House's look of horror didn't convince Foreman in the least. His over-the-top hysteria only showed that Foreman's insinuation didn't even touch him. It wasn't what Foreman had expected, but House immediately provided the reason, looking far too satisfied with himself.
Foreman stared at House for a second before he forced himself to wrench his eyes away. Probably giving House exactly the reaction he'd wanted, and Foreman didn't even know if he was telling the truth. House might just be screwing with him, either to make him jealous or to make him picture it. And the bastard had managed both. Foreman wanted to know who the guy was, how it had happened. What it had looked like. Whether the guy had pushed House down like Foreman had, made House desperate for it like he had. Enough to make House beg.
Foreman wanted to think that House was lying, but there was really no reason for him to. Foreman wasn't so possessive or so naive as to think he was the first guy House had slept with. He'd obviously been fucked before, enough to know how much he liked it. And from the intensity of House's stare when he actually told Foreman about it, he'd liked taking it from whoever the guy had been. Six months ago. It was ridiculous to think the timing meant anything. It had nothing to do with the fact that Foreman had just quit, but Foreman couldn't help thinking it. He hadn't even been thinking about House six months ago, so it was stupid to think that House had been imagining him. He was a fucking idiot for even letting the idea enter his head.
Questions burned in his chest, but Foreman knew better than to ask them. House might be smug now, but asking anything would make him insufferable. Foreman had enough clues to work it out: House didn't look for relationships and, despite the first time they'd slept together, didn't pick people up in bars. He did use prostitutes. So probably it had meant nothing--just getting off. That eased the tension in Foreman's chest slightly. There was no fucking reason to be jealous. So House's neighbour had seen something, or heard something. Foreman didn't care.
He followed House out of the elevator, trying to shake loose the image of some faceless "escort" looming above House, fucking him, and the exact look on House's face when he gave in to his orgasm. "So you just want me to finish the job," Foreman said as they walked out of the building, managing to sound only slightly pissed off. House might be out to his neighbours, but that wasn't the same as it happening at work. Or in public, if House went through with his threat. Foreman almost wanted him to. House wouldn't be thinking about some guy he'd paid to fuck him while Foreman was going down on him. He'd be saying Foreman's name, coming because of Foreman.
no subject
Foreman stared at House for a second before he forced himself to wrench his eyes away. Probably giving House exactly the reaction he'd wanted, and Foreman didn't even know if he was telling the truth. House might just be screwing with him, either to make him jealous or to make him picture it. And the bastard had managed both. Foreman wanted to know who the guy was, how it had happened. What it had looked like. Whether the guy had pushed House down like Foreman had, made House desperate for it like he had. Enough to make House beg.
Foreman wanted to think that House was lying, but there was really no reason for him to. Foreman wasn't so possessive or so naive as to think he was the first guy House had slept with. He'd obviously been fucked before, enough to know how much he liked it. And from the intensity of House's stare when he actually told Foreman about it, he'd liked taking it from whoever the guy had been. Six months ago. It was ridiculous to think the timing meant anything. It had nothing to do with the fact that Foreman had just quit, but Foreman couldn't help thinking it. He hadn't even been thinking about House six months ago, so it was stupid to think that House had been imagining him. He was a fucking idiot for even letting the idea enter his head.
Questions burned in his chest, but Foreman knew better than to ask them. House might be smug now, but asking anything would make him insufferable. Foreman had enough clues to work it out: House didn't look for relationships and, despite the first time they'd slept together, didn't pick people up in bars. He did use prostitutes. So probably it had meant nothing--just getting off. That eased the tension in Foreman's chest slightly. There was no fucking reason to be jealous. So House's neighbour had seen something, or heard something. Foreman didn't care.
He followed House out of the elevator, trying to shake loose the image of some faceless "escort" looming above House, fucking him, and the exact look on House's face when he gave in to his orgasm. "So you just want me to finish the job," Foreman said as they walked out of the building, managing to sound only slightly pissed off. House might be out to his neighbours, but that wasn't the same as it happening at work. Or in public, if House went through with his threat. Foreman almost wanted him to. House wouldn't be thinking about some guy he'd paid to fuck him while Foreman was going down on him. He'd be saying Foreman's name, coming because of Foreman.