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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"That's the best you've got? Wishful thinking? Too bad it's true. Or at least it has been lately," he said, refusing to think about Marty and L.A. and whatever the hell was waiting for Foreman there, if he chose to take it. "Well, not too bad for me--" House stopped himself, about to let on that Foreman was actually better to have around than he even originally thought. He'd admitted to Foreman, right before he'd left, that he'd wanted him to stay, only to have it shoved back in his face. The old team was disbanded now, sure, but Foreman was still as helpful in differentials as he'd always been. He was helpful, challenging, helped him think. But he didn't need to actually tell Foreman that and stroke his ego. "And not too bad for you either, since I'm betting that you've gotten laid more in the past couple weeks than you have, well, since you've been here anyway. Unless Chase wasn't the only one Cameron was banging in the closet."

The elevator stopped and opened, depositing them at Foreman's floor, and House stepped into the hallway. His own remark made him grin, and he let his musings tumble out of his mouth. "What is it with you three and closets? Though, I have to admit, your case was way funnier. Irony like that wins every time." Now that the incident was past them, House let himself feel smug about it, that he'd actually gotten Foreman to hide in his damn closet in the first place. That Foreman had stayed in it at all. Even easier to be smug when he and Foreman had already planned an excuse to cover it all.

Foreman raised his eyebrows when House admitted it wasn't too bad for him that Foreman would be stuck in Princeton for the foreseeable future. He'd never believed that House actually appreciated him. All his misguided attempts to stop Foreman from leaving only told him that House couldn't stand it if he didn't control the lives of everyone around him, as far as possible. But when House interrupted himself and then tried to focus on Foreman again, it only confirmed that he thought he'd nearly said too much. "You want to take credit for my sex life?" Foreman asked. "Sorry, but you haven't broken any records." He'd had a few girlfriends since moving here, though they'd usually been short-term. Longer than two weeks, though. Wendy was just the one House knew about.

He paused in opening his front door when House started laughing at him for hiding in the closet. Anger shot through him. That had been fucking humiliating. He should have known better than to think House would drop it. "That wasn't my idea," he snapped. "And you might as well have been in there with me. If I hadn't kissed you, then you wouldn't be getting laid more than you have since I got here." The kiss had been a stupid move, even if the results had turned out better than he had any right to expect. Foreman had had no idea that House liked men. But if the last two weeks hadn't proved anything else, at least Foreman knew that House had no room to talk about him being closeted. Foreman pushed open the door and stepped into the apartment, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up, before slamming the door shut.

Like House, Foreman didn't want his business spread all over the hospital, which was why he was discreet. There were plenty of ways in which life was just easier as long as he slept with women, brought the occasional girlfriend home to his family. That didn't mean he didn't acknowledge who he was. He'd had relationships with men. He still had no idea what House's past was like. He doubted House was going to enlighten him, and beyond how that affected him, he didn't care.

Foreman pulled House's ragged t-shirt over his head, squeezing it into a ball before he shoved it into House's chest. "I don't care if we're hiding it," he said. "But I don't need your hypocrisy when your friend walks in on us."

House sneered at Foreman's remark. Yeah, he figured that he hadn't 'broken any records', since Foreman was good looking and sharp enough to get a relationship if he wanted one, but, as far as House knew, he hadn't wanted one. Not seriously enough to pursue one that lasted more than a couple weeks. Foreman would probably be able to keep it a secret if he had--it seemed theirs was a case in point--but Foreman hadn't been good at keeping secrets from him, and if House had a reason to think something was up in Foreman's personal life--which it rarely was--he would have found out. He might not have broken records, but he might if things kept going the way they were. But it wasn't something he really wanted to mull over. All he knew was that, whether Foreman wanted to admit it or not, they were both having some great sex, and getting into arguments like this was old hat. Which, in a way, it was.

House tilted his head, refused to be ruffled by Foreman's burst of anger, and chose to use it for his own amusement instead. "It seemed like the most appropriate place to put you," House said, smirking, half-preparing for a stronger outburst, or an eye-roll. Either would be typical. Instead, he got Foreman, shirtless, shoving his shirt against his chest. His eyes dropped down to Foreman's chest before he could stop himself, then rose back to Foreman's face. Despite what Foreman actually said, it seemed like there was something else bothering him despite the fact that he'd been shoved into a closet. House watched him for a second, trying to read Foreman's tone better. "Do you not want to hide it?"

