wooedforyears | November 17, 2007

November 17, 2007 - Morning

Foreman didn't wake up to the sound of an alarm clock. He roused slowly, his mind becoming aware of sensations before he opened his eyes. The heat of House's body pressed against him, the languid comfort of having slept himself out, the accommodating softness of the bed and pillows, and the slow, even rate of his own breathing. His body hummed with unhurried arousal, leftover from a dream he couldn't remember. Foreman rolled his shoulders, stretching lazily, not wanting to move more than he had to. When he extended his legs to work out a kink in his calf, his hips moved forward almost involuntarily, rubbing his dick against the material of his boxers and nudging House's leg. The undertone of pleasure coiled low in his stomach, warmer and slightly more insistent. Foreman wasn't hard--not more than halfway, anyhow--but it wouldn't take much, and it made him even less willing to open his eyes. He'd rather enjoy it for now, as long as he didn't have to wake up.

The only reason he could think that he hadn't been jerked out of sleep too early by the blare of the alarm was that it was Saturday. Had to be. He always set the alarm. The night before came back slowly. Taking House home. Being jolted awake when House's pain got bad. Arguing until he was exhausted, and finally forcing House to accept that he wasn't leaving when he didn't feel like walking out at two in the morning. But those memories brought back others, like finishing their lupus case the night before and learning about Thirteen's diagnosis, and Foreman finally opened his eyes when he remembered that yesterday had been Thursday, which meant it was Friday, which meant the last thing he should be doing was lying around in bed debating whether to do something about his hard-on now or in the shower, as if it was the weekend.

He was in House's bed. He'd known that, but he'd forgotten the corollary--House was always, always late to work. Foreman lifted his head, blinking. House was lying beside him, looking the worse for wear after the night he'd had, hair tangled with dried sweat, exhaustion darkening the bags under his eyes, his stubble looking even more unkempt than usual. Foreman firmly ignored the twinge of concern and tenderness at seeing House not in any immediate pain, and even more firmly told off his dick for still being interested. The light was strong enough in the room that it had to be well into the morning. Christ, it was probably ten or eleven, and they were both disastrously late, even by House's dismal standards.

Foreman scrubbed one hand across his face, stared at the nightstand, trying to figure out why the hell he hadn't set the alarm, even if it was House's. But he and House had been fighting most of the night, first over checking his biopsies and then over his pain, and Foreman hadn't thought of it. He hadn't even realized House had books and journals and pill bottles all over his bedside table, but no alarm clock. "You don't have a clock?" Foreman said, loud and incredulous, pushing away from House even though part of him definitely didn't want to go.

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With a start, House practically leaped out of sleep at the boom of Foreman's voice. Might as well have been a damn alarm clock. After several disoriented moments, House blinked open his eyes. He took his time as he mentally noted the time based on the light and shadows in the room--somewhere around ten, he guessed. He thought of his alarm clock buried in his closet and silently congratulated himself for managing to get a decent amount of sleep, despite the time he spent awake last night and that he'd shared his bed with Dr. Eric-Always-Punctual-Foreman. His pain hadn't reared when he'd awoken, which was, combined with the rest, Foreman's reaction, and an already shortened work day, the start of a pretty good day. Foreman didn't seem to share his sunny optimism and good mood.

"Apparently, I have you," House mumbled, turning onto his side to face away from Foreman, pulling the covers back up and over his shoulders and holding them close. He wasn't delusional enough to believe that the action would actually deter Foreman and allow him to drift back to sleep, but he was relatively certain that Foreman would find it frustrating enough to shout at him a little more. Not that House was interested in being shouted at, but an outburst--and, with any luck, a wrestling match for the covers to go with it--would delay them even more.

Foreman rolled his eyes at the idea that House 'had him', as if Foreman had taken responsibility for House's life just because they were together. Together--that was still a phrase that gave him pause, and Foreman tried to push the thought back wherever it had come from. He was more than willing to blame being late on House, and it wouldn't take much. He couldn't believe that House didn't have a clock, and this had all the hallmarks of House trying to mess with him. Foreman gave him another shove, not willing to let House roll over and ignore him. "No, you have tenure," he said. "I don't. And I don't think you want to get me fired." Not if House wanted to keep him around, instead of taking Marty or some other hospital up on their job offers.

His cell phone and pager were in his jacket pocket, so if Cuddy or the candidates had called, wondering where he was, they wouldn't have reached him. He could probably expect some angry messages on his home machine, too. Shit. Foreman crawled out of bed, leaving House to cocoon himself in the blankets. He wouldn't even have time to do anything more than shower and dress before he left. The relaxed, aroused feeling he'd woken up with would have to take a backseat to scrambling to get to work on time. That made Foreman even grumpier than he had been, because waking up next to House, he'd been anticipating something better than just masturbation. Circling the bed, Foreman grabbed up as many of his clothes as he could find--wrinkled, shit--and tried not to draw House's attention to his tented boxers, because he didn't need to add any mockery to the start of his day. The shower would have to be a cold one.

House ignored the shove that Foreman gave him, too curled up underneath the blankets to fight back--not really awake enough for it. He groaned, rolling his eyes at the frantic, panicked energy Foreman was using to propel himself across the room. Jesus, Foreman needed to learn to fucking relax for one damn second. "You're not going to get fired," House said, half into the pillow. If anything, Foreman was going to get outed, and so was he, for spending the night with him. As much as House wanted to spare himself the judgments and advice, strange looks, and who knew what else would come his way if their--fuck, he might as well call it what it was--relationship became common knowledge, he didn't give it much thought at that second, still half-asleep, warm, comfortable, basking in a low-pain level morning for a change.

