wooedforyears | November 24, 2007 -- Late Afternoon

November 24, 2007 -- Late Afternoon

For the past week, all during their case, Foreman had been trying to rein House in, demand he pick fellows, try to tell him how to conduct the case, look for a diagnosis, as if he'd respect his Cuddy-given-powers and listen. House had brushed him off (well, until he'd actually been right and his advice actually made sense), thinking that if this was Foreman's idea of retaliation--boss him around in front of his team--then it was pathetic. House wasn't even going to acknowledge it. He intentionally avoided Foreman any other time. After the car ride, and the forced avoidance that followed once they got to work, House realized that it was a tactic he could use. He felt smug about it, imagining Foreman brooding, fuming with possessive jealousy because he'd jerked off to memories of an ex-boyfriend that he didn't even know anymore, hadn't seen since his residency had ended decades ago. But apparently it was enough to get to Foreman; he already felt that possessive over him to get pissed off over something like that, as if people didn't fantasize about ex-partners, or even strangers.

Secretly pleased with himself--it helped that he conned Cuddy into getting the fellows he wanted, too--he'd made Foreman sweat it out. He'd resisted the temptation to knock on Foreman's door and get him so turned on he wouldn't be able to turn him away. He'd masturbated instead, certain that Foreman had jerked off to images of what he'd done in the car. Foreman had gotten so hard then, so horny that he hadn't been able to control himself, and House doubted he'd exercised much control when he was alone. It was all too good.

He sat around for most of Saturday, passing most of the afternoon, considering dropping by Foreman's place just out of curiosity, just to see what the hell Foreman would do. Why not, he thought. He had nothing better to do for the next day and a half and he hadn't had a chance to rub this in Foreman's face at work. He still had a grin on his face when he arrived at Foreman's door, sneaking in with a building resident--the cripple card really came in handy sometimes--and knocked on the door, waiting for Foreman to swing it open.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Foreman wasn't interested in defending Marty, but he couldn't defend himself without telling House--again--that he'd gone out to dinner with a friend. It stuck in his throat to call Marty that now, and Foreman shook his head. "What the hell do you want?" he said. "I'd love to convince you, House, but you don't seem to get it. When I say I'm not interested, that's what I mean. When I say I am--" Foreman stopped and glared at him pointedly, stepping forward, not quite into House's space, not yet enough to stop him from leaving, or moving, or throwing Foreman's words in his face again, but close enough to threaten it. To make it clear that he could. "I mean that too."

Christ, he was an idiot. House kept blowing him off and he was so fucking slow that he wasn't picking up on the message. Foreman let out a disgusted sound. House had pushed him away when Foreman kissed him before, and there was no sign he wouldn't do the same again right now. If Foreman couldn't show him that he was serious, and if nothing he said meant anything to House, then he might as well give up. Foreman brushed past House and bent over the garbage can, scooping the trash aside and pulling his phone out. He dropped it on the counter again, staring down at it, pausing instead of walking away. He'd meant to go back to his office, let House do whatever the hell he wanted in Foreman's apartment since he'd only break in again if Foreman kicked him out. Instead, he rested his hands on the counter, wondering what the hell he was missing. House wanted reassurance. House wanted to know Foreman wasn't leaving. If House didn't want him, then where the hell was this coming from? Just his general, selfish possessiveness? Foreman wouldn't be surprised.

The bitch of it was, Foreman didn't want to get back together with Nathan. Not if the man himself showed up and got down on one knee--or both. They'd broken up for a reason. Actually, far more than one. Nathan lived in Los Angeles; that wasn't where Foreman's life was now. He lived here, he worked here. He was happy here, and he'd been starting to get used to the idea it wasn't in spite of House. The chances of House being able to do much even if he knew anything about Nathan were miniscule. Foreman shook his head, letting out a short, humourless laugh. "His name is Nathan Bell," he said. "He's a civil rights lawyer with the Bononi Group in L.A., or he was when I moved here." Foreman raised his head to level a stare at House. "Why don't you go break into his life and let me know when you're ready to trust me."

House stared at Foreman as he stepped forward, already nearly shouting about what he meant and didn't mean. House was trying to wrap his brain around it all; it had come out of nowhere. He steadied himself against the counter with one hand, trying to focus on Foreman enough to catch it all, hear it through the alcohol-haze. Was Foreman telling him that he mattered? That Foreman actually was interested? In him? When not long ago Foreman had said that he didn't need him? House couldn't form a real response before Foreman turned and braced himself against the counter. House didn't take his eyes off him, and he felt them widen with surprise when Foreman started talking again. Telling him about Nathan. Anything he'd need to know. Volunteering that information, even though Foreman knew House could and was fully capable of diving into it, using every bit of information to his advantage. House blinked, mouth hanging open a few moments after Foreman stopped talking.

"L.A.'s a long plane ride, and I've got a soft spot for lawyers," House finally said, not quite joking, veiling the meaning behind what he'd said, even sharing a little of his own information while he was at it. He owed Foreman that much. I don't give a damn about Nathan. House looked down at his feet, at the floor, and bounced his cane as he chewed on his lip, trying not to let the guilt get to him. He felt like an idiot. He was an idiot. Foreman hadn't taken the God damn card. Even if Foreman had planned to meet Marty behind House's bad, and had done it to piss him off, Foreman hadn't shown an interest in Marty--that much was clear. And Foreman hadn't taken Nathan's card. Hadn't called. Hadn't, as far as he knew, tried to get in contact since their blow-up in the street. He wasn't going to apologize, because this wouldn't have happened if Foreman had never planned that dinner with Marty; this was ultimately not his fault, but it was a little easier to release a little of his conviction that Foreman was going to take a renewed interest in Nathan. Foreman told him, given him all the information he needed, and wasn't hiding. He was trusting him with it.

