It was impossible--fucking impossible--to get Foreman, memories of their last few encounters, out of his damn head. He tried thinking of other people, but those memories were so fresh, almost tangible, that they overwhelmed his other thoughts. He tried thinking of nothing at all, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair and slouching against the wall, his frustration growing with every second.
Fuck it. Fuck it. He was already hard. Jerking off wouldn't take long, and then maybe he could relieve the tension, quell the damn fantasies and get through his day. He'd gotten a hand wrapped around himself and stroked himself once before--fuck--the damn door opened. Only one pair of footsteps sounded above the noise of the shower. House flattened his hands over his thighs, listening, trying not to breathe too loudly, and refused to move. He nearly groaned, biting it back and pressing his lips firmly together, when he heard Foreman's voice, then the tap on the door. God, it fucking figured.
His brain immediately buzzed with reasons why Foreman was even looking for him in the first place. If Foreman had planned to do anything worth his while, like fulfill some of the fantasies still filling his head, he wouldn't have knocked, and he would have already barged into the shower. The alternatives just served to annoy him. He was either here to bug him to do some work, or he was sent here by someone else to bug him to do some work, but, either way, he wasn't interested at the moment. He wasn't about to drop Foreman hints, try to lure him into the shower--he had some damn pride, and he'd already told Foreman enough to allow him to make a choice. And he didn't want to give himself away, that he'd been seconds away from masturbating to thoughts of what he and Foreman had already done, what they still might do. It would be easier to be sarcastic, cover the gruffness of his voice with annoyance. Plus, a sincere answer would make Foreman suspicious, and he'd risk being caught with no promise of anything but ridicule, but a sarcastic, typical answer, House reasoned, would make Foreman brush it off and get to the point. And right now, with his dick gently starting to throb, getting to the point was kind of the idea.
"Unless you're here to blow me," he called out, loud enough to be heard above the water, "it can wait ten minutes." Maybe fifteen, House thought, trying to calculate the time it would take to jerk off and finish his shower. It would take longer if Foreman didn't say what he had to say and get the hell out.
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Fuck it. Fuck it. He was already hard. Jerking off wouldn't take long, and then maybe he could relieve the tension, quell the damn fantasies and get through his day. He'd gotten a hand wrapped around himself and stroked himself once before--fuck--the damn door opened. Only one pair of footsteps sounded above the noise of the shower. House flattened his hands over his thighs, listening, trying not to breathe too loudly, and refused to move. He nearly groaned, biting it back and pressing his lips firmly together, when he heard Foreman's voice, then the tap on the door. God, it fucking figured.
His brain immediately buzzed with reasons why Foreman was even looking for him in the first place. If Foreman had planned to do anything worth his while, like fulfill some of the fantasies still filling his head, he wouldn't have knocked, and he would have already barged into the shower. The alternatives just served to annoy him. He was either here to bug him to do some work, or he was sent here by someone else to bug him to do some work, but, either way, he wasn't interested at the moment. He wasn't about to drop Foreman hints, try to lure him into the shower--he had some damn pride, and he'd already told Foreman enough to allow him to make a choice. And he didn't want to give himself away, that he'd been seconds away from masturbating to thoughts of what he and Foreman had already done, what they still might do. It would be easier to be sarcastic, cover the gruffness of his voice with annoyance. Plus, a sincere answer would make Foreman suspicious, and he'd risk being caught with no promise of anything but ridicule, but a sarcastic, typical answer, House reasoned, would make Foreman brush it off and get to the point. And right now, with his dick gently starting to throb, getting to the point was kind of the idea.
"Unless you're here to blow me," he called out, loud enough to be heard above the water, "it can wait ten minutes." Maybe fifteen, House thought, trying to calculate the time it would take to jerk off and finish his shower. It would take longer if Foreman didn't say what he had to say and get the hell out.