He watched Foreman as he came back into his line of sight, taking a second to rub sleep out of his eyes, and focused on him. Foreman wasn't a bad sight in the morning, the angle of the light defining the muscles in Foreman's shoulders, his arms, and drawing attention to the line of his body down to his hips, to his--

House's eyes automatically widened as his gaze fell on the undeniable hard-on in Foreman's boxers. Huh. Apparently, Foreman had more of a reason to be frustrated with their delay. Foreman must have wanted to play, House thought gleefully, feeling the lazy stirring of arousal himself. That would play so well into his hopes of delaying them even more, and he wondered how convincing he'd really have to be in order to get Foreman to go along with it. Shoving the blankets down enough to free his arm, House reached out and grabbed the clothes in Foreman's hand, quickly turning back over, cradling them against his chest like a football as he shimmied back under the blankets. If Foreman wanted them, he'd have to come and get them.

Foreman had found nearly all his clothes, except for one sock. Last night he'd thrown his clothes at House to make a point about the fact that he wasn't leaving, and it had to be here somewhere. Probably under the bed. He was bending down to look for it on House's side of the bed, and he didn't recognize his danger until it was too late, and House had already snatched his pants and shirt out of his hands. "House--" It was futile, but Foreman couldn't help demanding, "What the hell is your problem?"

House rolled over, taking Foreman's clothes with him. Foreman reached for the covers to yank them down before he even had time to think of a different plan. House had a better hold on the sheets than he'd expected, but he was also lying down, and Foreman had the better angle. He got a knee on the bed and pulled the comforter out from under House. He threw it down the bed, but the sudden change in resistance made him lose his balance. He put a hand down on the mattress to steady himself. After House had already grabbed his clothes away, it was probably not the safest position to be in. "Good thing you don't have a problem with us sharing clothes," Foreman said, starting to back away. He'd borrow something of House's--God, that thought didn't exactly help him get rid of his erection--and go back to his place and change into something that hadn't been balled up into a tangled mess. He'd be even later, but it was probably easier than dealing with House's bullshit.

House ignored Foreman's outburst--he'd been right; more shouting--and hugged Foreman's clothes to his body, trying to ignore the fact that they still smelled like Foreman. That he could tell they smelled like Foreman. That it actually made his arousal worse, and he'd really rather smell the real thing, if Foreman would actually come closer than this. Despite the fact that, a moment later, Foreman came closer, Foreman didn't get close enough for House to do much. Foreman tugged at the blankets instead, tearing them off him, sending a wave of cold air streaming over him, making him shiver. He stubbornly stayed where he was, waiting for Foreman to try to grab for his clothes, and jerked around, surprised, when Foreman backed away, talking about sharing clothes.

His first immediate thought was an outright rejection. Hell no. His second had him wondering what Foreman would look like in his clothes, what he'd smell like, what it would like to take his own clothes off Foreman's body. But, no, right now, he'd rather keep Foreman in as few clothes as possible. Foreman was still hard, and, now, so was House. At least, almost fully hard. Enough to catch up before he had to do anything with it. A part of him wondered if Foreman was bluffing. Going into work in House's clothes--not exactly the same style as Foreman's--would be a huge risk. People might notice, and he doubted Foreman wanted to take that risk.

House pushed himself to sit up, letting Foreman's clothes fall to the other side of the bed, not bothering to pull up the covers and not hiding the fact that he was almost as hard as Foreman. He was sure that Foreman would notice, and it wouldn't help matters for him. "Aw," House said, adopting a light, mocking tone he knew Foreman would recognize, "you'd wear my clothes in front of everyone? Like you're mine? Like you're proud to be with me?" House knew he was pushing it, aiming for Foreman's buttons to get him to react, but mostly stop him from getting dressed without physically stopping him, a battle he knew he'd lose. "I'm touched, Foreman."

Foreman had started opening House's dresser drawers, looking for something easy to slip into, sweats and a t-shirt. He was trying to ignore his arousal and that part of himself that didn't want to do anything about getting to work, let alone worrying if he'd be on time. That was a lost cause. Still, Foreman couldn't help wondering how House would react to him wearing his clothes. Foreman hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from House when he'd stolen Foreman's pajama pants. Whether it was knowing House wasn't wearing anything under them, or simply knowing that House was comfortable enough in his place to pull on his clothes, it had been fucking hot. It was stupid, and irrational, and Foreman hated that he was already hoping House would feel the same way about him.

Before he could get his hands on something that might fit him, though, House started in on the mockery. Foreman had been waiting for it, because it wasn't like House could've missed that he was hard. House took a different tack than he'd been expecting, though, and Foreman turned around abruptly, leaving the drawer he'd been rummaging through hanging open. He didn't know what the hell to say to that, even though he knew House was prodding him in hopes of getting a reaction. The last thing Foreman wanted was for everyone to know about them, but at the same time, he'd already started feeling possessive of House--his own idiocy about Terzi had proved that to him--and, yeah, he wanted House to know it, even if they never talked about it. Instead of answering, though, Foreman actually looked at House, and for the first time he noticed that House had the same problem that he did. Adrenaline shot down his spine, and Foreman let his stare linger, not worrying any more about answering House's taunts. He raised an eyebrow at him instead, dragging his gaze back up to House's face. Foreman was in no position to judge, but he didn't care; at least this gave him some ammunition. "No, you're not," he said. House probably wanted to be touched, as much as Foreman did, but Foreman wasn't going to permit either of them to get distracted. This was exactly the kind of stupidity that would get them noticed at work. That didn't stop him from teasing in return, though, letting his voice deepen and smirking slightly. "I think I'd know if you were."

His clothes were scattered next to House, and it looked like House had already forgotten the keepaway game. A few minutes more wouldn't hurt, if Foreman could get his own clothes back. He walked towards House, holding eye contact as much as he could, putting all his confidence into his approach. When he reached the bed, he bent down, shifting over House, and wrapped a hand behind House's neck, tilting his head back for a kiss. He wouldn't get wrapped up in it. He'd just...indulge himself, for a moment, only long enough to distract House and grab his clothes.

When Foreman turned--already a reaction, whether Foreman liked it or not (House guessed not)--House let a smug grin pull across his face. Even Foreman's glance over his body, the eyebrow raise, couldn't wipe it away. Weak. Foreman's response was weak, a pathetic attempt to be clever, but House could work with it. It didn't really matter what he argued or what he said as long as it delayed them both, preferably led to some late morning action; he could use it, after last night. It has almost been a week since he'd gotten any, not that he was keeping track, and it would do to make a decent morning even better.

