All the talk, the images of what it would be like to fuck Foreman, still feeling all the pleasure of being fucked, was starting to swim in his head. It made him want to make Foreman lose it--all that control he held on to so tightly--before House let go himself. He was so damn close, but if he did this right, it wouldn't take long; he'd be able to stave off his orgasm for another ten, twenty seconds. If he didn't, it would still be good, but, God, he hoped he could now. The release would be so fucking satisfying. Watch Foreman collapse because he made him, then do it himself. Let himself stop thinking then.
Foreman was already losing it. Sweating, panting, muscles straining. His arms would start shaking in a second. He could see the cracks in Foreman's control growing bigger and bigger; he'd snap any moment. House knew it. He'd seen how Foreman looked when he let himself gave in, but it was always after he had first, usually when he was too strung-out on the blissful aftershocks of orgasm to absorb much of it. But the urgency in Foreman's thrusts, in his voice was unmistakable. Foreman was probably as close as he was, heat of arousal, the desperate pressure to come pulsing through him. House could practically feel it as he reached up, dragging one hand over Foreman's chest, pinching a nipple before sliding both hands over Foreman's shoulders and tugging him down hard, not caring if the impact jarred either of them.
House raised his chin, tilted his head to brush his lips over Foreman's ear. Demands would ruin it, make Foreman restrain himself even more, so he breathed a stream of hot air into Foreman's ear instead, letting Foreman hear how fucking close he was, how breathless he was, groaning into the side of Foreman's face. His hands spread over Foreman's back, clutching at him, sliding down to his ass and forcing him in again. One slid back up, curving around the back of Foreman's head as his body arched, twisted beneath him, trying to meet his thrusts, show him how eager he was, how much he fucking loved this. It wasn't a stretch--hardly any more than what he normally let himself express when he was on the verge of orgasm, but now he was doing it all to try to make Foreman lose it, come before he wanted to, make Foreman stop thinking. He could hold off, just a few seconds...maybe, with Foreman's body rubbing, full-contact, against his erection now, and, God, it was so hard not to just give in, but he wanted to see this. Then, then, he could let go, and, fuck, it was going to be good.
"God, yeah, Foreman. Fuck--fuck me," he said, moaning again, half-distracted by the pleasure, the press of Foreman's weight, and half-ready to turn his head and watch Foreman let go, watch him fucking snap.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-02-27 06:17 am (UTC)Foreman was already losing it. Sweating, panting, muscles straining. His arms would start shaking in a second. He could see the cracks in Foreman's control growing bigger and bigger; he'd snap any moment. House knew it. He'd seen how Foreman looked when he let himself gave in, but it was always after he had first, usually when he was too strung-out on the blissful aftershocks of orgasm to absorb much of it. But the urgency in Foreman's thrusts, in his voice was unmistakable. Foreman was probably as close as he was, heat of arousal, the desperate pressure to come pulsing through him. House could practically feel it as he reached up, dragging one hand over Foreman's chest, pinching a nipple before sliding both hands over Foreman's shoulders and tugging him down hard, not caring if the impact jarred either of them.
House raised his chin, tilted his head to brush his lips over Foreman's ear. Demands would ruin it, make Foreman restrain himself even more, so he breathed a stream of hot air into Foreman's ear instead, letting Foreman hear how fucking close he was, how breathless he was, groaning into the side of Foreman's face. His hands spread over Foreman's back, clutching at him, sliding down to his ass and forcing him in again. One slid back up, curving around the back of Foreman's head as his body arched, twisted beneath him, trying to meet his thrusts, show him how eager he was, how much he fucking loved this. It wasn't a stretch--hardly any more than what he normally let himself express when he was on the verge of orgasm, but now he was doing it all to try to make Foreman lose it, come before he wanted to, make Foreman stop thinking. He could hold off, just a few seconds...maybe, with Foreman's body rubbing, full-contact, against his erection now, and, God, it was so hard not to just give in, but he wanted to see this. Then, then, he could let go, and, fuck, it was going to be good.
"God, yeah, Foreman. Fuck--fuck me," he said, moaning again, half-distracted by the pleasure, the press of Foreman's weight, and half-ready to turn his head and watch Foreman let go, watch him fucking snap.