Oh, fuck, it was working. All his efforts, starting with the quick pinch of Foreman's nipple, made Foreman react even more strongly. This was going to backfire if House couldn't get his own reactions under control, and he could feel himself tipping toward 'out of control' the more Foreman thrust into him, just as hard as before. Harder. Pushing House's breaths out as Foreman rocked him, pressed him down on each stroke. House could hear Foreman grunting, saying his name like he wasn't even realizing it. God, it was fucking incredible. Foreman really was losing it, which was making him lose it. Fuck, he had to hold on, had to watch this.
His body jerked, muscles tightening, clenching around Foreman as he felt Foreman's hand curl around his dick. He gasped, moaning and feeling himself cracking, even though Foreman's hand had no rhythm, hardly a consistent grip. Sweat and lube made them both slippery. Foreman's skin was so fucking warm, and House felt like his own was on fire, tingle-burns rolling waves over his skin, through him from the inside out, starting where Foreman's cock stroked over his prostate. Over and over, and fuck, he didn't want to hold on anymore. But he wanted to see Foreman break; he wouldn't be able to be nearly as smug about this if he couldn't see it. But, God, the way his body was already tensing, his brain shorting out to the point where he was having trouble thinking--no fucking chance words were even a possibility. Everything felt good. So damn good. Foreman's hand on him, sloppy and uncoordinated. The weight of Foreman's body, all the heat, almost so much of it that it was hard to draw a full breath. The hot throb of his dick, jolts of pleasure rocking up from inside him, connecting and moving through him, coming out of his mouth with strained, broken moans. Foreman's cock--hard, and huge, and fucking ramming him. Fuck.
And, God--oh, fucking God--Foreman's orgasm, finally breaking. House could feel it, heard when Foreman gasped and jerked, felt Foreman's hand pause on his dick. Heard when Foreman couldn't talk anymore, and House turned his head to look at Foreman's face, desperately trying to hold back his own orgasm just until he got a glimpse, and, fuck he wasn't disappointed. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, gasping for all the air he could get. Completely lost, and all because he'd pushed. Maybe Foreman would take a lesson, because, damn, watching this was such a big turn-on. Jesus. Foreman's body was still moving, bucking into him, not as strongly but still hitting his prostate. He wasn't sure if Foreman had started to ease down or not, but House stopped caring when he dropped his head back down and, with Foreman's hand still on him, his cock still in him, finally let go.
All he could think about, all he could feel was the crushing hot wave of his orgasm flooding every fucking part of his body, overloading his brain. So fucking intense. House was vaguely aware of his fingers digging into muscles, the low, gritty sound of his voice practically screaming. Fuck, this was worth holding out for. So good. So fucking good. Pushing Foreman, watching him, then letting go like this. So good.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-02-27 08:33 am (UTC)His body jerked, muscles tightening, clenching around Foreman as he felt Foreman's hand curl around his dick. He gasped, moaning and feeling himself cracking, even though Foreman's hand had no rhythm, hardly a consistent grip. Sweat and lube made them both slippery. Foreman's skin was so fucking warm, and House felt like his own was on fire, tingle-burns rolling waves over his skin, through him from the inside out, starting where Foreman's cock stroked over his prostate. Over and over, and fuck, he didn't want to hold on anymore. But he wanted to see Foreman break; he wouldn't be able to be nearly as smug about this if he couldn't see it. But, God, the way his body was already tensing, his brain shorting out to the point where he was having trouble thinking--no fucking chance words were even a possibility. Everything felt good. So damn good. Foreman's hand on him, sloppy and uncoordinated. The weight of Foreman's body, all the heat, almost so much of it that it was hard to draw a full breath. The hot throb of his dick, jolts of pleasure rocking up from inside him, connecting and moving through him, coming out of his mouth with strained, broken moans. Foreman's cock--hard, and huge, and fucking ramming him. Fuck.
And, God--oh, fucking God--Foreman's orgasm, finally breaking. House could feel it, heard when Foreman gasped and jerked, felt Foreman's hand pause on his dick. Heard when Foreman couldn't talk anymore, and House turned his head to look at Foreman's face, desperately trying to hold back his own orgasm just until he got a glimpse, and, fuck he wasn't disappointed. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, gasping for all the air he could get. Completely lost, and all because he'd pushed. Maybe Foreman would take a lesson, because, damn, watching this was such a big turn-on. Jesus. Foreman's body was still moving, bucking into him, not as strongly but still hitting his prostate. He wasn't sure if Foreman had started to ease down or not, but House stopped caring when he dropped his head back down and, with Foreman's hand still on him, his cock still in him, finally let go.
All he could think about, all he could feel was the crushing hot wave of his orgasm flooding every fucking part of his body, overloading his brain. So fucking intense. House was vaguely aware of his fingers digging into muscles, the low, gritty sound of his voice practically screaming. Fuck, this was worth holding out for. So good. So fucking good. Pushing Foreman, watching him, then letting go like this. So good.