House cut a piece of his lasagna (he'd left the salad, far more concerned about substantial food) and smirked to himself as he chewed, feeling a rush of gleeful pleasure at Foreman's reaction, that insistence that they weren't a couple, as if there was no room for negotiation, as if it was a completely ridiculous idea. Button pushed. Mission accomplished. He only answered with a sneer when Foreman told him not to make a mess with his dinner. The thought had never even crossed his mind; he was more concerned about eating his dinner than playing with it, even if it caused Foreman emotional distress to pretend the tomato sauce was fingerpaint.
He froze, however, had to force himself to swallow his mouthful of food when Foreman shifted in his seat and faced him, his expression serious. House couldn't help but stare, lowering his fork to his plate and setting the plate aside as Foreman spoke. Jesus, Foreman thought he was serious? That, or what he'd said must have gotten to him, right under his skin, and that was more than interesting. House wondered what set Foreman off, the fact that he'd said the word 'couple', or that he'd compared the two of them. Foreman was fiercely defensive when it came to separating himself from House, and everything he seemed to represent from Foreman's perspective, but it intrigued House that that issue wasn't the one that Foreman chose to address. He'd expected a reaction from Foreman, but nothing beyond a moody objection, which he'd gotten right away; he hadn't exactly expected some kind of serious man-to-man talk about intentions and investment, or lack of it. As to Foreman's question, House wasn't pushing hard enough--he didn't intent to, at least not now--to mess too much with what they were doing, whatever the fuck it was. House wasn't concerned with putting a label on it in his own mind, and he'd only said what he'd said to poke at Foreman's buttons. It had worked--maybe too much--and House wasn't about to actually address his question. If Foreman would insist they weren't a couple--they weren't--then there was no need to have these 'relationship talks'.
"It's what I do," House said as he levered himself off the couch, leaving his plate on the couch and heading for the kitchen.
He peered into the fridge, eyes resting on a cluster of beer bottles near the back, and reached in for one. Leaning on the open door, House studied it; it wasn't a brand he was familiar with--Big Rock--and he turned the bottle in his hand, searching for the company's location. He rolled his eyes when he found it. Calgary. Imported beer. Of course. Foreman probably figured it was better, unique, and worth a place in his refrigerator if it wasn't commonplace. He turned, snorting to himself, and popped the cap on the edge of Foreman's counter, leaving a white scratch in the dark surface--Foreman was sure to notice, and the thought made House grin to himself. It was a means to remind Foreman of him, that he was here, kissing him in his kitchen, eating his food, helping himself to his beer, all in his God damned pajamas. House's head bobbed in approval as he started out of the kitchen, but he stopped short, turning again, back towards the fridge.
He told himself that it was part of an experiment--see if he could make Foreman uncomfortable by doing the unexpected--as he reached inside the fridge again for another bottle. He wasn't sure if Foreman would accept it, or drink it--he couldn't even recall if Foreman had brought a beverage with him in the first place--but the action itself would probably get enough of a reaction for House to analyze, perhaps have some fun with later. Besides, it wouldn't fucking kill him, even if it got him no worthwhile reaction. He popped the cap, leaving a second scratch beside the first, and gathered both of them in one hand by the necks before returning to the living room. Managing to assume a serious expression--neutral and casual--House stopped beside Foreman, still standing, waiting for Foreman to look up at him, as he extended his hand in Foreman's direction. An invitation to take one of the bottles, as if this was a regular occurrence.
no subject
He froze, however, had to force himself to swallow his mouthful of food when Foreman shifted in his seat and faced him, his expression serious. House couldn't help but stare, lowering his fork to his plate and setting the plate aside as Foreman spoke. Jesus, Foreman thought he was serious? That, or what he'd said must have gotten to him, right under his skin, and that was more than interesting. House wondered what set Foreman off, the fact that he'd said the word 'couple', or that he'd compared the two of them. Foreman was fiercely defensive when it came to separating himself from House, and everything he seemed to represent from Foreman's perspective, but it intrigued House that that issue wasn't the one that Foreman chose to address. He'd expected a reaction from Foreman, but nothing beyond a moody objection, which he'd gotten right away; he hadn't exactly expected some kind of serious man-to-man talk about intentions and investment, or lack of it. As to Foreman's question, House wasn't pushing hard enough--he didn't intent to, at least not now--to mess too much with what they were doing, whatever the fuck it was. House wasn't concerned with putting a label on it in his own mind, and he'd only said what he'd said to poke at Foreman's buttons. It had worked--maybe too much--and House wasn't about to actually address his question. If Foreman would insist they weren't a couple--they weren't--then there was no need to have these 'relationship talks'.
"It's what I do," House said as he levered himself off the couch, leaving his plate on the couch and heading for the kitchen.
He peered into the fridge, eyes resting on a cluster of beer bottles near the back, and reached in for one. Leaning on the open door, House studied it; it wasn't a brand he was familiar with--Big Rock--and he turned the bottle in his hand, searching for the company's location. He rolled his eyes when he found it. Calgary. Imported beer. Of course. Foreman probably figured it was better, unique, and worth a place in his refrigerator if it wasn't commonplace. He turned, snorting to himself, and popped the cap on the edge of Foreman's counter, leaving a white scratch in the dark surface--Foreman was sure to notice, and the thought made House grin to himself. It was a means to remind Foreman of him, that he was here, kissing him in his kitchen, eating his food, helping himself to his beer, all in his God damned pajamas. House's head bobbed in approval as he started out of the kitchen, but he stopped short, turning again, back towards the fridge.
He told himself that it was part of an experiment--see if he could make Foreman uncomfortable by doing the unexpected--as he reached inside the fridge again for another bottle. He wasn't sure if Foreman would accept it, or drink it--he couldn't even recall if Foreman had brought a beverage with him in the first place--but the action itself would probably get enough of a reaction for House to analyze, perhaps have some fun with later. Besides, it wouldn't fucking kill him, even if it got him no worthwhile reaction. He popped the cap, leaving a second scratch beside the first, and gathered both of them in one hand by the necks before returning to the living room. Managing to assume a serious expression--neutral and casual--House stopped beside Foreman, still standing, waiting for Foreman to look up at him, as he extended his hand in Foreman's direction. An invitation to take one of the bottles, as if this was a regular occurrence.