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

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.

House curled his arm in front of him, still refusing to touch himself--God, he wanted Foreman to do it. Wanted Foreman. Jesus. The pop of the lube cab made him close his eyes, angle his hips with anticipation, but was hardly thinking clearly enough to position himself. Rolling nearly onto his front, House reached for a pillow, pressing his face into it as he hugged it close. Something to hold on to, muffle the rumbling, gritty groan--he had given up on trying to stop himself--that rolled up his throat with the press of Foreman's fingers, the firm rub. As good as it felt--and, God, it felt good--House needed Foreman to get to the damn point. Work him open, slick him up, make him relax enough to take Foreman in without too much of a slow, teasing build. He impatiently mumbled into the pillow, "Get on with it." He doubted Foreman had made out the words, even if he'd heard his voice. House felt his urgency building, and, even though he didn't want Foreman to skip the prep, he wanted it, for Foreman to fuck him. God, he fucking wanted it. He couldn't keep back his gasp-sigh when Foreman pushed his fingers inside him, starting to stretch him. Oh, yeah. He still wanted Foreman to grab his cock, but he'd wait if it meant Foreman would fuck him and stroke him at the same time, finally giving him exactly what he wanted. Fuck, yeah.

At the withdrawal of Foreman's fingers, the urgent press of Foreman's erection--hadn't expected it so soon--House lifted his head, drawing suddenly nervous breaths. He'd wanted it, but not to hurt. Foreman's several-second fingering wasn't enough. Hadn't been enough. He wasn't a damn pro, as much as he liked being fucked like this, and he wasn't ready yet. Not relaxed enough, and House winced, letting a high, sharp noise slip out of his mouth as Foreman pushed inside in a single, long stroke. Foreman probably hadn't heard him; he seemed too busy releasing noises of his own--a moan that, if he wasn't so distracted, House would have paid far more attention to, fucking reveled in as it flooded his ears. House tensed, pain crawling from his ass, down the back of his legs, up his back--not too sharp, but more than enough to feel--and he gritted his teeth, trying to work through it, let Foreman pull him closer, stretch him open this way. Foreman had used enough lube to prevent any real tearing, but, God, it was fast. Foreman was moving too fast, too soon. The ache in his groin had faded for the moment, but he knew it would flare up again, and an even longer wait would start to drive him crazy. He didn't want to tell Foreman to stop--he might stop, get pissed off, and never continue--but, as he bit back a whimper as Foreman thrust in, fast and deep, he couldn't stop from reaching back, finding Foreman's hip again. "Foreman," he choked out, pushing lightly against Foreman's hip to keep him from thrusting in again too fast or too hard, hoping Foreman would pause completely. "Wait, wait. Not too--I need to--" House tried to gather air, a deep breath. "Too much."

He sounded so fucking desperate, like he was pleading, and maybe he was, but he felt on unsteady ground, resorting to desperate urging now. He needed to get back on familiar, solid territory, needed to relax, and, keeping his grip firm on Foreman's hip--didn't want him pulling out, stopping entirely--turned his head to peek at Foreman over his shoulder. Sarcasm was familiar, a safe tactic to help him get his bearings, and he already knew that it was a language Foreman could dissect as it was, understand without a problem. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to let a girl adjust first?"

At first, Foreman couldn't figure out exactly what House wanted. Foreman wanted to move, wanted to push his hips against House and sink into him even more deeply, and he could feel his body taking over, his thoughts fading out completely. But House tensed up, and Foreman finally heard him say wait. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn't. He needed to move. He bit down on his lip, forcing himself to stop, his body shuddering as he made himself pause mid-thrust, his breath rushing harshly in his throat.

"Sorry." The word gritted out between his teeth--it wasn't quite an apology--but it was enough to let House know that he'd heard him. Foreman thought about pulling out, using his fingers again, but he didn't want to make any surprise moves. Any moves at all. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, feeling a squirm of embarrassment in his stomach, his skin flushing with shame. Not only did he know better, but he'd lost control, in a way that would leave House perfectly justified in telling him never to touch him again. He hated the feeling of compounding the mistake by not thinking, not preparing enough. Probably he should back off. Roll away, just stop right now before he made things worse.

But House was gripping his hip tightly, fingers digging into the muscle, and he was--had to be--the one calling the shots. He wasn't giving Foreman the room or leverage to pull out. Despite his raspy, tense voice, he actually made a joke, and Foreman took his first real breath since he'd realized House was telling him to stop. The absurdity of the idea--of telling his parents anything about this aspect of his life--actually helped to calm Foreman down. It was so beyond the realm of possibility that he could laugh at it, and it eased the feeling that he'd monumentally screwed up. "This--" He stopped again, breathing a silent chuckle against House's shoulder, trying to ease closer without making things worse. "Not a subject my mother ever touched on."

