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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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.

The instant Foreman thrust forward fully, feeling the clench and heat of House's body around his cock, it felt like the whole world stopped. House's hands clutching at his ass, the slight rasp of his leg hair as their calves brushed together, everywhere they were touching, all of it centered Foreman completely. His eyes were still closed but already the tension was draining out of his muscles. He could barely hold himself up, and he adjusted himself to carry his weight on his elbows, resting on either side of House's shoulders. "Yeah," he whispered, his head hanging, his mouth slack as he panted. "Oh. Yeah." Anything he'd felt before was nothing compared to this. The squeeze of House's muscles, the broad heat of his hands as he urged Foreman closer, acted to wipe Foreman's mind clear. The phone call didn't matter. Work didn't matter. Sweat was running down Foreman's chest, and his mouth was so dry he had to swallow and lick his lips. House's breath burst in hot rushes against the side of his face, and Foreman was panting back just as hard. He tried to look up, to meet House's eyes, wanting to see his expression when House asked for more. House always looked so damn helpless, like the sensations were too powerful for him to control them, or to want to control them, and Foreman loved that, loved seeing it, knowing he could let go just as completely, once he'd seen House come.

For a second, Foreman might have agreed to go faster, as hard as House wanted. Maybe harder than he wanted. Foreman had been angry enough to want it over, so that they wouldn't be any later than they already were. But from the beginning, this morning, it had been different. A slower, more intense arousal, one that he didn't feel like diminishing with a quick fuck. "No," he said, and in that moment, his voice wasn't smug in the least. It was a statement of fact, low and certain. Foreman dipped his head to kiss House again, remembering House's avid cooperation from a few minutes ago. He wanted to taste House's mouth, lick his way inside and explore him, all while he was fucking him. With a shuddering, half-hitched breath, Foreman started pushing his hips forward, trying to feel every instant of the movement, pausing to shift his position between thrusts to find the best angle. The slide and ache of his body sent waves of pleasure through him, and he couldn't help gasping out, "F-feels good. My way." Jesus, he couldn't even control his voice, the slight stutter making his face flush with heated embarrassment. Even though it had come out as a statement, Foreman knew he was asking. Exactly what House hated. But the only way this could possibly be any better would be if House answered him, told him whether he was feeling anything like the sensations pouring through Foreman right now.

He grunted, shouldn't have been surprised when Foreman told him no. He didn't give a damn that Foreman didn't seem to be doing it to spite him; it was still a refusal, and almost a challenge to get Foreman to do this his way. He let Foreman kiss him, but not very long, turning his head away before the kiss could really get going. The shift in Foreman's angle didn't do much--the same pleasure, slow-building, dull shots of it, was rippling through his groin. Only a fraction of what he wanted. But Foreman seemed to be getting what he wanted, and House managed a snort when Foreman told him so. "Yeah," he said, pausing to hitch his leg higher, around Foreman's thigh. "I bet."

The air was so damn hot around his body, a humid cloud over his face, Foreman's heat and breath covering just as fully as Foreman's body. But Foreman was going slow, hardly even moving, and it wasn't enough. Fuck. He'd already admitted it once, and he wasn't going to do it again. Once made him sound needy enough, and twice would make him sound pathetic. House tried to use his body instead, make Foreman want to do more. He pulled Foreman in harder, hands squeezing his ass as he clenched tightly around Foreman's cock. It made Foreman feel fucking huge, and House groaned at the sensation himself, loud in Foreman's ear. Foreman's body was sliding over his erection, making him wish he could touch himself, if Foreman was going to go this slow. God, he fucking wanted it, and as long as he wasn't actually saying it, he couldn't work up the sense to be embarrassed about it. He almost wanted Foreman to crush him, slam him down and keep him down, push in at just the right angle and force his orgasm out of him, giving him no other option but to give in to everything.

