wooedforyears | November 11, 2008

November 11, 2008

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Foreman stopped chewing abruptly. He swallowed, glaring at the television rather than meet House's eyes after he'd said the word couple. Jesus, he couldn't decide which part of that sentence disturbed him more, being a couple or being like House. "We are not a couple," he said, hoping to stop that train of thought cold. Just because they'd fucked a couple of times did not make this anything resembling a relationship. Couples woke up together, maybe left for work together, came home and had something to talk about with each other. They didn't eat in front of the television because they had, really, nothing in common. And he and House fucking didn't. What the hell was he supposed to talk with House about? Wasn't it funny how you sabotaged my interviews and nearly ruined my career? Isn't it great screwing around with your new underlings? If House wanted a conversation he had Wilson. Foreman didn't know what the hell they found to talk about and he didn't really care.

"And don't make a mess," he added, knowing that it was a futile request even as he was making it. House would probably take great pleasure in slapping his dinner down on the couch, just like he had with the damn ketchup that was still all over Foreman's backseat. Foreman stabbed his dinner with his fork and took another bite, eating doggedly and trying to pay attention to the news. He knew House had taken it badly when he'd called sleeping with him a mistake. Foreman had had enough trouble convincing House to come back after that. It wasn't that he didn't want him, obviously, or even want him here--which was fine as long as Foreman was keeping an eye on him. It was mostly that he didn't trust House, didn't trust him not to out Foreman at work, didn't trust him not to clam up and get edgy and defensive, and definitely didn't trust him with a word like couple. Because if Foreman hinted that he wanted that--which he didn't--then House would probably break landspeed records getting away from him.

"Look, House." Foreman stopped, forced out a breath, and then set his plate down on the coffee table. He faced House, even though it was the last thing he really wanted to do. He needed to set some rules, to make it clear where they both stood, otherwise he was going to crazy not knowing. Maybe House liked the chaos, but Foreman didn't want any part of it. "I'm not interested in the details of your damn day. I was there. I'm not your boyfriend, and don't try and pretend that you want me to be." He shook his head slightly, trying to define for himself exactly what he did want. "I want you--" Foreman shrugged and glanced away at the sound of his voice actually saying the words. "--here. Why mess with a good thing?"

House cut a piece of his lasagna (he'd left the salad, far more concerned about substantial food) and smirked to himself as he chewed, feeling a rush of gleeful pleasure at Foreman's reaction, that insistence that they weren't a couple, as if there was no room for negotiation, as if it was a completely ridiculous idea. Button pushed. Mission accomplished. He only answered with a sneer when Foreman told him not to make a mess with his dinner. The thought had never even crossed his mind; he was more concerned about eating his dinner than playing with it, even if it caused Foreman emotional distress to pretend the tomato sauce was fingerpaint.

He froze, however, had to force himself to swallow his mouthful of food when Foreman shifted in his seat and faced him, his expression serious. House couldn't help but stare, lowering his fork to his plate and setting the plate aside as Foreman spoke. Jesus, Foreman thought he was serious? That, or what he'd said must have gotten to him, right under his skin, and that was more than interesting. House wondered what set Foreman off, the fact that he'd said the word 'couple', or that he'd compared the two of them. Foreman was fiercely defensive when it came to separating himself from House, and everything he seemed to represent from Foreman's perspective, but it intrigued House that that issue wasn't the one that Foreman chose to address. He'd expected a reaction from Foreman, but nothing beyond a moody objection, which he'd gotten right away; he hadn't exactly expected some kind of serious man-to-man talk about intentions and investment, or lack of it. As to Foreman's question, House wasn't pushing hard enough--he didn't intent to, at least not now--to mess too much with what they were doing, whatever the fuck it was. House wasn't concerned with putting a label on it in his own mind, and he'd only said what he'd said to poke at Foreman's buttons. It had worked--maybe too much--and House wasn't about to actually address his question. If Foreman would insist they weren't a couple--they weren't--then there was no need to have these 'relationship talks'.

"It's what I do," House said as he levered himself off the couch, leaving his plate on the couch and heading for the kitchen.

He peered into the fridge, eyes resting on a cluster of beer bottles near the back, and reached in for one. Leaning on the open door, House studied it; it wasn't a brand he was familiar with--Big Rock--and he turned the bottle in his hand, searching for the company's location. He rolled his eyes when he found it. Calgary. Imported beer. Of course. Foreman probably figured it was better, unique, and worth a place in his refrigerator if it wasn't commonplace. He turned, snorting to himself, and popped the cap on the edge of Foreman's counter, leaving a white scratch in the dark surface--Foreman was sure to notice, and the thought made House grin to himself. It was a means to remind Foreman of him, that he was here, kissing him in his kitchen, eating his food, helping himself to his beer, all in his God damned pajamas. House's head bobbed in approval as he started out of the kitchen, but he stopped short, turning again, back towards the fridge.

He told himself that it was part of an experiment--see if he could make Foreman uncomfortable by doing the unexpected--as he reached inside the fridge again for another bottle. He wasn't sure if Foreman would accept it, or drink it--he couldn't even recall if Foreman had brought a beverage with him in the first place--but the action itself would probably get enough of a reaction for House to analyze, perhaps have some fun with later. Besides, it wouldn't fucking kill him, even if it got him no worthwhile reaction. He popped the cap, leaving a second scratch beside the first, and gathered both of them in one hand by the necks before returning to the living room. Managing to assume a serious expression--neutral and casual--House stopped beside Foreman, still standing, waiting for Foreman to look up at him, as he extended his hand in Foreman's direction. An invitation to take one of the bottles, as if this was a regular occurrence.

Foreman watched House leave the living room, feeling frustrated for no real reason. Despite House's smartass comment about messing with any good thing that came into his life, Foreman didn't see any sign that House disagreed with him. They weren't dating, they weren't going to make a big deal out of this, and the last thing in the world it could be called was romantic. After how they'd been kissing in the kitchen, Foreman thought House had gotten over himself enough that they might actually do this again without all the dramatics. Or, he thought, raising an eyebrow, maybe it would just be a matter of cornering House and pressuring him until he gave in. Foreman took a quick breath at that thought, enjoying the image. They could come back to Foreman's place, or maybe even end up at House's at some point, and fuck; because, Christ, the sex was hot, so why wouldn't they? As much as House might be self-destructive, even he wasn't obstinate enough to turn down what Foreman was offering him. No strings, no commitment. Just something simple, that could work for both of them.