House drew a deep breath to try to get rid of his anger about Marty, about the dinner. It was still there, but he could ignore it easier now. "For the record," House said, not making a move forward or backward--safer to stay where he was, "you never said you were interested." House paused for a second, glancing up quickly before looking down again, shrugging. "In me."

House realized how idiotic that sounded, and it was what finally caused him to move. He stepped forward, heading past Foreman and toward the door. "Forget it," he said, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter."

Foreman refused to let his gaze drop, even as House struggled to answer him. He knew he'd pretty much just damned Nathan and his firm to some harassing phone calls at the very least. They could count themselves lucky that House was still on this side of the country. House apparently thought so too, although obviously the idea of dropping everything and flying to L.A. crossed his mind. God, he was an obsessive bastard. Foreman didn't know whether to be flattered or worried that he'd made House's list of people to be obsessive about. He raised an eyebrow at House's quick reference to Stacy. If anyone had a right to be jealous about long-over relationships, it was Foreman, since he'd seen that drama play out practically right in front of him. He was pretty sure House had slept with her before she'd left, too. And he'd been there after, seeing House's 'distractions' first hand. But he wasn't jealous--not the stupid, adolescent way he'd been about Terzi, or the anger he still felt about House's old boyfriend. Maybe because he'd seen it end. Because she'd left, and was still married, and either way not coming back. And because House knew it was over, otherwise he wouldn't have taken whatever had given him those migraines. Foreman realized, with a sinking feeling, that he didn't want to do that to House. He didn't want to hurt him.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to stop House from walking away. Not hard or grabbing. He put his hand on House's elbow and stepped in front of him, tipping his head to try and meet House's eyes. House seemed to have let go of some of his anger, and it helped Foreman to relax as well. If House really wanted to leave, Foreman would let him, but not before he had a chance to know what the hell House meant by saying Foreman hadn't said he was interested. "Since when does saying it mean anything to you?" he asked. Foreman couldn't believe House wanted to hear the words. He'd told House yes when House asked if he knew what he was getting into, if they should make this more than just sex. It turned out, if tonight was any evidence, that he didn't know what he was getting into, but he'd never stopped acting like he meant what he said. Even when House brought up how much Foreman's reputation would suffer by being with him, Foreman hadn't left or changed his mind. It was still a problem, it still bothered him, but he hadn't taken it out on House.

And it wasn't as though House had said it either, and his actions were a lot harder to forget and forgive. Foreman swallowed, wondering why the hell he kept doing this. "I'm interested," he said. "I'm not interested in being ignored."

House stopped, let Foreman touch him and block his path. It took a moment for House to look at Foreman, and he couldn't hold his gaze once Foreman spoke. He was right. Words rarely meant anything. He rarely used words like 'thank you' and 'you matter' and 'I love you'. But he used them, and he used them when he meant them, never as empty, meaningless phrases that other people had come to adopt so readily. House stood still, but raised his eyes back to Foreman's as he said, "When they're important."

It didn't take long for Foreman to prod, and House felt his hackles rising at what Foreman said next. "You--" House tried to stop himself from lashing out. He took a breath, let it out. "You ignored me. I went and found you. I get that you're interested now, but the only one who seemed interested then was me." Foreman seemed to have it all backwards, and House believe he kept missing this point. If he was ignoring Foreman, he wouldn't have cared to look. He never would have shown up. He never would stormed out, and kissed Foreman, and tried to get away. He couldn't ignore him, even if he wanted to.

Foreman's heart thudded once, almost painfully hard, when House met his eyes and told him it was important. That he was important. It was practically panic, a rush of adrenaline, and Foreman barely managed to stand his ground, or take a breath. He didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He really didn't. And if it mattered to House, and he already knew it mattered to him--he wouldn't be acting like this, making declarations, if it didn't--then they were both monumentally screwed.

He couldn't believe that House wanted to pin the blame for tonight on him, though. As though if he'd just stayed home, and acted as boring as House liked to accuse him of being, then House wouldn't have been forced to break in, and hunt him down, and storm through the restaurant like a tornado. House's goddamn curiosity was his own fault.

"You haven't talked to me in a week!" Foreman tried to yank back his control, but he'd already looked away before turning back to House, as if there might be someone else in the room he could turn to who'd back him up. "I had to follow Taub to find out where you were doing the differentials." That wasn't what bothered him the most, although it still stung that he'd given House his medical opinion and House had told him to his face that since they didn't agree, House didn't need him around. But that wasn't the worst. House played games at work and Foreman knew that. It was House jerking off in his car. Not the jerking off--which had turned him on, every word out of House's mouth only making him hornier--but the fact that House had walked away from him afterwards. Left him to get himself off, left him like he wasn't worth the time of day, like it wasn't House's fault that he was hard in the first place. Foreman wasn't going to say that. He'd been pathetic, masturbating alone in his car, for all he knew being laughed at by whoever sat at the other side of the security cameras. Losing control for House and House hadn't cared. "How was I supposed to know that you'd give up the silent treatment tonight?" he asked instead, repressing an eye-roll. "I'm not going to wait around for your convenience."

