House ignored Foreman's outburst--he'd been right; more shouting--and hugged Foreman's clothes to his body, trying to ignore the fact that they still smelled like Foreman. That he could tell they smelled like Foreman. That it actually made his arousal worse, and he'd really rather smell the real thing, if Foreman would actually come closer than this. Despite the fact that, a moment later, Foreman came closer, Foreman didn't get close enough for House to do much. Foreman tugged at the blankets instead, tearing them off him, sending a wave of cold air streaming over him, making him shiver. He stubbornly stayed where he was, waiting for Foreman to try to grab for his clothes, and jerked around, surprised, when Foreman backed away, talking about sharing clothes.
His first immediate thought was an outright rejection. Hell no. His second had him wondering what Foreman would look like in his clothes, what he'd smell like, what it would like to take his own clothes off Foreman's body. But, no, right now, he'd rather keep Foreman in as few clothes as possible. Foreman was still hard, and, now, so was House. At least, almost fully hard. Enough to catch up before he had to do anything with it. A part of him wondered if Foreman was bluffing. Going into work in House's clothes--not exactly the same style as Foreman's--would be a huge risk. People might notice, and he doubted Foreman wanted to take that risk.
House pushed himself to sit up, letting Foreman's clothes fall to the other side of the bed, not bothering to pull up the covers and not hiding the fact that he was almost as hard as Foreman. He was sure that Foreman would notice, and it wouldn't help matters for him. "Aw," House said, adopting a light, mocking tone he knew Foreman would recognize, "you'd wear my clothes in front of everyone? Like you're mine? Like you're proud to be with me?" House knew he was pushing it, aiming for Foreman's buttons to get him to react, but mostly stop him from getting dressed without physically stopping him, a battle he knew he'd lose. "I'm touched, Foreman."
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His first immediate thought was an outright rejection. Hell no. His second had him wondering what Foreman would look like in his clothes, what he'd smell like, what it would like to take his own clothes off Foreman's body. But, no, right now, he'd rather keep Foreman in as few clothes as possible. Foreman was still hard, and, now, so was House. At least, almost fully hard. Enough to catch up before he had to do anything with it. A part of him wondered if Foreman was bluffing. Going into work in House's clothes--not exactly the same style as Foreman's--would be a huge risk. People might notice, and he doubted Foreman wanted to take that risk.
House pushed himself to sit up, letting Foreman's clothes fall to the other side of the bed, not bothering to pull up the covers and not hiding the fact that he was almost as hard as Foreman. He was sure that Foreman would notice, and it wouldn't help matters for him. "Aw," House said, adopting a light, mocking tone he knew Foreman would recognize, "you'd wear my clothes in front of everyone? Like you're mine? Like you're proud to be with me?" House knew he was pushing it, aiming for Foreman's buttons to get him to react, but mostly stop him from getting dressed without physically stopping him, a battle he knew he'd lose. "I'm touched, Foreman."