"What, you don't think--" House started as Foreman approached him, matching Foreman's confidence with his voice, but found himself cut off when Foreman curled his hand around the back of his neck, leaned down, and kissed him. House returned it, refusing to allow it to put him off track, even though it was fueling his arousal, making him fully hard. He didn't want to lose focus, not until Foreman did, and he broke it off prematurely, before he had a chance to get too caught up in it.

"You don't think I could have been touching myself? You had a head-start. I just wanted to catch up." House quirked an eyebrow, leaning back on one hand to raise the other and graze Foreman's cock. He fell back onto one elbow, pinning down Foreman's trousers against the bed, and dropped his hand to himself. He gave himself a couple slow, controlled rubs with the palm of his hand through his boxers, his gaze on Foreman's face. "We're about even now."

Ignoring House's attempt to speak, Foreman focused on continuing the kiss. He couldn't get House's ealier words out of his mind, much as he tried. Like you're mine. Like you're proud to be with me. Even meant as a joke, that taunt was far more than Foreman had ever expected he'd hear House say. House said the most when he was pretending not to say anything, and Foreman couldn't help thinking that House was letting what he wanted show. Subconsciously, maybe, but he'd said it. Foreman let House break the kiss, sighing when House casually lay back on his pants to prevent him from grabbing them. A second later, he stopped worrying about it, when House brushed his hand over his erection, but the real reason Foreman's heart was speeding was because he felt like he'd managed to dig his way under one of House's layers of bullshit, or knock down the first wall. Maybe it was because he'd refused to leave last night, had gotten House to trust him. It was an uncomfortable thought--Foreman didn't like to acknowledge it, but he knew he wasn't the most trustworthy person to be in a relationship with. Other things had always mattered more to him. His career. And not getting caught up with somebody who just didn't measure up to the standards he'd set for himself.

"You could have been," he said. "But I thought you were so sure you wouldn't get anything out of giving me a show." The show he was getting now was already working to erode his willpower. The muscles in House's arms stood out as he propped himself up on his elbow, and the obvious line of his erection firmed up under House's touch. Foreman inhaled, watching, feeling the urge to get rid of House's boxers altogether, and his own while he was at it. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to let House keep touching him, keep kissing him. They didn't have a patient. Foreman didn't have clinic hours, and House wouldn't care whether he did or not. Any new case they took now would just ruin the weekend, and Foreman knew he wouldn't get a speck of House's attention as long as he had a puzzle to solve. He'd figured that out in the last few days. It was Friday, for fuck's sake, and it was already midmorning. By the time he could shower and dress and get in, it would be lunch time. So why not have this, for an hour, and then make it to work for the afternoon? House would just call it an early lunch. And Foreman didn't want to go in, not if it meant showing up with House, both of them left open to all the speculation anyone wanted to make.

Foreman leaned in closer, kneeling on the bed and supporting himself just above House. He could feel the heat of House's body, and he breathed in, smelling House's skin as he dipped his head lower. "I think you're getting ahead," he said, tearing his eyes away from House's hand long enough to kiss him again. Wouldn't hurt if House took that as a hint to touch him again. God, he didn't want to go. He wanted to keep on kissing House, slowly and thoroughly, but he wasn't about to let any relationship turn him into a sap, especially not with House. Foreman pulled back slowly, his lips lingering against House's for as long as possible. He watched House fondly, knowing he was going to be pissed off in about five seconds, as if Foreman wouldn't be suffering just as much by stopping. "I'm sure they'd only think I was crazy to be with you," he said lightly, returning House's words to him to see how he'd react. "I'm going to shower before I go," he said, hovering for a second longer, hating that he hoped House would persuade him not to leave.

Foreman seemed to be catching on to the general idea, and House watched him as he knelt on the bed. He saw the way Foreman was looking down at his hand. House raised his hips just a fraction, pushing himself against his hand. Not just for show. His arousal was flaring up, his cock warm, heavy, starting to throb and beg for more contact. He was careful not to get carried away, pausing when Foreman leaned down again for another kiss. House put more into it this time, pushing his tongue against Foreman's, but keeping his hand to himself, still not moving it as the kiss broke off.

House ignored Foreman's remark. At least, he didn't respond to it with more than a head tilt and a squint of his eyes. People probably would think Foreman was crazy. It was generally how people viewed anyone who decided to date him, and he was certain that Foreman would receive even more incredulous stares than others. All the progress he'd thought he'd made vanished with Foreman's next comment. Shower? He wanted to shower now? Apparently Foreman hadn't caught on after all. "And, what, leave in nothing but your dirty underwear?" House asked, bundling up the rest of Foreman's clothes and leaning over them. He hated that he didn't want Foreman to go, hated even more that he was beginning to feel frustrated, annoyed. He really didn't want to resort to masturbation when Foreman was right here, but he wasn't going to follow Foreman into the shower--he didn't have the strength or stamina to stand for that long on one damn leg.

"But go ahead," House said, his fingers tracing over his own erection, refusing to touch Foreman; if Foreman wanted some relief, he could touch himself in the shower or climb onto the bed, make this good for both of them. "Have your damn shower." Keeping his eyes raised to Foreman's face, House shifted to shove his boxers part-way down his legs, blinking slowly as he wrapped his hand around his dick, making it clear that House would not be joining Foreman and would not wait for him, either.

"I can still take your clothes," Foreman said. "Since you don't look like you're going to get up and stop me." He spoke absently, though, most of his attention fixed on House's hips lifting as he shoved his boxers down. God, if only House had decided to wrap his hand around Foreman's dick instead. If House had tried to convince him not to leave the bedroom--done anything, at this point, kissed him or tried to hold him back, even if House couldn't have physically kept him from leaving--then it wouldn't be Foreman's fault if he stayed. He could have told himself that he'd given in for House's sake, because House had asked. Instead it would be his own damn choice to screw himself over professionally for House's sake. Again. Foreman never would have thought that he'd do something like trying to give House a blowjob at work, but more than once now, in House's office and in the showers, he'd not only offered, he'd been eager. What the hell was happening to him? It wasn't as if House was the most attractive person Foreman had ever slept with. But Foreman could get so fucking lost when he was with House, just watching House's face, feeling his reactions when Foreman was fucking him. Christ, he wanted to fuck him now. Slowly. That lazy feeling he'd woken up with was stealing through his body, enhancing his arousal, making his cock throb in his shorts. He wanted to be touched. Stroked. Anything.

