November 11, 2008

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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

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

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

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[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

"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.

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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."

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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.