Foreman picked up his plate again, stabbing at the lettuce. House had left his plate on his seat, and Foreman rolled his eyes. Well, it might work if he could get House to stop treating Foreman's space like it was his to do with as he pleased. He took a bite and let his head back against the couch, frowning lightly, realizing that he'd been watching the news and hadn't taken in any of it. If he and House agreed--and probably House walking out of the room without laughing in his face was the closest he was going to get to a serious answer--then there shouldn't be a problem. But the frustration lingered, like House was pulling an end run around him in a way he couldn't anticipate.

When House came back into the room, Foreman couldn't help looking him up and down again, a trace of arousal making him adjust his position. He parted his knees and slouched down against the couch, the leather sticking to his back. There was no way in hell House could have predicted how seeing him in Foreman's clothes would affect him. And Foreman's own promise, to strip House naked, probably crawl on top of him and hold him down in order to do it...he was so distracted by the thought that he didn't notice at first that House was standing there offering him a beer.

Foreman had forgotten to grab himself a drink, and he was thirsty, but 'bringing him a beer' was another item on his list of things he didn't trust House to do. Foreman gave him a searching look, his eyebrows lifting in a really? look, but he doubted House had had the time, or had bothered to invest the effort, in ruining his beer. "Thanks," he said, taking one of the bottles. He took a drink, and it tasted fine. Good. Foreman let out an amused breath. He really couldn't have imagined eating dinner with House, but it was actually working. "I'd take a shower now, if I didn't think you'd dig through the rest of my stuff while I was gone," he said, only mildly peeved. At this point he was assuming House would stay, and somehow it didn't bother him that he was organizing his life around House's curiosity.

When Foreman finally glanced at the bottles in House's hand, Foreman looked as though he was certain that House was offering him a bottle of poison. House had been seconds away from withdrawing his hand and keeping both beers for himself, but Foreman reached for one, taking it, and thanking him for it. Giving him a quick nod, House set his beer on the coffee table, took up his plate, and sat down, diving back into his dinner.

"Not much left to dig through," House responded to Foreman's comment, his mouth half-full of a large bite of lasagna, eyes directed down to his plate as he gathered another forkful. Foreman could believe what he wanted about that statement; House was sure that Foreman would leap to the worst possible assumptions--that Foreman would find his bathroom and bedroom torn apart, evidence that House had upended both rooms in search of interesting findings. House had been telling the truth. He only had Foreman's bedroom to search properly, and, as far as he knew, it was the last stop, unless Foreman had secrets hidden beneath floorboards. Foreman simply had few places to search and, aside from the files House had found on his computer, nothing interesting in any of those places. It was a shame, because now House would have to drag Foreman's guarded little secrets into the open with words. Foreman had to have some; nobody went through life without them. It seemed, however, that, for Foreman, they weren't exactly material or hidden, packed away in a neatly taped box. He hardly expected anything else from Foreman.

His mind wandered as he chewed his next big mouthful, wondering if Foreman actually would shower, if he'd prompted a bout of paranoia powerful enough to keep Foreman in his seat. He wondered if Foreman would lock the door if he went to shower, imagining him under the spray, water running down his neck, his chest. He wondered if Foreman jerked off in the shower, if he would jerk off and think of him next time. Shoveling another forkful into his mouth, House tried to derail that whole line of thought, keeping his eyes away from Foreman as he ate.

"Your computer's probably got a Kremlin Wall of passwords now," House remarked, swallowing at last. "I'm not expecting to find much anywhere else. Haven't so far." He wondered how much it would aggravate Foreman that House was telling him all of this directly, and he shrugged, partially as an answer to his own silent question, and continued eating.

"What the hell are you even looking for?" Foreman asked, too resigned to be as angry as he should be. House had known him for three years and he'd been picking for more information all that time. There had to be some final goal, some revelation that would satisfy him. "Trying to catch me in a lie about what kind of soap I buy?" He forked up another bite impatiently. House couldn't have searched that thoroughly, since he hadn't come into the kitchen earlier waving his finds. There were one or two things in his bedroom that Foreman hoped would never see the light of day without his permission. Maybe House was just waiting for him to bring them out to laugh and say that he'd known all along. It wasn't really House's style to delay gratification like that--his own, at least; he seemed to have no problem delaying Foreman's--so probably he was lying about the search, just to fuck with Foreman's head.

He glared at the ceiling when House brought up his computer passwords and took another long drink from his beer. Yeah, no kidding he'd password-protected his computer. Although now he realized that by doing that, he'd actually anticipated that House would be coming back to his place again. Even then, as furious as he'd been about House's invasion of his business, he'd been preparing for House to come back. "Great. Let me know when it's safe for me to live in my own apartment again." Foreman snorted, mostly to himself. Showering would be a test of a sort, if he was willing to risk whatever havoc House would cause if Foreman left him alone. He didn't trust House, but he did trust himself, and he knew better to keep his important documents in his home office. That was what safety deposit boxes were for. The fact that it was supposed to deter burglars, not House, was beside the point. Foreman looked down at his plate and toyed with the last bite. He had to peel himself off the couch to lean forward and put it down; definitely in need of a shower. "Enjoy your search," he said, leaving the eye-roll mostly implied. He walked past House, nudging his knees instead of going around the couch, pausing to look down at him, one eyebrow cocked. "There are probably better things you could be doing."

Smirking to himself once his back was to House, Foreman headed for the bedroom, stopped just long enough to push down his sweats and boxers, and stepped into the bathroom. There were signs House had looked around, things out of place and the medicine cabinet open, but Foreman couldn't imagine that his Tylenol held any interest. He turned the water in the shower to scalding, testing it with his hand. So far House hadn't shown much interest in taking him up on his teases--too damn cautious--but Foreman didn't think he'd be upset enough to leave. He closed the bathroom door, leaving it unlocked, and got in under the spray.

"I already know what kind of soap you buy," House said before he could stop himself, but he paused for another bite, figuring he might as well continue avoiding Foreman's questions in favor of making him squirm even more. "And what deodorant you buy, and cologne, and underwear."

It was all House bothered to say, only opting to watch Foreman as he rose from the couch and vaguely suggested that he could be doing 'better things'. Like what? Dishes? Calling a cab? Joining Foreman in the shower, even though he'd just had one of his own? House wasn't sure, and he stayed put, finishing off the last of his lasagna and draining his beer bottle as Foreman disappeared into the bedroom. House stubbornly sat there for a few moments, browsing the channels before caving to the desire to follow Foreman, not quite sure why he was even doing it, what he hoped to achieve.

