As House walked, Foreman's stare, that shocked expression, burned into his brain. House almost laughed. Foreman had walked right into that one. House wasn't sure what Foreman thought his history was like--admittedly, it wasn't all that much--but apparently not like that. He wondered what Foreman was thinking, how much he'd put together, if he'd ask for more details because, God, this had to be killing him. House snickered to himself, hearing the irritation in Foreman's voice when he spoke. Foreman was showing off the buttons to push, and there was no way House could resist prodding and showing as much as glee as he liked while he did it.
"Nothing to finish." Unless, House thought, Foreman was planning on fucking him in Wilson's or Cuddy's or his own office to 'finish the job'. "The guy pulled screams out of me loud enough to let my whole block know I was getting fucked." House would have stepped closer to Foreman, made this just for him to hear, but a casual display would probably eat at Foreman more, and House leaned back against the passenger door of Foreman's car and spoke with a casual, musing tone. "Think there's still a dent in the wall behind the headboard. Had to hold on for that kind of ride." Now that House was remembering it, he had to admit that it actually had been good. A hard, brutal fuck to let go and get off. The guy's fingers gripping his hips hard, pulling him back and making him take all of that dick all the way inside. Squeezing his ass as he pounded into him, telling him how much he knew that House liked it and House's own voice helplessly grinding out that yes, God, yes I like it, just like that, fuck me like that. House snorted a laugh. "He didn't even have to jerk me off when he was fucking me to make me come."
He wondered if Foreman's visions--House was sure that Foreman's imagination was spinning almost against his will--were anything close to what had happened. Foreman might try to convince himself that House was lying, just screwing with him, but House bet that Foreman would be able to recognize that he wasn't. House met Foreman's eyes, waiting for him to unlock the door, hoping to see Foreman silently fighting with himself. He was tempted to drag Foreman back to his place after work, just to see if he'd check the wall, but he figured Foreman can torture himself for a day or two before House let him back in--way more fun. Now that he was thinking of it, this would probably make Foreman agitated enough at work to make his excuse seem that much more genuine, even if Foreman was really entertaining thoughts of how this mystery guy fucked the hell out of House.
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"Nothing to finish." Unless, House thought, Foreman was planning on fucking him in Wilson's or Cuddy's or his own office to 'finish the job'. "The guy pulled screams out of me loud enough to let my whole block know I was getting fucked." House would have stepped closer to Foreman, made this just for him to hear, but a casual display would probably eat at Foreman more, and House leaned back against the passenger door of Foreman's car and spoke with a casual, musing tone. "Think there's still a dent in the wall behind the headboard. Had to hold on for that kind of ride." Now that House was remembering it, he had to admit that it actually had been good. A hard, brutal fuck to let go and get off. The guy's fingers gripping his hips hard, pulling him back and making him take all of that dick all the way inside. Squeezing his ass as he pounded into him, telling him how much he knew that House liked it and House's own voice helplessly grinding out that yes, God, yes I like it, just like that, fuck me like that. House snorted a laugh. "He didn't even have to jerk me off when he was fucking me to make me come."
He wondered if Foreman's visions--House was sure that Foreman's imagination was spinning almost against his will--were anything close to what had happened. Foreman might try to convince himself that House was lying, just screwing with him, but House bet that Foreman would be able to recognize that he wasn't. House met Foreman's eyes, waiting for him to unlock the door, hoping to see Foreman silently fighting with himself. He was tempted to drag Foreman back to his place after work, just to see if he'd check the wall, but he figured Foreman can torture himself for a day or two before House let him back in--way more fun. Now that he was thinking of it, this would probably make Foreman agitated enough at work to make his excuse seem that much more genuine, even if Foreman was really entertaining thoughts of how this mystery guy fucked the hell out of House.