It didn't surprise House when Foreman tried to turn this around and blame him, as if he'd made Foreman spitefully schedule dinner with an asshole that Foreman knew that House hated. As if he'd made Foreman hang back and never approach him, either. Foreman knew he always messed around at work, and he knew that wouldn't change; he wasn't sure why Foreman was even counting that. House didn't step back, stayed close, and narrowed his eyes. "Since when did any treatment ever stop you from doing what you needed to do?" House asked. "It was your choice to hang back."

Foreman's last words, however, sparked a realization, and House stopped talking, drawing up and looking away from Foreman for a second. When he glanced back, he breathed a laugh. Now who was being insecure? "This isn't even about tonight, is it? This isn't even about the whole week. This is about the car. This is about Jake."

Foreman scoffed. So House was telling him don't ask again. He was probably waiting for Foreman to get pissed off and corner him like he had in the locker rooms. Well, Foreman wasn't always going to be the pursuer. There had to be some appeal on House's side, some sense that what Foreman wanted was reciprocated. Foreman liked throwing his weight around, but he didn't want to be forever making the first move. "You act dismissive and then you're surprised that I don't lap it up and ask for more," he said. "First-class logic there, House."

His sarcasm shattered when House brought Jake's name into it. Foreman kept up his stare, not able to deny it, but hoping that all he showed was So what? "I don't care about your boyfriend," he said. He pressed his lips together, his face heating, his anger coming back in waves. He cared about House making him look like an idiot with one hand down his shorts. If he was going to make an idiot of himself, the least House could do was be affected. "You were interested tonight," he said, sneering, throwing House's words back at him, and then he bit down on anything else that might slip out. About whether he was good enough to keep House's interest. Which he certainly didn't seem to be. He stepped out of House's way, leaving the path free to the door, raising an eyebrow as if to say, You're so good at walking away, so go right ahead.

For a second, House felt a sense of victory. He was right. This was about Jake. This was about Foreman's damn insecurities over a fantasy. At least House had been concerned about something concrete, a person still in Foreman's circle, or could easily be reinstated. It didn't take long for that victory to go away. House's posture stiffened, his hand gripping onto his cane tightly, knuckles aching, when Foreman reacted. House could feel his anger rising, his defenses rising with it. His body stayed still, only following Foreman with his eyes when Foreman moved. He swallowed, processing the words, and trying to work up a cool, collected response, something that would leave Foreman with his mouth hanging open as House made for the door. But cool and collected really wasn't happening, and House felt his thoughts ricocheting inside his brain, bouncing down, into his mouth, ready to burst. And House couldn't hold back, not after the way the night--the whole damn week--had gone.

"I am interested!" House blurted out, starting to breathe fast, feel himself getting even more worked up but couldn't stop it. He took another step forward, not to take advantage of the space Foreman left, but to put himself in Foreman's way, trap him against the counter and make him admit what he wanted to say, what House knew he was holding back. "I haven't seen Jake in over a decade, but I came looking for you. Twice." House was so close to Foreman he could lean an inch forward and kiss him; he could barely focus on Foreman's face, glaring at one eye at a time. "I know you care about my boyfriend, because you're it, and if there's one person you care about it's yourself. Or I thought you were. Maybe I'm employing that 'first-class logic' again." House couldn't resist the opportunity to mock, throw those words back in Foreman's face, his anger and frustration, and things he'd wanted to say leaping out between hard breaths. He didn't care if he was breathing fast. Hot air all over Foreman's face. He could fucking move if he wanted to, shove House out of the way. "But I don't know, Foreman. You tell me. Give me a lesson about logic from the guy who can't tell the difference between a fantasy and something real."

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.

Still reeling with anger, hardly able to think clearly, House grunted, slammed his hand against Foreman's chest for balance as Foreman pulled him forward. If Foreman was going to get this physical, pull and shove him this much and with this kind of strength, House didn't stand much of a chance at breaking away. He closed his eyes, pressing into Foreman as hard as he could--he'd play as rough as he could in return, despite the disadvantage--and shuddered at the hot pass of Foreman's breath over his ear. His eyes shot open at Foreman's words and, even though he knew he couldn't win, he pushed back, tried to get away. So Foreman was still pissed off over what had happened in the car. Foreman had practically dared him to do that, and, sure, his own imagination had run away with him, but returning the favor had never been a part of that deal, or bluff, or whatever the fuck it ended up turning into. How the hell Foreman had even expected him to do anything was beyond him--he wasn't going to dislocate his arm reaching between the seats and around Foreman's body to jerk him off. And Foreman had been so fucking arrogant that he'd deserved it.

But if Foreman was going to keep pulling this shit--planning dinners with old friends and investigating job opportunities to piss him off--then maybe letting Foreman do whatever the fuck he wanted would cut straight through the bullshit and leave it behind already, because he was getting tired of it. He didn't think Foreman subscribed to that 'eye for an eye' justice. It was one thing to mess around and play games and call bluffs, but House didn't pull shit that was meant to hurt. Like scheduling dinners with people who could humiliate Foreman, or set House up with a new boyfriend or girlfriend--not that he was really fucking interested. But fine. House could let Foreman work him up, and he'd get himself off, if it would make Foreman get it through his fucking head that shit like that didn't matter in comparison to things like what happened tonight.