Once he reached the bedroom, House felt the nearly unbearable pull of his curiosity, forcing him to gravitate toward the bathroom door, arm already outstretch as if the doorknob had an inescapable magnetic pull. As his mind recalled the sense of satisfaction he had experienced earlier, when Foreman had attempted to open the door, House brought himself to a stop, pressing his hand against the side of his thigh, refusing to go any further, to open the door and give Foreman the same satisfaction. He glanced around the room, hoping for a distraction, and took a seat on Foreman's bed, propping his cane against the footboard, his back to the bathroom door.

He had put off his search of Foreman's bedroom, and now, despite Foreman's taunts, was as good a time as ever, with Foreman occupied. He doubted he would find much, but he hoped he would find--even if he found nothing else--an interesting array of sex toys around the bed. Noting that the shower was still running, House scooted along the bed, toward the bedside table and quietly opened the drawer. One peek inside, and House already felt pleased enough to call off any further search. (For now.) Leaning forward, he reached inside to remove a box of condoms--the same kind he had found in Foreman's car. These were, House noted, nearly expired, although Foreman probably wouldn't have to worry about them reaching the date unused if he kept bringing him into his bed with the same regularity as he'd been lately.

House refused to think about the implications of that thought too much, and tossed the box back into the drawer, trading them for a pair of Playboys. Foreman had to keep up appearances even for himself, apparently, House thought, flipping through both of them quickly before replacing them. The edge of the magazines jostled another object against the back of the drawer, and House felt around for it with his hand, a grin spreading over his face as his hand wrapped around the unmistakable shape of a dildo (http://comeasyouare.com/images/Product/tantus-faerie-lg.jpg). Taking it out of the drawer, House inspected it, taking in the curved shape, perfect for reaching a prostate. Or a g-spot, House reminded himself, but he had reasons for believing this particular toy wasn't intended for that purpose.

Men didn't usually supply dildos for women, certain didn't keep one on hand for one-night-stands, and House could only come to the conclusion that Foreman had this for himself. Arousal stirred in him as images flashed through his mind: Foreman spread on his bed, one hand pushing the dildo inside himself to search out his own prostate. His other hand sliding across his hip, wrapping around his dick. One hand pushing, the other pumping, stroking. Making himself moan. Fuck. It made House want to sneak up on Foreman with this while he was still in the shower. Even as he entertained the thought, House had a feeling that, if this really was for Foreman's own use, Foreman would refuse to take it--a dildo or a real cock, now that House thought of it--up his ass from anyone but himself, but even that was hot, made House squirm where he sat, his face flushing with a burst of heat. So much for a distraction.

For the first few minutes, Foreman simply let the water rush over him. The shower was hot enough to ease some of the knots in his shoulders, making his skin burn. The bathroom filled with steam quickly, but he didn't make a move to start washing. He was wondering what House was doing--taking his comment as implicit permission to root through his stuff again? Debating whether or not to join him? Setting off some other disaster? He supposed he should hurry up and wash off and go out and supervise again, but he was starting to feel like whatever House found would be inevitable; if not this time, then next time. And he wasn't kidding himself now that there would be a next time. Foreman pushed out a sigh and reached for the soap, finding it on the edge of the tub instead of in the soapdish. More reminders that House would change things around, fiddle with the order of his life. But Foreman found himself focusing on the image of House in the shower, tipping his head back into the spray, instead, lingering on the look on House's face, imagining his expression when Foreman made him come. Fuck. He wasn't about to masturbate when House was right in the next room; it was pretty damn pointless when he had someone he could probably convince. Foreman grinned at the thought, scrubbing the dried sweat off his body quickly and clinically before snapping the water off.

He grabbed for a towel and found that House had beat him to it, taking the larger one and leaving him with little more than a hand towel to dry off with. Christ, it was all these little tiny annoyances--House did it at work, too, giving everyone around him a series of hoops to jump through, either because he didn't think of anyone besides himself or because he did and he liked the idea of them getting that much more ticked off. Grumbling and still wiping the water out of his eyes, Foreman opened the bathroom door, looking around for wherever House dropped the towel, which was when he looked up to see House sitting on his bed and holding his dildo.

Foreman's stomach dropped. Mortification stopped him cold, like a block of ice had replaced his sternum, before his whole body flushed hot. He'd known this was going to happen. He'd known and he'd let it happen, practically encouraged House to do it, but that didn't stop him from feeling embarrassed as hell to see House actually holding the toy. "I thought you said you were finished," was the first thing to burst out past his paralysis, and then his face burned even hotter. "Jesus, House!" Seeing the thing in House's hands was almost obscene, just knowing what he might do with it...what Foreman might do with it to House. He closed his eyes long enough to shake away the images, and then he strode forward to snatch it out of House's hands. He didn't want to be holding it either--it didn't help his imagination--and he shoved it back in the drawer, slamming it shut. He realized he was standing in front of House, completely naked, still dripping wet. He hated looking this way--getting caught out this way--and it was all House's fault. Foreman needed to get the upper hand back. He took a deep breath and said, low and tight, "If you want to get fucked, you don't need that."

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."

Humiliation twisted Foreman's stomach. He had really had no idea how House would react to the dildo, beyond laughing at him. Of course House would mock the hell out of him, as if House didn't go on about his lesbian porn collection at every inappropriate opportunity. Foreman didn't exactly have the time, what with his schedule in Diagnostics, to go out and just get laid every time he felt like it. Even if he did, he wasn't about to bend over for the first person he picked up. The toy was private. How House reacted would tell him a hell of a lot, so even though he wanted to grab the towel off the floor and at least have that much distance, a barrier even if it wasn't much of one, he didn't.

House's smirking approval was easy to see. His eyes lingered on Foreman's body, his chest and abs, and he wasn't intimidated in the least by Foreman's words. No reason he should be--he was dressed, and Foreman hadn't just pulled his sex toy out of a drawer. But the way House was staring, and the lazy arousal in his eyes, made Foreman think more about how House, sitting on the bed, was at nearly the perfect height to bend down and blow him. "No, I don't," Foreman said flatly, denying it. The lie had to be obvious but he didn't care. He didn't need the toy to fuck himself, not if he and House were going to keep going. He didn't need to get fucked at all.