Foreman stopped short at House's question. It wasn't one he wanted to answer, or face up to. One of the advantages of being with House was that no one would believe it, which meant that Foreman, in a sense, didn't have to believe it either. He could let it happen without examining it. And despite House's propensity for analysing everything to death, so far he hadn't gotten on Foreman's nerves by trying to explain him to himself. Much. Anyway, it was a stupid question. Whether or not Foreman wanted to hide it, there was going to come a point when it became common knowledge. It could have been this morning, and he was damn glad it hadn't been. But House would let something slip to Wilson, or one of the new fellows would read too much into a word or a glance. Workplace relationships were never as inconspicuous as the people involved in them thought they were. Look at Cameron and Chase.

"I don't want people to find out because we're fucking in the sleep lab," Foreman said briefly. He turned away, frowning. All he wanted was to shower, dress, and not start wondering why House was asking. If House was asking, that meant he was interested in Foreman's reasons, or reactions. He might start dropping hints during differentials just to see whether he could make Foreman jump. It wasn't a fucking joke. The other possibility--that House was asking because he didn't want to hide it--was even more uncomfortable, and luckily even more unlikely.

Ignoring House, and the trouble he'd probably manage to cause on his own, Foreman headed for his bedroom. He stepped out of his shoes and pushed off House's sweats and boxers before heading into the bathroom to start the shower.

"We're fucking in the sleep lab?" House asked, calling after Foreman as he started heading for his bedroom. "Snippy," he mumbled to himself once Foreman was out of earshot, still standing in Foreman's living room. Foreman hadn't really answered his question. All he could tell was that Foreman had a problem with getting caught with his pants down. He couldn't know from Foreman's answer whether or not he actually had a problem with hiding all of this. House sure as hell wasn't prepared to spread it around. He wouldn't want to spread any relationship around, but he couldn't help but wonder if Foreman cared as much as he seemed to let on. He hadn't been all that frazzled by the fact that he'd outed him in front of a roomful of fellows. There was only one factor that Foreman would actually be ashamed of, one thing about this that he'd want to keep hidden.

Gripping his shirt in one hand, House made his way into the bathroom, finding Foreman already in the shower, and leaned against the door once he'd closed it. "It's because it's me, isn't it?" he asked, speaking loud enough that Foreman would hear him over the sound of the shower. "It's bad enough that your reputation's been damaged because you worked for me. If people found out that you're sleeping with me, well, you could just kiss the rest of your career goodbye."

Foreman got into the shower and reached for the soap, lathering the morning's sweat and semen off his skin. He rubbed water out of his eyes and looked over his shoulder when he heard House follow him into the bathroom. Of course House wanted to have this conversation when Foreman was naked and cornered. He shook his head, closed his eyes, and turned his face up into the spray, rinsing off quickly.

The hot water couldn't relax him, and Foreman turned the taps off. "Yeah, it's because it's you," he said, the words sounding too loud after the water stopped. House was right. Of course no one should hold it against Foreman who he slept with, but in his field, everybody knew everybody. Gossip was practically a way of life. Foreman had worked hard to be above that kind of thing, and the result was that he was seen as arrogant, even by doctors who practically defined the word. Not enough of a team player. That hadn't helped him when he was looking for a job, either. If he wanted to fight it, he could sue, or threaten to, if it seemed like he was been treated differently because of his relationships. Foreman was fucking tired of fighting that particular fight. He wanted to be known for being a good doctor, not for being the affirmative action hire or that guy who sleeps with House.

Foreman stepped out of the shower and met House's eyes, wondering if he even cared that Foreman hadn't tried to put him off with a lie. He grabbed a towel and started drying off. "Did you want people to know? Because we could throw a party," he said. House had a say in it, no matter what Foreman would prefer. His career was a mess anyway, and he already knew that people were going to find out. All he could really do was as much damage control as possible, before and after the fact.

Cornering Foreman while he was in the shower was convenient, even if Foreman could--and would, if he felt like it--brush him off. Foreman seemed angry enough to spout the truth, though, and even though House always preferred it--reality over a soothing lie--Foreman's reply still jolted him enough to make him stare hard at Foreman through the frosted shower doors. He felt the furrow of his brow as he thought about that response. Foreman wanted hide this solely because House was involved, and House was certain that it had everything to do with his professional reputation. Foreman barely had any friends to worry about, if he had any at all, and his family never seemed high on his list of priorities. A guy who doesn't return home for that long wouldn't care about curbing his behavior to parental expectations. His career was all that was left. Respect. Foreman wouldn't get respect if people heard about this particular personal relationship, no matter how good of a doctor he was, and House, personally, didn't give a damn.

