House breathed a satisfied sigh through his nose, still kissing just as softly, as Foreman responded immediately. An answer. A real answer, even if Foreman didn't really know the question, it was a real answer. The answer got even more detailed as the kiss wore on; House felt and heard the quiet sound that crept out of Foreman's mouth, into his, and the anger and tension in Foreman's body started to disappear. The muscles in his thigh, under House's hand, relaxed, and House fought to keep his hand still, telling himself that this was all he'd offer. This wasn't meant to turn Foreman on. It was more important than that, and he wasn't going to back down. Not now, not when he'd already thrown himself into this.
House's thoughts, his motivations started to crumble when Foreman lifted a hand to the back of his neck, thumb stroking his hair. As good as an answer: Yes, I want this. House leaned forward, into that touch. Couldn't help it. He hadn't felt a touch like that--soft, soothing, simple--in, God, a long time, and he hated that it roused feelings in him that should have been dormant, should never see the light of day again, should never be connected to Foreman in any way. This shouldn't be about him, and House tried to ignore the touch beyond the fact that it was only more evidence to support the fact that Foreman wanted him, that he actually meant something to him.
Fuck, he actually meant something to him. The urge to backtrack, change his mind all over again, came on suddenly, but House fought it down, half-relieved, half-disappointed when Foreman broke the kiss. Foreman's hand was still on his neck. His was still on Foreman's leg. House looked down at it, then back at Foreman's face. God, what the hell was he doing? He'd gotten his answer. Now he could back off, decide later what to do with that knowledge, but he wasn't. He was staring at Foreman, drawing deep breaths, watching Foreman's lips move as he spoke, the words sinking in. He was surprised not to feel much alarm over the possibility that someone might notice them. Few people would give a shit, at least about him. They might look at Foreman like he was some kind of pod-person, but House doubted anyone would care, beyond Wilson. Maybe Cuddy. If the fellows caught a glimpse, they'd care enough to gossip amongst themselves until he threatened to fire anyone who spoke another peep about it. Even if Terzi saw, it hardly mattered, he realized. Foreman's answer seemed plain enough, the inviting, subtle eyebrow raise to get him to continue even more obvious. If he'd wanted to use Terzi as a means to get Foreman to act honestly, be direct about what he wanted with him, then there was hardly any point now. No harm in keeping her around for her looks, and, who knows, maybe some professional usefulness. He'd think about it all later, maybe, or maybe not. God, it was easier not to, easier to take advantage of the fact that Foreman wasn't shoving him out of the car, and he leaned in again, hating that he wanted that touch.
"So stop me," he said, tugging Foreman forward again for a second kiss, only a touch harder, still slow. God, he hadn't kissed like this in ages, and he never thought he'd be kissing Foreman this way, but he forgot how good it felt. He knew they'd have to stop, go inside, and go to work, but it could wait for one minute. He knew he'd still probably push Foreman, like usual--this didn't magically change anything, besides the fact that he might have actually admitted that he wanted Foreman to want him, that he wasn't going to accept the role of 'casual random fuck'. He might have given a little away, but at least he proved something, and proved Foreman wrong. Either Foreman hadn't really noticed that part, or he didn't mind--both were odd--but he'd gotten the message.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-01-09 09:09 am (UTC)House's thoughts, his motivations started to crumble when Foreman lifted a hand to the back of his neck, thumb stroking his hair. As good as an answer: Yes, I want this. House leaned forward, into that touch. Couldn't help it. He hadn't felt a touch like that--soft, soothing, simple--in, God, a long time, and he hated that it roused feelings in him that should have been dormant, should never see the light of day again, should never be connected to Foreman in any way. This shouldn't be about him, and House tried to ignore the touch beyond the fact that it was only more evidence to support the fact that Foreman wanted him, that he actually meant something to him.
Fuck, he actually meant something to him. The urge to backtrack, change his mind all over again, came on suddenly, but House fought it down, half-relieved, half-disappointed when Foreman broke the kiss. Foreman's hand was still on his neck. His was still on Foreman's leg. House looked down at it, then back at Foreman's face. God, what the hell was he doing? He'd gotten his answer. Now he could back off, decide later what to do with that knowledge, but he wasn't. He was staring at Foreman, drawing deep breaths, watching Foreman's lips move as he spoke, the words sinking in. He was surprised not to feel much alarm over the possibility that someone might notice them. Few people would give a shit, at least about him. They might look at Foreman like he was some kind of pod-person, but House doubted anyone would care, beyond Wilson. Maybe Cuddy. If the fellows caught a glimpse, they'd care enough to gossip amongst themselves until he threatened to fire anyone who spoke another peep about it. Even if Terzi saw, it hardly mattered, he realized. Foreman's answer seemed plain enough, the inviting, subtle eyebrow raise to get him to continue even more obvious. If he'd wanted to use Terzi as a means to get Foreman to act honestly, be direct about what he wanted with him, then there was hardly any point now. No harm in keeping her around for her looks, and, who knows, maybe some professional usefulness. He'd think about it all later, maybe, or maybe not. God, it was easier not to, easier to take advantage of the fact that Foreman wasn't shoving him out of the car, and he leaned in again, hating that he wanted that touch.
"So stop me," he said, tugging Foreman forward again for a second kiss, only a touch harder, still slow. God, he hadn't kissed like this in ages, and he never thought he'd be kissing Foreman this way, but he forgot how good it felt. He knew they'd have to stop, go inside, and go to work, but it could wait for one minute. He knew he'd still probably push Foreman, like usual--this didn't magically change anything, besides the fact that he might have actually admitted that he wanted Foreman to want him, that he wasn't going to accept the role of 'casual random fuck'. He might have given a little away, but at least he proved something, and proved Foreman wrong. Either Foreman hadn't really noticed that part, or he didn't mind--both were odd--but he'd gotten the message.