The instant Foreman thrust forward fully, feeling the clench and heat of House's body around his cock, it felt like the whole world stopped. House's hands clutching at his ass, the slight rasp of his leg hair as their calves brushed together, everywhere they were touching, all of it centered Foreman completely. His eyes were still closed but already the tension was draining out of his muscles. He could barely hold himself up, and he adjusted himself to carry his weight on his elbows, resting on either side of House's shoulders. "Yeah," he whispered, his head hanging, his mouth slack as he panted. "Oh. Yeah." Anything he'd felt before was nothing compared to this. The squeeze of House's muscles, the broad heat of his hands as he urged Foreman closer, acted to wipe Foreman's mind clear. The phone call didn't matter. Work didn't matter. Sweat was running down Foreman's chest, and his mouth was so dry he had to swallow and lick his lips. House's breath burst in hot rushes against the side of his face, and Foreman was panting back just as hard. He tried to look up, to meet House's eyes, wanting to see his expression when House asked for more. House always looked so damn helpless, like the sensations were too powerful for him to control them, or to want to control them, and Foreman loved that, loved seeing it, knowing he could let go just as completely, once he'd seen House come.

For a second, Foreman might have agreed to go faster, as hard as House wanted. Maybe harder than he wanted. Foreman had been angry enough to want it over, so that they wouldn't be any later than they already were. But from the beginning, this morning, it had been different. A slower, more intense arousal, one that he didn't feel like diminishing with a quick fuck. "No," he said, and in that moment, his voice wasn't smug in the least. It was a statement of fact, low and certain. Foreman dipped his head to kiss House again, remembering House's avid cooperation from a few minutes ago. He wanted to taste House's mouth, lick his way inside and explore him, all while he was fucking him. With a shuddering, half-hitched breath, Foreman started pushing his hips forward, trying to feel every instant of the movement, pausing to shift his position between thrusts to find the best angle. The slide and ache of his body sent waves of pleasure through him, and he couldn't help gasping out, "F-feels good. My way." Jesus, he couldn't even control his voice, the slight stutter making his face flush with heated embarrassment. Even though it had come out as a statement, Foreman knew he was asking. Exactly what House hated. But the only way this could possibly be any better would be if House answered him, told him whether he was feeling anything like the sensations pouring through Foreman right now.