He stood up and backed away from the bed, watching House the entire time, meeting his eyes long enough to give House the idea that Foreman really was going to leave him to take care of himself. Then, with a shake of his head, more than a little pissed off at himself, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down his legs, stepping out of them instead. Not only would House be insufferably smug, he'd also think he could persuade Foreman to do anything he wanted. Bastard. Foreman didn't even try to cover up the fact that he'd just completely crumbled, and climbed on the bed, glaring at House as if that might stop him from making some fucking comment.

Whatever the fuck House had to say, Foreman didn't want to hear it. As fast as he could, Foreman kissed House again, hoping to stop up anything he'd say. He swept his tongue into House's mouth, sucking quickly on his lip before he deepened the kiss further. House was already warmer than he had been when Foreman had held him last night, and Foreman settled down on top of him, kissing him as he lined their bodies up, until he could press his erection against House's. Foreman let a short, needy groan loose into House's mouth. The first real touch he'd allowed himself since he'd woken up, and it was so easy to give in to, his groin tightening as he brought his hand down to match House's, taking both their cocks in his hand and beginning to stroke them together.

House closed his mouth, forcing himself not to say what he wanted to say. You'll stop yourself. The words would only propel Foreman away, just so Foreman could try to prove him wrong, and that would defeat the purpose of what he was trying to do. He kept his eyes open, lips parting with a hard sigh as he stroked himself a little harder, fighting to keep himself propped up on his elbow. Foreman was still looking, still interested, even though he'd backed away. A few more seconds and he'd fucking have him. Even Foreman wouldn't turn down a show like this. He'd want to join in, and House knew he would. Only a few more seconds.

He knew that Foreman cracked--he could see the moment it happened--when Foreman shook his head and pushed his own underwear down his legs. House smirked openly, letting the smile show in his eyes so Foreman could see every tiny bit of smugness in his expression. Foreman practically leaped onto the bed, and his glare did little to cover his eagerness. House was so fucking satisfied with himself, even when Foreman met him with an almost bruising kiss, pushing him back to lie flat, that he let a laugh loose in Foreman's mouth. His mouth curled with another grin as he tried to kiss back, give Foreman every reason to give in fully, and laughed again at Foreman's groan. God, it was more awesome than he anticipated, making Foreman break so fast, forget about his damn obligations and reputation. Fuck. It was so damn good. House moved his hand away from himself, raised it to Foreman's ass to pull his hips down to grind against him. He left it there when Foreman reached between them to stroke them both, pleasure heightening his smugness, his self-satisfaction. Foreman was doing this all on his own, and House was more than willing to let him. The urgency was dizzying, gratifying to know that even Foreman didn't want to say no to this, to him. He was drawing breaths through his nose, letting Foreman continue the kiss as long as he wanted, moaning to spur Foreman on, fingers squeezing his ass, hips lifting as much as he could to make Foreman break.

Foreman kissed House as hard as he could, trying to focus on the physical sensation instead of thinking about his own motivations. That wasn't difficult--he'd already been nearly fully hard, and now his cock was straining as he rubbed against House's erection and squeezed them both rhythmically with his hand. Fuck, it was good. Not good enough to cover what a damn hypocrite he felt like, not enough to block out the sound of House laughing at him, but pretty soon he'd even be there. Not able to think any more because of how good it felt, to have House grabbing his ass and pulling him down, tight against him.

Foreman wanted to tell House to shut his damn mouth, except he was enjoying what House was doing with his mouth too much to want it to stop. Of course House was laughing at him, but at least he wasn't pointing out Foreman's weakness with jabbing, sarcastic comments, and Foreman could take the laughter a hell of a lot better. He'd never actually heard House laugh quite so freely, and it might be because Foreman had just given him the best reason to be satisfied with himself that he'd had in a long time, but it was also strangely good to hear. Foreman actually liked it, even knowing it was directed against him. Along with the laughter, House seemed just as impatient as Foreman felt, just as willing to touch and moan and push against him. That was the best part, no matter what he'd done to his self-worth to get it. Christ, House was turning him into an idiot. Finally, rolling his eyes, Foreman backed off long enough to say, "Shut up," emphasizing the last word with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, grinding against House's cock. "Like you wouldn't have bitched if I'd left."

As long as he was here anyway, Foreman wasn't going to give up on a chance at revenge. He stroked House's erection faster, still pushing his own cock against him but focusing more on House for the moment. Make him eager, distract him, make him think that all Foreman wanted was sex. Foreman leaned down again, kissing House, another, slower, simmering distraction, keeping the touches light and teasing, then moving to suck his way down House's neck. Gradually, he slowed the movements of his hand, making his strokes longer and firmer, breathing hard himself. Waiting for the perfect moment. Foreman nipped quickly at House's earlobe, and said smugly, "If you need something to laugh at--"

Without even finishing the sentence, Foreman abandoned the handjob, crooking his fingers as he attacked House's ribs, up underneath his arms, tickling him as hard as he could while still holding House's body captive under his.

House was caught between another moan and a laugh when Foreman pulled out of the kiss, Foreman's words low and rough, Foreman's body pushing down against him and making House grind his head down against the mattress. "You could--oh--leave, but you can't bitch if I finish this without you." He would have, too. It wouldn't be nearly this good, and he'd rather Foreman's hand around him like this, the friction of it and Foreman's cock. He'd rather Foreman's warm weight bearing down on him than thin, cool air. Foreman's hand moved faster, his head leaning down for another kiss, and suddenly House wasn't laughing anymore. He still felt pleased with himself, but it was easier to let himself focus on all the sensations since Foreman seemed intent on staying. He let his hands fall to his side, pushing against the mattress to give himself some leverage, lifting his hips and thrusting into Foreman's fist. He closed his eyes, breathing harder, a groan slipping as he felt the heat of Foreman's mouth near his ear.