House was still close and didn't have much room, but he glared at Foreman, breathing hard, before he tossed his cane into the corner and used the counter on either side of Foreman to brace himself as he toed off his sneakers. His coat ended up on the floor in the dining room, once House got out of it and tossed it through the open archway. He didn't have time to catch the look on Foreman's face; if he stopped for too long, he wouldn't go through with it. His hands fumbled over his belt, worked it open, then his jeans, and shoved them with his underwear down his legs. It was fucking harder than he remembered, especially with his head still cloudy with alcohol, to step out of the crumpled heap of fabric. He had to take most of his weight on his arms and lean into Foreman for a second--he didn't want to, but there wasn't much of a way around it--but he finally managed to get free and stand up. Leaning his weight to his left, he stretched out his arms, stared Foreman in the face, and said, "Fine! Go ahead! Maybe you should." He sounded as fierce as he could, refusing to look down at himself, past his t-shirt to see the rest of him under the harsh florescent light of the kitchen.

Foreman grunted and let go of House's coat when House planted a hand on his sternum and shoved, rocking Foreman back on his heels. House was just as unsteady and Foreman nearly reached for House's elbows to keep him on his feet. His first instinct was still to help, whether House would let him or not. Before he could, House was pushing off him, throwing his cane away. Foreman followed it with his eyes, having no clue what House was trying to accomplish. "What the hell are you--" he started, but when he looked back, House was leaning against him, arms on either side of him. Foreman's breath caught, his blood pounding in his ears, feeling frozen. As much as he liked the image he'd conjured for himself, he didn't want to fuck House for revenge. They both enjoyed pushing each other in bed. Struggling to see who could hold out and who would beg. That wasn't the same as what House was doing, throwing sex on the table like Foreman had demanded it in exchange for something. House was already out of his coat and working open his belt, and Foreman couldn't push him away without knocking him off his feet. The heat of House's breath against his neck when he leaned in made Foreman's heart race. His groin tightened, a quick, instinctive reaction, and Foreman drew in a sharp breath.

"What's this going to solve?" Foreman demanded. He had no idea what to do. It wasn't like he wanted to turn House down. The fury in House's offer turned him on, reminded him of the way he could make House shut up and turn needy and pliant by touching him just right. House was standing in front of him, half-naked, and Foreman couldn't imagine that he'd ever get the chance again, if House thought he was saying no now. "I'm not going to fuck you to get back at you," he said, frowning, reaching out as if he could keep House from running, slipping his hands under House's t-shirt and finally spreading his fingers to grip House's hips.

Confusion seemed to break its way through the anger on Foreman's face, but House wasn't about to let go of his. Standing half-naked with his chest heaving and his heart racing wasn't the time to back down. And how the fuck would that look? Like a dog shrinking back with its tail between its legs. He'd collect his clothes, dress as furiously as he could to preserve his dignity, leave, and then Foreman could see what it was like to be ignored and avoided. Fuck. No, he wasn't going to let Foreman off the hook. "You're the one criticizing my logic, and you're the one who suggested it, so maybe you could tell me what it's supposed to solve," House said, the volume of his voice under control. His tone was vicious, and he fixed his eyes on Foreman's face, trying to stand as straight as he could.

House's anger slipped for a split-second as Foreman gently curved both hands around his hips, but House regained it, ignoring Foreman's touch, refusing to acknowledge it. Maybe it wasn't clear. Maybe Foreman needed another damn clue, and House almost lost his balance as he stripped off his shirt, stumbling when he threw it onto the floor. He had to reach out and steady himself with a hand on Foreman's shoulder but he let go as soon as he could, dropping his arms to his sides. This was fucking insane. He could hardly remember what he was trying to prove anymore, except that what he'd done to Foreman in the car wasn't anything he couldn't handle, wasn't really important in the long run. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, letting his head fall as he breathed hard and fast. His skin was hot. He felt flushed, and he fought the urge to cover himself, suddenly struck with the realization of how vulnerable he'd just made himself. Naked. Without his cane. Standing in front of Foreman in his damn kitchen. No way Foreman had felt this vulnerable back in the car, left to jerk off himself. Fuck. But his pride demanded that he not back down. He couldn't, after going this far.

His voice was even, but low, when he said, "Come on, Foreman. Teach me a lesson. Do whatever you want." Even as he said it, he wasn't sure he had that kind of trust, but Foreman probably wouldn't do any worse than what he'd proposed. And then maybe Foreman would fucking get it.

Fucking House like this--doing anything to him like this--wouldn't solve anything. Whatever they were fighting about. Christ, Foreman didn't even know. House had said this was important, that he was interested, but the way he was trying to prove something, shoving it in Foreman's face, only showed that he didn't think Foreman was taking it as seriously as he did. Foreman tightened his hands on House's hips when he tugged his shirt off, and he couldn't help glancing down House's body. Seeing at his own hands against House's skin. How close they were standing. House's clothes were in a pile under their feet, and he wasn't aroused. He might be offering, but obviously he didn't want it this way, any more than Foreman did. Bringing it back to the level of just fucking, just some transaction, just bodies.

