House listened to Wilson rattle off details. It had to be a lie. Wilson was good at formulating details and making them believable, but it was hard to buy this one. It was hard to determine what was off about it; he was having trouble thinking it through, with the memory of the last hour or so still raging through his brain. He rolled his eyes when Wilson started talking about rearranging the nurses' standings. "Relax," House said. "Cardiology babe's still got the top spot. Who wouldn't want to do that and stick your face in that cleavage?" House really wasn't interested in ranking nurses; it somehow made his thoughts circle back around to Foreman. He just wanted to fucking forget about it. About all this. Fuck, he wished he could. And he wished Wilson would shut up.
"And Foreman was the one thinking with his dick," House snapped, even though he knew two things: one, Foreman wasn't here to defend himself, not that House cared at all; two, it was a lie, because, locker room incident aside, Foreman wouldn't allow himself to be led around by his dick. Sure, they might have been drawn into the sex, but there had been a certain--No. House stopped his train of thought short. The fact that he knew it went beyond good sex was part of the reason why he had to do this tonight--push until Foreman didn't have the chance to decide to cut this to an end House couldn't control, because he would. That much seemed clear. Sooner or later. "Unless fucking me through the floor needs a little more explanation. I'm not the one thinking with my dick when he's the one spreading me open"--Maybe if he was as crude as he could manage, then Wilson would stop asking questions--"and holding me down, and pushing his dick as far up my ass as he could. If anything, I'm thinking with my prostate." And my dick, House added silently, trying not to imagine how damn good it felt while Foreman was thrusting into him, rubbing just there, with his hand wrapped around his cock. Stroking him inside and out, and giving him a chance to have what he needed, but wouldn't admit.
House realized, with each passing block, that Wilson was wandering away from the hospital. Trying to be subtle about it. When House noticed the way Wilson was headed--west--he glared at him, unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for his cane. "Pull over," he demanded. Wilson's interference was sometimes, almost comforting, but this--he didn't want this. Sometimes Wilson didn't know when to back off. So House would do it for him. "Pull over. I'll get a cab if you won't take me home."
no subject
"And Foreman was the one thinking with his dick," House snapped, even though he knew two things: one, Foreman wasn't here to defend himself, not that House cared at all; two, it was a lie, because, locker room incident aside, Foreman wouldn't allow himself to be led around by his dick. Sure, they might have been drawn into the sex, but there had been a certain--No. House stopped his train of thought short. The fact that he knew it went beyond good sex was part of the reason why he had to do this tonight--push until Foreman didn't have the chance to decide to cut this to an end House couldn't control, because he would. That much seemed clear. Sooner or later. "Unless fucking me through the floor needs a little more explanation. I'm not the one thinking with my dick when he's the one spreading me open"--Maybe if he was as crude as he could manage, then Wilson would stop asking questions--"and holding me down, and pushing his dick as far up my ass as he could. If anything, I'm thinking with my prostate." And my dick, House added silently, trying not to imagine how damn good it felt while Foreman was thrusting into him, rubbing just there, with his hand wrapped around his cock. Stroking him inside and out, and giving him a chance to have what he needed, but wouldn't admit.
House realized, with each passing block, that Wilson was wandering away from the hospital. Trying to be subtle about it. When House noticed the way Wilson was headed--west--he glared at him, unbuckling his seat belt and reaching for his cane. "Pull over," he demanded. Wilson's interference was sometimes, almost comforting, but this--he didn't want this. Sometimes Wilson didn't know when to back off. So House would do it for him. "Pull over. I'll get a cab if you won't take me home."