House wasn't sure that he'd have the presence of mind, the concentration to study Foreman through his orgasm, but House's mind started sharpening, the cloud lifting just enough when Foreman reacted automatically. It was like House's touch had flipped some kind of invisible switch, like he'd slipped a damn quarter into one of those kiddie rides, because Foreman couldn't fucking stop. It was good, but, God, it was almost too good, his dick sensitive to the point that it almost hurt, made him jerk every time Foreman came down on him and rubbed. House focused on Foreman's face, watching when Foreman started babbling, staring when Foreman came, when the first spurt made him flinch slightly with surprise and fell on his stomach. House refused to blink, still breathing fast himself. Jesus. You look so fucking hot, you have no fucking idea. When Foreman started coming down from his orgasm, House let Foreman's dick slide out of his hand and laid his hand, slippery with some of Foreman's come, palm-up on his hip.
Fuck, that was intense. House almost didn't want to acknowledge it, just wanted to let his eyes close as Foreman carefully climbed off him and sank down, sprawled out next to him. He'd rather focus on getting his breathing back to normal, hear himself draw long, deep breaths, instead of what Foreman had offered, and he'd done by accepting it. He didn't try to nudge Foreman away when he got closer, not yet, but didn't echo Foreman's laugh when he spoke. House didn't want to think about that either, even though he knew he would later, think about what this meant even though it was the last thing he really wanted to think about. It would be so much easier if he could chalk this up to hot make-up sex and forget about the reasons it had happened. House tried to turn his attention to Foreman's warmth, the way he was still half-slung over him, not wanting to move, but feeling like he should give Foreman more of a fight or Foreman might start to raise an eyebrow at him and dig. He had to get cleaned up soon, anyway, before he made himself at home and ensconced himself in a cover-cocoon.
House felt the warm streaks of Foreman's semen on his stomach, some on his chest, could catch the smell of it when he inhaled. Sex and sweat, and he had not expected this when he'd barged in here. Fuck, Foreman had lost it, and the mess was worth it. House dragged a fingertip through it, following the line of hair down his stomach, and raised his hand to paint a line across Foreman's face, over his cheekbone, flashing a wide grin before wiping his finger dry on his own hip.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-04-15 11:35 am (UTC)Fuck, that was intense. House almost didn't want to acknowledge it, just wanted to let his eyes close as Foreman carefully climbed off him and sank down, sprawled out next to him. He'd rather focus on getting his breathing back to normal, hear himself draw long, deep breaths, instead of what Foreman had offered, and he'd done by accepting it. He didn't try to nudge Foreman away when he got closer, not yet, but didn't echo Foreman's laugh when he spoke. House didn't want to think about that either, even though he knew he would later, think about what this meant even though it was the last thing he really wanted to think about. It would be so much easier if he could chalk this up to hot make-up sex and forget about the reasons it had happened. House tried to turn his attention to Foreman's warmth, the way he was still half-slung over him, not wanting to move, but feeling like he should give Foreman more of a fight or Foreman might start to raise an eyebrow at him and dig. He had to get cleaned up soon, anyway, before he made himself at home and ensconced himself in a cover-cocoon.
House felt the warm streaks of Foreman's semen on his stomach, some on his chest, could catch the smell of it when he inhaled. Sex and sweat, and he had not expected this when he'd barged in here. Fuck, Foreman had lost it, and the mess was worth it. House dragged a fingertip through it, following the line of hair down his stomach, and raised his hand to paint a line across Foreman's face, over his cheekbone, flashing a wide grin before wiping his finger dry on his own hip.