"Frustrated's--a good look for you," Foreman said, panting lightly. Slow was working for him, chiseling away his control in small spurts. The spread of pleasure through his body making him feel perfectly concentrated, perfectly alert to every feeling. He smirked down at House, enjoying the up-close-and-personal view of House twisting away from his kiss. Foreman would have liked to continue it, but there was something to be said for scraping his teeth over the cords in House's neck instead, burning his tongue on House's stubble. He'd go faster. Eventually. When the payoff was worth it.

A second later, it was. The instant House clenched down, the Foreman froze for a second, stopped breathing entirely, not even able to thrust, focusing on nothing except the throb of pleasure, the intense, constricted heat around his cock. "Yes. Oh fuck." He didn't notice the words falling out of his mouth. The pleasure slammed through his stomach, spread to his entire body. Foreman barely heard House's groan, too lost in his own panting, desperate reaction. "If--" he started, and gulped for air, trying to remember how words worked in a sentence before he tried again. "If you're--going to do that, why should I--ah--go faster?" He was already convinced, though. Another squeeze like that and Foreman would be toppling over the edge, and he wanted House to come first, wanted to force it out of him.

As soon as he'd recovered enough to coordinate the move, Foreman reached up and grabbed the pillow out from under House's head, not bothering if he fell back against the mattress. Foreman wouldn't shove the pillow under House's hips himself--House might not be showing any pain, but Foreman wasn't going to risk wrestling him into exactly the wrong position to finish this--but he could make what he wanted pretty damn clear by stuffing the pillow half-under House's lower back. Foreman sat up on his knees, pulling out completely, biting his lip at the loss of sensation. Yeah, House could have what he wanted, as soon as he was in a better position to appreciate it. Foreman reached for the lube, pouring some into his hand and wrapped his hand around House's erection. He squeezed hard as he stroked, repayment, showing House exactly how good it had felt. Exactly how hard Foreman would fuck him, in just one second more. "Has it been longer than a minute?" he asked. "Think I can give you what you want yet?"

House's attempt to make Foreman speed this up, really let him fucking have it, seemed to have an effect, and House thought Foreman was going to give him what he wanted as Foreman shoved a pillow under him. House squirmed as much as he could, eventually working the pillow under his hips instead of his back and raising himself up. God, this angle would be amazing; each of Foreman's thrusts would go straight for prostate central, and if House wanted to make Foreman fuck him until he screamed before, he was burning with the urge now. But before he could do anything besides find a comfortable position over the pillow, Foreman pulled away. Worse, he pulled out, taking a pathetic whimper straight out of House's mouth as he went. House glared at him, even when Foreman reached for his dick, wrapped his hand around it. He couldn't maintain it, though, as soon as Foreman squeezed, and House dropped his head back down to the mattress, shuddering with the pleasure that shot through him, bright and sharp.

Foreman's voice pulled him down, out of the ecstasy of sensation, and he blinked at the ceiling. A minute? What the hell was Foreman talking about? He couldn't remember Foreman mentioning anything about a minute. "I think there's an--" Alarm clock on the table. House cut himself off before he could form the words. No alarm clock. That was why they were doing this. Why he was receiving phone calls. "--an egg timer in the kitchen if you need some help," he said, grinding his head back against the mattress, closing his eyes, feeling pleasure coil low in his stomach. God, he was so damn hot already; a few more strokes like that and he'd come all over Foreman's hand. No wonder Foreman pulled out. He'd probably been getting close, too, or was afraid he would too soon.

He ignored Foreman's other question, wondering if Foreman was trying to ask for permission again, as if the fact that House had positioned himself on the pillow wasn't a green light. "And if you're just going to do that," House said, trying not to pant, pushing against Foreman's hand, into his fist, "why should I let you fuck me?" He raised his head to look at Foreman. "Or is this a warm-up for something else? A trial run to see how I'd fuck you?" House used the leverage of his shoulders and his arms to thrust a few times, hard, fast, rolling his hips, just to help along Foreman's imagination. He nodded down to his erection, knowing it wasn't what Foreman wanted, but it might spur him to give him what he wanted anyway. "Go ahead. Hop on."