He did, however, care about the fact that Foreman knew all of this, but was taking the risk. It was more flattering than House would admit to Foreman, and it was a risk he probably didn't deserve. Foreman wouldn't risk his career for somebody he thought was a worthless asshole and a decent lay. He met Foreman's eyes when Foreman got out of the shower, reaching for a towel. He still leaned against the door, making no move to hand Foreman his towel or get out of the way. Foreman's question was stupid; House was sure he already knew the answer, or maybe he already forgot about being shoved inside his closet.

House rolled his eyes. "I was thinking a Mexican fiesta in the lobby. Think Cuddy would foot the bill for a mariachi band?" House knew that, at some point, people would find out. Hound him. Both of them. Not leave it alone. He could wait for that day; he wasn't about to help it arrive any faster. He was still trying to work through this himself. The entire situation, what he wanted, what Foreman wanted. It was still intriguing that Foreman seemed to want him enough to risk his reputation, and House couldn't quite get that implied confession out of his head. He studied Foreman, waiting until he was mostly dried off, just before he'd probably want to leave the room, and said, "You know I'm a danger to your reputation, but you're with me anyway."

Foreman finished drying off and wrapped the towel around his waist. From the way House was leaning against the door, he intended to trap them both here until he got the answers he wanted. Foreman scoffed at House's party suggestion, but at least it confirmed that neither of them wanted their relationship to become public. "And I was looking forward to seeing Cameron's face," he said. It was reassuring, anyway, that House wouldn't be making any announcements just to see his fellows' jaws drop.

Since House wasn't letting him out of the bathroom, Foreman reached for his anti-perspirant and rolled it on, then got out his shaving gel. He glanced at the mirror, catching House's eyes. "Did you really want me to start analysing this?" he asked, feeling uneasy at the thought. He didn't really have a reason. The sex could be amazing, but Foreman wasn't usually led around by his dick. So far, House hadn't been more of a jackass than usual, but even the regular amounts should have been more than enough to make most people dump him. Foreman finished spreading the gel on his cheeks and picked up his razor, turning his face to start shaving. If he was being rational, he should listen to House. Do what was best for his career. He could wait out the hospital administrators who only saw one risky decision, and find one who wanted him for the fact that he'd been right. Everything he was doing with House would endanger that. House was pretty much telling him he was being stupid. But when Foreman thought about just stopping, going back to the way things were, his stomach clenched unpleasantly. Foreman frowned as he rinsed the razor under the tap and asked, "Is this supposed to be a 'dumping you for your own good' speech?"

House stayed silent, dropping his gaze to the floor when Foreman asked if he should start analyzing this. The fact that Foreman wasn't was interesting. Foreman, who always covered his ass and looked before he leaped. House either was, in fact, that charming or sex made Foreman a moron. It made House wonder, but not ask--never ask--what Foreman's brain would tell him once it kicked in, after the sex stopped being new. When Foreman spoke again, House snapped his eyes back up to Foreman's face. The thought of Foreman ending this made his stomach twist, and, God, he hated that. Hated that he even gave a damn about it. "Nope," House said, shaking his head once.

He wouldn't ask Foreman what had changed, what had made Foreman decide that House was suddenly a worthwhile risk to his reputation; it was a pathetic, needy question. It was bad enough that the question was nagging at him, and it would be even worse if he actually spoke it. There were times when pushing Foreman would get him what he was after, but House had a feeling that this time, if he pushed, it would encourage Foreman to dump him for his own good, pursue more job interviews, end up in L.A., and leave House in the Princeton dust. Again. No, he'd dig for answers another way, keep it in the back of his mind for later. He was interested, but he could wait.

Without any explanation, House turned and left the room, returning to Foreman's living room to stretch across the couch. He turned on the TV to make his brain shut up while he absently reached for his Vicodin in his pocket and threw one back.

Foreman focused on shaving, making each movement count, so that he wouldn't have to think too hard about what House wanted after House walked away from the conversation. Maybe House wasn't dumping him, or trying to make Foreman do the honours, but what did he think would happen if he brought Foreman's attention to everything he was giving up because he'd chosen to pursue what had to be a dead-end relationship? Foreman was enjoying it, but he couldn't think in terms of forever, or even beyond a few months. They'd drive each other insane eventually. Foreman didn't want to end it; his shoulders tensed further when he thought about it. Little things, like tickling House just because he could, or the look on House's face when Foreman had walked in on him in the showers at work. He'd never get to see that again, or take those liberties.

He liked knowing where he stood. He liked knowing the odds of any decision before he made it. But with relationships, it was easier to put the burden of feelings and meaning on someone else. Foreman could easily go along, make the gestures he needed to make, say the right things, without taking responsibility for the outcome. He knew he wasn't perfect--most often, he let his girlfriends do the dumping, and it was easy enough to accept because he wasn't over-involved. That was safe. His career didn't come into it.

