The look in House's eyes, fierce and proud, brought back Foreman's desire to hurry, to push, to force this in the direction he wanted, so fast that he was barely able to swallow a moan. He was hovering so closely over House that he could feel the heat of his body, mingling with his own; he wanted to get even closer, to demand more. House wasn't looking away and it made Foreman unable to deny exactly who he was with, what he was doing. That feeling came to him again suddenly, how much he was investing in this for all his protestations that he wasn't going to let it mean anything. House's stare seemed to command more honesty that Foreman could offer and he wanted to kiss House so hard that he forgot about looking, searching out whatever he expected to find on Foreman's face.
"Yeah, House," he said, matching House's sarcasm. It was safer that way and it was easy to reach for his anger. When had he ever not given House exactly what he wanted? Drew it out, maybe, made House work for it sometimes, but every promise Foreman had made he'd kept. "That's why anyone would be with you. For the ego-stroking." Foreman had endured enough insults before getting this far and he expected that he'd have even more heaped on him later. Anyone would think he was crazy for putting up with it. Hell, if it wasn't so gratifying to watch House struggle, and strain, and nearly break, then Foreman wouldn't know himself why he kept insisting. But House was still panting, unable to get out a full sentence, and as determined as he looked Foreman knew he was close to the edge; he'd already been there, obviously said more than he'd wanted to.
"If you're not interested in sharing," Foreman said, smirking, "then we'll do this my way." He let go of House's wrists, feeling a rush of arousal as he saw the blanching of his handprints fade from House's skin; he didn't know he'd been holding that hard. He pushed off the bed, getting to his feet, sparing a moment to stare down at House. God, he'd done all that--left House sweaty and urgent and hard, the pajama pants looking even more obscene pushed down to mid-thigh--just from trapping his hands and rubbing against him; he couldn't imagine just how good it would be to actually fuck him, hold him down while he was doing it. Last time he'd been drunk, and probably, he thought with a surge of desire, more careful than he'd needed to be. Foreman opening the drawer, swallowing down the shame when he saw the dildo again; that didn't matter, not now. The condoms were underneath everything else, and Foreman had to dig for the lube. It was obvious what 'his way' was, what he wanted, and if House didn't feel like cooperating then he'd have to say so.
no subject
"Yeah, House," he said, matching House's sarcasm. It was safer that way and it was easy to reach for his anger. When had he ever not given House exactly what he wanted? Drew it out, maybe, made House work for it sometimes, but every promise Foreman had made he'd kept. "That's why anyone would be with you. For the ego-stroking." Foreman had endured enough insults before getting this far and he expected that he'd have even more heaped on him later. Anyone would think he was crazy for putting up with it. Hell, if it wasn't so gratifying to watch House struggle, and strain, and nearly break, then Foreman wouldn't know himself why he kept insisting. But House was still panting, unable to get out a full sentence, and as determined as he looked Foreman knew he was close to the edge; he'd already been there, obviously said more than he'd wanted to.
"If you're not interested in sharing," Foreman said, smirking, "then we'll do this my way." He let go of House's wrists, feeling a rush of arousal as he saw the blanching of his handprints fade from House's skin; he didn't know he'd been holding that hard. He pushed off the bed, getting to his feet, sparing a moment to stare down at House. God, he'd done all that--left House sweaty and urgent and hard, the pajama pants looking even more obscene pushed down to mid-thigh--just from trapping his hands and rubbing against him; he couldn't imagine just how good it would be to actually fuck him, hold him down while he was doing it. Last time he'd been drunk, and probably, he thought with a surge of desire, more careful than he'd needed to be. Foreman opening the drawer, swallowing down the shame when he saw the dildo again; that didn't matter, not now. The condoms were underneath everything else, and Foreman had to dig for the lube. It was obvious what 'his way' was, what he wanted, and if House didn't feel like cooperating then he'd have to say so.