Fast. God. This was going way too fast. Foreman muffled another sound against House's mouth. Felt like earlier had been nothing but a warm-up, and now was the main event, wilder and more intense. He was half-hard already, but more interested for the moment in kissing House breathless, his pride demanding that he force House down again when he raised his head. They were practically arm wrestling at the same time, and Foreman leaned forward to put more weight on House's wrist, yanking it up above his head to hold him to the bed.
Foreman had never felt this need before, to prove something, to get something. He'd fucking loved hearing House's voice get clipped and desperate right before he'd come, but this time he wanted a more physical surrender. For House to offer himself up. He didn't know what kind of wavelength House was tuned to, but it felt like he'd figured that out and now, just because he was so fucking perverse, House was doing everything in his power to show that he wasn't going to give up. Foreman had purposefully left House's right hand free, hoping he'd take the fucking hint and keep stroking him, make him hard, and instead House was gripping his thigh like he was making a goddamn point of avoiding Foreman's dick. So fucking infuriating. It shouldn't be turning him on this much to have House deny him. Had to be that he knew he'd get the better of House in the end.
Foreman realized with some part of his brain that he was sweating so much that he'd rendered his shower entirely pointless. He was gasping for breath when House pulled back and laughed at him. House looked the way he always did when he was getting his way, bright-eyed and so smug that Foreman didn't know whether he wanted to punch him or just keep kissing until he'd taken that goddamn smirk off his face.
"I'm not asking," he said, and tried to shut House up, pressing his mouth together and sliding his tongue against House's. Didn't matter that he knew he was, that his body was tight and aching just from the kiss, that a shot of adrenaline pumped through him when House lifted his head and sucked hard on his lip. Even this--not asking--was another way of giving House what he wanted. Making it way too fucking easy for him. Foreman pulled back, his jaw tight, frustration rushing through his veins almost as hot as his arousal. He knew that, but he couldn't stop. He let go of House's hand and grabbed for the t-shirt, damp where he'd rubbed up against House, and pushed it up, roughly. "Told you you couldn't wear this," he said, as if it was an ultimatum and not because he just wanted to have more to touch. Foreman yanked the t-shirt off over House's head and kissed him again almost before it was free, spreading his hands over House's chest as if he was reading Braille. Had to be something there, some place that he could touch, to make House lose control.
no subject
Foreman had never felt this need before, to prove something, to get something. He'd fucking loved hearing House's voice get clipped and desperate right before he'd come, but this time he wanted a more physical surrender. For House to offer himself up. He didn't know what kind of wavelength House was tuned to, but it felt like he'd figured that out and now, just because he was so fucking perverse, House was doing everything in his power to show that he wasn't going to give up. Foreman had purposefully left House's right hand free, hoping he'd take the fucking hint and keep stroking him, make him hard, and instead House was gripping his thigh like he was making a goddamn point of avoiding Foreman's dick. So fucking infuriating. It shouldn't be turning him on this much to have House deny him. Had to be that he knew he'd get the better of House in the end.
Foreman realized with some part of his brain that he was sweating so much that he'd rendered his shower entirely pointless. He was gasping for breath when House pulled back and laughed at him. House looked the way he always did when he was getting his way, bright-eyed and so smug that Foreman didn't know whether he wanted to punch him or just keep kissing until he'd taken that goddamn smirk off his face.
"I'm not asking," he said, and tried to shut House up, pressing his mouth together and sliding his tongue against House's. Didn't matter that he knew he was, that his body was tight and aching just from the kiss, that a shot of adrenaline pumped through him when House lifted his head and sucked hard on his lip. Even this--not asking--was another way of giving House what he wanted. Making it way too fucking easy for him. Foreman pulled back, his jaw tight, frustration rushing through his veins almost as hot as his arousal. He knew that, but he couldn't stop. He let go of House's hand and grabbed for the t-shirt, damp where he'd rubbed up against House, and pushed it up, roughly. "Told you you couldn't wear this," he said, as if it was an ultimatum and not because he just wanted to have more to touch. Foreman yanked the t-shirt off over House's head and kissed him again almost before it was free, spreading his hands over House's chest as if he was reading Braille. Had to be something there, some place that he could touch, to make House lose control.