With House, he'd finally found a situation where his two strategies conflicted--putting his career first, and letting a relationship alone and unexamined as long as he could. Foreman finished shaving, wiped the last of the gel from his face, and went into the bedroom to find some clothes. He dressed without thinking very hard about what he looked like, choosing the checked suit and a blue shirt and tie. Wandering out to the living room, he glanced at the television from where he stood behind the couch, then down at House's sprawl. Foreman didn't really mind having him there. It would be nice if the world saw fit to stay out of his damn business, but he knew better than to expect that. "Ready to go?" he asked, deciding to let the conversation drop. If their relationship became a problem, or it wasn't worth it anymore, they could deal with it then. House was the one who had a problem being happy, not him.

House waited, letting the television distract him from thinking too much about Foreman and his motivations, about his own damn insecurities. He heard when Foreman left the bathroom, half-waiting for him to restart the conversation and tell him, for once, that he was right, that his reputation was more important than anything else. So, goodbye, House, get the hell out. He'll see him at work, until he got a better job and a boyfriend who won't damage his precious rep. House would admit that he didn't want this to become common knowledge, but the reasons were different. Privacy protection. He didn't need lectures and advice. Everyone judged him already, and he didn't care about what people would think about his life, and his preferences, and his choices, as long as they wouldn't interfere. And House knew they would. He wouldn't get fired over something like this--his job was safe; Cuddy wouldn't fire him if he burned the damn building down--but he didn't need noses sticking into his life.

Nothing came from Foreman, however, and he arrived in the living room dressed with the usual, asking casually if he was ready to go. Foreman was dropping the conversation, and it was probably better. Almost a relief, since it meant that Foreman was still running with this, despite the potential for irreversible career damage. He was still worth something. "Been ready," he said, swinging his legs down from the couch and standing up. He headed toward the door. "It's you who've been primping yourself for the last fifteen minutes."

Foreman rolled his eyes at House's impatience. "I know for you shaving counts as primping," he said. "For the rest of the world, it's pretty simple." Foreman definitely wasn't going to tell House that he liked his stubble, liked how it felt against his skin when they kissed, and especially the scrape and rasp against his stomach when House blew him. The thought brought a smug smirk to his lips, and he shook his head as he watched House get up. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV before following House to the door.

Still, Foreman felt edgy, as if dropping the subject wasn't quite a good enough resolution to the problem. As if House was going to be stewing over it for who knew how long, getting himself worked up just because Foreman wore a certain tie or looked at him a certain way. Foreman didn't need the eventual aggravation of House throwing stupid accusations at him because they hadn't finished this at the right time. He caught up to House at the door and grabbed his arm to pull him close. "You're going to have way too much fun lying to Cuddy," he said, letting some of the morning's satisfaction show in his voice, in the tilt of his head. He reached up to cup the back of House's neck and tugged him into a kiss, just long enough to forget about the conversation.

"Simple primping," House said. Preening yourself for public appearances. Another way Foreman revealed his obsession with his reputation, with being judged well. As if his appearance could earn him respect. He wanted to tell Foreman that all of that wasn't what mattered, but Foreman wouldn't change any more than he would, except Foreman was a delusional moron, in this case. Good thing for him House happened to like his more redeemable qualities. House reached for the door, but stopped when Foreman grabbed his arm.

He turned, had enough time to feel a grin start to pull at the corner of his mouth before Foreman pulled him into a kiss. This wouldn't make his thoughts go away--he'd put them to the side, never out of sight, to investigate later--but House let them fade to the background, tilting his head to push back, deepen the kiss. When the kiss tapered off, House leaned back, hand still on the door, and let his grin form fully. He quirked his eyebrows, trying to look devious, and pulled open the door. "I can never have too much fun lying to Cuddy. I can mock her, and you. Probably your hypothetical interviewer. What do you say, breakfast interview? Coffee came out of your nose when I joined you and your stuffy potential employer at your table? We need to cover details or she'll never buy it."

Foreman let the kiss linger, and grinned as House pulled away. As long as House was mocking him, he wasn't brooding over things they couldn't change. He already knew what direction House's jabs would take, and by now he was prepared for them.

"You can make up all the details you want," he said, locking the door as they headed for the elevators. "She's going to believe what I tell her." Which wouldn't be much. Many fake details and Cuddy would probably be able to figure out that the interview was a figment of his imagination. She knew all the hospital administrators within easy travelling distance, and she'd get suspicious if Foreman tried to pretend anyone farther away was actively recruiting him.

