Foreman raised a skeptical eyebrow. House had fought every second to make Foreman leave him alone last night, but House had been clutching at him pretty damn tightly when the pain had gotten bad. And Foreman didn't think that was a matter of just anybody being around. This morning was the same way. House could have let him go when Foreman had tried to take his clothes. Instead he'd made a game of stealing them. Foreman had given in, but that was before he knew Wilson was so damn neurotic about checking up on House. "Right, I should have gone home instead of fucking you," he said, letting some of the smug feeling from before they'd been interrupted steal into his voice. "That's what you were screaming in my ear."
When House lunged after the keys, Foreman leaned back in the passenger seat, swallowing down his laughter. He really didn't want House to know that sometimes--very rarely--House's antics could be amusing. If they'd had a case, or anything remotely important to do today, then Foreman would have been more than aggravated enough to suit House's need for a reaction. As it was, Wilson would tell Cuddy that House was coming in late. That was all the excuse Foreman needed, too. He let House reach for the keys, holding his fist higher. It meant that House would practically have to drape himself over Foreman to get to them. "You're having plenty of fun," he said. He rolled his eyes, but it was mainly at himself. He knew he didn't want to sit around in an intersection waiting for House to give up. Christ, House was going to wreck his car, and shoot Foreman's blood pressure through the roof doing it. Being with him was a constant tug-of-war between complete frustration and amused tolerance. Foreman could only hope House found his tolerance more annoying than his anger ever could be.
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When House lunged after the keys, Foreman leaned back in the passenger seat, swallowing down his laughter. He really didn't want House to know that sometimes--very rarely--House's antics could be amusing. If they'd had a case, or anything remotely important to do today, then Foreman would have been more than aggravated enough to suit House's need for a reaction. As it was, Wilson would tell Cuddy that House was coming in late. That was all the excuse Foreman needed, too. He let House reach for the keys, holding his fist higher. It meant that House would practically have to drape himself over Foreman to get to them. "You're having plenty of fun," he said. He rolled his eyes, but it was mainly at himself. He knew he didn't want to sit around in an intersection waiting for House to give up. Christ, House was going to wreck his car, and shoot Foreman's blood pressure through the roof doing it. Being with him was a constant tug-of-war between complete frustration and amused tolerance. Foreman could only hope House found his tolerance more annoying than his anger ever could be.