House stayed silent for a moment, smirking as if he knew information that Foreman didn't, just to add to Foreman's discomfort. He didn't even care to try to hide it; he never did. Killing some more time and ignoring Foreman's question, House juggled his bundle of clothes and his cane, wriggled out of his coat, and hung it on the coat tree next to Foreman's. "It took you a half-hour to stop flirting with me," he said, closing the gap between himself and Foreman. "I thought you'd revert back to your default settings way earlier than this." House got in Foreman's face, sure he was standing far too close for his comfort, wondering if it would make Foreman raise his guard even further or if House would see him slip, even for a second. He thought he saw a flicker of something a few moments ago, but Foreman had turned away before he could get a good look. He wondered what it would take for Foreman to slip at work, and House put it in the back of his mind to try to find out sometime.
He stood there for a solid half-minute, studying Foreman's face, his own serious and still. Finally moving, stepping away from Foreman, he said, "I'm going to take a shower." He hoped just the information would get Foreman's imagination going, even if it was a little strange to think that he'd be thinking about him, but the satisfaction of that knowledge outweighed everything else. Without looking back, he left, feeling smug even without seeing any expression on Foreman's face; he doubted Foreman would reveal much anyway, but he was confidence that his thoughts--memories--were already rolling in his brain without his permission.
The feeling lasted all the way to the lounge and into the showers. Despite himself, he wondered if Foreman would follow, and he hated that a part of him was hoping for it. He couldn't really lock the door this time, but he doubted Foreman would move very far from the conference room. After throwing back a Vicodin--if he was going to have a shower here, he'd try to actually enjoy it--he set his clean clothes on the bench in one pile, stripped out of the ones he wore and set those in another pile. He hung his cane on one of the hooks in the wall, above his things, and stepped into the shower stall. He made his towel was slung over the door before he started running the water, then settled under the spray. God, it was relaxing, and he took a deep breath. Now that he'd stopped moving and things had slowed down, he realized how tired he still felt. He'd gotten a little rest overnight, but the early rising hadn't been a great start to the day. He drew another breath, perching himself on the shower seat under the water, and let his eyes close, trying to let the world fall away.
Of course, his brain seemed to think that it was a perfect moment to think about Foreman. Foreman on his damn knees. Between his legs. Foreman stroking him hard before wrapping his lips around his cock. Taking him in. Yeah. Licking slow, sucking light enough to make him want to push into Foreman's mouth. His body warm, the air humid from the water. Droplets running over Foreman's shoulders, his back, as he sucked at him. Harder.
"Fuck, yeah."
As soon as he heard his own voice, his eyes flew open, his head shooting up, away from the wall, his heart already racing. He tried to listen--tried not to breathe--trying to determine if anyone had come in since he'd started, but he didn't hear anyone. He couldn't bring himself to look and verify it, and he stayed still under the flow of water, ignoring the fact that he'd started to get hard. He couldn't fucking do this. Not here. God, it was ridiculous. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, and reached for the bottle of shampoo that was always left there, trying to push away his thoughts as he scrubbed at his hair.
no subject
He stood there for a solid half-minute, studying Foreman's face, his own serious and still. Finally moving, stepping away from Foreman, he said, "I'm going to take a shower." He hoped just the information would get Foreman's imagination going, even if it was a little strange to think that he'd be thinking about him, but the satisfaction of that knowledge outweighed everything else. Without looking back, he left, feeling smug even without seeing any expression on Foreman's face; he doubted Foreman would reveal much anyway, but he was confidence that his thoughts--memories--were already rolling in his brain without his permission.
The feeling lasted all the way to the lounge and into the showers. Despite himself, he wondered if Foreman would follow, and he hated that a part of him was hoping for it. He couldn't really lock the door this time, but he doubted Foreman would move very far from the conference room. After throwing back a Vicodin--if he was going to have a shower here, he'd try to actually enjoy it--he set his clean clothes on the bench in one pile, stripped out of the ones he wore and set those in another pile. He hung his cane on one of the hooks in the wall, above his things, and stepped into the shower stall. He made his towel was slung over the door before he started running the water, then settled under the spray. God, it was relaxing, and he took a deep breath. Now that he'd stopped moving and things had slowed down, he realized how tired he still felt. He'd gotten a little rest overnight, but the early rising hadn't been a great start to the day. He drew another breath, perching himself on the shower seat under the water, and let his eyes close, trying to let the world fall away.
Of course, his brain seemed to think that it was a perfect moment to think about Foreman. Foreman on his damn knees. Between his legs. Foreman stroking him hard before wrapping his lips around his cock. Taking him in. Yeah. Licking slow, sucking light enough to make him want to push into Foreman's mouth. His body warm, the air humid from the water. Droplets running over Foreman's shoulders, his back, as he sucked at him. Harder.
"Fuck, yeah."
As soon as he heard his own voice, his eyes flew open, his head shooting up, away from the wall, his heart already racing. He tried to listen--tried not to breathe--trying to determine if anyone had come in since he'd started, but he didn't hear anyone. He couldn't bring himself to look and verify it, and he stayed still under the flow of water, ignoring the fact that he'd started to get hard. He couldn't fucking do this. Not here. God, it was ridiculous. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, and reached for the bottle of shampoo that was always left there, trying to push away his thoughts as he scrubbed at his hair.