He pushed the call button and said, "I have to act pissed off. You can be as smug as you like." House would have it easier. Despite being shoved in House's closet, Foreman still felt damn good, and it would be hard not to laugh, especially if House started regaling Cuddy with his version of events. The best he could hope for was to not picture House pinned beneath him, yanking Foreman down on top of him and begging him to fuck him harder.

House frowned, slightly disappointed that Foreman refused to conspire with him about details, but Foreman was probably right--again, damn it. Cuddy, if she was on top of her game today, wouldn't listen to a word he said; she'd believe Foreman. At least his ridiculous details would make Foreman's story sound more believable. His mocking might actually serve a purpose other than his own enjoyment, and since that purpose was advantageous to him, he had no reason not to run with it.

House leaned against the wall, waiting for the elevator with Foreman, and grinned at Foreman's invitation to act as smug as he'd like. Not that he needed permission. It would be tempting to throw in sexual innuendos--nothing that would give them away--just to see Foreman squirm, but it would be counterproductive. If Foreman fucked up his story, they'd both be caught. He'd save those for later, maybe around the team, maybe another day, but it would be too hard to keep himself from holding back to catch Foreman's reactions. It would happen eventually, and Foreman knew it as well as he did. It was natural behavior for him. Anger, however, wasn't completely natural for Foreman, though House knew a lot of ways to piss him off.

"Why act pissed off when you can be pissed off?" House asked, stepping into the elevator when the doors opened. "I bet I can piss you off between now and the time we get to work. Can add to that ketchup stain with a semen sample. Another stain on your nice leather interior." House wondered if just the talk of it would irritate Foreman. Even if he didn't follow through, genuine anger would be hard to dismiss, and Foreman would have an easier time channeling that energy into a good excuse. House could deal with Foreman being pissed off for a good cause; it was nothing new. Plus the make-up sex would be good later--Foreman taking out all that energy into fucking him hard, fucking him dizzy. He was going to get hard again imagining it.

Foreman snorted at House's claim. No doubt he could do something amazingly irritating between here and the hospital, but Foreman would already know that he was only doing it for the effect. That idea was annoying on its own--that House would deliberately try to frustrate him for the sake of their cover story, and take complete satisfaction in doing it. But the actions themselves, whatever House decided to do, wouldn't be half as infuriating if Foreman not only knew that House was planning it, but also knew why.

"What are you going to do, jerk off while I'm driving?" he said. House wasn't thinking up ways to frustrate him, he was coming out with ways to make him horny. Jesus. If tickling was one way to make House drive off the road, then having House sitting next to him, his pants open and shoved low while he worked his hand over his dick was a surefire way to make Foreman crash. He'd have his eyes glued to the show. He didn't know if House was trying to turn him on or if that really was his idea of a plan, but Foreman wasn't going to let him get away with it without pushing back. Every time he'd told House what he wanted, what he liked, he got to see the slight widening of House's eyes. Apparently the man had an excellent imagination, and Foreman loved putting it to work. "You couldn't come on my seats if I was sucking you off."

House wasn't completely surprised that Foreman dismissed the threat. It wouldn't do much good to make threats now; he'd have to catch Foreman off guard, embarrass him if he wanted to piss him off. Jerking off in the car was probably out, only because it wouldn't accomplish what he'd hoped--beyond the literal goal--and he'd been more than satisfied this morning, despite the hiccup of Wilson's unannounced visit. "I could," House said lightly, wondering if Foreman's imagination was cranking out the images that his was. It would be amusing to watch Foreman torn between watching the road and watching him.

His imagination started producing different ideas when Foreman spoke again, and House knew it was just as much of an empty threat--well, empty suggestion--as his had been. He could imagine himself in the driver's seat, Foreman leaning over the shifter with his head in his lap, sucking him off as he drove. Making him come at a red light, or in his parking space. House was tempted to start jerking off, threaten to actually follow through on coming on Foreman's leather just to see if Foreman would prevent it that way. Jesus, he felt like a damn twenty year old, getting horny less than a couple hours after having great sex. "Are you offering to give me road head?" he asked, his options still open even if Foreman scoffed again. He'd find another way to piss Foreman off if he had to.

"I don't think you're serious," Foreman said, satisfied with House's intrigued look. "I wouldn't have to, since you won't actually do it." He'd definitely started House thinking along the same lines as he was. And apparently he'd broken through House's performance anxiety. A few days ago, House hadn't seen any advantage for himself if he let Foreman watch; now he'd practically offered to put himself on display. Foreman felt his skin grow warmer under his clothes at the thought. He wasn't in danger of getting a hard-on just imagining it, not after this morning, but he could enjoy the mild excitement of talking about it, taunting House, knowing that he was picturing it too.

