House wasn't surprised that Foreman didn't answer, at least not with words. It wasn't long before Foreman pushed even harder, fucking him so hard that it was hard to breathe. Air hiccuped out of him with grunts and broken moans. One caught in his throat as Foreman's hand wrapped around his wrist, and his eyes flew open, finding Foreman's face only to look down at himself when Foreman drew his hand down to his erection, straining and warm against his stomach. His gaze snapped back to Foreman a moment later, words snaking into his ear. Show me. Do it.
House was tempted to listen and touch himself. Fuck his own hand while Foreman fucked him. Fuck his fist just like he'd fuck Foreman, let Foreman see just how good it would be. Heighten the power of his orgasm with sensation-overload. But he wrenched his wrist out of Foreman's grip, let it fall to the sheets again to hold tightly. His eyes met Foreman's with a gaze slightly less focused than he'd intended--House knew it had everything to do with the fact that Foreman was currently fucking him into a writhing, desperate, whimpering mess. It was hard to hold Foreman's gaze steadily when House's whole body was moving, being pushed in tiny increments over the bed with each of Foreman's breath-stealing, mind-numbing power thrusts. He couldn't remember ever being fucked this hard--his leg was going to hurt like a damn bitch when the endorphins and adrenaline wore off--and he wished he could keep this going, just for a little longer, but his orgasm was seconds away, already barreling down on him, his body tensing, balls heavy, the throbbing ache throughout his groin almost unbearable. Jesus. Yeah, now, he was more than willing to let Foreman fuck him like this--fuck him at all. Fucking Foreman would be good, amazing, he was sure, but he knew he wanted this more. Being able to feel his control slip away and not care. He knew he'd get a hell of a lot of pleasure in making Foreman feel this, react like this, but, God, it almost felt too good to want to share.
He managed to stave off his orgasm, hang on to the last shred of control, and pause an almost constant series of needy, breathy sounds long enough to speak, even if he had to stop mid-sentence whenever Foreman slammed into him. "If you--want to--know, you can--find out--for yourself." If Foreman was curious about or interested in being fucked, the only prep he'd get was enough slippery finger-fucking to make sure Foreman could take it as hard and fast as House cared--was physically able--to give it to him. "I don't--give free--previews."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-02-27 04:42 am (UTC)House was tempted to listen and touch himself. Fuck his own hand while Foreman fucked him. Fuck his fist just like he'd fuck Foreman, let Foreman see just how good it would be. Heighten the power of his orgasm with sensation-overload. But he wrenched his wrist out of Foreman's grip, let it fall to the sheets again to hold tightly. His eyes met Foreman's with a gaze slightly less focused than he'd intended--House knew it had everything to do with the fact that Foreman was currently fucking him into a writhing, desperate, whimpering mess. It was hard to hold Foreman's gaze steadily when House's whole body was moving, being pushed in tiny increments over the bed with each of Foreman's breath-stealing, mind-numbing power thrusts. He couldn't remember ever being fucked this hard--his leg was going to hurt like a damn bitch when the endorphins and adrenaline wore off--and he wished he could keep this going, just for a little longer, but his orgasm was seconds away, already barreling down on him, his body tensing, balls heavy, the throbbing ache throughout his groin almost unbearable. Jesus. Yeah, now, he was more than willing to let Foreman fuck him like this--fuck him at all. Fucking Foreman would be good, amazing, he was sure, but he knew he wanted this more. Being able to feel his control slip away and not care. He knew he'd get a hell of a lot of pleasure in making Foreman feel this, react like this, but, God, it almost felt too good to want to share.
He managed to stave off his orgasm, hang on to the last shred of control, and pause an almost constant series of needy, breathy sounds long enough to speak, even if he had to stop mid-sentence whenever Foreman slammed into him. "If you--want to--know, you can--find out--for yourself." If Foreman was curious about or interested in being fucked, the only prep he'd get was enough slippery finger-fucking to make sure Foreman could take it as hard and fast as House cared--was physically able--to give it to him. "I don't--give free--previews."