House felt even more satisfied that Foreman didn't stop him. Foreman knew as well as he did that someone could see them, if they were attentive enough as they walked by the car, that they were both late as it was. House normally wouldn't care much about either of those things, especially the lateness--when had he ever given a shit about that?--but Foreman didn't like being a couple minutes late. The last time House could remember Foreman being late--or at least, arriving after he had--Foreman had been seeing someone, a drug rep.; it had been personal. Just like this. This was personal, and Foreman could deny it all he wanted, but there wasn't a way around it. It simultaneously scared House--acknowledging it was something personal, something more than satisfying a base, instinctual need--and warmed him. Being kissed, feeling wanted instead of rejected or dismissed felt good, as long as he didn't think too much about it. God, how fucking pathetic. But no, he'd focus on Foreman, on how he was kissing back. Again. He leaned in, following Foreman when he started to pull away, beginning to want to go further, fingers squeezing the muscle of Foreman's thigh. Pathetic, pathetic.
He drew a gasp, taken a little by surprise, when Foreman wrenched himself away and, before he realized what had happened, was out of the car and peering in at him. Straightening up in his seat, he wiped at his mouth, scowling at Foreman before breaking his gaze to unbuckle his seatbelt and haul himself out of the car. "We're not on time," House insisted. He ignored the fact that he was on time, since 'on time' for him fell somewhere around ten o'clock. He gathered his backpack and cane, slammed the door shut, and started for the building. "But I'd love to hear what you have to say when she asks what your secret is. If I were you, I'd go for the detailed X-rated version."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-01-10 12:53 am (UTC)He drew a gasp, taken a little by surprise, when Foreman wrenched himself away and, before he realized what had happened, was out of the car and peering in at him. Straightening up in his seat, he wiped at his mouth, scowling at Foreman before breaking his gaze to unbuckle his seatbelt and haul himself out of the car. "We're not on time," House insisted. He ignored the fact that he was on time, since 'on time' for him fell somewhere around ten o'clock. He gathered his backpack and cane, slammed the door shut, and started for the building. "But I'd love to hear what you have to say when she asks what your secret is. If I were you, I'd go for the detailed X-rated version."