Christ, Foreman really was a moron. House stared, blinking at Foreman as if he had lost his God damn mind, way back when he'd gunned it out of his parking space. He was convinced that Foreman had no idea what the hell he'd been trying to say, that, or he'd begun speaking in some sort of alien opposite-language. Yeah, he'd implied that Foreman would probably be better off fucking a hooker, but that's not what he wanted. He'd never said that's what he wanted--had he? Fuck, now he couldn't remember. Foreman was mixing up his thoughts, twisting his words, and House could barely straighten any of it out. If he was changing Foreman's mind, then good, because that's what he wanted, but he and Foreman were talking about two different things. He didn't want Foreman to think of him like yesterday's stale leftovers, didn't want to throw him out and strip all the meaning out of what had happened over the past--fuck, he couldn't remember how long it was since Foreman attacked him with that damn kiss in the car. House shouldn't have cared. Really shouldn't care. This was the perfect situation: no strings, no meaning, no complications. It was stupid and pathetic that he wanted it to mean something, that he wasn't just a worthless lay. It almost wasn't worth the effort to clarify it for Foreman. If Foreman couldn't follow what he'd been saying this whole damn time, then it wasn't fucking worth it, but House couldn't keep his mouth shut. He sputtered like Foreman had just tossed him underwater, words stopping and starting, and he shouldn't have such a damn problem getting the words out. His anger was grabbing hold of his thoughts, and it barely registered until he tried to transform them into complete, coherent sentences that Foreman had said--at least implied--that he wanted to be with him.
No, that couldn't be what Foreman meant. He was making this about everything else except being with him, in any way except fucking in bed. House slouched in his seat for a moment, watching Foreman turn off the car, but sat up again, taking a long, deeper breath, trying to force himself to get a fucking grip. Calm down. Being this pissed off wouldn't get him any answers. He wanted to ask Foreman what the hell he did want, but he doubted it would earn him an honest answer--and Foreman wondered why he resorted to playing games, lighting fires under people's asses, putting on pressure to get the truth out of them; it worked. It was the only thing that would work here, too, House was sure, and he wanted a God damn answer. Taking hold of a fistful of Foreman's coat, he wrenched him closer, across the shifter and kissed him, as soft as possible, contradicting the roughness of his hold, refusing let go until he got an answer out of him. His tongue pushed into Foreman's mouth, sliding slowly, moving deeply, asking, This? Do you want this? He sucked on Foreman's top lip, drawing it into his mouth. No teeth this time. Just soft, tender movements as he slid his other hand along Foreman's thigh. Does this fucking matter to you? Do you want this?
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-01-09 07:24 am (UTC)No, that couldn't be what Foreman meant. He was making this about everything else except being with him, in any way except fucking in bed. House slouched in his seat for a moment, watching Foreman turn off the car, but sat up again, taking a long, deeper breath, trying to force himself to get a fucking grip. Calm down. Being this pissed off wouldn't get him any answers. He wanted to ask Foreman what the hell he did want, but he doubted it would earn him an honest answer--and Foreman wondered why he resorted to playing games, lighting fires under people's asses, putting on pressure to get the truth out of them; it worked. It was the only thing that would work here, too, House was sure, and he wanted a God damn answer. Taking hold of a fistful of Foreman's coat, he wrenched him closer, across the shifter and kissed him, as soft as possible, contradicting the roughness of his hold, refusing let go until he got an answer out of him. His tongue pushed into Foreman's mouth, sliding slowly, moving deeply, asking, This? Do you want this? He sucked on Foreman's top lip, drawing it into his mouth. No teeth this time. Just soft, tender movements as he slid his other hand along Foreman's thigh. Does this fucking matter to you? Do you want this?