When House heard the bathroom door open, he shifted to peek over his shoulder to catch Foreman's expression. Oh, fuck, and the expression was a good one, honest in its embarrassment. Foreman's whole body tensed. Foreman's naked body. Wet, naked body. Jesus. House, extremely aware of what he was holding, was caught between enjoying the smugness reeling through him and indulging in the flutters of arousal at the sight of Foreman. His hand curled a little tighter around the shaft of the toy as his eyes trailed down Foreman's body to his dick. Fuck. Foreman had a good body, a really good body, and House was absolutely positive that Foreman knew it.
Foreman's sudden movement and vocal outburst jolted House out of his thoughts, and couldn't move fast enough to prevent Foreman from tearing the toy out of his hand. He breathed a silent laugh, watching as Foreman threw the dildo into the drawer as if it were diseased before slamming the drawer shut. House leaned back on his hands and took another moment to look at Foreman, shamelessly checking him out, his head tilted to the side as his eyes roamed from Foreman's legs to his face. He couldn't spare a thought to how Foreman felt about him so openly taking him in, didn't care if it made him uncomfortable, or horny, or angry; he couldn't pass up the opportunity to just look. House watched water droplets roll along lines of defined muscles, down the center of Foreman's chest, his tongue peeking out of his mouth to wet his lips.
Foreman's voice broke through House's imagination, the image of his own mouth tracing the water's paths, and House raised his head to Foreman's face. He glanced briefly at the closed bedside table drawer and, letting a hint of a smirk creep over his face, said, "You're right. I don't. Seems that you do."
no subject
Foreman's sudden movement and vocal outburst jolted House out of his thoughts, and couldn't move fast enough to prevent Foreman from tearing the toy out of his hand. He breathed a silent laugh, watching as Foreman threw the dildo into the drawer as if it were diseased before slamming the drawer shut. House leaned back on his hands and took another moment to look at Foreman, shamelessly checking him out, his head tilted to the side as his eyes roamed from Foreman's legs to his face. He couldn't spare a thought to how Foreman felt about him so openly taking him in, didn't care if it made him uncomfortable, or horny, or angry; he couldn't pass up the opportunity to just look. House watched water droplets roll along lines of defined muscles, down the center of Foreman's chest, his tongue peeking out of his mouth to wet his lips.
Foreman's voice broke through House's imagination, the image of his own mouth tracing the water's paths, and House raised his head to Foreman's face. He glanced briefly at the closed bedside table drawer and, letting a hint of a smirk creep over his face, said, "You're right. I don't. Seems that you do."