Foreman grinned at first, watching House adjust his position for him. He knew House wanted him. House was the one who'd started this, after all, even if he was only doing it to delay them. Foreman knew he was better than work; in House's mind, almost anything was. But when House squirmed to get on top of the pillow, spreading his legs so that Foreman could see every last inch of him from where he was kneeling between House's knees--that meant, as far as Foreman was concerned, that he was better than House making any attempt at maintaining his dignity, his bullshit barriers. House could still talk a good game, but his body, the way he pushed up into Foreman's touch, told the truth. It was incredibly hot to watch. Christ, Foreman wanted to give House exactly what he wanted, what he'd asked for. He'd gotten his control back, or as much of it as he'd be able to maintain while he fucked House hard and fast, and every part of him wanted to get on with it. Whether House had asked or not. Whether it was his way or not.

Foreman had leaned forward, letting go of House's erection and crawling over him, when House lifted his head and issued his invitation, meeting Foreman's eyes with a pointed stare. Foreman paused, his gaze jerking away House's face despite himself. "I don't think you want that," he said, but he'd spoken too soon, before he could hide his reaction. Instead of smug, he sounded fucking hesitant, as if he was afraid. It wasn't that. It was everything else, all the goddamn emotion that was written all over House's face when Foreman fucked him, everything Foreman liked seeing but nothing that he wanted to show himself. Foreman ignored House long enough to position himself and guide his erection as he pushed in again. God, yes, it felt even better after pulling back and feeling how cold the air was, after being pressed against House's body and feeling the heat in his skin, his breath, with every movement. Foreman drew back before thrusting in hard. "This," he said, bucking his hips forward again. No more hesitation. Make House forget what he'd said. And get lost himself while he was at it. Foreman supported himself on his knees, his hands propping him up beside House's shoulders, and abandoned his body to every last sensation thundering through him as he fucked House hard. "This is--what you want."

House didn't fail to notice the way Foreman watched him, stared at his dick as he thrust into the tight circle of Foreman's fist. Foreman's change in expression was almost as obvious, which didn't entirely surprise him. He knew Foreman liked to fuck him--he liked it when Foreman did--but the fact that Foreman seemed so hesitant to even consider the idea of reversing their roles was interesting. House forced himself to fix his attention on Foreman's face despite the urge to close his eyes and feel Foreman's hand stroking, concentrate on every little jolt of warm pleasure.

When Foreman let him go and crawled back over him, House stayed still, kept watching, trying to get himself back under control, ease off from his desire to let go and come so damn hard. Foreman's deflection was an easy target to focus on, something to distract himself with; it was the worst deflection he'd ever heard, and it gave Foreman away more that Foreman probably realized. Foreman didn't want to lose that control. Didn't want to give anything away, would rather fuck him and pull moans and gasps out of him, make him respond. Or maybe it wasn't actually giving something away that mattered; maybe it was that Foreman didn't want to show anything to him.

House didn't have much time to mull it over, because, a couple seconds later, Foreman was between his legs, rocking forward and pushing inside him. God, yeah, he liked it when Foreman fucked him, had trouble hiding it. He closed his eyes, finally, and his breathing kicked up almost instantly. Foreman's hard sudden thrust--fuck, yes--pushed a sharp groan out of him, and House had to grab hold of the sheets to keep from sliding off the pillow and cracking his head against the headboard. It was so fucking good when Foreman did this, acted without asking. The air was colder now, and Foreman's body was poised above him, almost too far away, and House, somehow, felt more helpless like this. He felt pinned even though Foreman wasn't even holding him down, and, God, yes, this was what he wanted.

"This is what--" House had to stop to gulp down shallow gasps of air. Moan. Roll his head against the mattress. Arch up--all he could fucking do--as Foreman pounded into him, Foreman's cock striking over his prostate. Over and over, and, fuck, he wouldn't be able to talk in another few seconds. "This is what--oh, God, yeah--what you want. You--want to fuck me. Like to fuck me. You need it this way." Sounds, high and gritty and desperate, were slipping out with his breaths, between words, and he couldn't help the way his body writhed, his shoulders pressed down into the bed, neck arched, legs spread to get Foreman in deeper. Harder. Faster. Fuck. "Oh, God, Foreman. Yeah. Yes. Foreman. Fuck."