The elevator paused on the next floor down. Foreman nodded at the woman who got on, and smiled a bit awkwardly. He vaguely knew her face from running into her at the mailboxes. As the doors closed again, he carefully avoided looking at House, doing his best to stay confident, even though he was certain that House would take the opportunity to continue the conversation as if they were alone.

House squinted at Foreman, cocking his head to the side. Foreman seemed so sure, so pleased with himself and the belief that he could call House's bluffs. House wondered what Foreman's reaction really would be if he decided not to bluff. Maybe Foreman wouldn't be so quick to shoot down what he said then, if he actually followed through this time. The idea was ridiculous, and it made House a little nervous, but he wanted to prove Foreman wrong. He could embarrass him after that, piss him off with extra ease because he'd be feeling extra-smug about making Foreman eat his words.

House was about to reply, but stopped when the doors opened, and a woman stepped onto the elevator. She had a strange, uncomfortable smile on her face. Foreman wasn't looking at him, as if he didn't want to be acquainted with him, or he was trying to tell him to shut the hell up just with his brainwaves. They were both about to get more uncomfortable. House leaned back against the elevator, letting his slight grin sneak into his voice. "You know I've taken the opportunity to rise to a challenge literally before," House said, not bothering to step closer to Foreman or lower his voice.

Foreman's back tensed even further when House looked from the woman to him. House would never miss an opportunity to embarrass him--in front of the fellows, in front of his neighbours. House thought he was being a rebel by outing Foreman, but it wasn't that; it was the crappy double entendres and even crappier attempts at winking broadly at him when it was blatantly obvious to everyone in the elevator what he was talking about. House was happy when he was in control; he probably wouldn't find it so amusing if Foreman grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and kissed him soundly in front of someone else. "It wasn't a challenge," Foreman said briefly, still not looking at House. It was a solution to a problem. If he pushed House far enough, in some respects, House would actually back down, which was good to know. Foreman smiled even more apologetically at the woman, relieved when the elevator doors opened and she left the building ahead of them.

Foreman turned to House once the door had closed behind her, shaking his head. House made him do the most ridiculous things; he still couldn't get over the fact that he'd ambushed House in the showers. Just because it had been hot didn't make it an act he was trying to top. "You know, I'd out you to your neighbours, but I have a feeling you already managed that this morning."

House felt entirely pleased with himself to see Foreman tense, his grin growing wider. "Really?" he answered, stepping closer to Foreman. "Sounded like a challenge to me. Think I can't do it in your car?" He caught Foreman's apologetic smile, and the woman's slightly widened eyes before she left the elevator, and backed against the wall when Foreman immediately got in his face. He looked down at Foreman, meeting his eyes directly as if he were backing away from the challenge if he didn't maintain eye contact. This really was making him want to jerk off in Foreman's car, almost hoping that someone would catch some of the action as they drove by them, just to see Foreman squirm. It might be embarrassing for him--he was barely used to putting on a show for one person, nevermind some stranger passing by--but he had a feeling he'd be too focused to care once he got started. And Foreman's voice, all that smooth confidence in his voice, made him want to take him down a notch even more.

Foreman's words might have given him pause, but he had a feeling that at least one of his neighbors already knew anyway. Months ago, he'd used a male escort service. He'd wanted it rougher, harder than a woman could give it to him, wanted to get fucked and let go, and he'd opened the door to a tall, muscled guy who called himself Emilio and, coincidentally, his upstairs neighbor in 221C as she was turning away from the mailboxes with a raised eyebrow. He was willing to bet that information would wipe the smug clean out of Foreman, at least for now, not to mention make those eyebrows raise with intrigue that House was not planning on satisfying. Even more fun. House paused, pretending to be horrified, before he shrugged and said, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I outed myself to my neighbor about six months ago. If I'd known you wanted to do the honors, I would have saved myself." He held Foreman's gaze for a moment, just to see the wheels spin, before the elevator door binged, and House stepped out first, heading for the door with a small smile on his face.

House's look of horror didn't convince Foreman in the least. His over-the-top hysteria only showed that Foreman's insinuation didn't even touch him. It wasn't what Foreman had expected, but House immediately provided the reason, looking far too satisfied with himself.

Foreman stared at House for a second before he forced himself to wrench his eyes away. Probably giving House exactly the reaction he'd wanted, and Foreman didn't even know if he was telling the truth. House might just be screwing with him, either to make him jealous or to make him picture it. And the bastard had managed both. Foreman wanted to know who the guy was, how it had happened. What it had looked like. Whether the guy had pushed House down like Foreman had, made House desperate for it like he had. Enough to make House beg.