"Sorry," he said again. Not as harshly. Apologies didn't come easy to him, but House's sarcasm had helped, along with the fact that he didn't have to meet House's eyes. Foreman took several deep breaths, trying to force his muscles to unclench. He'd gotten carried away. He was still overpoweringly aware of how hot House's body was around him, how much he wanted to move, but he wasn't as close to the edge, and he was still furious with himself, which allowed him to rein himself in that much more tightly.

Foreman carefully pulled House against him again. After a moment, still frowning, he lowered his mouth to House's neck, kissing him carefully. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd be allowed. He didn't want to ask and show that uncertainty. He knew he'd have to, and he hated himself for it, but that anger was fading as he concentrated on sucking on House's skin. He tasted the difference in texture where his stubble started, moved slowly up and down the tendon in House's neck, trying to feel if House's tension had eased. He traced oily paths with his fingertips over House's chest, circling his nipples and teasing them with light, slippery pinches and pulls. Tried to focus for a few minutes on those simple, cautious touches. "Okay?" he said finally, emphasizing the question by trailing his hand down towards House's dick.

The pain lingered for several moments after Foreman stopped, enough for House to pant, a grunt mingled with his breaths, too loud to hear exactly what Foreman had said. House had heard his voice, felt Foreman's breath on the back of his neck, and he calmed himself enough, forcing himself to draw a deep breath, to echo Foreman's airy laugh. What a God damned relief. He had been worried that Foreman would pull away, stop this altogether, and that wasn't what he wanted. He loosened his grip on Foreman's hip, but kept his hand resting there, prepared to nudge Foreman back into action once he was ready.

When Foreman apologized, House nodded as he turned his head, allowing Foreman to see him in profile, figuring he should extend some sort of acknowledgment to be sure that Foreman stayed exactly where he was, willing to continue. House blinked, faced forward. Nothing else needed to be said, no need to dwell. His body was already recovering, already relaxing, and House was becoming more and more aware of the urge to move, feel Foreman thrust inside, dick hard, hot, slick. House concentrated on helping his body to fully relax, adjust, but, after another moment, there was no need to consciously try as Foreman's mouth started doing it for him, placing a warm kiss on his neck.

It felt good, even though it seemed that Foreman was being careful. House fought back the urge to snap at Foreman, tell him that he'd never asked Foreman to be careful; he had just wanted him to slow down, give him a second to adjust. Wait. Another kiss--hot, and open-mouthed, and less hesitant--and House was convinced that, no, these kisses, the way Foreman was gently pulling him back against him was way better than waiting. It was good, made House's chest fill with a warm, relaxed sensation. Gave him something to focus on, and House closed his eyes, feeling the tension draining out of his body. Arching his neck, he invited Foreman to keep kissing, sucking. His skin flushed with heat, waves of tingles spreading through his chest, his groin, as Foreman teased his nipples, pulled enough to make House hum low in his throat.

When Foreman pulled his mouth away, asked Okay?, House turned his head, far enough to meet Foreman's eyes, half-surprised that Foreman had even asked the question, but the surprise faded fast, replaced by a jolt of anticipation, knowing Foreman was ready, willing, even eager. Another nod, and House turned, letting his head fall to his outstretched arm. He felt his body taking over, starting to guide him. His hips moved as Foreman's hand eased down to his cock, letting Foreman's dick slide out of him a little, and--thank fucking God--there was no more pain with the movement, no discomfort. It felt good, made House ache for Foreman to move, give him what he'd wanted before they'd hit that damn speed bump. He pushed his hips back again, taking in more of Foreman's cock, squeezing Foreman's hip as he urged him forward slowly.

"Yeah," he whispered, trying to pull Foreman closer, finally dropping a verbal indication that Foreman could keep going. He didn't want Foreman to be too careful, now that he was more than ready, and he was afraid he'd made Foreman back off too much. He was already feeling the build again, that desire to be touched and fucked, and he wanted Foreman to want this again, want him, and he tried to think of a way to make that happen, nudge Foreman enough to try to push again. Touch him and fuck him like he was trying to wring something out of him. It would have been hot to see Foreman lose control that much, lose it because of him, how badly he wanted to fuck him, if it hadn't hurt, and he wanted to get Foreman to that point again, now that he knew he could take it. Even more, he wanted Foreman to push him to the point where he could lose control. It had been hot before, and he wanted it again. Was tempted to turn over and lay flat on the bed to let Foreman pound him into the mattress.