Foreman's words only started to register after Foreman had begun attacking him with--what the fuck?--tickles. House barely had time to think about the reasons Foreman was fucking tickling him, a yelp bursting out of him as he instantly squirmed, trying to get away from Foreman's hands. High-pitched, breathless laughter started streaming out of his mouth--he couldn't fucking stop it--and he pushed desperately, uncoordinated, at Foreman's shoulders, his chest, trying to get him to stop. His body was arching, wriggling against Foreman's, their cocks still pressing and rubbing together, keeping House hard. House struggled to get words out between gasped breaths and bouts of laughter. "Stop! No! Foreman! I'll--" He tried to twist away, but didn't get very far, pinned down by Foreman's body. His boxers were still caught around his legs, giving Foreman an even greater advantage, not like he really needed one. "I'll fucking piss all over you. Or make--sure you get fired. Foreman!"

Foreman laughed out loud the minute House's hot, eager groaning against his neck turned to sharp, breathless yelps. It was revenge--it shouldn't have been hot--but Foreman felt a wave of heat sweep through him anyway. House's dimples showed; he couldn't contain himself or hold back his smile, no matter what protests he made. It was a turn-on, to see him helpless and happy--sort of--both at once, and Foreman thrust his hips against House's again, feeling the intense, breath-catching sensation in his cock mixing with the pure amusement of tickling House. Foreman kissed his throat for a moment, just to feel the buzz of House's laughter under his lips. He lifted his head so that he could watch House squirm, not trying anything to stop House from pushing at him. Foreman had the advantage and his fingers were already at work on House's armpits, draining House of strength before he could shove him away.

Somehow it was forgivable that Foreman was going to be the latest he'd ever been, to any job, if he could use the excuse that he'd been busy tickling House into a wriggling, hiccupping, desperate mess. Not that he'd ever actually use that excuse, but just the image of standing in front of Cuddy while she asked him where the hell he'd been, knowing what had delayed him while he made up some bullshit excuse, added to Foreman's laughter. "That would be quite the disciplinary committee meeting," he said, breathless and chuckling. He poked House in the ribs again, not jabbing hard, but with House already overstimulated, it would probably feel just as intense. "Wrongful firing for tickling. I'd have a case."

With one final poke, Foreman spread his hands over House's chest. The threat was still there--he could start again at any moment--but he'd let House recover first. Maybe. "Last night you didn't like it when I listened to you," he said. "I think that means I shouldn't listen. I get to do whatever I want..." He tightened his fingers in a quick spasm, not enough to start tickling again, but making it clear that he could. He was less interested in torturing House now that House wasn't laughing at him anymore, and far more interested in the nudging rub of their erections. Foreman couldn't ignore the tightening, throbbing ache of pleasure in his groin, and he'd much rather do something about that. "Fuck you just the way I want," he said, more quietly, catching House's mouth with his, even though he was still panting. Foreman kissed him lightly, but with just as much concentration, hoping to turn House's thoughts in the direction Foreman wanted. "Make you come the way I want."

House could hear Foreman laughing at him. Fucking laughing at him, the bastard. His eyes stayed closed--he could hardly open them--but he could imagine the smug, satisfied look on Foreman's face. He heard it in Foreman's voice when he spoke, and he wished he had the breath to argue. He could get Foreman fired if he wanted. He really could. Drive Foreman away before he ever got settled in the department again. He wouldn't, but, damn it, he could.

Years ago, with all his strength and all the muscles he'd been born with, House could have been able to push Foreman far enough way to squirm out from beneath him, too. Between the tickling and the fact that he was already at a physical disadvantage, House knew that he didn't stand much of a chance, but he tried to keep resisting. God, it was like torture, and he could fucking stop laughing. Jesus. He was surprised he could laugh at all; he felt like he could barely breathe, drawing hiccuped gulps of air even after--oh, thank fucking God--Foreman ended the attack and spread his hands over his chest.

House could barely hear Foreman's words over the sound of his own breathing, but once they registered his arousal barreled down on him, strong and renewed. The quick tightening of Foreman's hands made his body jerk, and House opened his eyes, glancing at Foreman's mouth before Foreman lowered his head, meeting his mouth with a kiss that House couldn't return. He was still fighting for breath, but, fuck, Foreman's words sent his imagination reeling with thoughts of being helplessly pressed down, Foreman fucking him, pulling his orgasm out of him. Foreman already knew he fucking liked it, when Foreman actually did what he wanted without asking for permission, leaving House free to let himself go, let Foreman do every single sexy thing he was talking about. A little defiance probably wouldn't hurt, though, and House worked up a scoff--embarrassingly breathless. "Yeah, tickling makes you a rebel. I give you a minute before you start doing things my way."

Foreman kissed House in small, tender movements, running his tongue just over his lips, barely slipping into his mouth. He could feel the puff of House's breath against his face. House was still panting from Foreman's tickling, and Foreman couldn't help smiling softly as he backed off and met House's eyes, which were dark and interested. Whether House admitted it or not, Foreman was beginning to be able to read the slightly unfocused look in House's eyes, and he knew House was thinking about what he'd said, anticipating it. Foreman's grin widened when House's eyes sharpened quickly and he made his retort. "A lot can happen in a minute," Foreman told him. He shifted up the bed, sliding his hands slowly off House's chest so that he could prop himself on his elbows. He liked watching House, the changes in his expression when Foreman rocked his hips a little faster or a little harder, or whenever Foreman made a point that House tried to dismiss.

It was the most meaningless argument in the world. As far as he could see, he and House were pretty fucking compatible, pun definitely intended. If it weren't for the fact that Foreman didn't intend to tell anyone about House, he'd explain to everyone who'd ever compared him to House just how different they were. Foreman liked being in charge, which wasn't any different for him in bed or out of it. House, no matter what little attempts he made at being defiant and contrary--and, fuck, the attempts were incredibly provocative--wanted Foreman to 'be a rebel', whatever the hell that meant. He kissed House again, hoping that he'd recovered enough that Foreman could deepen it, suck on House's tongue, without making him hyperventilate. "Besides, it's irrelevant," he said, when the kiss ended. "Your way is going to be what I say."