Foreman wanted to think that House was lying, but there was really no reason for him to. Foreman wasn't so possessive or so naive as to think he was the first guy House had slept with. He'd obviously been fucked before, enough to know how much he liked it. And from the intensity of House's stare when he actually told Foreman about it, he'd liked taking it from whoever the guy had been. Six months ago. It was ridiculous to think the timing meant anything. It had nothing to do with the fact that Foreman had just quit, but Foreman couldn't help thinking it. He hadn't even been thinking about House six months ago, so it was stupid to think that House had been imagining him. He was a fucking idiot for even letting the idea enter his head.

Questions burned in his chest, but Foreman knew better than to ask them. House might be smug now, but asking anything would make him insufferable. Foreman had enough clues to work it out: House didn't look for relationships and, despite the first time they'd slept together, didn't pick people up in bars. He did use prostitutes. So probably it had meant nothing--just getting off. That eased the tension in Foreman's chest slightly. There was no fucking reason to be jealous. So House's neighbour had seen something, or heard something. Foreman didn't care.

He followed House out of the elevator, trying to shake loose the image of some faceless "escort" looming above House, fucking him, and the exact look on House's face when he gave in to his orgasm. "So you just want me to finish the job," Foreman said as they walked out of the building, managing to sound only slightly pissed off. House might be out to his neighbours, but that wasn't the same as it happening at work. Or in public, if House went through with his threat. Foreman almost wanted him to. House wouldn't be thinking about some guy he'd paid to fuck him while Foreman was going down on him. He'd be saying Foreman's name, coming because of Foreman.

As House walked, Foreman's stare, that shocked expression, burned into his brain. House almost laughed. Foreman had walked right into that one. House wasn't sure what Foreman thought his history was like--admittedly, it wasn't all that much--but apparently not like that. He wondered what Foreman was thinking, how much he'd put together, if he'd ask for more details because, God, this had to be killing him. House snickered to himself, hearing the irritation in Foreman's voice when he spoke. Foreman was showing off the buttons to push, and there was no way House could resist prodding and showing as much as glee as he liked while he did it.

"Nothing to finish." Unless, House thought, Foreman was planning on fucking him in Wilson's or Cuddy's or his own office to 'finish the job'. "The guy pulled screams out of me loud enough to let my whole block know I was getting fucked." House would have stepped closer to Foreman, made this just for him to hear, but a casual display would probably eat at Foreman more, and House leaned back against the passenger door of Foreman's car and spoke with a casual, musing tone. "Think there's still a dent in the wall behind the headboard. Had to hold on for that kind of ride." Now that House was remembering it, he had to admit that it actually had been good. A hard, brutal fuck to let go and get off. The guy's fingers gripping his hips hard, pulling him back and making him take all of that dick all the way inside. Squeezing his ass as he pounded into him, telling him how much he knew that House liked it and House's own voice helplessly grinding out that yes, God, yes I like it, just like that, fuck me like that. House snorted a laugh. "He didn't even have to jerk me off when he was fucking me to make me come."

He wondered if Foreman's visions--House was sure that Foreman's imagination was spinning almost against his will--were anything close to what had happened. Foreman might try to convince himself that House was lying, just screwing with him, but House bet that Foreman would be able to recognize that he wasn't. House met Foreman's eyes, waiting for him to unlock the door, hoping to see Foreman silently fighting with himself. He was tempted to drag Foreman back to his place after work, just to see if he'd check the wall, but he figured Foreman can torture himself for a day or two before House let him back in--way more fun. Now that he was thinking of it, this would probably make Foreman agitated enough at work to make his excuse seem that much more genuine, even if Foreman was really entertaining thoughts of how this mystery guy fucked the hell out of House.

Foreman stalked to the car, trying his damnedest to block out House's casual, amused voice telling him exactly what he didn't want to hear. So he'd had a fucking amazing time. Foreman didn't need details to spur his imagination on; he was already picturing it far too vividly. House on his stomach, rubbing his cock against the bed, moaning for it while the guy shoved in. Not asking, taking it for granted that House was desperate for it. Leaning down over him, whispering roughly in House's ear God, you're fucking hot for it, aren't you? I know how bad you want it. How much you like it. And House answering with his whole body, thrashing, pushing back in uneven, needy thrusts. Foreman hated the whole scenario, hated himself for not having the self-control to think of something else, anything else. It didn't matter.

