House was about to argue--that couldn't be the reason Foreman was shirking all his professional duties--but, fuck it. He'd argue later. It had nothing to do with following Foreman's implied instructions, everything to do with wanting Foreman to get started. It was the only sign he gave that would let Foreman know he wanted this, didn't give a damn about the fact they were doing this at the hospital. He couldn't, not when Foreman was leaning so damn close, hand gripping his leg, the other on his knee. Do it. Come on.
"If she comes looking for me, she might--" House skipped over his words when Foreman started stroking him, getting him fully hard. He blinked slowly, drawing a faster breath, releasing it with a soft sigh. "--get to see it for herself." He doubted that would happen; Cuddy rarely checked the lounge. The thought of being found like this--Cuddy's eyes open wide with shock--made his heart race. Foreman's order made it beat that much harder, and he couldn't bring himself to listen when Foreman's lips closed around him and Foreman started sucking, letting a small, breathy groan rise up to the ceiling with the steam of the water. "Oh, yeah," he whispered, closing his eyes, feeling smug over opening defying Foreman, knowing Foreman would probably just try harder to make him shut up, wouldn't stop. Suddenly the temperature of the water felt way too hot, his skin flushing with so much heat as Foreman's tongue smoothed over his dick, his hand working most of the shaft, and House opened his eyes to look down at Foreman. This time he hardly realized he moaned until the sound echoed off the wet tiles.
Another sound, definitely not his voice, followed his own a few seconds later. A soft click, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the shower, of the drum of his heartbeat, his own breaths. The door. Oh, God, the door. Footsteps. Fuck. Fuck. No. Damn it. House turned his head sharply toward the door of the stall, using both hands to grab hold of Foreman's shoulders, pushing him back. God, he had to stop. Had to, or he'd give them both away, and, fuck, maybe he did care about being discovered. He didn't want to be the talk of the hospital grapevine unless it was under his control. If Cuddy knew, or maybe Wilson, or the fellows, fine. House could torture Foreman with it, take the attention off of him and focus on Foreman, but a random gossip-monger would twist facts, would earn him stares he didn't fucking want, wasn't ready for. God, Foreman really had to stop. He swallowed nervously, pressing his lips together to keep himself quiet, and watched for signs of whoever it was that had chosen the worst fucking time to visit the showers. Sounded like flatter shoes, not heels. He heard a locker open above the sound of the shower, and House hoped like hell that it was a matter of retrieving something, then leaving. God, he was such a moron for letting Foreman do this. He'd wanted it--still did--but it was stupid. He tried to nudge Foreman away again, looking down at him and mouthing, Stop, shaking his head.
no subject
"If she comes looking for me, she might--" House skipped over his words when Foreman started stroking him, getting him fully hard. He blinked slowly, drawing a faster breath, releasing it with a soft sigh. "--get to see it for herself." He doubted that would happen; Cuddy rarely checked the lounge. The thought of being found like this--Cuddy's eyes open wide with shock--made his heart race. Foreman's order made it beat that much harder, and he couldn't bring himself to listen when Foreman's lips closed around him and Foreman started sucking, letting a small, breathy groan rise up to the ceiling with the steam of the water. "Oh, yeah," he whispered, closing his eyes, feeling smug over opening defying Foreman, knowing Foreman would probably just try harder to make him shut up, wouldn't stop. Suddenly the temperature of the water felt way too hot, his skin flushing with so much heat as Foreman's tongue smoothed over his dick, his hand working most of the shaft, and House opened his eyes to look down at Foreman. This time he hardly realized he moaned until the sound echoed off the wet tiles.
Another sound, definitely not his voice, followed his own a few seconds later. A soft click, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the shower, of the drum of his heartbeat, his own breaths. The door. Oh, God, the door. Footsteps. Fuck. Fuck. No. Damn it. House turned his head sharply toward the door of the stall, using both hands to grab hold of Foreman's shoulders, pushing him back. God, he had to stop. Had to, or he'd give them both away, and, fuck, maybe he did care about being discovered. He didn't want to be the talk of the hospital grapevine unless it was under his control. If Cuddy knew, or maybe Wilson, or the fellows, fine. House could torture Foreman with it, take the attention off of him and focus on Foreman, but a random gossip-monger would twist facts, would earn him stares he didn't fucking want, wasn't ready for. God, Foreman really had to stop. He swallowed nervously, pressing his lips together to keep himself quiet, and watched for signs of whoever it was that had chosen the worst fucking time to visit the showers. Sounded like flatter shoes, not heels. He heard a locker open above the sound of the shower, and House hoped like hell that it was a matter of retrieving something, then leaving. God, he was such a moron for letting Foreman do this. He'd wanted it--still did--but it was stupid. He tried to nudge Foreman away again, looking down at him and mouthing, Stop, shaking his head.