Foreman didn't listen to House's words--didn't want to hear them. He hated it when House was right. Hated himself for being so goddamn easy for House to figure out. Even when Foreman was pushing inside House, fucking him so hard that House arched up to meet every thrust, House could still strip him bare and point out every last flaw that Foreman didn't want to think about. He didn't need it this way. He didn't need anything, except for House to stop thinking. Foreman was doing everything in his power to tear House's control down, and House just couldn't fucking shut up. All Foreman wanted to hear was the broken moans that he could grind out of House with each slamming, jolting thrust. And there were plenty of those. House was begging for it with every inch of his body. Muscles tightening, eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open around every last one of the sounds Foreman wanted to hear. God. Yes. Fuck. Foreman. It would be so goddamn good, if only House wasn't trying to grit out some fucking analysis of Foreman's character or his sexual habits or whether it would be good if Foreman let House fuck him.

God, it would be. Seeing House like this, seeing him twitch and moan and scrabble his fingers against the sheets just to get more--Foreman knew what that felt like. And if House was half as good with his fingers or his dick as he was with his mouth then he'd have Foreman writhing just like House was now. Foreman didn't doubt that House could do it. He'd be analytical, no different than the way he tried to figure Foreman out the rest of the time. He'd be watching Foreman for every gasp and shiver, getting his own smug pleasure out of forcing Foreman to react. He'd have Foreman loving it. Working for it, mindlessly, whimpering for it. That was the fucking problem.

It was better being in control. The sweet, needy build of pleasure, all through Foreman's body, rushing through his veins, making him groan wordlessly as he shuddered forward into another thrust, all of it felt amazing, but Foreman could still think. His arousal was at a furious height right now, and he could use it. Revel in every sensation but never let go of what he wanted--to force House's orgasm out of him, hard and shuddering and desperate. Foreman didn't bother to answer House except with his body. Foreman could tell House how hot it was, how hard Foreman wanted to fuck him, and he didn't have to give up a single thing to do it. Foreman pushed in, as deep as he could, and paused to grab House's wrist, squeezing tightly to make House pay attention before he brought House's hand to his dick. Foreman wanted to see House come all over his hand, while he was watching and pushing House to want more, need more. "Show me," Foreman said, each word emphasized by another insistent, jarring meeting of their bodies. "Do it."

House wasn't surprised that Foreman didn't answer, at least not with words. It wasn't long before Foreman pushed even harder, fucking him so hard that it was hard to breathe. Air hiccuped out of him with grunts and broken moans. One caught in his throat as Foreman's hand wrapped around his wrist, and his eyes flew open, finding Foreman's face only to look down at himself when Foreman drew his hand down to his erection, straining and warm against his stomach. His gaze snapped back to Foreman a moment later, words snaking into his ear. Show me. Do it.

House was tempted to listen and touch himself. Fuck his own hand while Foreman fucked him. Fuck his fist just like he'd fuck Foreman, let Foreman see just how good it would be. Heighten the power of his orgasm with sensation-overload. But he wrenched his wrist out of Foreman's grip, let it fall to the sheets again to hold tightly. His eyes met Foreman's with a gaze slightly less focused than he'd intended--House knew it had everything to do with the fact that Foreman was currently fucking him into a writhing, desperate, whimpering mess. It was hard to hold Foreman's gaze steadily when House's whole body was moving, being pushed in tiny increments over the bed with each of Foreman's breath-stealing, mind-numbing power thrusts. He couldn't remember ever being fucked this hard--his leg was going to hurt like a damn bitch when the endorphins and adrenaline wore off--and he wished he could keep this going, just for a little longer, but his orgasm was seconds away, already barreling down on him, his body tensing, balls heavy, the throbbing ache throughout his groin almost unbearable. Jesus. Yeah, now, he was more than willing to let Foreman fuck him like this--fuck him at all. Fucking Foreman would be good, amazing, he was sure, but he knew he wanted this more. Being able to feel his control slip away and not care. He knew he'd get a hell of a lot of pleasure in making Foreman feel this, react like this, but, God, it almost felt too good to want to share.