Maybe he'd like it--maybe he'd even allow it, at some point. Not yet, but...God, he had to stop thinking like this. It was as if House thought he could just walk into Foreman's life and take over; not just his space, but his thoughts. The whole night was starting to catch up with him. Pinning House against the counter in the kitchen. Smelling his own soap on House's skin, seeing House offhandedly wearing his clothes. All the scenarios he'd been imagining, the wet slip of House's skin under his hands in the shower, House following him into the shower, holding House down and stripping him before he fucked him. Foreman could feel his body responding to House's stare, and he wasn't about to let House see him get hard when they hadn't so much as touched. "I have something else in mind," he said. He stepped forward, leaning his knees against the bed on either side of House's hips, and tangled his fingers in House's hair, tugging his face up to kiss him hard.

House scoffed at Foreman's lie--he knew it was a lie; Foreman had put no conviction behind it--and he was about to launch an entire series of taunts, attempting to work out a way to maneuver his way around Foreman and retrieve his toy. Flaunt it, what House thought Foreman did with it, how he used it, what Foreman imagined as he thrust it inside himself. The words were at the edge of his tongue, the smirk still playing at his mouth, but he never had the opportunity to unleash them before Foreman leaned down, gripped the back of his head, and pulled him into a kiss. A hard kiss, almost vicious, and it made House reach up to curl his hand around Foreman's forearm, squeezing. He fought to angle his head against the force of Foreman's grip, and he returned the kiss with an equal ferocity, refusing to let Foreman force him into compliance, just because he'd managed to embarrass him. It reminded House of their first kiss, the shove-and-pull of it, and despite his growing arousal, he refused to give in to it. He caught Foreman's bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard enough to remind Foreman of who he was kissing, that he wouldn't back down, bend over, and take whatever Foreman wanted just because he made him really fucking hot.

His position--and Foreman's, the way he loomed over him, somehow maintaining his balance--prevented any kind of escape; House didn't have the strength or agility for it. House opted for another method, reaching between them to roughly take hold of Foreman's dick, immediately stroking, touching without any kind of preamble, not planning to release him until he worked him to full hardness. It made his own cock stir, and he felt himself begin to get hard, but at least House felt as though he was taking a little control back, even if he had to prove he would fight Foreman to do it.

At first, Foreman was surprised at how fiercely House kissed him back, expecting him to react the way he had in the kitchen, the fight more tease than reality. He opened his eyes wide in shock when House bit him, jerking his head back from the pain, which only made it worse when House didn't let go. A high-pitched sound--not a whimper--escaped him, and Foreman pushed back into the kiss, seriously this time. His lip throbbed, but he deepened the kiss anyway, bending House's head back as far as he could and still keep his precarious balance on the edge of the bed. The kiss was turning, suddenly, into more of a brawl, angry and messy and confused, but it felt fucking amazing. House had finally checked all his doubts at the door; no more hesitation or uncertainty, no more holding back. The way he'd been looking at Foreman, leaning back to blatantly check him out, had been damn good for his ego, and the longer they kissed the easier it was for Foreman to ignore his embarrassment.

"Ohh--" Foreman's harsh groan felt like it had been pulled right out of him when House grabbed his dick and started stroking. It was rough and dry and too much, at first, but his arousal had been flaring higher all through the kiss and his body caught up so fast that the pleasure slammed through him all at once. Foreman panted, mouth open, losing every inch of ground he'd gained in the kiss. He tried to keep moving his mouth, chasing House's tongue with his, but he was distracted, slower. There was no way he could keep up his position like this, hovering over House; his thighs strained as he tried to keep his balance and push his dick into House's hand at the same time. Foreman pulled his fingers out of House's hair and grabbed his shoulder instead, shoving him down to the bed. He would have laughed at House's expression when he forced him down to his back, but he was still concentrating on the feel of House's grip on his hardening cock. Foreman climbed on top of him, straddling his legs, his knees finally finding some purchase on the mattress. He didn't stop there, but grabbed House's left wrist and squeezed--didn't care how obvious it was that he was leaving House's right hand free--and held it down to the bed as he bent down to continue the rough, demanding kiss.

House smirked against Foreman's mouth. Couldn't stop himself, not when Foreman was groaning, partially pulling away to draw breaths. Not when Foreman seemed to get so fucking lost all of a sudden. House kept his eyes open, watching Foreman's face. He was inhaling all of Foreman's thick, hot puffs of air. Not caring that he could barely draw a full breath of fresh oxygen himself, reveling instead in the way Foreman's respiration had skyrocketed, in the way Foreman seemed desperate to catch his lips, his tongue as he kissed him, the way Foreman pushed into his touch as if he couldn't get enough of it.

Every one of Foreman's actions only served to heighten House's smug satisfaction--so far, none of them approached even mildly intimidating--and fed his ego. House let Foreman continue to push, act on his aggression and desire, just to feel the rise of victory in his chest. There was no other word for it; each movement Foreman made seemed like a victory to House, because Foreman wanted more. He grinned, looking up into Foreman's face, as Foreman shoved him backwards, down onto the bed. House kept his hand wrapped around Foreman's cock even as he shifted to straddle him, but let it fall away when Foreman took hold of his left wrist, holding it down. He'd expected Foreman to reach for the other one, but he had little time to consider the surprise before Foreman bore down on him to take another kiss, the surprise quickly replaced with a rush of satisfaction, even more desire. House wasn't quite sure how this had gotten so hot and urgent so fast, but, God, he wasn't about to put a stop to it.

It was fucking amazing, being able to let go like this, not having to physically keep himself in check, confident that Foreman could (and would) take--and return--as much as he dished out, and as hard. Foreman wasn't afraid to hold him down or kiss him with enough force to make him fucking whimper, but spoke enough of Foreman's desire for him that it boosted his own ego, drove his own need and desire. Enough to erase most of his thoughts. If this was what it would be like to do this, kiss and fuck, House couldn't bring himself to care if he and Foreman never had a full conversation again. This, he considered, might as well be a God damned conversation; there was enough back-and-forth, push-and-pull. Better than a fucking conversation.

He lifted his head away from the bed to push harder into Foreman's kiss, deepening it, his tongue pushing roughly inside Foreman's mouth. He curled his left hand into a tight fist, flexing his forearm and pushing up, just to keep up the fight; he knew Foreman had the advantage, that he wouldn't get far. The fight for control was fucking intoxicating, and, in as blatant a show of it as he could manage, House kept his free hand away from Foreman's cock--exactly where he knew Foreman wanted it. He gripped Foreman's thigh instead, fingertips digging hard into the muscle there, feeling its strain, its subtle movements under the skin as Foreman moved above him. With a wrench of his head, House pulled out of the kiss, dropping his head back to the mattress, panting his Foreman's face.