Foreman lifted his eyes to meet House's. Do whatever you want. But it wasn't really about what he wanted. He'd felt hurt. That's all it really came down to, and he'd spent a week stewing over it and making it worse. Foreman had repressed the guilt he'd felt from the moment House had found him and Marty at the restaurant. Hadn't wanted to admit he'd done it to hurt House back. He'd managed that, and more, and fucking House wasn't the way out of it, or bringing him close to the edge and then leaving him. House was giving him full access, whatever he wanted, apparently without expecting anything back. Foreman swallowed hard, slipping his hands around to House's back, pulling him forward, if he'd come. Adrenaline coursed through him, his heart probably pounding loud enough for House to hear. House wanted the words when it was important, but Foreman knew actions still meant more to him. "I want you to fuck me," he said, as steadily as he could, trying his damnedest to meet House's eyes without flinching.

House felt like his heart was trying to beat up his throat and cut off his air supply--he was breathing so fucking fast--and the wait for Foreman's answer seemed to make it worse. The longer he stood there like that, the more idiotic--almost panicky--he felt. Naked, standing there ridiculously exposed, and Foreman's hands touching him like he could ignore all the shit that had happened tonight. Like a damn touch would make it better. House didn't know what the hell he was doing. Didn't know why he'd thought coming back here was a good idea, and he nearly pulled away before Foreman's hands slid around to his back.

House felt himself tense, and he raised his hands to Foreman's arms, not wanting to touch back but to try to keep his distance. He forced himself to stop, not resist, because--fine--if this was what Foreman wanted, he could fucking have it. If Foreman was going to work him up slowly, with lighter touches that got to be too much. If Foreman was going to make him take this standing, then, fine. Didn't fucking matter.

But Foreman's words. Jesus, his words stopped House's thoughts cold, and House only half-realized that his breathing had gone from as fast as a fucking racehorse's to nothing in a second. He blinked, then stared, not believing what he'd heard. "What?" he asked, stalling. Maybe Foreman would even repeat himself. Foreman...No, he couldn't have said that. No way Foreman would let him do that. Every time they'd fucked, it was almost taken for granted that Foreman would fuck House. They'd never talked about it. There had never been a need. But Foreman was trying to tell him now that that's what he wanted--that he wanted House to fuck him. Foreman had just told him that he'd wanted to work House up, and leave him hanging, that he wanted to blow him--hell, maybe even fuck him--get off, and get out. House couldn't connect the dots from that to this. Maybe his logic was taking a hit. Jesus.

House loosened his hold on Foreman's arms, all his anger giving way to confusion as he tried to figure it out, make sure he'd heard Foreman right. He met Foreman's eyes. Foreman looked serious. Fuck. House shook his head, still not believing that that's what Foreman really wanted. "No you don't."

Jesus, he had no idea what he was saying. It was a fucking stupid move. As if sex of any kind could solve a problem. Foreman forced himself to wait, to watch House blink at him and stare as if he'd been possessed or knocked on the head. Once House caught up, maybe he'd get that it wasn't really about the sex. It was something that Foreman didn't do with every guy. He trusted himself, not any one-night stands, not anyone who wasn't important. Foreman wanted to take it back the second House gave him the opening. Tell him he'd misheard. Anything to get out of admitting how important this was. Maybe it didn't matter after all, because House kept on staring, finally blurting out a denial.

"Yeah, I do," Foreman said. It wasn't like he'd never been fucked before. It wasn't new, and it wasn't like he was inexperienced either. It wasn't always what he wanted, or what he preferred, but it was good. It would be good. And if it would show House that he was serious, then yeah, he wanted it. Foreman let go of House's hips long enough to pull his hoodie over his head, dropping it next to House's clothes. Christ, if House could push, and try to prove something, then Foreman could too. He took the last step forward, so that he could feel the heat of House's skin against his. Raising his chin so that they were almost touching, close enough to kiss. His whole body felt like it was vibrating, nerves urging him to run, or shut up, and not tell House one more word. If House was going to challenge him, though, then Foreman wasn't going to back down either. "I want you to finger me," he said. Voice low and hoarse. Heart slamming in his throat. "Work me open. Fuck me."

House snapped his mouth closed, still trying to process this, when Foreman spoke. Yeah, I do. Finger me. Work me open. Fuck me. House blinked again, looking away as he swallowed around the nervous knot in his throat. It wasn't that the idea wasn't appealing--House already felt the stirrings of arousal just imagining it. But this had switched in a second from one direction to the other, and House had been preparing himself to deal with Foreman's 'revenge' in whichever form Foreman decided to dish it out. House hadn't expected this. For the first time, Foreman had done something entirely unpredictable, and House was still trying to catch up.

House squeezed Foreman's biceps before he looked back at Foreman's face. He didn't really have to ask now what Foreman thought this would solve. Prove that it mattered, that Foreman could trust him like this; House could see that. That's not what he thought Foreman wanted, but after all this, maybe it was. Maybe a message had gotten through, and this was Foreman's way of saying he heard it. House watched as he trailed one hand, fingers spread wide, from Foreman's shoulder, down his chest, and to the waist of his pants. He wasn't sure how often Foreman offered this to other guys he'd been with, and for a second, the imagined image of Nathan jumped into his head, and he wondered if Foreman had done that with him. Probably--House wasn't going to ask. It didn't matter. This mattered.

