Foreman didn't let House shove him out of the room, planting his feet and bracing himself against the counter. "You're the one who made us late," he said. He wasn't willing to budge as long as he was eating. They were already too late for the day to be worth anything, and Foreman wasn't going to let himself be shoved around--literally--because House was having regrets over something that was his own damn fault. It was mildly interesting that House didn't seem to care that Foreman had grabbed a pair of his sweats, not to mention his boxers, along with the shirt. The shirt must mean something to him, but Foreman didn't want to hear the touching story of exactly how it had become a sentimental favourite. Especially not while House was bitching at him for whining. "You don't care about getting to work, House, so come off it. If I hadn't woken up you would've spent all day in bed." Foreman could actually picture that, now, House nuzzling closer into a pillow and lazing for a few hours. It wasn't that the sex hadn't been worth it, not when House had let go so hard when he'd come that he'd practically burst Foreman's eardrum. But Foreman didn't trust the feelings of tenderness that crept in, when he'd fallen asleep with House last night or this morning before Wilson had shown up and ruined it, and he tried to push the picture away.
Taking another bite of his sandwich, he shook his head, not answering until he'd swallowed. "You shoved me into your fucking closet to hide me, and you want me to bring your shirt to the office?" He rolled his eyes. That would pretty much guarantee that someone would notice something. Foreman didn't make a habit of meddling with House's desk, and the walls were made of fucking glass, which House knew better than anyone. "I'll bring it here." Or House could come to his place and get it, but Foreman didn't want to issue an invitation that would probably have House breaking into his apartment.
"And how exactly were you planning to get there?" With House in this mood, Foreman didn't really want to be around him any longer than necessary, but he'd driven House home last night, and he'd probably be stuck driving him back this morning.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2009-03-12 06:59 pm (UTC)Taking another bite of his sandwich, he shook his head, not answering until he'd swallowed. "You shoved me into your fucking closet to hide me, and you want me to bring your shirt to the office?" He rolled his eyes. That would pretty much guarantee that someone would notice something. Foreman didn't make a habit of meddling with House's desk, and the walls were made of fucking glass, which House knew better than anyone. "I'll bring it here." Or House could come to his place and get it, but Foreman didn't want to issue an invitation that would probably have House breaking into his apartment.
"And how exactly were you planning to get there?" With House in this mood, Foreman didn't really want to be around him any longer than necessary, but he'd driven House home last night, and he'd probably be stuck driving him back this morning.