"I never knew it was possible to beg so much from a dominant position," House said, pausing to return for another kiss, sucking hard on Foreman's lip, over the place he'd bitten him, hoping that the draw of blood would make it throb even more. "But you've got it down."

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.

House blew a doubtful scoff at Foreman, practically into his mouth, after Foreman spoke and covered his mouth in another kiss. When Foreman pulled back, House found himself breathless, panting hard. Jesus, this was getting so fast that it was making him dizzy, but he managed to hang on to his control. He was surprised that he was still holding on to it so well and for so long. It was even more satisfying, then, to see Foreman losing his, the frustration easy to see on his face, the desperate attempt to regain control as he tore House's shirt off. He met Foreman's kiss again, but pulled away quickly, Foreman's earlier words hanging in his ear and begging for a response.

"You tell me you're not asking, but the way you've been hovering and waiting for me to touch you says that you are, just not with words," House said, smug with the knowledge that he was right, that all evidence pointed to the fact that Foreman was, despite the roughhousing, waiting for some kind of sign to continue even further. He was pushing--asking--with the hope that House would give in, answer with a gasped, strained yes. House was sure of it, or Foreman would have had him naked, flipped over on the bed, and a couple fingers already working him open. The cool spread of Foreman's hands--still damp with water--on his chest felt good, but Foreman could do better, go further.

House looked up into Foreman's face, released a breathless, quiet laugh, and said, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were the one who wanted to get fucked, not me." House reached down with both hands, his brain already imagining how that would go, how it would feel--fucking Foreman, if he ever agreed to it--and spread his hands over Foreman's ass, rocking him forward and squeezing to emphasize the point. He closed his eyes and released a rush of air at the press of Foreman's hands, harder now on his chest, more of Foreman's weight behind it as House pulled him forward again. His own body was starting to respond more now, his cock fully hard, tenting his--Foreman's--pajamas, and House lifted his hips to grind his erection against Foreman before dropping back down to the bed, hands still kneading Foreman's ass. He was sure that Foreman wouldn't go for it--the idea of getting fucked--but it was almost the point. Foreman would only push him harder that way, try his best to guide them in the opposite direction. Either way, win-win for him. "Why use a toy when you can use the real thing, right?"

"House, shut up." Even as the words left him Foreman knew it was the lamest comeback he'd ever given. Pathetic. Fuck, he didn't care. House lifted his hips and his cock was hard and all that was between them were the pajama pants--such a stupid thing to get worked up over--and he wanted them gone. He kissed House again, still forceful but distracted, too, by what House had said. That grin of his, the laugh, were nothing but provocation. Foreman had never seen House actually happy, so it had to be just another taunt. He panted against House's mouth between kisses, and gasped when House's hands slid up his thighs to his ass, dragging them closer together.

Foreman lifted up long enough to grab the waistband of the pajama pants and pull them down over House's hips, dragging the material along his cock. From where he was sitting he didn't have the reach, or the patience, to get rid of them entirely; House could worry about freeing his legs if he wanted to. Foreman swept his gaze down House's body as House's hands squeezed his ass, his eyes half-closed as House rocked him forward, their erections pressing together. It was the gentlest touch they'd had since this had started. Felt so good; focused, heated pleasure, hot but not frantic. Foreman frowned in concentration, his mouth opening just enough to flick his tongue across his lips, wetting them. He didn't want to buck forward, rubbing hard until the touch chafed. This pressure, slow and deliberate, was suddenly better than the rough, desperate kissing. He was finally staying still long enough to actually think. He shuddered, his breath escaping unevenly, as he leaned forward. He caught House's forearms, pulling them away from him, trapping them against the bed on either side of House's head and putting all the weight on them that he could spare. Had to get the upper hand, somehow. Not just holding House down, but putting him in a position he'd hate. Vulnerable. Foreman gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe slowly, and this time when he leaned down, instead of kissing House's mouth, he dragged his lips along the tendon in House's neck. Down to his collarbone, bending nearly in half as he sucked open-mouthed kisses along it, then retracing his path, up to House's ear. House's hair smelled like him, his soap, his shampoo, and Foreman sucked gently on his earlobe for a moment, breathing it in.

"What makes you think," he said at last, remembering how much he'd responded to House leaning on him in the kitchen, the hot whisper of his breath, "it's an either-or question?" He couldn't let House set the parameters if he wanted to win. Foreman wasn't about to let House taunt his way into fucking him, and he wasn't going to oblige him by giving in completely to pushing him around. With both his hands trapped, House might not be able to touch Foreman but he couldn't touch himself, either. Foreman smiled a bit as he backed off to watch House's face, then took in his chest rising and falling with his breaths, and down to the flush of his erection against his stomach, their cocks pressing together as Foreman rolled his hips forward to increase the pressure.

All his leverage, all his control disappeared as Foreman pinned his arms to the bed, beside his head, with more weight he'd used so far, his grip so tight it almost hurt. House had been using his arms to pull Foreman closer to him, only lifting his hips a fraction of an inch. No amount of flexing or attempts to push up yielded any success; Foreman was too heavy, too strong, and House glared up at him, his breaths rapid through his mouth as House tried to use his legs instead. Even with legs dangling over the edge of the bed, his feet couldn't reach the floor, and his legs were limited in their movement to begin with, framed by Foreman's knees, the pants pushed to mid-thigh. Frustration welled in his chest, burst out of him with harsh, noisy puffs of air. Now, the best House could manage was a jerky, weak squirm, and even that became a physical strain. Elastic was pressing into his thighs, digging too hard into his right, and House had to shift his legs closer together to relieve the tension, limiting his range of motion even more. The more Foreman pressed him down, the more his control slipped away, and, God, a part of him liked it, wanted it, but another struggled against it, unwilling to stop the series of taunts, to stop pushing Foreman to react to him like this.

The heat of Foreman's mouth, trailing down his neck to his collarbone, then up again, made him writhe, wriggling beneath Foreman, and House fucking hated that Foreman had been able to steal his control away so damn fast. House bit back a groan, clenching his teeth, when Foreman spoke, his breath hot in his ear, and his body stilled, only his chest moving with his breaths and his fists opening and closing--the only futile attempt to move at all. His cock twitched, warm against the skin of his stomach, as he listened to Foreman speak, Foreman's voice deeper, rougher than before. House considered the implications of Foreman's words, that it's possible that Foreman wanted both--to fuck and get fucked--and it only made House's control slip another notch. He closed his eyes, trying to scramble to recover it, replaying Foreman's words in his head until he hit upon something to throw in Foreman's face. It took a few moments, but, once it occurred to him, House opened his eyes and looked up at Foreman, determined to swipe that damn smile off his face.