He managed to stave off his orgasm, hang on to the last shred of control, and pause an almost constant series of needy, breathy sounds long enough to speak, even if he had to stop mid-sentence whenever Foreman slammed into him. "If you--want to--know, you can--find out--for yourself." If Foreman was curious about or interested in being fucked, the only prep he'd get was enough slippery finger-fucking to make sure Foreman could take it as hard and fast as House cared--was physically able--to give it to him. "I don't--give free--previews."

"I don't--want a preview." Foreman wasn't going to think about it. Not yet. Not now. If House wanted to fuck him, he could show some initiative next time. It wasn't like Foreman would get in his way. He might be stronger but House could stop him in his tracks with just a sound, a word, anything that showed what he wanted. Foreman wouldn't like it if House pushed too hard--the instinct to push back was too strong--but House already knew what he liked. He could get under Foreman's guard, catch him before Foreman knew what was happening. Christ, just imagining it--House kissing the breath out of him and touching him before Foreman knew what was happening--was almost more than Foreman could take right now. It would be like a betrayal of himself, but if anyone could make that happen, it was House, who knew him too goddamn well. The sneaking sense of giving in to the pleasure would be too much, and Foreman didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think, not anymore. He felt too good, pleasure overloading his brain. All that was left was giving it to House, thrusting, turning over his control into pure movement.

Foreman was panting hard, sweat slipping over his shoulders and chest, his skin burning. His cock was tight and full, and the slick rub of the lube and the constriction each time he pushed back in was overwhelming, erasing every thought in his mind. All he wanted was to make House come, and then to collapse on top of him, let his orgasm take him over completely. God, he was so close, but meeting House's eyes when he spoke only made Foreman want to keep going. Never stop. House was trying so hard to be defiant, and Foreman knew he could wipe that expression away. Just a few more seconds. Long enough to make House forget his damn name. Foreman arched his back, his abs tightening, to close the last inch between them, so that his stomach brushed over House's erection every time he moved. If House didn't want to touch himself, fine, Foreman could give him that, too. Foreman could give him a hell of a lot and House goddamn well knew it. "I want you--" He stopped, took a breath, the sudden heat of the words too much for him. "To--come for me," he finished, pushing the words out, pushing as hard as he was could. "Come--on, House."

All the talk, the images of what it would be like to fuck Foreman, still feeling all the pleasure of being fucked, was starting to swim in his head. It made him want to make Foreman lose it--all that control he held on to so tightly--before House let go himself. He was so damn close, but if he did this right, it wouldn't take long; he'd be able to stave off his orgasm for another ten, twenty seconds. If he didn't, it would still be good, but, God, he hoped he could now. The release would be so fucking satisfying. Watch Foreman collapse because he made him, then do it himself. Let himself stop thinking then.

Foreman was already losing it. Sweating, panting, muscles straining. His arms would start shaking in a second. He could see the cracks in Foreman's control growing bigger and bigger; he'd snap any moment. House knew it. He'd seen how Foreman looked when he let himself gave in, but it was always after he had first, usually when he was too strung-out on the blissful aftershocks of orgasm to absorb much of it. But the urgency in Foreman's thrusts, in his voice was unmistakable. Foreman was probably as close as he was, heat of arousal, the desperate pressure to come pulsing through him. House could practically feel it as he reached up, dragging one hand over Foreman's chest, pinching a nipple before sliding both hands over Foreman's shoulders and tugging him down hard, not caring if the impact jarred either of them.

