Apparently Foreman had caught on, judging by the smug look on his face, and, if Foreman hadn't begun sucking him like that--hard, fast, so fucking good--House might have been disappointed that his tactic hadn't been effective. He barely had the mind to feel anything except the burst of pleasure through his groin, low in his stomach. His body tensed, strained, stomach muscles twitching, hands clenching around the sheets. His mouth opened and words leaped out of him around shallow breaths. "Oh, God. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, my God." It was fucking embarrassing, how fast Foreman shorted out his brain. His orgasm was already building. Fuck. Maybe this would be over in a minute. Jesus.
A groan rumbled out of his mouth when Foreman pulled away, less than a minute away from his orgasm. "Make up your--" House paused as Foreman kissed him. "--damn mind." He knew that was a demand, and it would probably only make Foreman more difficult, but he was too frustrated, too turned on to care. Anything Foreman wanted to do would suit him fine, as long as Foreman got on with it. He watched as Foreman leaned over him to his bedside table, taking a moment to occupy himself as Foreman searched around, reaching between them to wrap his hand around Foreman's cock, touching for the first time since Foreman had joined him on the bed. He managed a few strokes, feeling the warm weight of Foreman, anticipation already curling through his stomach at the thought of Foreman fucking him. God.
Foreman took his sweet time with finding what he needed, then moving back down his body. House reached down to help himself out of his underwear, but Foreman curled his fingers around the waistband first. He tried not to let his impatience show too much, watching Foreman, trying to urge him to go faster, but trying not to glare. Despite the time Foreman spent taking off his shorts, he wasted very little time spreading lube over his fingers and working them over his ass. House ground his head against the bed, hating how fast he spread his legs, practically begging for it, lifting his hips. Already moaning quietly in his throat. Wanting Foreman's cock instead of his fingers. Wanting Foreman to fuck his orgasm right out of him, never even needing to wrap a hand around his dick. It would feel so fucking good; he didn't really care how smug it would make Foreman. Hell, he was probably smug enough already.
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A groan rumbled out of his mouth when Foreman pulled away, less than a minute away from his orgasm. "Make up your--" House paused as Foreman kissed him. "--damn mind." He knew that was a demand, and it would probably only make Foreman more difficult, but he was too frustrated, too turned on to care. Anything Foreman wanted to do would suit him fine, as long as Foreman got on with it. He watched as Foreman leaned over him to his bedside table, taking a moment to occupy himself as Foreman searched around, reaching between them to wrap his hand around Foreman's cock, touching for the first time since Foreman had joined him on the bed. He managed a few strokes, feeling the warm weight of Foreman, anticipation already curling through his stomach at the thought of Foreman fucking him. God.
Foreman took his sweet time with finding what he needed, then moving back down his body. House reached down to help himself out of his underwear, but Foreman curled his fingers around the waistband first. He tried not to let his impatience show too much, watching Foreman, trying to urge him to go faster, but trying not to glare. Despite the time Foreman spent taking off his shorts, he wasted very little time spreading lube over his fingers and working them over his ass. House ground his head against the bed, hating how fast he spread his legs, practically begging for it, lifting his hips. Already moaning quietly in his throat. Wanting Foreman's cock instead of his fingers. Wanting Foreman to fuck his orgasm right out of him, never even needing to wrap a hand around his dick. It would feel so fucking good; he didn't really care how smug it would make Foreman. Hell, he was probably smug enough already.