House faltered just slightly, falling out of step with his normal rhythm, when Foreman spoke. He gritted his teeth, not responding right away, too busy fighting off memories of the previous night. He'd willingly given away almost all of the control, letting Foreman blow him and fuck him the way he wanted. He'd let go, hadn't submitted to anything--to Foreman's requests, demands, nothing. It had been his own choice.
What the fuck was he thinking? It was his own choice. Damn it, he didn't know if that made it worse. It seemed worse, and there was no way he was going to retaliate with that. Best to deny it. It was easier that way.
"You could fabricate any story you want if it'll get her into some black leather and me into a pair of fuzzy handcuffs," House replied, failing to lower the volume of his voice as he walked to the reception desk in the lobby, leering at Foreman and waggling his eyebrows. He was lying about the handcuffs, but he wouldn't turn down a Cuddy dressed in black leather, climbing on top of him--he'd be insane if he did. He'd let Foreman believe what he wanted, imagine what he wanted, and glanced at him as he shared his 'secret'.
House scoffed. "Then you'll be wrong." Persistence wasn't what had made House leave with Foreman. If House hadn't wanted something of his own, he would have gone home, regardless of how persistent Foreman acted. It was the reason behind the persistence that mattered, but Foreman could figure that out on his own. Not bothering to elaborate, House looked down, swiped several pink slips of paper left for him off the desk, and leafed through them. One notified him of a new case waiting in Cuddy's office, but he slipped it among the others as he started for the elevators. A shower was more important at the moment than his case--it would be there when he was done--and the team could wait.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-01-10 07:42 am (UTC)What the fuck was he thinking? It was his own choice. Damn it, he didn't know if that made it worse. It seemed worse, and there was no way he was going to retaliate with that. Best to deny it. It was easier that way.
"You could fabricate any story you want if it'll get her into some black leather and me into a pair of fuzzy handcuffs," House replied, failing to lower the volume of his voice as he walked to the reception desk in the lobby, leering at Foreman and waggling his eyebrows. He was lying about the handcuffs, but he wouldn't turn down a Cuddy dressed in black leather, climbing on top of him--he'd be insane if he did. He'd let Foreman believe what he wanted, imagine what he wanted, and glanced at him as he shared his 'secret'.
House scoffed. "Then you'll be wrong." Persistence wasn't what had made House leave with Foreman. If House hadn't wanted something of his own, he would have gone home, regardless of how persistent Foreman acted. It was the reason behind the persistence that mattered, but Foreman could figure that out on his own. Not bothering to elaborate, House looked down, swiped several pink slips of paper left for him off the desk, and leafed through them. One notified him of a new case waiting in Cuddy's office, but he slipped it among the others as he started for the elevators. A shower was more important at the moment than his case--it would be there when he was done--and the team could wait.