For the first few minutes, Foreman simply let the water rush over him. The shower was hot enough to ease some of the knots in his shoulders, making his skin burn. The bathroom filled with steam quickly, but he didn't make a move to start washing. He was wondering what House was doing--taking his comment as implicit permission to root through his stuff again? Debating whether or not to join him? Setting off some other disaster? He supposed he should hurry up and wash off and go out and supervise again, but he was starting to feel like whatever House found would be inevitable; if not this time, then next time. And he wasn't kidding himself now that there would be a next time. Foreman pushed out a sigh and reached for the soap, finding it on the edge of the tub instead of in the soapdish. More reminders that House would change things around, fiddle with the order of his life. But Foreman found himself focusing on the image of House in the shower, tipping his head back into the spray, instead, lingering on the look on House's face, imagining his expression when Foreman made him come. Fuck. He wasn't about to masturbate when House was right in the next room; it was pretty damn pointless when he had someone he could probably convince. Foreman grinned at the thought, scrubbing the dried sweat off his body quickly and clinically before snapping the water off.
He grabbed for a towel and found that House had beat him to it, taking the larger one and leaving him with little more than a hand towel to dry off with. Christ, it was all these little tiny annoyances--House did it at work, too, giving everyone around him a series of hoops to jump through, either because he didn't think of anyone besides himself or because he did and he liked the idea of them getting that much more ticked off. Grumbling and still wiping the water out of his eyes, Foreman opened the bathroom door, looking around for wherever House dropped the towel, which was when he looked up to see House sitting on his bed and holding his dildo.
Foreman's stomach dropped. Mortification stopped him cold, like a block of ice had replaced his sternum, before his whole body flushed hot. He'd known this was going to happen. He'd known and he'd let it happen, practically encouraged House to do it, but that didn't stop him from feeling embarrassed as hell to see House actually holding the toy. "I thought you said you were finished," was the first thing to burst out past his paralysis, and then his face burned even hotter. "Jesus, House!" Seeing the thing in House's hands was almost obscene, just knowing what he might do with it...what Foreman might do with it to House. He closed his eyes long enough to shake away the images, and then he strode forward to snatch it out of House's hands. He didn't want to be holding it either--it didn't help his imagination--and he shoved it back in the drawer, slamming it shut. He realized he was standing in front of House, completely naked, still dripping wet. He hated looking this way--getting caught out this way--and it was all House's fault. Foreman needed to get the upper hand back. He took a deep breath and said, low and tight, "If you want to get fucked, you don't need that."
no subject
He grabbed for a towel and found that House had beat him to it, taking the larger one and leaving him with little more than a hand towel to dry off with. Christ, it was all these little tiny annoyances--House did it at work, too, giving everyone around him a series of hoops to jump through, either because he didn't think of anyone besides himself or because he did and he liked the idea of them getting that much more ticked off. Grumbling and still wiping the water out of his eyes, Foreman opened the bathroom door, looking around for wherever House dropped the towel, which was when he looked up to see House sitting on his bed and holding his dildo.
Foreman's stomach dropped. Mortification stopped him cold, like a block of ice had replaced his sternum, before his whole body flushed hot. He'd known this was going to happen. He'd known and he'd let it happen, practically encouraged House to do it, but that didn't stop him from feeling embarrassed as hell to see House actually holding the toy. "I thought you said you were finished," was the first thing to burst out past his paralysis, and then his face burned even hotter. "Jesus, House!" Seeing the thing in House's hands was almost obscene, just knowing what he might do with it...what Foreman might do with it to House. He closed his eyes long enough to shake away the images, and then he strode forward to snatch it out of House's hands. He didn't want to be holding it either--it didn't help his imagination--and he shoved it back in the drawer, slamming it shut. He realized he was standing in front of House, completely naked, still dripping wet. He hated looking this way--getting caught out this way--and it was all House's fault. Foreman needed to get the upper hand back. He took a deep breath and said, low and tight, "If you want to get fucked, you don't need that."