Fuck, House would never be satisfied until he argued Foreman into a corner. Foreman thought about simply rolling off House, giving him absolutely nothing. If House didn't want him asking, then Foreman might just stop touching him altogether to show him that House would rather be asked than get nothing. "You asked, House," he said. "What I wanted." Or close enough that it came out to the same thing. Whether he wanted the toy or House--Foreman's breath sped up as he imagined House's long fingers reaching inside him, probably tormenting him just as much with that touch as with all the others. He'd move the dildo deliberately, looking for confirmation on Foreman's face with every thrust that it was driving him crazy. His grin would mirror the one he had right now, so pleased with himself for making some damn semantic argument. Heated and mocking, dimples showing as he took exactly what he wanted. House would know perfectly well where to touch but he wouldn't. He'd want to leave Foreman writhing, and hoping, just the way House was now.
And he was. Struggling weakly, because Foreman had him exactly where he wanted him, pinned and helpless. His voice was gritty and rough with frustration, and the more Foreman pushed his hips forward to rub his erection against House's, the lower and slower his voice came. The argument was the last thing on House's mind. The moment when House turned away and closed his eyes, Foreman knew he had him. House was losing control and trying not to show it, refusing to meet his eyes. God, it was incredible, watching him try so damn hard to hide what he wanted. Watching his chest move so quickly that his ribs appeared and disappeared, his pecs flexing whenever he tried again to free his hands. Spread out like Foreman could have anything he wanted. He wasn't letting up on the slow, rhythmic circling of his hips, pushing down a bit to trap House's dick more firmly between their bodies.
When House spoke, his words went straight to Foreman's cock, felt like they were heating him from the inside out. "Yeah," he answered, low ragged encouragement. God, he wanted to hear every word, every goddamn syllable. Foreman pushed forward again, trying desperately not to get caught up in the urgency of the sensation. Keep it slow, keep House asking, throw that in his face when they were done.
He leaned down again, lowering his mouth to House's, but just out of his reach even if he strained his shoulders to lift his head. Foreman ducked to the side and kissed House's forearm instead, just below the place where he was gripping House's wrist. His skin was softer than Foreman had expected, paler. He swirled his tongue along the inside of House's elbow, the kissing turning slower and more exploratory as he traced House's antecubital vein with the tip of his tongue. House's biceps tightened each time he clenched his fists, and Foreman grinned against his arm, brushing his goatee over the skin he'd been sucking and licking. "Tell me," he ordered, lifting his head again to watch House's face.
no subject
And he was. Struggling weakly, because Foreman had him exactly where he wanted him, pinned and helpless. His voice was gritty and rough with frustration, and the more Foreman pushed his hips forward to rub his erection against House's, the lower and slower his voice came. The argument was the last thing on House's mind. The moment when House turned away and closed his eyes, Foreman knew he had him. House was losing control and trying not to show it, refusing to meet his eyes. God, it was incredible, watching him try so damn hard to hide what he wanted. Watching his chest move so quickly that his ribs appeared and disappeared, his pecs flexing whenever he tried again to free his hands. Spread out like Foreman could have anything he wanted. He wasn't letting up on the slow, rhythmic circling of his hips, pushing down a bit to trap House's dick more firmly between their bodies.
When House spoke, his words went straight to Foreman's cock, felt like they were heating him from the inside out. "Yeah," he answered, low ragged encouragement. God, he wanted to hear every word, every goddamn syllable. Foreman pushed forward again, trying desperately not to get caught up in the urgency of the sensation. Keep it slow, keep House asking, throw that in his face when they were done.
He leaned down again, lowering his mouth to House's, but just out of his reach even if he strained his shoulders to lift his head. Foreman ducked to the side and kissed House's forearm instead, just below the place where he was gripping House's wrist. His skin was softer than Foreman had expected, paler. He swirled his tongue along the inside of House's elbow, the kissing turning slower and more exploratory as he traced House's antecubital vein with the tip of his tongue. House's biceps tightened each time he clenched his fists, and Foreman grinned against his arm, brushing his goatee over the skin he'd been sucking and licking. "Tell me," he ordered, lifting his head again to watch House's face.