Foreman grit his teeth when House spoke. He was right, the discussion was a terrible idea, although maybe not for the reason House thought. Foreman was going to have a noticeable bulge in his pants if House got out of the shower now, and the only way he could think to avoid House commenting on it for the rest of the day--or, given House's track record with insults, the rest of Foreman's life--was to get in the damn shower and do something about it. Fuck. Being unpredictable was one thing, but this was fucking insane. The fact was, though, that if Foreman didn't do anything, he was going to be fighting off an erection all day, and if House was going to get out of the shower he'd have done it by now. He was delaying for a reason. House's hurried, half-assed order only made Foreman more certain he knew what that reason was. "Already tried that," he muttered, maybe not loud enough to be heard. Cuddy wanted to give the case directly to House, and House had to know that since the lapdog had been sent down to fetch him, she wasn't accepting substitutes.
Delaying a case wasn't the worst thing Foreman had done as a doctor--killing a patient managed to top that list--but it would make every comment he made about professionalism from now on nothing but a bunch of hypocritical bullshit. Still, he was already plotting what lie might tide Cuddy over--House was hiding in the third-floor janitor's closet with his Gameboy would probably cover it. And the fact that Foreman was already rationalizing meant that he already knew how this would end. He wanted to give in. He wanted to do this. He was a moron.
Foreman tugged his tie off, not bothering to undo the knot. He toed off his shoes and then went for the rest of his suit, folding everything as neatly as he could given the fact that he was already nervous about how long this was going to take. He shivered a bit once he was naked, despite the heat in the air and in his body. He took one last look around, assuring himself once more that this was the least busy time of day. He turned on the water in the next shower stall to full-blast and closed the door, throwing a towel over the top. If anybody came in and didn't look too closely, all they'd see were two occupied showers. Foreman felt entirely willing to invent some dire emergency ending in vomit or blood that meant he and House had had to shower at the same time.
That done, he tugged open the door to House's stall. Christ, Foreman hoped this would shock the hell out of him; his heart was already pounding at just how risky this was. He looked down at House, taking in at a glance that he'd been right. House was half-hard, probably had been too embarrassed to get out of the shower, and Foreman's smugness over that fact was enough to let him say, "Discussion's over," and slide carefully down to his knees.
no subject
Delaying a case wasn't the worst thing Foreman had done as a doctor--killing a patient managed to top that list--but it would make every comment he made about professionalism from now on nothing but a bunch of hypocritical bullshit. Still, he was already plotting what lie might tide Cuddy over--House was hiding in the third-floor janitor's closet with his Gameboy would probably cover it. And the fact that Foreman was already rationalizing meant that he already knew how this would end. He wanted to give in. He wanted to do this. He was a moron.
Foreman tugged his tie off, not bothering to undo the knot. He toed off his shoes and then went for the rest of his suit, folding everything as neatly as he could given the fact that he was already nervous about how long this was going to take. He shivered a bit once he was naked, despite the heat in the air and in his body. He took one last look around, assuring himself once more that this was the least busy time of day. He turned on the water in the next shower stall to full-blast and closed the door, throwing a towel over the top. If anybody came in and didn't look too closely, all they'd see were two occupied showers. Foreman felt entirely willing to invent some dire emergency ending in vomit or blood that meant he and House had had to shower at the same time.
That done, he tugged open the door to House's stall. Christ, Foreman hoped this would shock the hell out of him; his heart was already pounding at just how risky this was. He looked down at House, taking in at a glance that he'd been right. House was half-hard, probably had been too embarrassed to get out of the shower, and Foreman's smugness over that fact was enough to let him say, "Discussion's over," and slide carefully down to his knees.