Shifting slightly, Foreman ducked his head again, and sucked his way along House's bicep, his tongue tracing the firm muscle under the slight give of House's skin. After a moment, he moved to House's chest. Foreman had figured out that House's nipples were less sensitive than his, so he sucked a bit harder, adding his teeth to the touch. Probably House's way would involve Foreman sucking his dick pretty quickly, but Foreman didn't intend to give him what he wanted, for the next little while at any rate. By this point, Foreman had dismissed any thought of work, and he didn't care how long it would take to get exactly what he wanted.

House narrowed his eyes at Foreman, doing his best to keep them that way while Foreman rocked against him, doing absolutely nothing for the way House was still panting for air. Or his concentration. A lot can happen in a minute. This sure as hell better not be over in a minute, House thought, though judging by the way Foreman was drawing out the foreplay, House doubted it would be. They had more work to avoid and, even though his cock was already straining, House wasn't about to argue against it.

When Foreman met him with another kiss, House managed to return it this time, participate and suck on Foreman's bottom lip, open his mouth wider to let Foreman push his tongue inside. By the time the kiss ended, he was still breathing hard, and he studied Foreman when he spoke. "What you say? Oh, so I should expect a play-by-play?" He knew that's not what Foreman meant--or maybe it was--but the important part of the message go through: Foreman meant that he would call the shots. House felt sparks of pleasure fire through him at the thought, caught between keeping up his defiance and concentrating on the warmth of Foreman's mouth trailing down his arm, skipping over to his chest. His body involuntarily jerked at the feel of Foreman's mouth sucking hard on his nipple, teeth scraping across it. Fuck, he wished Foreman would suck him like that--well, minus the teeth. He bit back a groan, not wanting to give Foreman the satisfaction yet, and gritted out instead, "I don't hear you saying anything."

Foreman smirked as he lifted his head. He didn't let out a laugh, but it was a close thing, especially since House was already responding to him. His twitch when Foreman had sucked his nipple--which was a promise of a sort, even if it was never spoken out loud--was particularly gratifying. "I think you can figure it out for yourself," Foreman said, tilting his head as if he wasn't really sure, as if he was doubting House's ability to follow along with exactly what Foreman had planned. "I'll leave out the commentary."

Talking would just get in the way of using his mouth, after all. Foreman moved down the bed, changing his mind as he went. Sucking House off would make for a very convincing argument, if he wanted to persuade House to do what he said--or didn't say. Foreman started lightly, only using his tongue, breathing hard as he imagined what House must be feeling. Fleeting touches, but hot and wet, with the occasional, teasing suck added just to make House hope for more. Foreman hummed quietly, enjoying himself thoroughly. He felt warm, and his heart was pumping quickly, but he knew he could last a long time yet. He intended to make sure House didn't.

He reached for House's balls, cupping them lightly, rolling them in his palm, before moving his fingers back to start a light, rubbing touch along House's perineum and back along his ass. Foreman wished he knew if House kept lube and condoms somewhere nearby. He hadn't had the time or inclination to conduct a search of House's bedroom, and while it'd look good to be able to find what he needed without fumbling, it might be better to let House figure out what Foreman wanted and get them for him. In fact, since House expected him to speak, Foreman deliberately didn't. Not listening could very quickly become one of his favourite activities. It wasn't like House listened to him at work. Or ever. Foreman wasn't against turning the tables. He raised his head for a second time and didn't say a single word, just lifted an inquiring eyebrow at House at the same time as he rubbed his middle finger more firmly along House's ass.

House rolled his eyes as Foreman responded, but raised his head to peer down at Foreman, who was kissing a very distinct path down his body. Jesus, this might be over in a--well, not a minute, but definitely just a few if Foreman sucked him with as much deliberation as he was kissing him. When Foreman started licking at him, the warmth of Foreman's tongue, his breath, making House raise his hips, want more. He groaned, louder than he'd wanted to, and, at the touch of Foreman's hand, first on his balls, then lower, moving along his ass, House let his head fall back. His eyes closed, and he pressed his lips together to stifle another groan, wanting more now than just a damn blowjob.

He wished Foreman would break for a second to search for the lube and condoms he had stashed in his bedside table drawer--without a dildo, too bad for Foreman--and House considered reaching for them himself. He threw his arm out toward the table, but stopped, trying to think of how Foreman would react to that, if Foreman wanted that at all. Foreman had been consistently refusing to listen to a damn word he said; handing him lube and a condom would almost guarantee that Foreman wouldn't use them, and, fuck, he wanted Foreman to use them. The pressure of Foreman's finger over his ass made House believe Foreman wanted that, too, but he didn't want to risk ordering Foreman around when it would only lead to the opposite of what he'd said.

He looked down at Foreman, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. "Let's go, Foreman," he said, hoping like hell this would have the effect he was aiming for. "Blow me."

Foreman's first thought was to deny House outright. A flat no would piss him off nicely. But Foreman couldn't hear any desperation in House's voice. He sounded strained, yeah, and it was obvious that Foreman's blowjob had affected him. His voice was deeper, rougher, and Foreman couldn't mistake House's impatience. Desperation was different, and House never asked--not openly, not without expecting to be refused--until he was desperate.

It would probably confuse House further to give him what he said he wanted. Foreman chuckled at that, turning his head to muffle the sound against House's thigh. Reverse psychology. This is what he'd brought House to. He'd figured out what Foreman wanted, and he was playing along with the rules Foreman had set in order to get it. Foreman didn't even bother to hide exactly how smug that made him.

Bringing his hand up to House's dick, he quickly sucked him in, swirling his tongue as he created suction. Hard and fast, bordering on obscene. Letting it last for as long as he could hold his breath, until he had to stop and gulp for air. A second later, when he had his breath back, Foreman slid his way back up House's body and kissed him quickly. "Very subtle," he said, smirking. He sat up on his knees, straddling House's hips, and leaned over to open the drawer House had flung his arm towards.