House raised his chin, tilted his head to brush his lips over Foreman's ear. Demands would ruin it, make Foreman restrain himself even more, so he breathed a stream of hot air into Foreman's ear instead, letting Foreman hear how fucking close he was, how breathless he was, groaning into the side of Foreman's face. His hands spread over Foreman's back, clutching at him, sliding down to his ass and forcing him in again. One slid back up, curving around the back of Foreman's head as his body arched, twisted beneath him, trying to meet his thrusts, show him how eager he was, how much he fucking loved this. It wasn't a stretch--hardly any more than what he normally let himself express when he was on the verge of orgasm, but now he was doing it all to try to make Foreman lose it, come before he wanted to, make Foreman stop thinking. He could hold off, just a few seconds...maybe, with Foreman's body rubbing, full-contact, against his erection now, and, God, it was so hard not to just give in, but he wanted to see this. Then, then, he could let go, and, fuck, it was going to be good.

"God, yeah, Foreman. Fuck--fuck me," he said, moaning again, half-distracted by the pleasure, the press of Foreman's weight, and half-ready to turn his head and watch Foreman let go, watch him fucking snap.

As quickly as he'd said I want you, the words were ripped away from his memory. Foreman didn't care what he'd said, or what House had heard. He did want this, so strongly that it would fucking terrify him if he wasn't caught up in every last firing of his nerves. All Foreman could feel was the wild, frantic need to come, to let his orgasm spill over and flood through him, erase every last thought in his head.

The quick, jolting pleasure when House reached up and pinched his nipple startled a moan out of Foreman. It was a shot of electricity straight from his nipple to his balls, so fucking intense, and Foreman wasn't prepared to resist when House tugged him closer. His arms wouldn't hold his weight. Foreman let himself collapse on top of House, only barely to one side to avoid knocking House's breath out. Would've served him right. House was still pulling at him, and it only made Foreman more desperate. House's fingers dug into the muscles of his ass, pulling him closer, and Foreman hadn't thought that was even possible. "Ohh yeah. House. Fuck, oh God." Listening to House's shameless moaning, feeling the heat of his breath against his face, Foreman squeezed his eyes shut to just feel. Any second now. Lying on top of House changed his angle just enough, and made it so he didn't have to support himself, and Foreman reached blindly for House's dick with one hand. He didn't, couldn't, do anything coordinated, and he couldn't make himself care about pushing House over the edge first, but he could start a messy, jerky rhythm of strokes. Give House something to think about, something to feel that was as good as this.

Foreman gasped for air when the first wash of sensation burst through him. He let out a short, hoarse groan with each thrust. God, he was losing it. Bucking forward, balls tightening, his orgasm taking him over completely. "Oh, yes--House..." Foreman couldn't stop himself, not from saying House's name, not from letting his control dissolve as pleasure slammed to the forefront of his mind.

Oh, fuck, it was working. All his efforts, starting with the quick pinch of Foreman's nipple, made Foreman react even more strongly. This was going to backfire if House couldn't get his own reactions under control, and he could feel himself tipping toward 'out of control' the more Foreman thrust into him, just as hard as before. Harder. Pushing House's breaths out as Foreman rocked him, pressed him down on each stroke. House could hear Foreman grunting, saying his name like he wasn't even realizing it. God, it was fucking incredible. Foreman really was losing it, which was making him lose it. Fuck, he had to hold on, had to watch this.

His body jerked, muscles tightening, clenching around Foreman as he felt Foreman's hand curl around his dick. He gasped, moaning and feeling himself cracking, even though Foreman's hand had no rhythm, hardly a consistent grip. Sweat and lube made them both slippery. Foreman's skin was so fucking warm, and House felt like his own was on fire, tingle-burns rolling waves over his skin, through him from the inside out, starting where Foreman's cock stroked over his prostate. Over and over, and fuck, he didn't want to hold on anymore. But he wanted to see Foreman break; he wouldn't be able to be nearly as smug about this if he couldn't see it. But, God, the way his body was already tensing, his brain shorting out to the point where he was having trouble thinking--no fucking chance words were even a possibility. Everything felt good. So damn good. Foreman's hand on him, sloppy and uncoordinated. The weight of Foreman's body, all the heat, almost so much of it that it was hard to draw a full breath. The hot throb of his dick, jolts of pleasure rocking up from inside him, connecting and moving through him, coming out of his mouth with strained, broken moans. Foreman's cock--hard, and huge, and fucking ramming him. Fuck.

