November 11, 2008

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When House had arrived in Langley, he had been looking for a distraction, but he had imagined that he would have been forced to look harder for it. It had fallen into his lap--not literally, and it was too bad--when he had been introduced to the attending physician, Dr. Terzi. Tall, quick with a retort, and hot. If House hadn't been as interested in the medicine as he had been, he probably would have spent even more time and effort convincing her to jump into bed with him and accept a fellowship opening--at the time, the order hadn't particularly mattered. Between the case and doctor, he'd had little spare thoughts for Foreman, or the previous few days, although it had pleased him to know that Foreman hadn't believed him when he'd told him the truth about where he'd been; it had almost been as though Foreman had wanted him back at the hospital. The reason had hardly mattered. If Foreman couldn't handle the medicine or the fellow-wrangling without him, House could inform Cuddy and push to have Foreman dismissed. He had doubted Foreman wanted him around, unless the fellows fell short when it came to heated personal arguments, but House had suspected Foreman had enough of those before he'd gone. There could be reasons he hadn't considered, but, while he'd been away, all House had enough brainpower to care about was the gorgeous woman strutting around and returning his euphemisms, and the fact that she had the potential to offer an incredibly nice distraction for the next few years of a fellowship. Plus, it had occurred to him, at one point where the thought of Foreman had crept into his brain, her presence might accomplish the goal of either driving Foreman completely away or provoking him to act. Either one would work well, and she could provide the aesthetically pleasing means to do it.

Terzi hadn't said 'no', but he'd left with the feeling that he probably wouldn't be hearing from her again, which had been disappointing. That disappointment had been replaced with genuine shock that his fellows--and Foreman--hadn't been able to wrap up Speed Racer's case in less than an afternoon. He'd not only come back to find it still up in the air, but that Brennan--more of a manipulate rat than House had ever given him credit for--had managed to fake and fake-cure polio. Every now and then, the shit that happened when he wasn't there amazed him, and House had to admit, he never would have called this one. Foreman had managed it, though, catching Brennan's fake-out, and House hadn't been able to hide his interest--the whole situation was even a little too crazy for his tastes, but it was fascinating--or his respect for Foreman for questioning it down to the end. He hadn't been surprised that his fellows had looked surprised when he'd reminded them that he'd put Foreman in charge for a reason. Sure, it had been with the hopes they'd all get on his back about the big reveal of the morning, but it had also been because Foreman really did get shit done.

As much as he wanted to forget about Foreman altogether, shove him out the door and onto a plane headed for California himself, he couldn't ignore the respect he felt for Foreman when he kept pushing like he had. Didn't mean he had to express it anymore than he already had, and he didn't hang around the lecture hall to take in Foreman's reaction beyond a brief glance. He headed up to his office, anxious to execute the plan he'd had two mornings ago: Go home, get drunk, and crash for the night. Too bad Terzi hadn't worked out. He'd still have something to fixate on other than Foreman and his incompetent bunch of new fellows. Fuck. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes as he waited for it to stop on the fourth floor, hoping nobody--Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, nobody--would be waiting to chat him up about his impromptu visit out of state.

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When Foreman followed him into his office, House glanced toward the door from where he stood beside his desk. He reached for his backpack, setting it onto the chair as Foreman shut the blinds, blocking the view of the corridor and the conference room. House felt his heart beat a fast, loud rhythm; he was vaguely surprised Foreman couldn't hear it. He watched Foreman set his keys on his desk, his eyes not leaving Foreman's as he kept approaching, crossing into his personal space until Foreman's hands curved around his hips. Already breathing faster, still keeping eyes fixed on Foreman's, he let Foreman guide him backwards until he ran into the balcony door. The glass was cool, and he could feel it through his jeans, drawing a breath of air into his lungs with a quiet hiss. He wished he could say something, but words couldn't make it to his brain before Foreman leaned into him, kissed him again, harder and with a purpose.

A kiss wouldn't prove that Foreman would ever stay, but it would prove that Foreman did want him. House wasn't entirely sure if Foreman wanted to fuck him or fight him. With his mouth occupied, Foreman seemed to be arguing with his body, keeping House pinned against the door, his fingertips pressing into the muscle around House's hips, and House pushed himself away from the door--not to resist, but to eliminate the little distance left between their bodies. His control was slipping away from him, and House suddenly wasn't sure that he wanted to regain it. It would be so easy to let it go, as Foreman's mouth slid over his, heat already rushing over his skin, his dick already beginning to harden. It would be so easy to slip his hands under Foreman's shirt and touch, to rock his hips forward and grind against Foreman's body. Work himself to a full erection before pressing on Foreman's shoulders to urge him to his knees. House was really tired of arguing, and he wanted to forget it. Just concentrate on this, because it felt so damn good. So good. He'd avoided it because he knew it would be, knew he'd want it again, but he hadn't been as sure about Foreman. Foreman's flight risk had helped House keep some distance between them, but now that Foreman wanted him--kept showing it--fuck, he couldn't hold on to the reasons he'd used to justify the distance. Raising his hands to Foreman's biceps, he gathered a handful of Foreman's sleeves in his fists, about to pull him down, let him know what he wanted, but he stopped himself before the first tug.