"So it is a question," House said, not asking--telling, pointing out Foreman's slip-up, that accidental contradiction--pleased with himself, forgetting his own frustration and physical lack of control as a grin spread across his face. House hoped it would help him regain some of his control, distract him from the way he wanted--so fucking badly--to give in to the throb in his cock and urge Foreman to do something about it.

"I thought you fucking paid attention." He hated that he couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice, and he was sure it would only make Foreman restrain him longer, hold out even more. The thought made House squirm again, seeking out contact. He wanted to get his damn pants off. Wanted to get on the bed properly. Wanted Foreman's hand on him, mouth on him. Something. Anything. God damn it. His control was slipping again, and he could feel it. He was breathing so hard that it was making him dizzy, and he closed his eyes again, turning his head to the side, trying again to free his hands. He didn't want to give in, but something was breaking in him, and he couldn't hold his control together. He grunted with one last thrash of his body, sagging back down to the bed, and words started tumbling out of him. "Foreman," he said, hating how fucking desperate he sounded, still breathing hard. "I--I want--" He licked his lips before pressing them together, closing his mouth and refusing to keep going. It was enough he'd said that, acknowledged he wanted something at all; he wasn't desperate enough yet to spell out exactly what he wanted for Foreman.

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.

House already regretted it. Regretted that he couldn't keep it together enough to stop himself from uttering those two words. Two had been enough, and no amount of encouragement or prompts from Foreman would be enough to force the rest of that sentence out of his mouth. I want you to turn me around, cover me with your whole damn body, and press me into the fucking mattress. I want you to fuck me, any way you fucking want, and make me come as you do it. Come so fucking hard I won't be able to fucking think anymore. Jesus, it was bad enough that he imagined it, that he wanted it, never mind started allowing himself to translate his thoughts into words. He had to get a fucking grip--it was one thing to let go on his terms, when he set the pace--but it was nearly impossible when he was this hot, this desperate to feel more contact, for Foreman to rock forward, grind down harder, and give him a real touch. He didn't know why he was so damn desperate for Foreman, why it mattered that it was him. Didn't know why he wanted to raise his head and catch Foreman in another kiss as Foreman lowered his mouth close to his, Foreman's breath washing over his mouth, part of his cheek. House kept his head turned, refusing to give in to that pathetic, needy desire, but the pull to react--along with the ache low in his stomach, in his cock--jumped a notch as Foreman laid a kiss on the inside of his forearm.

As Foreman moved down his arm, the touch of Foreman's lips turned almost tender, and it surprised House enough to make him draw a sharp, quick breath, his eyes opening to stare, transfixed, at the way Foreman's tongue trailed along his arm. It wasn't dirty, or forceful, or like any of the other moves Foreman was using on him; it was confusing. House closed his eyes again, turned his head to face the ceiling. God, it felt good, still a tease, but softer. This suddenly felt as though it were more than a spontaneous, casual fuck, and, if Foreman didn't choose that moment to speak, House might have forgotten that it was Foreman who was nearly covering him, kissing him like he wanted to explore him, not just tease him. House wasn't sure of Foreman's motivations and wasn't about to ask--he'd watch instead, think about it later. Foreman's actions would lie less than his words, House figured.

Foreman's current words, however, seemed to be completely truthful. An honest, urgent request, but House had a better idea of why Foreman wanted him to finish that sentence. "Yeah," House said, heavy on the sarcasm, opening his eyes to find Foreman studying him. He kept his eyes steady on Foreman's face, not backing down. "So I can--" He stopped for several breaths, straining again under Foreman's grip to free himself. "--watch you refuse? Do--do nothing? No, thanks."

House knew that Foreman only wanted to hear the rest of his sentence just to hear it, confessed with his tongue, because Foreman had demanded it. Foreman wanted him to beg, lose all of his control, and stroke his ego. House saw no reason to bend to Foreman's will, certain that Foreman wouldn't give him what he wanted if he asked, begged. Suddenly the situation had turned to a lose-lose. If House gave in and told Foreman exactly what he wanted, Foreman would deny him, just to spite him, just to prove he could. If he refused to share what he wanted, Foreman would still deny him. So, House figured, he might as well keep his pride intact. It was already driving him crazy enough--the way Foreman was holding him down and rubbing their cocks against one another, too gentle and not enough. He wasn't about to tell Foreman what he wanted without the guarantee that Foreman would listen and follow through, and, as far as he could tell, that wasn't Foreman's plan. "Don't pretend--you're interested in--in anything more than a--fucking ego boost."

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.

House was counting on being left to tend to himself, ready for Foreman to snap a criticism of his attitude and leave him there, or, worse, shove his clothes at him before forcing him out of his apartment. Either prospect sucked; Foreman had gotten him so fucking hot that his whole body was flushing with heat, goosebumps rising on his arms, cock throbbing and begging to be touched. He would have been angry if his head wasn't clouded with so much arousal and desire, and, fuck, Foreman's words, even though they were laced with Foreman's own anger, made House's brain fog even more, and he fought to take in what Foreman said, what he meant.

With you. He wasn't sure what Foreman meant by it. Was it a slip? Did Foreman actually see them as...together? House had a feeling that Foreman hadn't been referring to proximity, and he had to close his eyes, trying to push away the implications of Foreman's words. Telling himself he didn't care. It didn't matter. It--this--didn't mean anything. Foreman claimed he wasn't in this--whatever it was--for his ego, but House doubted it. If Foreman wasn't getting something out of it, he wouldn't stick around, and House was sure Foreman's ego had something to do with it.

When Foreman let go of his wrists, House could feel the blood rushing back into his hands and he flexed them a few times to help the flow before pushing himself up, following the heat of Foreman's body. "Like you were ever interested in doing this my way," House said, even though he had a feeling he was just arguing to get in the last word at this point. By the look of it, his and Foreman's ideas about the way to do this were close to the same. Foreman was grabbing the lube and a condom from the drawer. House took the opportunity to kick the pajama pants off and onto the floor, shifting back onto the bed to put a little distance between them, maybe make Foreman believe he still had some control of the situation. Make himself believe it.

