely. He wanted Foreman to come back strong and confrontational and assertive, push him against the counter, or the fridge, or the wall and kiss the fuck out of him, but instead Foreman stopped under the pretext that House had just proven his point.
"I seriously doubt I would have gotten that reaction if I'd have asked first." House gestured at him, trying to squash the frustration showing in his voice, his expression, probably his body language, too. Fuck. This wasn't how this was supposed to go, House thought, his eyes focused on Foreman. Gaze hard, intense. He finally dropped his attention to his cane, still leaning where he'd placed it, and he staggered forward to retrieve it.
When he straightened up, he was closer to Foreman than he'd planned, but he held his ground, refusing to retreat, let Foreman believe he was still right. He was aware that he was growing hungry, especially as the aromas from the oven crept throughout the room, but this was more important. He fucking hated that it was, but he couldn't let it rest. Not yet. He was serious, laying out his meaning bluntly now and daring Foreman to prove him wrong as he said, "You'll never accomplish anything worthwhile if you ask." It sounded like a fucking platitude, but he knew that it was true. The times House did ask for something, it was a manipulation game, not a genuine polite question. That never helped him, personally or professionally, and he wondered how Foreman had gotten anywhere in his career if all he did was ask.
House leaned close to Foreman again, wetting his lips before he spoke. "You won't get what you want." House was guessing now, not sure--it bothered him that he wasn't sure--what Foreman actually wanted, but if he wanted him, he wasn't going to keep pulling him back if he was polite. Foreman would pull him back by doing exactly the kind of shit he'd done earlier. Fuck, he really didn't want to think about this; he should have been content with a couple good fucks. It shouldn't fucking matter.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-27 09:55 am (UTC)What a fucking bastard. Foreman thought he'd been fucking asking. Asking for what, House wasn't sure. It didn't matter. It was enough that Foreman thought he was asking for anything at all. "It wasn't a question, you moron," House said, punctuating the last word with a shove to Foreman's hip, not caring if it jarred Foreman against the edge of the counter, half-hoping it actually did. The push wasn't forceful enough to knock himself off balance, and he stepped back far enough to force Foreman's hands away from him. If Foreman was that stupid, then he didn't deserve to touch him until he got that he was wrong through his thick fucking head. It pissed him off, because he wanted Foreman to push back, to realize that he wasn't going to get anywhere with House if he asked--for anything. He'd rather Foreman be invasive, even if it meant crossing a line that caused him to toss Foreman out of his place (if he ever got there), than have Foreman back down completely. He wanted Foreman to come back strong and confrontational and assertive, push him against the counter, or the fridge, or the wall and kiss the fuck out of him, but instead Foreman stopped under the pretext that House had just proven his point.
"I seriously doubt I would have gotten that reaction if I'd have asked first." House gestured at him, trying to squash the frustration showing in his voice, his expression, probably his body language, too. Fuck. This wasn't how this was supposed to go, House thought, his eyes focused on Foreman. Gaze hard, intense. He finally dropped his attention to his cane, still leaning where he'd placed it, and he staggered forward to retrieve it.
When he straightened up, he was closer to Foreman than he'd planned, but he held his ground, refusing to retreat, let Foreman believe he was still right. He was aware that he was growing hungry, especially as the aromas from the oven crept throughout the room, but this was more important. He fucking hated that it was, but he couldn't let it rest. Not yet. He was serious, laying out his meaning bluntly now and daring Foreman to prove him wrong as he said, "You'll never accomplish anything worthwhile if you ask." It sounded like a fucking platitude, but he knew that it was true. The times House did ask for something, it was a manipulation game, not a genuine polite question. That never helped him, personally or professionally, and he wondered how Foreman had gotten anywhere in his career if all he did was ask.
House leaned close to Foreman again, wetting his lips before he spoke. "You won't get what you want." House was guessing now, not sure--it bothered him that he wasn't sure--what Foreman actually wanted, but if he wanted him, he wasn't going to keep pulling him back if he was polite. Foreman would pull him back by doing exactly the kind of shit he'd done earlier. Fuck, he really didn't want to think about this; he should have been content with a couple good fucks. It shouldn't fucking matter.