House hadn't come looking for him, he'd come looking because something he was sure of was a little different than he'd thought. He couldn't stand the fact that Foreman might not stay put. House seemed to think that caring meant knowing where Foreman was every second of the day. Foreman didn't want that kind of control, that kind of closeness. But he couldn't shove free, or escape. House was shouting in his face, pushing into his space because Foreman refused to back up. He wasn't going to give an inch, not even if everything House was saying terrified him. This was real. He knew that, but now House was telling him, and it set his heart racing, anger and anxiety clenching in his stomach. He wanted House to stop talking. So House only said the words when it was important. Foreman wasn't ready for it to be this important, this fast. He needed a way out.
He grabbed the front of House's coat, squeezing the material in his fist, giving one short jerk. "I know what's real," he said, and then gave a sharp shake of his head, pulling House even closer so that he was speaking, low and intense, next to House's ear. "Maybe I should get you hard, blow you until you're aching to come, and then walk away. Maybe that'd be real enough for you." Foreman backed off enough to meet House's eyes, to see if he got it yet, keeping his grip on House's coat. Fantasize all you want. Touch yourself, tell me everything, whatever you want. Just don't disappear after you start something. House thought Foreman going out to dinner was some kind of revenge, but it was nothing even close. Revenge would be hotter, and worse for House. Foreman would spread him out on his bed, on his back, kneel between his legs and suck his dick until House was babbling, mixing words and groans as he lifted his hips and tried to get more. And then Foreman would back off, leave the room. Even better if House couldn't do anything about it himself, hands trapped, left hanging. Foreman focused on that image, already feeling warmer. It was the safest thing to think about, not about whether what he and House had was something real.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-04-10 05:06 pm (UTC)He grabbed the front of House's coat, squeezing the material in his fist, giving one short jerk. "I know what's real," he said, and then gave a sharp shake of his head, pulling House even closer so that he was speaking, low and intense, next to House's ear. "Maybe I should get you hard, blow you until you're aching to come, and then walk away. Maybe that'd be real enough for you." Foreman backed off enough to meet House's eyes, to see if he got it yet, keeping his grip on House's coat. Fantasize all you want. Touch yourself, tell me everything, whatever you want. Just don't disappear after you start something. House thought Foreman going out to dinner was some kind of revenge, but it was nothing even close. Revenge would be hotter, and worse for House. Foreman would spread him out on his bed, on his back, kneel between his legs and suck his dick until House was babbling, mixing words and groans as he lifted his hips and tried to get more. And then Foreman would back off, leave the room. Even better if House couldn't do anything about it himself, hands trapped, left hanging. Foreman focused on that image, already feeling warmer. It was the safest thing to think about, not about whether what he and House had was something real.