It wasn't difficult to figure out that the only drawer near the bed would hold House's lube. Considering the state of the rest of House's apartment, actually, Foreman might find an entire magpie's hoard of whatever items had caught House's eye and that he'd then lost interest in, along with a dozen half-empty bottles of Vicodin. It was better than he'd hoped, though, and Foreman didn't have to dig far to find a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. He watched House's face for a second, looking for House's reaction to what he intended to do. He worked his way back to his previous position and took his time pulling House's shorts the rest of the way off. Foreman definitely wasn't going to tell House how fucking hot he looked with his legs half-trapped, or that Foreman would leave him like that if only he didn't need more room.

Once House was naked, Foreman looked him over as he opened the bottle, enjoying the sight all over again. The lube made what he'd been doing that much easier, and Foreman let it glide over his hand for a second, listening to his own breathing and the slippery sounds of his fingers rubbing together. The sound alone turned him on, and Foreman sucked a slow, open-mouthed kiss against House's stomach before massaging his fingertips against House's ass, waiting for House to spread his legs and make this even easier.

Apparently Foreman had caught on, judging by the smug look on his face, and, if Foreman hadn't begun sucking him like that--hard, fast, so fucking good--House might have been disappointed that his tactic hadn't been effective. He barely had the mind to feel anything except the burst of pleasure through his groin, low in his stomach. His body tensed, strained, stomach muscles twitching, hands clenching around the sheets. His mouth opened and words leaped out of him around shallow breaths. "Oh, God. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, my God." It was fucking embarrassing, how fast Foreman shorted out his brain. His orgasm was already building. Fuck. Maybe this would be over in a minute. Jesus.

A groan rumbled out of his mouth when Foreman pulled away, less than a minute away from his orgasm. "Make up your--" House paused as Foreman kissed him. "--damn mind." He knew that was a demand, and it would probably only make Foreman more difficult, but he was too frustrated, too turned on to care. Anything Foreman wanted to do would suit him fine, as long as Foreman got on with it. He watched as Foreman leaned over him to his bedside table, taking a moment to occupy himself as Foreman searched around, reaching between them to wrap his hand around Foreman's cock, touching for the first time since Foreman had joined him on the bed. He managed a few strokes, feeling the warm weight of Foreman, anticipation already curling through his stomach at the thought of Foreman fucking him. God.

Foreman took his sweet time with finding what he needed, then moving back down his body. House reached down to help himself out of his underwear, but Foreman curled his fingers around the waistband first. He tried not to let his impatience show too much, watching Foreman, trying to urge him to go faster, but trying not to glare. Despite the time Foreman spent taking off his shorts, he wasted very little time spreading lube over his fingers and working them over his ass. House ground his head against the bed, hating how fast he spread his legs, practically begging for it, lifting his hips. Already moaning quietly in his throat. Wanting Foreman's cock instead of his fingers. Wanting Foreman to fuck his orgasm right out of him, never even needing to wrap a hand around his dick. It would feel so fucking good; he didn't really care how smug it would make Foreman. Hell, he was probably smug enough already.

God, Foreman fucking loved making House open his mouth and start letting out a jumble of words, swearing and almost begging. He loved knowing that he was that good, that he could make House react so strongly, but he'd had other partners tell him he was good. The real reason was different, a little more personal. That House would give him something, show him something Foreman would be surprised if anyone else got to see. And that House wanted to give him the same pleasure back. House's hand wrapping around his cock and squeezing warmly made Foreman freeze for a moment above him, arching slightly into House's hand. "Yeah--House--"

It slowed him down, but Foreman was already intent on fucking House, not settling for a handjob, and even if House had continued, it would have ruined the game. Better to lie down on the bed. Better to see how quickly House shifted to make more room for him, lifting his hips eagerly. Foreman worked one finger into House's ass, the lube already warm and slick on his hand. House's hand stroking him had increased his own urgency, faster than Foreman would have thought, but he wasn't about to skip over the basics. Last time he'd gone too fast. Foreman hated that he'd let his desire take control of him, that he hadn't had the self-restraint to make the tease just as good as the fucking would be. Slowly--he was going to fuck House slowly, for as long as he could, no matter what House asked for. God. Foreman was beginning to breathe harder, and he reached down to squeeze his cock, the lube making the touch more intense than he'd been prepared for. With a shudder, Foreman fought to get his concentration back, kissing the inside of House's thigh as he stretched his finger in and upwards. The pace was even and measured, and Foreman avoided House's prostate at first. House's erection was hard and flushed against his stomach, straining, and Foreman didn't want this to be over too fast. He pulled his finger out and then used two, slippery pushes that reached House's prostate now, grinning as he listened for House's reactions. Foreman could probably go faster, and in just a second, he'd stop, get the condom on, and Jesus, it was going to feel amazing, so good--

The phone rang. Foreman jerked his head up, his focus broken. Fuck. He'd been close, he'd been wanting House, not thinking, but the instant the phone shrilled from the bedside table, Foreman remembered what time it was. It had to be Cuddy or Wilson calling, trying to track House down, and Foreman wasn't supposed to be here. Foreman glared at House, pulling away and rolling up to his knees. "Are you going to answer that?"

Surprisingly, Foreman didn't sound smug, wasn't acting smug; Foreman's breathing was just as hard and harsh as his own. No remarks about the wanton way House was spreading himself out. Instead, it seemed like Foreman was going slow, being gentle, kissing his leg and slowly pushing his finger further inside. House had a feeling that Foreman was thrusting his finger just like Foreman wanted to fuck him--slow and easy, and, God, it was going to drive him a little insane. He was already aching, the pressure to come strong and spurring him forward. He lifted and lowered his hips to the rhythm of Foreman's hand, trying to angle himself so Foreman's finger rubbed against his prostate, but Foreman seemed to be avoiding it purposefully. House didn't give a damn if he came right now--Foreman could still fuck him--but he guessed that it wouldn't be the way Foreman wanted it. A second later, House wasn't so sure, and his body arched and tensed, a groan gritting out as Foreman pushed in with two fingers, sliding over his prostate every fucking time. God, House couldn't think, his mind saturated with the pleasure of it, was vaguely aware of his own reactions, gasping words and grunts and moans. He would have been embarrassed if it didn't feel so damn good. He was more than fucking ready, and if Foreman didn't take advantage of it in about five seconds, he was going to come.