As he watched Foreman, leaning on his elbows, eyes glancing down to the lube and condom in his hands, House said, unable to resist, "Aren't you forgetting something? I assume 'your way' means maximum pleasure for you, right? That toy might be useful. Or do you want me to fuck you with something else?" Based on how Foreman had been holding him down, doing everything he could to rip House's control away, House figured that Foreman had no plans to get fucked, but reminding Foreman of how all of this had started was too good to pass up, and House held his gaze steady as he watched Foreman's face.

Foreman rolled his eyes as he climbed back on the bed, moving to House's right side, dropping the condom and lube to one side. "Hard to be interested when I don't know what your way is." He wasn't a mind-reader, but it wasn't difficult to guess that House wanted to be held down and fucked hard, and Foreman was more than happy to oblige him. House wasn't objecting, either, since he'd stripped off and moved up the bed. Foreman damn well knew that House got off on what he did to him. He couldn't believe they were arguing about how to have sex, when pretty much anything they did was going to feel good--better than good. Even his irritation at House contesting every word he said wasn't enough to stifle Foreman's feverish, impatient desire to touch and be touched. He rolled closer, pressing against House's body, wanting to feel every tiny, needy squirm House might make.

Foreman had wanted House on his back--he liked kissing, and watching for that lost, desperate look in House's eyes when he came--but if House was going to be so damn argumentative, then Foreman didn't want to hear it. He wasn't as selfish as House made him out to be, he wasn't some jerk who got off and then fell asleep. "I don't want the toy," he said, fed up with House's stupid comments. He'd probably be a lot less mouthy if Foreman fucked him with the dildo; he wouldn't have room to say one goddamn thing after Foreman used it to make him writhe. Foreman wasn't interested in that, though, not when he was tense and aching, anticipating how hot the first thrust would feel when he fucked House.

Shoving House under his shoulder, Foreman pushed until he had House mostly on his left side. He closed his mouth on House's shoulder, more bite than kiss, as if that kind of warning would make House shut up. Maybe at least he wouldn't have to hear House's complaints, if they were all muffled in the pillows. Foreman felt warm again, his chest pressed up against House's back, and he grabbed for House's hip, jerking him back so that he could rub his erection against House's ass. God, yes, he wanted that again, harder, closer. "Do you want to fuck me, House?" he said, his lips next to House's ear. Foreman wasn't really sure what he'd do, what he'd say, if the answer was yes, but at least he'd had enough control that his voice had come out low and smug instead of as shaky as he felt. For right now, as he pulled House back, closer to him, he was just hoping that House would keep on being contrary and say no.

House kept his eyes fixed on Foreman's face, watching him as spoke, but hardly even hearing him. Trying to ignore the way his breathing hadn't relaxed at all, the way his body was aching more than ever as Foreman drew closer. Trying to convince himself he was calmer, more controlled than he actually was. It was a hopeless fucking case, and House knew it as his body almost immediately shifted closer, his hand twitching with the desire to reach over and touch Foreman enough to make him as crazy and desperate as he felt.

He heard Foreman's second comment, however, but had no time to argue it as Foreman pushed him to his side and bit down on his shoulder. Not as hard as he suspected he'd done to Foreman during their kiss, but fuck, it made him tense, arch his back, and try to shy away from Foreman's mouth. House swallowed, relaxed a little, when he felt the press of Foreman's chest against his back, his shoulders sagging, tension draining entirely when Foreman rubbed himself against him. He could feel his muscles giving up what was left of the fight at the sound of Foreman's voice in his ear, his mouth close, feeling like he had no choice but to listen.

"Oh," House whispered with a breathy exhale, leaning his head back to rest against Foreman's shoulder. "Yes." He knew he was responding to the question and to the rub of Foreman's erection, nerve endings tingling with anticipation, cock twitching, breath hitching. God, he really did want to fuck Foreman. It would be hot. So fucking hot to see Foreman wanting more, groaning, and pushing back, and coming because House knew exactly what to do to him. At some point. Foreman hadn't laid out any specifics. It had been a general question, only required a general answer. Wasn't the whole answer. Not what House wanted now.

House knew it was pathetic, but, with the almost-promise of Foreman's dick pressing hard, urgent against his ass, House wanted to prompt Foreman to give him what he wanted, imply it. Throw Foreman a damn hint, since Foreman had practically insisted that he was interested. A part of House's mind still doubted it, but House was too concerned with Foreman's hand pulling at his hip, Foreman's cock rubbing against him, hardly any space between their bodies now. All of it. All of the sensations, the sound of Foreman's voice--House wasn't sure he would be able to hear Foreman speak under normal circumstances and not imagine the accompanying gust of hot air in his ear. Goosebumps rose on his body, and he shivered, involuntarily pressing back against Foreman's body, feeling heat spread from Foreman's chest to his back. God, it felt so fucking good, and House caught himself hoping that Foreman wouldn't pull away, that he would keep his body this damn close, when he was fucking him. House was tempted to tell Foreman what he did want--right now, in that instant. Explicitly. He wanted Foreman to finally touch him. He hadn't fucking done it yet, and as much as all the other contact was making House's mind spin, he really wanted Foreman to touch him. Fuck. He rocked his hips back instead, trapping Foreman's dick between their bodies, half-hating himself at how needy he knew he'd sound as he said, breathing hard through the words, "Just not--right now."

Foreman froze for an instant when House actually answered him. He hadn't expected that, and certainly hadn't expected a yes. He didn't know what to do. It hit him hard, how much he'd be giving up if he let House do that to him, if he gave in. He kissed House's neck again, trying to cover how much House's low, half-moaned response had thrown him. Christ, it would be hot. Feeling House's fingers, his cock, rubbing against his prostate, would be shattering, powerful. Foreman knew his own reactions and he wasn't ready to show House that, to be that obvious. It was different than House watching him come. If he groaned during orgasm, or even begged, that was purely physical. Nothing like how he'd look actually working for it, trying to get House to angle his thrusts just right, needing that touch. Foreman's heart pounded, slamming against his chest, as he fought with himself, wanting to say no but not wanting to sound like he was afraid. It wasn't that, he was just--unsettled. Not ready.