He slid his hand over Foreman's hip as far back to his ass as he could reach, loosening his grip. He pulled Foreman in--all the way in--moving his hips back harder and let out a soft groan. "Yeah. Oh, God." He rocked his hips in small, jerky motions, clenching around Foreman, fucking himself on Foreman's dick, not caring how desperate it seemed, how much it showed how much he wanted it. How his body was practically begging for it. It felt too damn good to stop. Another small groan slipped, fingers automatically digging into Foreman's skin. His breathing kicked up, chest rising and falling fast, and he leaned his head back against Foreman, shifting back until he was pressed against Foreman almost entirely, head down to his legs. God, Foreman's skin was hot. So fucking warm, and he tried to push himself closer, even though he was already as close as he was probably going to get. It was easier to do this, shamelessly press himself closer, rock back even faster, let his thoughts turn into words when Foreman couldn't see him. Couldn't see the look on his face that he knew was there, the pleasure forcing his eyes closed, his mouth open every time he took Foreman into him. God, he really wanted to make Foreman hot again, drive him that out of control. Even though it had worked to relax Foreman before, kept him from pulling away, House suspected more sarcasm now would have the opposite effect. He couldn't imagine much more than actually telling Foreman what he wanted to get him to that point again. Not asking. Telling. Voluntarily, unprompted. Even if Foreman made him work for it, not give in right away, the words would still make him hot, push the urgency. "Oh, fuck. I want--I want you to fuck me. Make--God, make me come."

Foreman swallowed when House turned his head, wondering if maybe it wasn't okay after all, if House would tell him to stop. House had made several movements like that before, twisting his neck as though he was checking Foreman's reaction. Foreman wasn't sure how much he wanted House to see, and he really didn't know whether he could hide his own disgust with himself. He stayed as composed as possible as he forced himself to meet House's eyes. Checking to make sure that House's nod actually meant what he hoped. It wasn't the only indication--House's carotid pulse under his lips had started pounding faster, and his breathing was starting to pick up--but Foreman wasn't really sure if he could trust any of it. Obviously he couldn't even trust himself, not if he let go so much that he wasn't listening.

House started moving, though, and Foreman nearly stopped breathing at House's whispered yeah. Foreman thought he'd managed to quell his own reaction, but he nearly lost it again when House grabbed his hip and actually pulled him closer, deeper. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay still, to let House do what he wanted at his own pace. Foreman could wait. Needed something else to focus on but he could wait. He trailed his hand the rest of the way down House's stomach, following the trail of hair before wrapping his fingers around his cock. He teased the head with thumb and forefinger, before tightening his hold and stroking right down to House's balls. As long as Foreman was thinking about that, concentrating on the exact pressure and the sliding grip of his hand, doing his best to drive House crazy, then he could ignore the hot, clenching need in his groin. Christ, House was trying to kill him, making him want it so damn badly, as if he was testing just how far he could push Foreman. Jerking his hips, as if he was inviting Foreman to slam into him, moaning and shoving against him, oh God. It was like House had abandoned all his pretense, all at once, and Foreman's jaw actually hurt from how hard he was clenching his teeth, because that was just too good. He was doing everything he could not to snap and fuck House raw, in case it was too much. But House was pushing back against him, his whole body so hot against Foreman's, the back of his head actually pressed against Foreman's shoulder, and Foreman had his goddamn limits. The intense, urgent pleasure in his cock was growing each time House tightened around him, each squeeze forcing a deep groan out of his throat.

All his efforts, every last ounce of self-control Foreman possessed, shattered when House spoke. I want you to fuck me. Felt like he'd been waiting all his fucking life to hear House say those words, say them desperately, without hesitation. When he'd nodded and agreed, Foreman hadn't been convinced, was sure that House was just covering up, but--make me come, fuck, that Foreman could believe--and even if he didn't, his body did, taking control completely.

Foreman grabbed House's wrist and pushed with his whole body until he was practically on top of him, covering House completely. "Like this?" he said. It sounded too rough and too demanding to be a question but he was still asking, making sure. Pinning House's right hand to the bed, and pushing with his knees, Foreman could finally work his left hand under House's body far enough to actually touch, and he immediately grabbed for House's dick and start jerking him off, tight and fast. He thrust in, hard, again and again. The sensation, all the pent-up need, slammed through his body like he'd been falling all night and had finally hit the ground.

House achieved what he'd aimed for, sure that his movements and, more than any of it, his words--not entirely spontaneous, but completely true--spurred Foreman to act. Wrap a warm hand around his erection. Stroke and tease so deliberately that House's rhythm faltered, and his body was suddenly unsure of the direction to push--into Foreman's hand or onto his cock. The combined feel of it all, the sensations plus the solid warmth of Foreman's body behind him almost made him dizzy, and he inhaled a breath so fast he almost fucking choked on it the moment he felt Foreman snap, spring into action.

Foreman had listened faster than House ever expected, making a grab for his wrist and pushing him onto his front. He'd always doubted that Foreman was capable of such unquestioning compliance, especially when it involved him, and House wasn't prepared to witness Foreman give him what he wanted so fast, so damn willingly. The push was hard, sudden, a little rough, matching the tone of Foreman's voice as he spoke. Nothing careful about that, the tight hold on his wrist, the solid, heavy press of Foreman's body, holding him down, the way he demanded a damn answer out of him. House turned his head to lay his right cheek, the side of his face, on the mattress. Closing his eyes, he squirmed, staying silent for a moment, and jerked his hips up as far as he could, wanting to push Foreman even more, pretend like there was more control left for Foreman to steal. But he wasn't sure what Foreman could do to leave him any more helpless, besides fuck him senseless, and speechless, and thoughtless. Besides a shallow rock of his hips, House could barely move. With the moment that Foreman began to thrust again, driving into him without much restraint, House's muscles gave up any fight they had left. His body practically melted underneath Foreman, and House just let Foreman fuck him. And, holy fuck, Foreman knew how to do it. Fucking amazing.

"Yeah," House finally answered, speaking half into the mattress, the sound of his voice gritty, a little muffled. Rough, eager, too fucking breathless. Didn't have the desire or the energy to start berating, or lying. He wanted Foreman to keep going. More. House swallowed, opened his mouth to speak again, groaning before the next word made it out of his mouth. "Do it. Like--"

Another groan cut him off as Foreman reached around him and took hold of his cock, wasting no fucking time at all before he began stroking him. It made him lightheaded, and all he could do was squirm weakly, too flooded with pleasure to work up the strength to push back much. Foreman was driving into him like he was trying to force him to let go completely, and, fuck it, Foreman would get what he wanted, if that was his goal. Even if it wasn't, he was still going to see it, because House wasn't going to fucking hold back. Couldn't. Didn't want to, didn't have the willpower, the control. The brainpower. God, he couldn't think. Felt so good. So fucking good. Oh, fuck, this was what he'd wanted. Foreman was thrusting so hard, hand curled around his cock and pumping so fast, that Foreman forced a grunt, or a broken groan, a half-word out of him every time that he pushed into him. He could feel his body tightening, the pressure building fast in his groin. God, he was already getting close. He hoped like hell that Foreman wouldn't suddenly slow down and tease him, make him beg. He didn't trust himself not to beg, say anything that Foreman wanted, demanded. In his head, he was already doing it, words flashing across the back of his eyes as he felt Foreman's dick stroke his prostate. Harder. Faster. Oh, God, please. Fuck. Yes, there. Don't fucking stop. Don't stop. House curled his left hand around a fistful of sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and not realizing that a few of those words were making it past his lips to the rhythm of Foreman's thrusts. "Oh--yeah--harder. Harder."

"Yeah," Foreman said, echoing House's words. "Yeah, you like that. Just--like that--" He closed his eyes, leaned in so that he could taste the back of House's neck, push him down just that much more. Couldn't get enough oxygen, though, and had to pull back. They were both sweating, and Foreman loved watching House's back each time he pushed in, seeing his muscles clench and release. He could see House's profile and that was even better, watching his mouth open almost involuntarily around his groans, the flicker of his expression every time Foreman's thrust was a little stronger. Exactly what he'd wanted, to see that, to know he was having that effect. He sped up, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of sliding in, grunting a little each time his balls met House's ass. He'd stopped worrying about House--his every breath showed how much he liked this--and it was so easy to give up control, to just keep going, as fast as he liked, as hard as he wanted. He could feel the build, the drive, his balls tightening, the heat in his skin permeating his entire body. Every feeling was magnified, the sensations rolling through him higher every time.

"Fuck, oh. Oh." He was going to come. Too soon. He wanted to make this last, draw out every last moan and breathless plea from House that he could, but it was a losing battle. Short, strained groans caught in his throat with every thrust. Pleasure arced through him like live current, hot and unstoppable, making his muscles jerk and clench. The rhythm of his body overshadowing everything else. He could barely hear House, only knew that he was begging for more, and that turned him on so fucking much. He was already riding the edge of his orgasm, had to find something to slow his body down. Foreman drove in, finding the angle that made House writhe and struggle underneath him. Breath aching in his throat, he waited, biting his own lip, body wracked with need. He gave another powerful thrust and shuddered. House wanted it harder, so Foreman concentrated as much as he could, ramming his hips forward, his thighs and abs burning from the way he was half-curled over House's body, and forced himself to stop between each perfectly-angled thrust. His hand was still working House's cock, as fast as he could, running his thumb over the head and then squeezing on the downstroke. House was so hard, his precome slicking every movement, he had to be close. "Come on," Foreman said. "Come on, House, so good when you come for me--"

God, he couldn't keep this up. He couldn't make himself slow down any longer. He gave in completely and started thrusting again, forgetting about finesse, forgetting about everything. He couldn't think beyond his own pleasure, the demands of his body. Need this. Need it so much. He could feel his orgasm pouring through him, over him, all his nerves firing at once. His body spasmed, his thrusts becoming erratic and rough, but he kept moving. Wanted to fuck House's orgasm right out of him, didn't want to stop. He was panting so hard that he felt like he was going to pass out but he kept going. Knew he'd stay hard at least long enough to finish this. He pounded into House, kept his hand moving on his cock, even as his own aftershocks made him tremble.

Overwhelming. It was almost overwhelming, Foreman actually listening and driving into him even harder, jerking him off hard and fast. The weight of his body pressed House down, his hand still holding his wrist to the bed, and, fuck, it felt so damn good. Foreman's breath warmed the back of his neck even more, the heat spreading outward, down to his shoulders and over the side of his face. Everywhere.

Nothing but Foreman. House could feel nothing but Foreman, what he was doing to him. Hand so tight around his cock. Thumb smoothing over the head, making him jerk, stomach muscles clenching and his breath rushing out of him with each slick press. Hyper-sensitive. The world was narrowing fast, down to the hard, fast strokes of Foreman's cock, his voice, urging him to come. God. Pleasure rocketing so fast through his body that he couldn't think anymore. Grunts and groans burst out of him. Couldn't stop them. His body was acting on its own, his mind overwhelmed. So fucking overwhelmed, and, God, it was what he'd wanted, to let go like this, even underneath Foreman. Even knowing that Foreman was now more than armed to throw all of it back in his face, be as smug as he liked. House couldn't bring himself to care, not then, not when Foreman was starting to snap again, lose himself just as much. Had to be. House felt his body rocking with Foreman's thrusts, vaguely aware of the break in Foreman's rhythm, the roughness, as frantic as the desperate jerks of House's body moving to push himself into Foreman's hand. Faster. Harder. Oh, fuck, yeah.

House managed to lift his head, twist enough to catch a glimpse of Foreman's face as his body jerked hard, Foreman's hips pushing into him with uneven thrusts. "Yeah," House said, keeping his eyes open long enough to watch Foreman's face contort with pleasure. Watching him come. Come because of him, because he'd wanted to fuck him that much, that hard. He collapsed down to the bed, feeling himself on the edge of his orgasm. God, it wouldn't take long. Another few seconds. Foreman was thrusting roughly, still uneven, not much of a steady rhythm, but it would be enough. Knowing Foreman couldn't keep up a steady pace, that he'd let himself lose control that much, made House groan. The pressure was almost too much, the drive to come so fucking intense it almost burned through him. "Come like that," he said, voice rough and low, to Foreman as much as himself. "Fuck, yeah."

Yes. Yes. Foreman's orgasm caught him up and carried him along, the sensation coming in long, rolling bursts that made him gasp and moan. He kept moving, thrusting, distantly aware of House urging him on, as the feeling gradually lessened. His last few instinctive thrusts weren't as strong, but he was overloaded with pleasure. Nearly too sensitive. His erection was fading slowly, and his body hummed with a warm, floating sensation, as if every muscle had dissolved. Content and sleepy and satisfied. Foreman draped himself on top of House, too lazy to support his weight. He was drinking in the hot feeling of their bodies pressed together. He wasn't bothering to hold as tightly to House's wrist, running his hand up and down House's forearm instead, massaging lightly. Foreman was still breathing hard, right next to House's ear. He turned his face enough to kiss him, suck on his earlobe and then catch it between his teeth. If he rested just a bit more on his right side, he could keep the weight off his left arm enough to keep jerking House off.

"Mm, you're close." Foreman grinned smugly to himself, thinking about how much House's new fellows didn't know about him. That nobody at the hospital knew about him. House spent his time calling everyone else on their bullshit, acting like he had them all figured out. To see him like this, to make him like this, almost wild with how close he was to orgasm, moaning uncontrollably, made Foreman feel like he'd discovered a huge secret, figured out the solution to a mystery. Nothing he'd ever share--he loved knowing things that the people around him had no clue about--but enough to make him feel so goddamn satisfied with himself. Made him feel magnanimous towards House, too, because it was so good watching him, listening to him, twisting his hand just a bit harder to feel House's breath catch high and tight in his throat. Foreman could concentrate more, now, seeking out the places that made House gasp and shiver involuntarily. Avoid them, then go back. Slow the pace, then increase it for a stroke or two, then pause entirely. Earlier House had worked him up, sucking him, teasing him, and then he'd stopped. Oh-so-casually, smirking up at Foreman as if he was enjoying every minute of having him pinned down by his own eager need. Foreman chuckled quietly, stilling his hand, feeling House's erection twitch in his hand. If House wanted it badly enough, then he'd ask for it, and Foreman would have evened the score. He supposed House might just get pissed off instead, but seeing how lost he was, Foreman thought House almost wanted him to make him ask. He thought about what he might say to prompt House, but he settled for kissing his neck and shoulder instead; he wanted to hear House beg without any prompting from him.

House barely felt the drift of Foreman's fingers on his arm; he was far too distracted by the sensations and pressure in his own body, the hot, hot air of Foreman's breath in his ear, even warmer feeling of Foreman's mouth. The heat and weight of Foreman's body. It all spurred him on, and he felt himself tumbling toward his orgasm. So fucking close. Foreman knew it, too--he said so--and House managed to answer with a nod, a small groan, hoping like hell that the smugness in Foreman's voice was nothing more than the satisfaction of his orgasm. Alarm began creeping into his brain the first time Foreman paused. No. No, God, no. Please, don't stop.

He shifted with Foreman, more of his weight on his right side--he would take an extra Vicodin later--and he tried to push his dick into Foreman's hand, give himself some control, just a little more friction, but he collapsed weakly with no way to gain any leverage. Foreman was heavy on top of him and, even though Foreman wasn't making much of a conscious effort to hold him down, House struggled to move at all. Desperation clawed its way up his throat as Foreman slowed, burst out of him in a strained, breathy cry when Foreman stopped altogether, his hand loosely curled around his erection. He grasped at the bedsheets, squeezing his eyes shut, his head shaking with small motions. Oh, God, he wouldn't. He'll keep going in a second. Just give it a second. Foreman wouldn't do this to him. Not when his dick was so hard, throbbing so much that it fucking hurt. Not when he was on the cusp of orgasm, almost dangling over the edge, just waiting for one last push. But, no, Foreman would, the bastard. He would. Fuck, he wanted to come so badly, so damn badly. Wanted to let go, feel that last, breath-stealing rush of pleasure break over him. God, he needed it.

The kiss on his neck, then his shoulder, seemed like nothing but a tease, and all House's mind could focus on was the heavy feeling in his groin, the tension and need for release. His breaths were fast, uneven, catching in his throat around small, pathetic whimpers, and House wet his lips, tried to speak, words mixing in his head, not quite making it to his mouth. Keep. God, keep going. Please, I need--Make me. Make me come. Need to come. Need. Please. He knew those words were the ones Foreman wanted to hear, wanted to drag out of him, and, fuck he was so close to saying them. Blurting them all out in one breathless rush. He would hate himself for it. He swallowed, closing his eyes, refusing to catch even Foreman's blurry profile at the edges of his vision. "Foreman--" he started, his voice not nearly as demanding as he'd hoped. Pathetic. Needy. Desperate. He could hear it, even in his own ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, hoping he wouldn't have to say anything else. He tried again to jerk his hips enough to let his erection slide just enough in Foreman's hand, but he hardly moved. Not enough. He wouldn't be able to do this for himself; Foreman had him fucking trapped, and every second that passed made House more desperate. "Foreman," he repeated, his voice higher than a moment ago. Fucking pleading, but it might make Foreman crack, give in; it already had once. God, he hoped it was enough. He didn't trust himself to hold himself back if Foreman refused to let him come--let him come, Jesus--until he said more than Foreman's name.

Foreman's smile widened when House said his name, everything he wanted so clear in his voice. God, it was so hot, and he waited to hear everything else, that last word that would make him move. House didn't say it, though, and after a moment, when House only repeated his name, Foreman wondered exactly what kind of price he'd be paying if he pushed House too hard. The satisfaction of it, the unbridled pride in his own ability to make House break, would feel fucking amazing. Having the power to do that, to make House say whatever Foreman damn well wanted him to say. Please was only the start of that list.

He'd done this to House before, though. When he'd left. House had been right when he'd accused Foreman of drawing out his escape. House didn't give a shit whether Foreman had given notice. Foreman could have left the minute he'd said he'd had enough. But he'd hung around, waiting, and he'd finally gotten what he wanted. House said that he was important, that House wanted him to stay.

For all of three seconds, that had felt good. Before House hadn't been able to contain himself any longer and had burst out with exactly how he really felt. House could be happy for two minutes, sure, but when the moment was over he went right back to being the same miserable jerk he always was.

Foreman hesitated a second longer. He knew House was on the verge of giving in, he knew it. But that was just it: he already knew that. Of course he could make House beg, but then what? If this didn't mean anything, if it was just fucking, then that wouldn't matter. House could hate himself, and Foreman, and it wouldn't matter in the least because it was just bodies, just getting off. The way Foreman had draped himself over House, though, the way he was--still--sucking and licking at his neck--the way he'd practically entwined their fingers under the pretense of holding House down. That was pretty hard to dismiss as purely physical. What the hell was he doing?

Foreman swallowed. If he wanted more, then he couldn't do this to House. There'd be plenty of opportunities to tease the hell out of him, hold him down and taunt him, but that opportunity was not the same night when he'd barely convinced House to even give him the time of day.

He didn't know what the hell he wanted. But after coming so hard, after fucking House like that, it was pure self-interest to ensure that they'd be doing this again. Foreman let out a breath and tightened his hand. "Yeah," he said, as if he was answering House. He closed his eyes and let the way House had said his name--moaned it, high pitched and desperate--replay in his mind as he started stroking House again. Finding every spot that he'd learned, using the pressure that made House respond the most, and then going just a hint harder, and faster, and this time, he didn't stop.

House didn't hold back a blustery sigh when he heard Foreman's 'Yeah'. Even less concerned about the broken, high-pitched moan when Foreman began moving his hand again, jerking him off, thumb rubbing just there until House exhaled sharply around Foreman's name, his body jerking with rigid spasms as his orgasm finally, finally crashed over him. Wiped his brain clear. Clear except for the burning-white sparks of pleasure firing in his whole fucking body. God, House could barely breathe, mouth open and trying to draw as much air as possible. Instinctively, House upturned his hand and clasped Foreman's, needing something solid, something real to fucking ground him. He squeezed Foreman's hand, punctuating the breathless, gasped words that had bypassed his brain and were sneaking out of his mouth. "Yeah. Yes. Yes. Oh. God." Not once sparing a thought to how much Foreman saw, how much he heard. All that mattered at that moment was the amazing release of all the pent-up tension and pressure, the overwhelming, almost paralyzing pleasure. Nothing else.

Those thoughts, however, came rushing into his head as soon as his orgasm ebbed and he sagged against the bed, under Foreman's weight. Foreman. He couldn't help but wonder what the hell he thought, how he'd react. He'd practically begged Foreman to finish him off, begged to get fucked, then begged for more. House tried to tell himself it had only been because he knew that Foreman could fuck, could get him of--no other reason--but the argument fell short when House opened his eyes, glanced at their intertwined fingers. The way he'd reached for Foreman's hand--the only part of Foreman that he could easily reach--had been purely instinctive. Automatic. Now, as his body trembled with the exertion and aftershocks of his orgasm, breaths finally beginning to slow and even out, House had no excuse for the fact that he was still grasping Foreman's hand. Like it mattered. Like this had mattered. What the fuck was he thinking? He wasn't, apparently. Couldn't be, if he was fucking holding onto Foreman's hand like he wanted to stay, wanted to actually depend on Foreman to want him around. It was ridiculous, and House opened his hand, releasing Foreman's and gathering a handful of the sheets instead. Stupid. Ruining his post-orgasmic euphoria, and--

No. No. He wasn't about to keep thinking about it. Wasn't going to look at Foreman. He shook his head gently to clear away his thoughts, focusing on the warmth inside his chest, the blissful satisfaction relaxing, loosening his muscles. Foreman was heavy, still inside him, and he should have tried to nudge him off of him--he'd have to clean up soon, at least, peel himself away from the sweaty sheets, the wet spot he'd left--but he let Foreman stay where he was. Something else he wasn't about to think of too much as he let his eyes close, trying to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm as long as possible.

Listening to House come was just as satisfying as Foreman had hoped. One word, please or not, wouldn't have made a difference, not to the way House's whole body shuddered under him, or to the way he moaned. He kept stroking until it seemed that House was finished, his semen all over Foreman's hand and his erection starting to fade.

Foreman wiped his hand the sheets--they were a lost cause by now, since he and House had had sex on them twice. Twice, as if they were teenagers, which Foreman hadn't been for years, and which House certainly wasn't. Still, there was that lazy, smug contentment with everything they'd done, and Foreman couldn't shake it. He closed his eyes, resting on House's back since he hadn't been elbowed off. House had come so hard, his body writhing nearly enough to lift Foreman off the bed, his voice cracking on Foreman's name. Squeezing his hand. God. What did that mean, really? Easier to fall asleep than think about it.

He'd have to give House room eventually. He was probably crushing him, even though House hadn't complained. That in itself was suspicious. House had pulled his hand away from his, though, and Foreman knew how to take a hint. He rolled over slowly. It only made sense to roll to his left side, because the way their right arms were tangled they'd probably dislocate something moving that way. Besides, House probably wouldn't appreciate having more weight put on his leg. It wasn't the best plan, since Foreman ended up in the mess. The easiest revenge he could think of was to pull House with him, keeping him close--if Foreman was going to end up in the wet spot, then House was coming with him. Anyway, it would be cold when House pulled away, the air suddenly rushing against his sweaty chest. Foreman grinned again. He kept wanting to laugh; it was like he was drunk, that same warm sense of rightness with the world. Coming twice in an evening would do that to a man.

That reminded him of the condom, and Foreman grimaced a bit. It would be awkward pulling out. He'd need to hold the condom, since he'd softened enough that it wouldn't stay on by itself. He reached between them--Christ, he'd been right, the air was freezing when he pulled back from House even a little bit--and managed to withdraw, going slowly. He pulled the condom off and tied a knot in it, dropping it in the trashcan on his side of the bed. House was closer to the bedside table now, where his Vicodin was--Foreman assumed House remembered that; like a junkie, he wouldn't forget where his stash was. So Foreman wouldn't bother about getting it for him. Wouldn't bother about much of anything. He felt drained, suddenly exhausted, and chilled. The simplest solutions to all those problems was to press up against House again--instant warmth--and close his eyes, letting his breathing slow--nothing to think about, nothing to confront.

House was relieved that Foreman hadn't been waiting for him to ask that Foreman roll off of him, at least far enough to give him some room, and he drew a slow, deep breath--God, it felt like the first full breath he'd taken in hours--feeling the expansion of his body as the air filled his lungs. Regular, normal feeling started to seep back into his body, slowly replacing the contentment of a moment ago. His leg began to ache, dull for now, by his standards, and, as more time passed, he wished Foreman would pull out of him. He needed to move, needed his Vicodin before the ache flared into searing, hot bolts of pain. As he opened his mouth, about to snap at Foreman to get his dick out of his ass, Foreman eased away and slowly withdrew, sending a rush of cool air against his back, the heat of Foreman's body gone. House shivered, tempted to pull a couple pillows closer, steal all of the blankets to get warm again. But he'd wait; he had to clean himself up, grab a couple Vicodin to let him fall asleep.

He'd already decided he wasn't dragging himself back to his apartment, that he'd be spending the night in Foreman's bed whether Foreman liked it or not. He wasn't going to ask. Better to talk about as little as possible at this point. He just wanted to get the hell to sleep while he was still feeling the lazy, drowsy effects of a half-day's worth of--House had to admit--pretty mind-blowing sex. It had left his muscles loose, tired, and he realized just how tired when he slowly shifted away from Foreman, sitting up and reaching for his pills, taking them with him as he stood and made his way into the bathroom.

He found a washcloth in the bathroom, the one he'd used for his shower, and cleaned himself up. Downing a couple Vicodin, he took a quick look around for a spare toothbrush and wasn't surprised when he found one. Once he was finished--cleaned up, bladder empty, pain at bay, teeth brushed--he set the spare brush on the counter, a folded tissue keeping it off the surface. He was sure it was clean--immaculate like every other surface in the house, except for Foreman's bedsheets, he thought with a grin--but he set it on the tissue anyway before heading back out to the bedroom and collapsing back on the bed. He settled on his left side, pressure off his right, and pulled up the covers, his back to Foreman, refusing to say anything, hoping he could just fall asleep.

Foreman was more than half-asleep before House moved away from him. He frowned, letting out a small mmph sound, but he opened his eyes long enough to see House heading for the bathroom. He didn't really want to know what chaos House might possibly cause in there; he was too tired to deal with any of it. Besides, he'd be surprised if House did more than clean up. That was all he wanted, for the moment, and he was right. House came back and hauled the covers up, not saying a word. Foreman couldn't quite avoid the thought about how domestic this was, taking turns in the bathroom, brushing his teeth after House had--obviously--helped himself to Foreman's spare.

Not going to think about it. Not going to worry. Foreman just hoped it wouldn't be like last time; hoped that House could actually sleep without elbowing him in the ribs. He wished he could change the damn sheets, but of course, House was rolled up in them now, and he'd probably fight tooth and nail if Foreman rolled him out of bed just for that.

No. Tonight was definitely not the time for confrontations. Forget about it. Foreman climbed back into bed after turning out the lights, nudging close to House without actually touching him, so that he could avoid the mess. He wasn't about to cuddle, but right now, the shared warmth under the sheets felt good, easing through his muscles, and Foreman was asleep almost before he had time to worry about tomorrow.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

November 11, 2008

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