The groan that burst out of him a second later had nothing to do with Foreman and everything to do with the damn phone ringing beside the bed. This was the second time he'd been close, the second time Foreman had stopped. He'd fucking finish this himself if he had to, and he sure as hell wasn't answering the phone. Whoever it was could wait. He didn't have a patient. It wasn't important. House answered Foreman's question with a glare, propping himself up on one elbow. "No," he said, ignoring the phone, reaching for the condom near his hip and tossing it at Foreman. "Unless you're okay with whoever-it-is listening to you fuck me over the speakerphone."

Foreman shook his head. He'd already gone too far to stop, his cock hard and full and needing a hell of a lot more than his own touch. House's moans filled his ears, the needy, insistent sound of them adding to Foreman's impatience and the blind, pulsing desire that shuddered through his body. "Fine," he snapped, even though it wasn't. He couldn't stop thinking about Cuddy tapping her fingers impatiently at the other end, or Wilson assuming that House had fallen and rushing to the rescue. If either of them caught him here, or found out, they'd know, first of all, and if they managed to accept the fact that he and House were fucking, there'd still be the question about whether he could even work in Diagnostics, or if his objectivity had been compromised.

As for objectivity, Foreman felt like he'd launched it out the window a week or more ago. House wasn't interested in stopping, and he'd probably be more than pissed off if Foreman even suggested it. House's glare, the frustration in his voice, the way he was asking, even if indirectly, for Foreman to fuck him, was more than enough of a reason to keep going. Foreman picked up the condom House had thrown at him, his oily fingers slipping on the wrapper before he could rip it open. Taking a deep breath, he rolled the condom on. The lube on his hands wouldn't be enough, and Foreman groped in the sheets for the bottle, opening it with a flick of his thumb. The physical sensation of spreading the lube over himself was good, but he couldn't concentrate because the fucking phone was still ringing. He glared at it, wishing whoever was calling would give the hell up. "Christ," he said, lunging across House to reach for the phone. He picked up the receiver and turned it on, then immediately pressed the end button. He wanted to throw the phone at the wall to stop the caller from trying again, but he settled for turning the phone back on and dropping it on the floor. It would be as oily from his hands but Foreman didn't give a fuck. He let out a slow breath, staring down at House. If House ignoring the call was a sign of how badly he wanted Foreman, then Foreman had just made a declaration of his own.

Trying to get back to where he'd been, Foreman leaned down, covering House's body with his, and kissed him, hard at first and then more tentatively. He wanted to relax into House's touch again. He needed to find his rhythm, the undivided attention he'd had a few moments before. He knew he wasn't far from coming, but the orgasm wasn't the only thing he cared about. He wanted it to feel good, yeah, but more importantly, he wanted it to matter. Foreman buried his face against House's shoulder to hide his scowl. A minute ago he'd wanted that. He hadn't cared if House knew or if it showed. Now it just seemed stupid. Foreman reached down to hold the base of his erection, nudging closer to House and settling between his legs. Even that much contact, the press of House's erection against his stomach, overwhelmed him. Foreman gasped sharply, words escaping on the exhale. "Ohh, fuck, House." Foreman squeezed his eyes shut and thrust into him, withdrawing after a moment and then pushing forward again, still slow, still trying to remember why he'd wanted it that way.

House knew Foreman wouldn't answer the phone himself, definitely knew that Foreman would not be okay with an audience, but Foreman's confirmation still satisfied him; it was still good to know that he could predict some of Foreman's behavior. Even better that Foreman cared more about being with him than getting to work, at least when work held nothing exceptionally interesting. Even better that Foreman was fumbling, so fucking urgent that he couldn't concentrate. House nearly grabbed for Foreman's arm when Foreman reached toward the table, but couldn't make it before Foreman picked up the phone. Jesus Christ, what the hell did he think he was doing? What he hadn't told Foreman was that he didn't want an audience either, didn't want Wilson, or Cuddy, or one of the fellows, or whoever it was to hear Foreman pushing moans and curses out of his mouth as he got fucked. By Foreman. God, had he been wrong? Was Foreman actually that vindictive that he'd out him this way? No, that couldn't be it. Couldn't be.

House tried to hide the breath of relief when Foreman answered and immediately ended the call, then left the line open to prevent another. Fuck, it was hotter than it should have been, seeing Foreman wanting this that badly. When Foreman leaned down, pressing against him, House returned the kiss with way more enthusiasm than he should have let on, but Foreman had already seen enough to know how turned on he was. His hands rose up to press Foreman's hips down, rock forward slightly. He could feel the slip of Foreman's cock, coated with lube, against his stomach. House shifted his hips to align his erection with Foreman's, groaning at the slick rub, his mind quickly forgetting about the phone call, about everything but how badly he wanted Foreman to move just enough to push into him. Foreman already knew that he wanted it; no fucking use in pretending now.

He spread his legs when Foreman finally shifted, and House tried to make Foreman thrust himself, hands on Foreman's ass, trying to pull him, his left leg curling around Foreman's calf to fucking keep him there this time. He could feel Foreman's cock pressing against him--so fucking close--and answered Foreman's words before he could stop himself. "Yeah, come on. Fuck. Come oooh--" Foreman thrust in, all the way in, turning House's words into a long, deep groan. Fuck, yes. That's what he'd waited for. House almost wished he could move, get Foreman to go faster, but Foreman had him covered, pinned, and all he could do was squeeze Foreman's ass. Moan and breathe into Foreman's ear. "Faster. Come on, harder," he gasped out, forgetting that Foreman had been consistent with doing the opposite of what he wanted, trying to spur him on.

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