Foreman shook his head. He'd already gone too far to stop, his cock hard and full and needing a hell of a lot more than his own touch. House's moans filled his ears, the needy, insistent sound of them adding to Foreman's impatience and the blind, pulsing desire that shuddered through his body. "Fine," he snapped, even though it wasn't. He couldn't stop thinking about Cuddy tapping her fingers impatiently at the other end, or Wilson assuming that House had fallen and rushing to the rescue. If either of them caught him here, or found out, they'd know, first of all, and if they managed to accept the fact that he and House were fucking, there'd still be the question about whether he could even work in Diagnostics, or if his objectivity had been compromised.
As for objectivity, Foreman felt like he'd launched it out the window a week or more ago. House wasn't interested in stopping, and he'd probably be more than pissed off if Foreman even suggested it. House's glare, the frustration in his voice, the way he was asking, even if indirectly, for Foreman to fuck him, was more than enough of a reason to keep going. Foreman picked up the condom House had thrown at him, his oily fingers slipping on the wrapper before he could rip it open. Taking a deep breath, he rolled the condom on. The lube on his hands wouldn't be enough, and Foreman groped in the sheets for the bottle, opening it with a flick of his thumb. The physical sensation of spreading the lube over himself was good, but he couldn't concentrate because the fucking phone was still ringing. He glared at it, wishing whoever was calling would give the hell up. "Christ," he said, lunging across House to reach for the phone. He picked up the receiver and turned it on, then immediately pressed the end button. He wanted to throw the phone at the wall to stop the caller from trying again, but he settled for turning the phone back on and dropping it on the floor. It would be as oily from his hands but Foreman didn't give a fuck. He let out a slow breath, staring down at House. If House ignoring the call was a sign of how badly he wanted Foreman, then Foreman had just made a declaration of his own.
Trying to get back to where he'd been, Foreman leaned down, covering House's body with his, and kissed him, hard at first and then more tentatively. He wanted to relax into House's touch again. He needed to find his rhythm, the undivided attention he'd had a few moments before. He knew he wasn't far from coming, but the orgasm wasn't the only thing he cared about. He wanted it to feel good, yeah, but more importantly, he wanted it to matter. Foreman buried his face against House's shoulder to hide his scowl. A minute ago he'd wanted that. He hadn't cared if House knew or if it showed. Now it just seemed stupid. Foreman reached down to hold the base of his erection, nudging closer to House and settling between his legs. Even that much contact, the press of House's erection against his stomach, overwhelmed him. Foreman gasped sharply, words escaping on the exhale. "Ohh, fuck, House." Foreman squeezed his eyes shut and thrust into him, withdrawing after a moment and then pushing forward again, still slow, still trying to remember why he'd wanted it that way.
no subject
As for objectivity, Foreman felt like he'd launched it out the window a week or more ago. House wasn't interested in stopping, and he'd probably be more than pissed off if Foreman even suggested it. House's glare, the frustration in his voice, the way he was asking, even if indirectly, for Foreman to fuck him, was more than enough of a reason to keep going. Foreman picked up the condom House had thrown at him, his oily fingers slipping on the wrapper before he could rip it open. Taking a deep breath, he rolled the condom on. The lube on his hands wouldn't be enough, and Foreman groped in the sheets for the bottle, opening it with a flick of his thumb. The physical sensation of spreading the lube over himself was good, but he couldn't concentrate because the fucking phone was still ringing. He glared at it, wishing whoever was calling would give the hell up. "Christ," he said, lunging across House to reach for the phone. He picked up the receiver and turned it on, then immediately pressed the end button. He wanted to throw the phone at the wall to stop the caller from trying again, but he settled for turning the phone back on and dropping it on the floor. It would be as oily from his hands but Foreman didn't give a fuck. He let out a slow breath, staring down at House. If House ignoring the call was a sign of how badly he wanted Foreman, then Foreman had just made a declaration of his own.
Trying to get back to where he'd been, Foreman leaned down, covering House's body with his, and kissed him, hard at first and then more tentatively. He wanted to relax into House's touch again. He needed to find his rhythm, the undivided attention he'd had a few moments before. He knew he wasn't far from coming, but the orgasm wasn't the only thing he cared about. He wanted it to feel good, yeah, but more importantly, he wanted it to matter. Foreman buried his face against House's shoulder to hide his scowl. A minute ago he'd wanted that. He hadn't cared if House knew or if it showed. Now it just seemed stupid. Foreman reached down to hold the base of his erection, nudging closer to House and settling between his legs. Even that much contact, the press of House's erection against his stomach, overwhelmed him. Foreman gasped sharply, words escaping on the exhale. "Ohh, fuck, House." Foreman squeezed his eyes shut and thrust into him, withdrawing after a moment and then pushing forward again, still slow, still trying to remember why he'd wanted it that way.