But this wasn't the same thing as House exchanging a few juvenile comments with Terzi. Foreman didn't care what the hell House had done in the past. It was over, it hadn't meant anything, and House had asked him for reassurance, had wanted to make sure that Foreman wouldn't leave him. House had been--and still was--jealous over Marty, and that was the stupidest thing Foreman could imagine. The L.A. position was a job he didn't even want with a man who was a casual friend at best, but House had treated it like Foreman was conducting some cross-continental romance of the ages just because Marty had left a goddamn phone message.

He wasn't going to throw that in House's face. He was better than that, and besides, House didn't need any fucking confirmation that his little story had frustrated Foreman. Foreman might be acting like a jealous, possessive prick, but he had a reason to; it wasn't some little fantasy he'd conjured up in his own head. It was infuriating that he knew he was reacting the way House wanted. House was spilling details as if he was trying to prove just how good he'd had it with a man he'd paid. The guy couldn't have given a shit about House. He'd been doing a job, and no matter how hard House had come, the guy had only been doing what he had to in order to get his hands on some cash. Foreman wasn't using House--that was the last thing on his mind, and House knew it, since Foreman had told him he was with House despite a whole hell of a lot of issues. It wasn't just sex between them. Christ, he couldn't believe that it was House's random fuck with a sex worker that made Foreman realize that, but it was true. He didn't care about House's exploits; he cared about whether he measured up, and whether House was mocking him for any reason other than it amused him to piss Foreman off.

Foreman was sure his anger showed on his face, as much as he tried to bottle it up. He forced his features into his most neutral expression, but House knew him too fucking well, and he'd see Foreman's jaw clenching, his shoulders knotting, the impatient way he unlocked the car and pulled the door open, sliding into the driver's seat, glaring at the steering wheel as he turned on the car and waited for House to get in. No matter how sulky it made him look, he wasn't interested in answering House's taunts.

It didn't escape House's notice when Foreman's irritation escalated into anger, and House couldn't force his grin from stretching into a full smile. He could see Foreman's thoughts racing through his head. That glimpse of possessiveness, that Foreman was jealous of an escort that House had hired for a hard--but great--fuck, made House more pleased than he should feel. But it was good to know that Foreman could get jealous, wasn't that sure of himself, and wanted House enough for himself to feel like this. Feel it so much he couldn't help showing it.

This, House had to admit, made him wonder about Foreman's former encounters, relationships with men. He doubted Foreman ever hired an escort, not when he can pick up practically anybody he wanted. He still wasn't sure if he and Marty had had a--something. He wasn't about to ask, because this was about Foreman's frustration. And he'd be damned if he didn't try to push Foreman even further, see how jealous he could get, how angry this could actually make him. Foreman had seemed to move in to a stage of ignoring him; he didn't even seem interested in fighting back, but House knew it was getting to him, even if Foreman wasn't speaking.

House watched Foreman get into the car, heard the doors unlock, and reached for the handle. Before he opened the door, he weighed his options, wondering what he could do to poke at Foreman's patience. It wasn't just about pissing him off--that was a good side effect, considering their goals for pulling off a believable story to other people for this morning--but it was also about learning. It was more information that House could learn, take note of, see what mattered to him. It would be easier to poke Foreman's buttons if Foreman couldn't really stop him, and House opened the back door instead and climbed into the back seat to sit behind the front passenger seat.

House closed the door, setting his t-shirt and cane aside, and looked at Foreman's reflection in the rear-view mirror, then down at his own crotch. Between the taunts about a show in the car and his encounter with Emilio, House was already semi-hard. He absently rubbed himself over his jeans. If he actually went through with it, put on a show, right there, in the car, it would accomplish a few things. He'd get off--never a bad thing. He'd prove that Foreman couldn't always call his bluffs, and would probably kick Foreman's anger up another notch because he not only choose to do it in the backseat where Foreman would have trouble participating and watching but also because House could talk about his random encounter while he did it, and Foreman wouldn't be able to shut him up. House glanced quickly out the windows--nobody around yet, a good time to get started--and unfastened his jeans, shoved them with his boxer-briefs partly down his legs, and took himself in his hand. He let his head fall back against the seat as he stroked himself, wondering when Foreman would glance back at him and notice. Might as well give him a reason to shift his attention. "That guy wasn't as good as this guy I knew during my residency. Roommate," he said, partly nervous about even talking about this, but still wanting to give Foreman even more material to fume over. He didn't have much, but he could supply enough fodder to get Foreman's gears turning even more. "Had me sucking his cock before he bent me over a stack of boxes the day he moved in. Probably outed myself to those neighbors, too."

November 17, 2007 - Morning

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