House stepped away from Foreman, but nodded as he did it, taking a few awkward steps to retrieve his cane and start for the bedroom.

It felt like House was never going to answer. Maybe he'd leave Foreman hanging like Foreman had threatened to do to him. He wasn't backing away, either, or shouting in Foreman's face. House's breathing was slower, and he'd glanced down, and Foreman wondered if he'd short-circuited House's anger completely. He'd managed to give House something to think about, anyway, and that terrified him more than being fucked possibly could. House got it. Understood what it meant. Foreman inhaled as House drew his hand down his chest and across his stomach. House's expression was serious. His touch was warm but also careful, evaluating. It still wasn't an answer.

House's nod, though, and his move for his cane, set everything in motion again. Foreman was aware all over again of how hard his heart was beating, and he tried to keep his breathing even. He followed House to his bedroom, glanced at the bed as he opened his fly and pushed his pants and underwear off, kicking them away. Now that he knew where this was going, he had no idea of how to start. He wanted to kiss House, but it felt like they'd made this too deliberate to just grab and push until he had House where he wanted him. Foreman circled the bed, opened the drawer where he kept the lube, and set the bottle and a condom out on the night table. He climbed onto the bed, pushing the bedspread down, and lay down, watching House and hoping like hell he'd follow Foreman's lead without needing a push.

House tried to bat his sudden attack of nerves away as he walked through the hallway and into Foreman's bedroom. He stood there, not knowing what to do, if he should do anything, or just wait as Foreman stripped down. All of a sudden, this seemed deliberate--too deliberate. Almost like an encounter with a prostitute. Quiet, slightly awkward, a haze of uncertainty in his brain. All deliberate, wordless actions. Almost mechanical. He wouldn't tell Foreman any of that, even though he almost desperately wanted to make a joke about putting money on the table along with the lube and condom when Foreman took them out of the drawer. He still was only slightly aroused, but he set his cane aside and followed Foreman onto the bed. He took the condom and lube with him, but let them fall beside Foreman's body, avoiding them for now.

It looked like Foreman could use a little help, too, and even though House still felt awkward, he couldn't think of any other way to get rid of the feeling besides swallowing his uncertainty and starting. Jesus, this was weird. He was already used to Foreman being aggressive, at least pushing and shoving a little, demanding or guiding, or something, not just lying there and waiting. A part of him wanted to dive right in, start blowing Foreman even though he wasn't fully hard yet, get both of them worked up to a fever pitch before giving Foreman what he said he wanted. But he couldn't. It was like trying to prepare himself to dive straight into a cold pool; this was already unexpected enough, and a move like that would shock him into incapacitation. So, still feeling slightly unsure of Foreman wanted to do this, he laid down on his left side, pushing himself farther up Foreman's body. House didn't look at him as he reached out and slowly, lightly, started trailing his fingertips over Foreman's hip. He traced Foreman's hipbone, the lines of muscle in his stomach and up to his chest. His arousal grew a little stronger, his dick starting to firm up slowly, so House kept touching. He leaned down, his hand pressing harder on one side of Foreman's chest, and circled his tongue around Foreman's nipple, still feeling unsure if this was what Foreman wanted but unable to go from a complete stop to full-on in five seconds.

Foreman held back a breath of relief when House joined him, not needing to be coaxed. He still felt uncomfortable, even though they hadn't done anything yet. His offer still hung over him, making him feel like he didn't know what step to take next. If he started shoving House down, pinning him as he kissed him, he'd feel more in control, but the whole point was to not be in control. To show House that he didn't have to be. Foreman started to lean in when House lay down next to him, but he realized that House was reaching for the condom and lube, and he bit his lip, hanging back again. He couldn't meet House's eyes, and House didn't seem to want to say anything or look at him, either. Even lying down next to each other felt more perfunctory than it ever had before. God, what if this didn't work? For either of them? Foreman closed his eyes, but opened them again when he felt House starting to touch him. Hesitantly, but at least he'd started. Foreman nodded, even though House probably wouldn't see. He could feel the urge to move into House's hand, to feel something firmer. This would work. It had started slowly, but Foreman was beginning to feel more than just nerves, and House seemed willing to try.

Foreman breathed in, more than loud enough for House to hear, when House closed his mouth over his nipple. It felt good, and even better was that House knew where he liked to be touched. It was easier then, with the encouragement of the sensation, to start touching back. Foreman reached out and rubbed his hand down from House's side to his ass to pull House closer. He was starting to get hard, and it helped if he didn't have to think. He couldn't quite reach House to kiss him, which would have been the best way to shut his brain off entirely. Instead, he ran his hand along House's side again, then down to his dick. Foreman closed his fist loosely around him and started a slow, firm rhythm, his thumb rubbing along the underside with each pull. He was watching, enjoying the sight, the feeling of making House hard, and that was more than enough to start shedding some of his awkwardness. He shifted his hips forward, starting to breathe more heavily, hoping that House would keep going, maybe start jerking him off the same way.