His breath exploded out of him when House qualified what he meant. "God, yeah," he said, not being careful at all of what he said, what he sounded like, how close it was to a moan. Whenever House let go enough to tell him what he wanted, Foreman couldn't stop himself from responding. He felt warm, a fluttery clench low in the pit of his stomach, combining with his arousal but not quite part of it. It felt damn good, whatever it was, and he wasn't going to analyze it. House was moving backwards, encouraging Foreman to grind his erection against his ass, and the hot, rhythmic feeling was suddenly all he could think about. He pulled House back against him once more, tasting sweat this time when he breathed against House's shoulder, soothing the place he'd bitten with his tongue. He slipped his hand lower, the last few inches, and palmed House's erection, rubbing lightly before he curled his fingers around it and started stroking. So hot. Feeling House move, his body jerking, the intermittent pressure against his own cock, made Foreman pant hard, dizzy with his own eagerness. House's dick felt good in his hand, firm and blood-warm. Foreman squeezed a bit harder, burying his face in House's shoulder as he stroked, his breath gusting across House's skin. It was awkward, right-handed, but he managed to start an erratic not-quite-rhythm.

God, he needed more. Needed to get the condom on, if he could find it after dropping it in the sheets. "Touch yourself," Foreman whispered against House's neck. "Just--for a minute--" He drew back, his breath shuddering in his throat as soon as he wasn't pressed against House's back, and fumbled for the condom, finally finding it and tearing it open.

Foreman's reaction was confirmation enough that both of them were on the same wavelength, had the same ideas about in which direction to take this, and House couldn't muster an objection, practically feeling Foreman's excitement permeating into his body, the enthusiasm in his voice. If he wasn't so absorbed in his own arousal, the closeness of Foreman's body, the nearly overwhelming desire to be touched, House would have felt smug. All he could do was echo, "Yeah," extending his left arm on the bed, pushing with his hand to press his body backwards. A moan tumbled out when Foreman pulled him back even further, arching a little at the feel of Foreman's breath on his shoulder, his mouth, wanting more. He didn't doubt Foreman could drive him even crazier with kisses, sucks to his skin, and House was becoming willing to take what he could get as long as it lasted longer than a few moments, but, God, he wanted more. A real touch. Where he wanted it, on his cock, the touch firm and warm and good. Foreman's hand on his hip was too much of a tease, and House shifted, trying to get Foreman to lower his hand, his breathing kicking up when he did. House drew a sharp, shuddery inhale when Foreman's hand finally--oh, God, finally--rubbed against his erection, and he couldn't stop a loud, long groan when Foreman curled his fingers around him and started stroking. "Fuck," House whispered breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut, his hips jerking forward to push himself further into Foreman's hand. "Yeah." He knew he could come like this, before Foreman even started fucking him. He wanted to cover Foreman's hand, make sure he didn't stop, help guide the rhythm, but he couldn't uncurl his hands from Foreman's sheets, couldn't pause long enough to do it. Just keep going, House silently pleaded, less self-conscious about his own tight desperation when Foreman couldn't hear it, at least not in words. Keep going. Keep going. God, yeah, keep--

House heard himself whimper--fucking whimper--as Foreman pulled his hand away from House's cock, his body shifting automatically backwards to follow the heat of Foreman's body, his touch. It had barely lasted for a half-minute, just long enough to get him panting, aware of little but the flaring ache in his groin, the heat of Foreman's hand, the pressure of his grip--close to the hold he'd use on himself, so close to fucking perfect. God. The few strokes hadn't been enough. He let his head fall onto his outstretched arm, closing his eyes and choking back another pathetic sound in his throat, feeling the heat of Foreman's breath on his neck. Touch yourself, Foreman said, and House shook his head, squeezing a fistful of the sheets, his body still trying to roll backwards to find Foreman's again, all the while wondering how in the hell he'd gotten so damn needy. Touching himself wouldn't nearly be the same, not the same as Foreman voluntarily, willingly giving him something he wanted. So fucking badly. He raised his head, turning it to catch Foreman's face in his field of vision, and reached his right hand back to touch Foreman instead, finding his hip and squeezing. Not himself, didn't want to touch himself, not with Foreman so damn close, so close to fucking him. He wanted to come with Foreman's hand around his dick, Foreman's cock in his ass, stroking his prostate, leaving him breathless and dizzy, and, fuck, it wouldn't take long. Foreman had teased him enough to work him into a fucking frenzy, and House was sure it showed, mixing with all the pushy anger he could work into his voice, when he gritted out, "Jesus Christ, will you hurry up?"

"Maybe if you get your damn hand out of my way--" Foreman nudged House's arm aside sharply. Didn't matter how hot it was that House was reaching for him, didn't matter how much he wanted that touch, it wasn't helping if House's hand grabbing at his hip was all that was between him and actually getting the goddamn condom on. His hands were shaking, and even the feel of his fingertips, rolling the latex on, was sending pulses of arousal through his groin. Fuck, he wasn't going to last. Good thing it seemed like House wouldn't either. God, the sounds he'd been making. Foreman had barely been able to hear words underneath the groans, yeah and fuck and House pushing into his touch as hard as he could. Foreman couldn't grab a full breath. He wanted to be pressed up against House again, every inch, front to back, and he wanted to be fucking him, now.

The bottle of lube was jabbing into his hip, but at least that made it easy to find. He flicked off the cap, pouring out a handful, already warm from being caught under his body. Stroked his hand down his cock, once, fast, trying to spread the lube without actually touching himself too much. He'd used more than he needed and it was making a mess but he didn't give a fuck. His hand was oily, fingers sliding against each other, and just knowing what he was going to be doing with them in about two seconds made his body burn with urgency. The angle was terrible and Foreman wasn't exactly deft with his right hand. He doubted House would care. He'd already had his fingers up House's ass earlier tonight and it would be easier this time. He rolled closer, hoping that House would touch him again, that Foreman hadn't driven him away entirely just because he'd snapped at him. It was the only way he could stop himself from saying everything else. I want you. You feel so good. Want to see you, hear you-- Idiotic, sentimental things, nothing he could ever imagine actually saying to House. Easier to touch him, run his hand down House's ass, press against his perineum just behind his balls. Rubbing, exploring, then pushing two fingers inside. Just enough to stretch him open. Foreman wasn't thinking about teasing, wasn't thinking about much of anything beyond making sure this wouldn't hurt. Trying to make it good.

Impatience won and Foreman pulled his fingers out almost before he'd gotten started. He held the base of his cock, just over the edge of the condom. He settled himself behind House, and--there--oh fucking Christ--pushed in, panting desperately, a high-pitched moan catching in his throat. Slow. Had to go slow, just for now. "Yeah, ohh, that feels--" Incredible. Too good to waste breath talking about, and Foreman barely paused before he hauled House closer and began to thrust.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject