November 11, 2008
Dec. 3rd, 2008 05:44 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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When House had arrived in Langley, he had been looking for a distraction, but he had imagined that he would have been forced to look harder for it. It had fallen into his lap--not literally, and it was too bad--when he had been introduced to the attending physician, Dr. Terzi. Tall, quick with a retort, and hot. If House hadn't been as interested in the medicine as he had been, he probably would have spent even more time and effort convincing her to jump into bed with him and accept a fellowship opening--at the time, the order hadn't particularly mattered. Between the case and doctor, he'd had little spare thoughts for Foreman, or the previous few days, although it had pleased him to know that Foreman hadn't believed him when he'd told him the truth about where he'd been; it had almost been as though Foreman had wanted him back at the hospital. The reason had hardly mattered. If Foreman couldn't handle the medicine or the fellow-wrangling without him, House could inform Cuddy and push to have Foreman dismissed. He had doubted Foreman wanted him around, unless the fellows fell short when it came to heated personal arguments, but House had suspected Foreman had enough of those before he'd gone. There could be reasons he hadn't considered, but, while he'd been away, all House had enough brainpower to care about was the gorgeous woman strutting around and returning his euphemisms, and the fact that she had the potential to offer an incredibly nice distraction for the next few years of a fellowship. Plus, it had occurred to him, at one point where the thought of Foreman had crept into his brain, her presence might accomplish the goal of either driving Foreman completely away or provoking him to act. Either one would work well, and she could provide the aesthetically pleasing means to do it.
Terzi hadn't said 'no', but he'd left with the feeling that he probably wouldn't be hearing from her again, which had been disappointing. That disappointment had been replaced with genuine shock that his fellows--and Foreman--hadn't been able to wrap up Speed Racer's case in less than an afternoon. He'd not only come back to find it still up in the air, but that Brennan--more of a manipulate rat than House had ever given him credit for--had managed to fake and fake-cure polio. Every now and then, the shit that happened when he wasn't there amazed him, and House had to admit, he never would have called this one. Foreman had managed it, though, catching Brennan's fake-out, and House hadn't been able to hide his interest--the whole situation was even a little too crazy for his tastes, but it was fascinating--or his respect for Foreman for questioning it down to the end. He hadn't been surprised that his fellows had looked surprised when he'd reminded them that he'd put Foreman in charge for a reason. Sure, it had been with the hopes they'd all get on his back about the big reveal of the morning, but it had also been because Foreman really did get shit done.
As much as he wanted to forget about Foreman altogether, shove him out the door and onto a plane headed for California himself, he couldn't ignore the respect he felt for Foreman when he kept pushing like he had. Didn't mean he had to express it anymore than he already had, and he didn't hang around the lecture hall to take in Foreman's reaction beyond a brief glance. He headed up to his office, anxious to execute the plan he'd had two mornings ago: Go home, get drunk, and crash for the night. Too bad Terzi hadn't worked out. He'd still have something to fixate on other than Foreman and his incompetent bunch of new fellows. Fuck. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes as he waited for it to stop on the fourth floor, hoping nobody--Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, nobody--would be waiting to chat him up about his impromptu visit out of state.
Terzi hadn't said 'no', but he'd left with the feeling that he probably wouldn't be hearing from her again, which had been disappointing. That disappointment had been replaced with genuine shock that his fellows--and Foreman--hadn't been able to wrap up Speed Racer's case in less than an afternoon. He'd not only come back to find it still up in the air, but that Brennan--more of a manipulate rat than House had ever given him credit for--had managed to fake and fake-cure polio. Every now and then, the shit that happened when he wasn't there amazed him, and House had to admit, he never would have called this one. Foreman had managed it, though, catching Brennan's fake-out, and House hadn't been able to hide his interest--the whole situation was even a little too crazy for his tastes, but it was fascinating--or his respect for Foreman for questioning it down to the end. He hadn't been surprised that his fellows had looked surprised when he'd reminded them that he'd put Foreman in charge for a reason. Sure, it had been with the hopes they'd all get on his back about the big reveal of the morning, but it had also been because Foreman really did get shit done.
As much as he wanted to forget about Foreman altogether, shove him out the door and onto a plane headed for California himself, he couldn't ignore the respect he felt for Foreman when he kept pushing like he had. Didn't mean he had to express it anymore than he already had, and he didn't hang around the lecture hall to take in Foreman's reaction beyond a brief glance. He headed up to his office, anxious to execute the plan he'd had two mornings ago: Go home, get drunk, and crash for the night. Too bad Terzi hadn't worked out. He'd still have something to fixate on other than Foreman and his incompetent bunch of new fellows. Fuck. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, closing his eyes as he waited for it to stop on the fourth floor, hoping nobody--Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, nobody--would be waiting to chat him up about his impromptu visit out of state.
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Date: 2009-01-03 02:39 am (UTC)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."
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Date: 2009-01-03 04:43 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2009-01-03 08:27 am (UTC)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."
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Date: 2009-01-03 09:45 am (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2009-01-04 06:54 pm (UTC)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."
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Date: 2009-01-05 01:36 am (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2009-01-05 06:12 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2009-01-05 06:40 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2009-01-05 08:07 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2009-01-05 08:36 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2009-01-06 08:32 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2009-01-06 08:45 am (UTC)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.