And, God--oh, fucking God--Foreman's orgasm, finally breaking. House could feel it, heard when Foreman gasped and jerked, felt Foreman's hand pause on his dick. Heard when Foreman couldn't talk anymore, and House turned his head to look at Foreman's face, desperately trying to hold back his own orgasm just until he got a glimpse, and, fuck he wasn't disappointed. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, gasping for all the air he could get. Completely lost, and all because he'd pushed. Maybe Foreman would take a lesson, because, damn, watching this was such a big turn-on. Jesus. Foreman's body was still moving, bucking into him, not as strongly but still hitting his prostate. He wasn't sure if Foreman had started to ease down or not, but House stopped caring when he dropped his head back down and, with Foreman's hand still on him, his cock still in him, finally let go.

All he could think about, all he could feel was the crushing hot wave of his orgasm flooding every fucking part of his body, overloading his brain. So fucking intense. House was vaguely aware of his fingers digging into muscles, the low, gritty sound of his voice practically screaming. Fuck, this was worth holding out for. So good. So fucking good. Pushing Foreman, watching him, then letting go like this. So good.

The bright, shattering crash of Foreman's orgasm sizzled along his nerves, drove him forward in a stuttering rhythm. So fucking good. Amazing. So strong that he felt like he'd been hit by a brick wall and couldn't even be bothered to pick up the pieces. He gave himself over to it completely. Let it take over. Mind and body working purely by instinct, striving to wring every last second of pleasure out of the rub and slide of his cock in House's body.

Foreman felt it the instant House came. He clenched down around Foreman's cock and it drove another surge out of him, the pleasure redoubling for an almost agonizing second. Foreman barely noticed the sudden spurt of House's semen over his hand, over both their stomachs. Instead there was only the bruising, desperate clutch of House's hands and his voice, hoarse and wordless and practically deafening. He'd never thought House could be so loud, or would allow himself to be, but as much as Foreman felt like he'd come so hard he'd fallen apart, there was still some corner of himself that had room to feel smug over how far he'd driven House. He kept thrusting, taking more time to stroke House's cock as the exhilarating rush of pleasure eased. His hand was slick with House's semen, with sweat and lube, and Foreman rubbed it into the silky skin of House's dick, enjoying how hard he was, and the slight jerk in his muscles as Foreman eased him through his orgasm.

Finally, Foreman moved enough to wipe his hand against the bedsheets. House could worry about the stains for once. Foreman just wanted to collapse. Ignore the world. And it would be so easy to do. Close his eyes and drift on the warm tide of endorphins. Let it all go. He groaned one last time, feeling aftershocks shiver through him. There was no way in hell he was going to move. He'd practically melted. Skin and bones disappearing, leaving behind nothing but his mind, disconnected and floating in the aftermath of sensation. No strength left even to push off of House and roll to his side, not that he'd want to. House's body was warm and sweat-slick, and Foreman wanted to nuzzle closer.

God, that had been intense. Foreman moved his head, barely enough to nudge his nose against the side of House's neck. He felt oversensitive, like every touch was magnified. The rasp of House's stubble against his cheek. The slight, almost unconscious twitch of his hips in incremental thrusts, prolonging the moment for as long as possible before he had to pull out. Some distant part of his brain reminded him that he should be worried about work, worried about a hell of a lot of other things besides cuddling with House--or maybe, more simply, worried that all he wanted was to cuddle with House--but they were thoughts that were easy to dismiss, and Foreman let his eyes close, breathing deeply as his heartbeat slowly settled towards something resembling a normal rhythm.

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