"Couldn't have tried hard enough," House said, wondering if Foreman had really tried at all. He let himself close his eyes for a moment, trying silently to will Foreman to go away and let him jerk off in peace, and, when he opened his eyes, finding Foreman no longer outside the door, he thought for a second it might have actually worked. He froze, however, when he heard another shower start, and was still sitting, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his chest, as the door swung open and Foreman stepped inside. Naked. Looking at him intensely. At his face. Then down, at his erection. Caught.
House let his gaze fall away from Foreman, feeling like a fucking moron for letting himself get carried away with his thoughts, for being unable to stop thinking about them and get rid of his damn hard-on. He was embarrassed that Foreman had gone this far--he hadn't expected it, and he was sure the surprise showed on his face--and caught him like this. He glanced up for a second, seeing the smug satisfaction on Foreman's face, then dropped his head, closing his eyes as Foreman's voice curled in his ear. The tone of Foreman's voice made his heart rate speed up; it nearly beat straight through his damn chest when Foreman knelt down in front of him.
Christ, Foreman wasn't messing around if he was willing to risk doing this at work. Or he was desperate. But, a guy who'd gotten laid twice the previous day couldn't possibly be that desperate. Or this could be a part of a vivid, elaborate fantasy. His imagination on overdrive. House reached out and laid his hand on Foreman's shoulder, squeezing to test its solidity. No, God, this was real. So it had to be that Foreman wanted to do this, but House couldn't help the pathetically frantic question that tumbled out of his mouth: "What are you doing?" The answer was obvious, but that wasn't what he'd meant. Why are you doing this? was the question he really wanted to ask, and he tried, never getting past the first word, his breath catching, but he figured it would be enough. He was ready to shove Foreman away if Foreman replied with some unwanted answer, although, with Foreman on his knees in front of him, he couldn't imagine what he could say to make him want to put a stop to this. No matter what Foreman said, he'd still gotten into this shower with him, completely voluntarily, and he's still sunk down to his knees--his choice--with the intent, House assumed, to blow him there in the shower. Nothing Foreman had to say would be able to take that away.
House stared down at Foreman, feeling himself getting harder, all his memories and earlier fantasies flooding back to the forefront of his brain. He wanted to grab the back of Foreman's head, shove him down, but not more than he wanted Foreman to take the initiative himself, make that first move and take him in his mouth without ever being asked. He didn't want to fucking blink, just in case he missed that first movement, and focused intently on Foreman's face, his eyes, his mouth, willing himself to keep from spreading his legs and inviting Foreman to come closer.
He wondered if Foreman was expecting him to return the favor. He didn't doubt it, although he wasn't sure how he'd manage it without hurting himself. And, if Foreman was concerned about time--he had been a moment ago--then this definitely wasn't the way to go. Not that House was trying to change his mind, but he was interested to know how badly Foreman wanted this, where it fell in his list of priorities. "If you expect me to reciprocate, this is going to take longer," House said, already breathing a little faster.
no subject
House let his gaze fall away from Foreman, feeling like a fucking moron for letting himself get carried away with his thoughts, for being unable to stop thinking about them and get rid of his damn hard-on. He was embarrassed that Foreman had gone this far--he hadn't expected it, and he was sure the surprise showed on his face--and caught him like this. He glanced up for a second, seeing the smug satisfaction on Foreman's face, then dropped his head, closing his eyes as Foreman's voice curled in his ear. The tone of Foreman's voice made his heart rate speed up; it nearly beat straight through his damn chest when Foreman knelt down in front of him.
Christ, Foreman wasn't messing around if he was willing to risk doing this at work. Or he was desperate. But, a guy who'd gotten laid twice the previous day couldn't possibly be that desperate. Or this could be a part of a vivid, elaborate fantasy. His imagination on overdrive. House reached out and laid his hand on Foreman's shoulder, squeezing to test its solidity. No, God, this was real. So it had to be that Foreman wanted to do this, but House couldn't help the pathetically frantic question that tumbled out of his mouth: "What are you doing?" The answer was obvious, but that wasn't what he'd meant. Why are you doing this? was the question he really wanted to ask, and he tried, never getting past the first word, his breath catching, but he figured it would be enough. He was ready to shove Foreman away if Foreman replied with some unwanted answer, although, with Foreman on his knees in front of him, he couldn't imagine what he could say to make him want to put a stop to this. No matter what Foreman said, he'd still gotten into this shower with him, completely voluntarily, and he's still sunk down to his knees--his choice--with the intent, House assumed, to blow him there in the shower. Nothing Foreman had to say would be able to take that away.
House stared down at Foreman, feeling himself getting harder, all his memories and earlier fantasies flooding back to the forefront of his brain. He wanted to grab the back of Foreman's head, shove him down, but not more than he wanted Foreman to take the initiative himself, make that first move and take him in his mouth without ever being asked. He didn't want to fucking blink, just in case he missed that first movement, and focused intently on Foreman's face, his eyes, his mouth, willing himself to keep from spreading his legs and inviting Foreman to come closer.
He wondered if Foreman was expecting him to return the favor. He didn't doubt it, although he wasn't sure how he'd manage it without hurting himself. And, if Foreman was concerned about time--he had been a moment ago--then this definitely wasn't the way to go. Not that House was trying to change his mind, but he was interested to know how badly Foreman wanted this, where it fell in his list of priorities. "If you expect me to reciprocate, this is going to take longer," House said, already breathing a little faster.