House rolled his eyes as Foreman responded, but raised his head to peer down at Foreman, who was kissing a very distinct path down his body. Jesus, this might be over in a--well, not a minute, but definitely just a few if Foreman sucked him with as much deliberation as he was kissing him. When Foreman started licking at him, the warmth of Foreman's tongue, his breath, making House raise his hips, want more. He groaned, louder than he'd wanted to, and, at the touch of Foreman's hand, first on his balls, then lower, moving along his ass, House let his head fall back. His eyes closed, and he pressed his lips together to stifle another groan, wanting more now than just a damn blowjob.

He wished Foreman would break for a second to search for the lube and condoms he had stashed in his bedside table drawer--without a dildo, too bad for Foreman--and House considered reaching for them himself. He threw his arm out toward the table, but stopped, trying to think of how Foreman would react to that, if Foreman wanted that at all. Foreman had been consistently refusing to listen to a damn word he said; handing him lube and a condom would almost guarantee that Foreman wouldn't use them, and, fuck, he wanted Foreman to use them. The pressure of Foreman's finger over his ass made House believe Foreman wanted that, too, but he didn't want to risk ordering Foreman around when it would only lead to the opposite of what he'd said.

He looked down at Foreman, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. "Let's go, Foreman," he said, hoping like hell this would have the effect he was aiming for. "Blow me."