House felt the change in Foreman's reactions when he started licking his nipple, scraping lightly with teeth before smoothing his tongue over it again. He scooted closer when Foreman urged him to, breaking away for a second before lowering his mouth back down, sucking a little harder. It was hard for him to think about his own arousal when his brain was this preoccupied, but when he felt Foreman's fingers wrap around him, his body started responding before checking in with his brain. It felt good, not intensely pleasurable and not enough to completely displace his awkwardness, but House could feel his arousal growing, could feel himself getting harder with each stroke Foreman gave him.

It still felt...business-like. Foreman touching him and getting him hard just so House could fuck him. House hated that he thought a damn kiss would make a difference, but it was worth a shot--anything to break out of this bizarre awkwardness. He hadn't felt this way the first time they'd had sex. He knew that this was still new, and beyond his personal comfort zone, but he would have thought all the wine he'd stolen at the restaurant would have made it easier. His head was still a little clouded, his coordination just off from the alcohol, but he couldn't stop thinking that this wasn't something usual, for either of them. He really couldn't know with Foreman, how often he'd done this, or how much he actually liked it--or if he just did it to prove something. But he knew that he'd only done this to Jake--not that House was going to start mentioning it now. With any other guy--a casual thing or with a prostitute--he'd always gotten fucked; it was always what he'd wanted, and even with Jake, it had always been his preference. Fucking loved it. With Foreman, too. He wasn't about to start pinpointing why as much as he was going to start thinking about the reasons why this felt so damn awkward.

House tried to push all that away, shifting carefully up Foreman's body and leaning into him to cover his mouth with a kiss. He tried to let himself run on automatic pilot, but he was thinking so fucking much about what he was doing, how he was kissing, and where he was touching. His hand slid down Foreman's chest and over his stomach. House angled his head, kissed harder, pushed his tongue against Foreman's as he wrapped his hand around Foreman's cock, holding tighter than he probably needed to, but trying to move forward. Trying to make himself stop thinking about this, and what it meant. Maybe if he split his attention in too many places, if he got hot enough, turned on enough, he wouldn't be able to give this much thought anymore. He could feel Foreman getting harder in his hand, and, yeah, it was fucking hot. He could feel how Foreman reacted, feel it in the way Foreman touched him, and it made him even harder. He pulled out of the kiss, already breathing a little faster, and lowered his mouth down to Foreman's ear, sucking on his earlobe before moving down to suck hard on his neck as he stroked Foreman's dick. House was getting there himself, still feeling slightly awkward, but now wanting a little more. Foreman had said he'd wanted him. Now House wanted to see it, see what Foreman could do with his body to show him that this was what he wanted.

Foreman opened his mouth as soon as House kissed him. As much as he liked the feeling of House's mouth on his nipple, the hot tease of his tongue, he needed the kiss more. Even that was awkward for a moment, until House adjusted his angle and insisted. Yeah. That was better, and Foreman met House's tongue, sucked on it, shifted into the kiss slightly with each breath he managed to grab. House's hand moved down his body, and Foreman pushed against it, as much as he could, jerking House a little harder, wanting House to take the hint. Foreman moaned, a short, nearly surprised sound, when House wrapped his fingers around him. Tight. Started stroking. Foreman answered as well as he could, keeping up the kiss at the same time as he focused on the heat growing in his groin and mirroring the pace for House. "Yeah," he said, when House broke the kiss for long enough to suck on his neck. Foreman closed his eyes, his mouth still hanging open. The different touches, House's stubble scraping over his neck, the friction and heat of his hand, and the press of his body, were starting to take more of his concentration, not leaving room to be anxious about what he was doing.

They were more or less on their sides, and Foreman pushed before he thought about what he was doing. He shoved House onto his back, following closely, and kissed him again. God, he liked that. Having House under him, and pressing him down while he explored his mouth, his hand still busy on House's dick, firm and hot. Nearly there now. Not hanging back. Foreman could feel his arousal beginning to heat his body from the inside out. He still knew what he wanted, how he wanted this to go, and he wanted to push House into it before he lost his confidence. Foreman swept his right hand over the sheets until he found the bottle of lube, and pushed it into House's hand. "Come on," he said, lifting up from the kiss for a moment, pushing his cock against House's hip. Staring down into House's eyes. At least when he was giving orders he felt sure of himself. "Use that. Touch me."

Foreman's 'yeah' boosted House's confidence, made him stroke Foreman's dick faster. Foreman's eagerness was starting to bleed into him, and House found more of the awkwardness slipping. It disappeared almost entirely when he felt Foreman push him, forced him onto his back. That, and the way Foreman had climbed over him, kissed him, still working his dick, had done more for House in those five seconds than anything so far had. House pushed up into Foreman's hand, felt the heat of his arousal pulsing, spreading up his body, and he was relieved when Foreman pulled away to speak. He almost forgot where this was originally supposed to go until Foreman nudged the lube against his hand, telling him to use it. Even when Foreman got fucked, he apparently didn't like to give up his control. Figured. Not that House was going to complain about it; it was more of what he was used to, and it was easier to spread lube over his fingers, pull Foreman lower and closer, and reach around him when Foreman was pushing him to do it.

House lifted one hand to the back of Foreman's neck, keeping him low, and turned his head to suck along Foreman's collar bone as he slid his finger over Foreman's ass. He felt his heart start racing, his cock throbbing, trapped against his stomach. Awkwardness slipped away when House stopped thinking, pushing his dick against Foreman's body as he worked his finger slowly inside Foreman. House finally let out a sound low in his throat, pushing his finger inside a little more. Foreman was so fucking tight, and House was already starting to imagine how good it would feel with his dick buried in him. "Oh, yeah," House said, low and quiet against Foreman's shoulder, working his finger slowly, trying to wait until Foreman pushed back, let him know he wanted more.

It had been so long since he'd done this. Doing himself, using his fingers or a toy, was orders of magnitude away from this. Then, Foreman was controlling the pace, and he knew to the second when to pause and when to push further. Trusting someone else with that--not to go too fast, and to stop when Foreman needed it--was scary as fuck. House was going slow, but his finger was insistent, and Foreman couldn't stop second-guessing every move, waiting for the moment when House would go too far, too fast. Foreman's breath was coming quickly, uncertainty fluttering in his stomach, but his pride wouldn't let him show it. He sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, controlled exhale, and pushed back against House's finger. Feeling the slick of the lube, the insistent pressure, the first tight burn fading as House pushed farther inside.

"Yeah, do it--" Foreman gritted his teeth for a moment, forcing his body to relax. He didn't want House to see his face, his concentration as he adjusted, and he dipped his head to whisper against House's ear. "Slow, just--" Foreman lowered himself until he was lying on top of House, their legs entwined, his dick pushing against House's stomach. He rolled his hips forward in careful, incremental thrusts, rubbing against House's body and then easing back against his finger. He'd lost some of his erection, but he was beginning to feel the dull beginnings of pleasure as House rubbed his finger inside. "Like that, yeah," he said, careful not to say any more than was necessary. He didn't want to start babbling, to lose control, and he frowned, already knowing it was coming. He focused on breathing, on sucking at House's earlobe and along his jaw, anything to distract himself for the minute or two before House reached his prostate and had him aching for more.

It took a while--too long, longer than House ever wanted to wait now--for Foreman to relax enough for House to keep going. His breathing sped up, arousal driving him to want to move his finger faster. Slow, Foreman said. Had to go slow. He let himself focus on the heat of Foreman's mouth over his jaw, by his ear, the weight of him. He didn't doubt now that this was going to feel good, but, feeling Foreman's body like this, pressing him down even as Foreman was pushing back, fucking his damn finger, made House want to ditch the plan and get Foreman to fuck him instead. Foreman's next little encouragement helped him refocus, made his arousal flare up even higher, his erection starting to strain.

House was careful, still going slow as he rubbed inside, searching out Foreman's prostate. It didn't take long to find; House may not have done this for a long time, but he'd done enough exams to remember the technicalities. He reached farther in, curling his finger, and stroked, just once, wanting to absorb Foreman's reaction. Give him just enough and pull back, wait to slick up another finger and make Foreman want more. He wanted to see Foreman start to lose it, want it, push back against him, and mumble in his ear. God, he wanted to see it. Foreman with no control left. Wanted to see what that looked like and sounded like before he let go himself. He was already letting go, just a little, enough that he was probably letting Foreman know how turned on he was.

"Yeah? Like that?" House asked, rubbing again over Foreman's prostate as he pushed his hips up, pressing his dick against Foreman's body. Jesus, it only made it worse, made him ache for real contact. He slid his hand down from Foreman's neck, over his back, and squeezed his ass, touching in more places, distracting himself. "You want more?" House rubbed over Foreman's prostate one more time, all about the encouragement. "I'm not going to give it to you until you tell me." There was a practicality to it that wasn't lost on House, and he was serious, but he meant Foreman to hear it as almost a tease, House's lips moving against Foreman's neck, voice deep and slow as House worked his finger deeper, opening Foreman up even more.

God, this was insane. Good, and starting to feel better, but Foreman couldn't decide whether to move more or whether to tell House to stop completely. He'd made his point. House knew that he'd let him do this, or let him try. But Foreman didn't know if he could stand it, not knowing what would happen next.

He couldn't predict when House was going to push deeper, and at the same time, he couldn't predict the moment when House reached, the pad of his finger touching Foreman there, rubbing over his prostate. It was like walking into a punch, perfectly timed and shocking, breaking his concentration. "Ahh--" The sound burst out of him, and Foreman clenched down, trying to hold House's finger in that one spot. Yeah. Oh yeah. He wasn't ready for this, for the bright, jolting sensation, definitely not for House to do it again. Foreman jerked back, practically involuntarily, a moan catching in his throat. Searching for that touch again. He wanted to snap his jaw shut, not let out too much, but he was breathing too fast, and his mouth opened as he gulped for air.

Jesus. Oh yes. He wanted more. He'd have to ask for it, and Foreman felt a brief flare of frustration at the smug tone in House's voice, even as he knew that he didn't want House to throw caution to the wind and assume he was fine. He worked himself over House's finger a few more times, until the movement felt smooth and easy. Just another moment and he'd be ready. Foreman bent his head to draw a line of wet, sucking kisses from House's shoulder and up his throat. Letting House touch him, using his body to shove House down against the bed with each thrust. Arousal swept through him, and he felt so fucking hot, his cock full and heavy where it was trapped between their stomachs. "Yeah," he said, lifting his head. His chest was heaving. House was breathing quickly, too, and knowing this turned him on, too, let Foreman say the words. "Yeah, I want more." He leaned in to kiss House again, and murmured, "Keep going," against his lips.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject