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

House had his eyes locked on Foreman's face, taking--fucking reveling--in every groan, and push, and yeah that Foreman offered up. Fucking amazing. House wished he had a damn video camera, a mirror, anything to show Foreman how fucking wanton he looked. The expression on Foreman's face when he arched back, turned his face against the pillow, and did exactly what House had told him to do. Fuck me, I want you to. Fuck, yes. House raised his hips up, pushing with his left foot, and pressed the head of his cock against Foreman's ass, pushing forward enough for Foreman to feel, not enough to push inside. House's lips still brushed Foreman's ear, and House couldn't resist the urge to talk, hearing the smugness in his own voice, feeling a laugh dance up his throat. "You should see yourself." House grinned as he dragged his tongue over Foreman's neck. "All spread open. Wanting it. Begging for it." House knew Foreman was going to remember this, make him ache and beg for it even more the next time Foreman had House pinned under him, but this was worth it. House hoped that Foreman could hear the grin as he adjusted, nudging forward again. "Anything for you, Foreman," he said, giving Foreman enough time to hear the arrogance in his voice before pushing just inside.

Oh, fuck. House bit back a moan, managed to turn it into a low hum, closing his eyes at how tight, slick heat. It was a damn good thing he had to take this slow at first, because if he didn't--fuck, yeah that was good--he wouldn't be able to last. He lowered himself down, his whole body pressing Foreman down and into the mattress, and kissed Foreman shoulder, sucked on the tense, flexing muscle. House let himself sink in slowly, reaching for Foreman's wrists and pinning them down, putting his weight behind it. God. Oh, God. So hot. So fucking tight. "Oh, yeah. Fuck, Foreman." House couldn't keep the words back, couldn't hold back a deep groan when he finally reached all the way inside. "God, yeah."

House stayed still--not just for Foreman, but himself, needing to come down a little before he started moving--and he kissed Foreman's shoulder again, his neck. Long, open-mouthed kisses, pausing with his lips parted against Foreman's skin so he could breathe. He knew he wasn't going to be able to keep this up for long, fuck him like this, but having Foreman like this, trapped, unable to touch himself, practically forced to give in did more for him than he ever thought it would.

Foreman gritted his teeth against House's taunts. Anything he said--not that he could force his mind to come up with anything cutting to say--would only make House hold off, probably tease him longer, make him beg more. Foreman knew he could still force House off, though maybe not without hurting him. He clung to the thought that this wasn't anything for him. This was anything--or at least something more--for House, to show him that Foreman trusted him. Begging House because he'd put himself in this position. He didn't have to be here, or do this. But he'd chosen it, and House was right, he wanted it. So fucking badly. The first press of House's cock against his ass had him panting, waiting, aching for it. Foreman could feel the vibration of House's moan against his shoulder, and if he hadn't been concentrating--every fibre, every muscle focused on letting House push inside, slow and intent--then he would have grinned himself, at how much House couldn't hold back even now.

Foreman rubbed against the bed, slowly, rocking just enough to help House work his cock deeper. House had fingered him enough that it didn't hurt, but House felt fucking huge, and Foreman had no idea how House was so eager for him when Foreman fucked him, so open and easy right from the first thrust. Foreman needed time to adjust, even after House was all the way inside. He squeezed the sheets in his fists, bunching his shoulders, focusing as hard as he could on relaxing his muscles, spreading his legs a bit wider.

House clamped his hands down on Foreman's wrists, and Foreman instinctively pushed his shoulders up. He couldn't get free, not with House lying on top of him, a hot, dead weight, but Foreman grunted and flexed his forearms, resisting House's leverage. He twisted his head, not sure if he was trying to get away from House's kisses or to arch into them. House's mouth, the sucking swirl of his tongue, were more relaxing than Foreman wanted to admit. He was starting to get used to being pinned down, to giving House what he wanted. When he moved, his cock rubbed against the bed, and House moved inside him, only a quarter-inch each time, the slick sound of the lube and their fast, harsh breaths emphasizing the pleasure nudging at Foreman's consciousness. Reminding him how much more intense it was going to be in about three seconds. He was ready, now, more than ready, for House to get a move on, to give him what he'd asked for. "Anything?" he asked, fighting hard to sound skeptical. "How about you moving your lazy ass?"

House did his best to fight against Foreman's resistance. He knew Foreman could probably get out of this if he wanted, but he pressed down harder anyway, letting himself grin when Foreman spoke.

"Of course, honey," House said, refusing to be even a little ruffled by Foreman's pushiness. He let Foreman hear the sarcasm in his voice, pausing to nip at Foreman's earlobe. He waited another few seconds, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Foreman's body under him, solid and pushing back just a little, and the tight heat all around his cock, slipping just a little when Foreman nudged back. Enough friction to be almost torturous, and enough to make House want to move more than Foreman's urging.

House drew back slowly, almost all the way out, and pushed in slow. He knew he wasn't giving Foreman what he wanted, but, fuck, he wanted to feel. "Oh, yeah," House whispered, humming in the back of his throat when he did it again, the same motion. Pleasure spread out from his dick and up his body, making House lower his head, rest it against Foreman, and close his eyes. "Yeah. Mmm." A few more strokes like that, and it wasn't long before House's body started pushing forward on its own, House's brain starting to shut off as he let his body take control, thrusting in harder. He was breathing faster, matching the rhythm his body was moving. Grunting each time he pushed hard, rocked Foreman and himself.

House tried to keep himself quiet, wanting to push sounds out of Foreman, wanted to be quiet enough to hear them, but, God, it felt so fucking good. So good. It was starting to become a strain on his body, his leg, and he had to stop, thrusting all the way in and raising his mouth to Foreman's ear. "Too bad you can't touch yourself," he taunted, drawing back a little, rubbing inside. "I bet you want to." He moved again, this time harder, and he lowered his voice when he continued, brushing his lips against Foreman's ear. "I want to. Jerk you off. Make you come."

He managed a few more hard thrusts, fucking Foreman as hard and fast as he could, unable to hold back a gritty, low groan before he stopped again. "Now how about you move your lazy ass? I want to jerk you off while I fuck you," House said, pulling out and sliding his hand over Foreman's back, going slow enough to get another look at the lines of his back, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. He squeezed Foreman's ass, looking down to see the shine of the lube, a streak of it across one side from when he'd pulled out, before House rolled onto his back. It would be nice to give his body a break and watch Foreman move on him, be forced to actively show how much he wanted this, be able to jerk him off and make him come. Come apart. Fuck, yes. "Or, well, while you fuck yourself."

Fuck, he couldn't do anything. House could push his hands down, kiss him and bite at his neck, taunt him with every word and movement, and Foreman was left struggling and panting helplessly. He hated it, except that the more he moved, the harder House had to push him down, and the more friction Foreman got. Foreman grunted and jerked away from House's mouth, and especially his insipid, phony tone of voice calling him honey. "Such a--manipulative--bastard," he spat out from between clenched teeth. House still hadn't started moving, until he drew away--too far, the air suddenly cold against Foreman' sweaty back--and Foreman gasped, fear clamping down on him again that House would shove in without warning.

Foreman was barely aware of more than a warm flood of relief at House's first long, slow thrust. "Ohh. Like that," he whispered, reassured again when House kept going at the same pace. Foreman didn't want to give House too much encouragement. House was already far too smug, no matter if he was letting moans and long, low whispers of yeah fall against Foreman's shoulder. But Foreman couldn't stop himself. Responding. Urging House on. Whether he wanted to or not. His hesitation disappeared with the first stroke of House's dick over his prostate, a spike of pleasure jerking a moan out of his mouth. Again and again, words tumbling over themselves, carried out of him on the incredible, flying sensation. "House. Oh, yeah. There, oh God."

Foreman groaned louder when House sped up, responding automatically, to House's breathing, the rhythm of his body. Foreman pushed against the bed, raising up to meet House's thrusts, rolling his face against the pillow. Christ, it felt so good, he couldn't remember the last time he'd really gotten fucked, and the jagged, sparking intensity of every push, every stroke was making him forget his name. "Oh fuck me," he said, not caring in the least how loud he was. Foreman's hips twitched against the bed, his dick chafing, precome leaving a wet spot on the sheets that he could feel against his stomach when he moved. He couldn't fucking come like this. He was close, he could feel the build, the hot cascade of sensation in his balls, concentrating in that one perfect spot that House hit dead-on with practically every thrust, but it wasn't enough, not without getting a hand on his dick. Foreman tried to jerk his hand away from House's hold, tried to work it under his body, but House was a fucking lamprey, wouldn't let him go.

Foreman nearly bucked House off when he stopped just long enough to mock him. It was just one more way to make him beg, and this time, Foreman wasn't going to. He'd bite his lip off first, before letting out another sound. But House's next words had him shuddering, he wanted it so bad. Wanted House's hand on his cock, tight, stroking just a bit faster than his thrusts. God, it would be good, exactly what he needed, the feeling strong enough to finally, finally push the pleasure over into orgasm.

Imagining it, while House sped up again, his thrusts just off-center enough to make sure Foreman knew exactly who was fucking him, was almost enough. Almost. Not quite, and then House was pulling away, leaving Foreman and rolling off him to land on his back. Foreman turned his head just far enough to stare at him, breath harsh in his throat. It had been bad enough letting House fuck him until he was out of control, until he was a writhing, pleading mess, but House was asking him to do it himself. To give House a full view of his face while Foreman drove himself to orgasm. Christ, he hadn't wanted House to see this. But he hadn't wanted House on top of him, either, and he'd survived that. Liked it. Hell, he'd been aching for more. Still was.

Foreman licked his lips, and then pushed himself up--his arms felt shaky already--enough to move over House and kiss him. Hot, and breathless, and as dirty as he could make it, showing House exactly how good he felt. With the added benefit of making House shut up, at least until they both had to come up for air. Foreman continued the kiss while he moved to straddle House, until he was kneeling over him. Fists on either side of House's shoulders. Cock slick against House's stomach, House's erection nudging his ass. Jesus, he was really going to do this. Adrenaline surged through him, making Foreman feel--stupidly, pointlessly--like hesitating. Trembling. There was no reason for it. He'd be the one controlling the pace now. Controlling the whole damn thing. Fucking himself.

Foreman broke the kiss and sat up. Meeting House's eyes, watching to see him lose himself, even a little. "You like this," he said. House had been awkward at first, but now he was more than ready, his dick hard and slick when Foreman reached for him. He wondered if that was some kind of revelation, or if House had done this before. Liked this before. Foreman pumped his hand over House's erection a few times, taunting him now that he had a chance. "You want to fuck me--" Studying House, waiting a second for a reply before he lowered himself down. "Want to watch." He couldn't help his sharp exhale, or his eyes from closing slightly. So good. The angle was different, and he worked himself down slowly, his thighs flexing. Exactly where he wanted. "Mmmn. Makes you hard. Fucking me. Touching me." He stared down at House, eyes half closed, letting everything show. A different kind of challenge. Something House couldn't walk away from. "So--go ahead."

House glanced over at Foreman, who hadn't moved yet. It made House grin, that he'd worked Foreman into a state where he hardly even wanted to move, that he had felt Foreman shamelessly pushing back, trying to work a hand free because he needed more, had heard Foreman telling him: Like that. House. There, oh God. Not holding back, not even trying to hold back until he taunted Foreman. And all while Foreman's body clenched and tightened around him, reacted beyond Foreman's control, and it was so fucking good. House felt excitement and arousal pound through him when Foreman started shifting and leaned over him to kiss him. He kissed back, opening his mouth and letting Foreman's tongue slide into his mouth, and met him, wet and sloppy and fast. He groaned into Foreman's mouth when Foreman climbed on top of him, when he felt his cock press against Foreman's ass. Fuck, yeah. Do it. Fuck yourself. Fuck me.

When Foreman broke the kiss and sat up, he did his best to--House guessed--taunt him back, but House felt too satisfied with himself already to care. They were shitty attempts anyway. House let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, Foreman's hand on his dick, stroking him, as if he really needed it. But he blinked his eyes open and stared up at Foreman's face, scoffing. "You're telling me things I either already admitted or already let you see. Way to be sharp and point out the obvious. Not to mention--" House closed his eyes and pressed his head back into the pillow, exhaling sharply when Foreman took him all the way in, was practically sitting on him, Foreman's cock warm against his stomach. House spread his hands against the sheets, not raising either to touch Foreman yet. "Not to mention that I'm just laying here. You're the one who's jumping on my dick the first moment you can, like you can't get enough."

Now House raised his hands, sliding them up Foreman's thighs, over his hips. He curled one around Foreman's hip, letting the other keep moving up Foreman's body. Over damp skin, the muscles in Foreman's stomach, over his ribs, his chest. "Look at you," House said, still managing to keep the smugness in his voice even though he wanted so badly to guide Foreman into motion and feel that hot, slick, tight friction all around him, tilt his face to the ceiling, close his eyes, and groan. Take his turn to let go, now that he'd handed the control to Foreman. "So ready to fuck yourself." He pinched Foreman's nipple before sliding his hand back down the center of Foreman's body. "So fucking hard"--House trailed his fingertip over Foreman's dick, base to tip, and smeared pre-come over the head, onto his own stomach--"even though I've barely touched you."

It was hot, that Foreman had reacted almost out of his control, because of what House had done, what he was doing. Foreman could taunt him all he wanted, but House knew he liked this, too. House raised his eyes to Foreman's face and grinned as he wrapped his hand around Foreman's cock. He gave Foreman a few slow pulls, rubbing his thumb along the shaft, over the head each time. "Going to make you come," House said, breathing faster, wanting that hot slide of Foreman's body, but he maintained the confidence in his tone, wanting to push. He let himself imagine it, everything he was saying, the look on Foreman's face when he lost control and came. House sped up his strokes, dropping his other hand to cup Foreman's balls, rolling and pulling gently. "Yeah, make you lose it. Come all over me with my dick in your ass. Not going to be able to stop yourself."

Foreman stared down at House through his eyelashes, smiling slightly. He spread his hands wide on House's stomach, feeling his muscles clench and release under his palms, matching the slight, nearly imperceptible movements as House pushed deeper inside him. God, Foreman could feel every inch of him, and he hitched his own hips forward and back to match House's tiny thrusts. Not quite moving yet, but feeling just how good it was going to be, feeling filled. House's chest was heaving, and Foreman smiled a bit more, moving his hands up over House's chest. House looked damned good, probably better than he thought. Probably better than Foreman would have thought a month ago. Solid, and muscled, and looking so fucking smug, even though Foreman had him nearly pinned. He could pop House's self-satisfaction like a balloon if he started tickling him. House was smirking up at him, trying to cut him down, and Foreman actually liked seeing it. House wanted to pretend that everything he'd shown Foreman was something he'd decided to reveal, to 'let' him see, and maybe, in a way, he had. Just by letting Foreman fuck him, until he had no choice but to forget himself, give himself over to the pleasure, to what Foreman was doing to him.

Foreman didn't react to House's taunts beyond smirking right back at him. He knew he was being obvious. That was the point. More than he wanted to say out loud, but every look and touch said it for him. Yeah, I'm hard for you. Going to come for you. Doing this for you. If House wanted to gloat over that, then Foreman wasn't going to stop him. Foreman glanced down his body at House's urging, his breathing hitching as he watched House touch him, watched his own hands massaging House's chest lightly, letting out a sharp mmn when House pinched his nipple. It fired him up again, brought back the need to move to his full attention, and it only increased when House started stroking his cock. Foreman lifted his chin, eyes closed, mouth opening as he strained to catch his breath. Groaning at House's touch, light on his balls, tight and slick on his cock. God, he had to move. Lift up off House's hips and then slide back down. Change the angle minutely and do it again. Over and over again. Thrusting his hips forward until he'd found the exact angle, freezing sharply as a helpless huff of air shot out of him. There. Yes. Fucking yes, oh God. Foreman sped up, moving into the pleasure, thrusting forward into House's hand, back onto his dick. Needing both sensations, reveling in both sensations. Not talking any more--not able to talk--but letting out short moans each time, as if they'd been yanked out of his throat.

Not going to be able to stop yourself. No, he wouldn't. Not if House kept stroking him, not if Foreman kept moving on him, arching his back to make sure House's dick rubbed him right there. He groaned again. He couldn't just do nothing. No matter how badly he wanted to come, to give up, give in. Foreman ran his hands down House's arms, hardly aware of anything outside of his own body. Felt House's muscles flexing in his forearms as he jerked him. Foreman couldn't just allow himself to get lost in the pleasure that was already rising hot and unstoppable through his body. God, he was an idiot. He'd come soon enough, but he couldn't give up on proving something first. He clamped his hands around House's wrists, squeezing as tightly as he could, and pushed House's arms away from him. Down to the bed. Foreman leaned forward, practically hanging over him. Pinning him. "Who's--not going to be able to stop?" he asked. "Hm? You can't move, but I can do this--" He clenched down and moved, grinding down hard. Pushing House, tight and hot inside him, biting back a gasp as he moved over top of him. Probably giving House exactly the view he wanted, confirmation of how hot this was, how much Foreman liked it. Leaning over House enough to rub his dick against House's stomach, slippery from his precome, and fucking himself hard and fast. Driving them both forward, and he'd take what satisfaction he could if he could make House come first.

Of course Foreman would smile, now that he wasn't underneath him and begging for it, but still, Foreman wasn't denying a damn word House had said. Foreman was confirming them, all of them, groaning, starting to move and not stopping. Pushing in both directions--into his hand and onto his cock. House felt like he was staring--he probably was--and he didn't think he could possibly get more aroused than he already was, but fuck. Even that theory--that thought--was blown out of the water when Foreman ran his hands over him before taking a tight hold of his wrists and pinning him down. House inhaled sharply, looking up at Foreman, watching his lips move as he spoke. More taunts. House knew his control, his resistance was slipping fast, and he couldn't get it back, not with Foreman clenching so fucking tight and coming down hard on him. Pleasure rocking him--all Foreman's doing. The bastard could find a way to fuck him even while he was taking his dick into him, but, fuck, House loved it. Jesus. Foreman was going to make him come in ten damn seconds if he kept this up, and House wasn't going to hold back for him and make it last any longer.

"I know--what you're--trying to do," House said, already panting. And it's going to work, you asshole. House couldn't stop watching as Foreman moved on him, took him in until he disappeared. Fast and hard and smooth. Foreman's cock rubbing over his stomach, smearing clear traces of precome over his skin. God. He knew Foreman wouldn't do this if he didn't like it, if he didn't want it. Fucking loved seeing Foreman's face when he slammed down, sure Foreman was drawing as much pleasure from this as he was, probably hitting at just the right angle to stroke his prostate. With his dick. Getting off on him. On holding him down. Practically grinding on his cock. Rubbing off on his body. Fuck, yeah. House could feel himself toppling toward his orgasm, pressure almost fucking unbearable, so close, so fucking good, so--

"Ohh, fuck. Foreman, you--fuck. Yeah. Yeah." House let the words fly, tiling his head back, his neck arched as his shoulders and heel dug in to the mattress and pushed up as far as he could, trying to bury himself inside Foreman--inside all that slick heat, so good--as he tensed and trembled with his orgasm. He'd let Foreman do this, allowed himself to stop thinking and stop trying to resist, give himself over to the pleasure, Foreman's weight, and his aggressiveness. After teasing Foreman, fucking him, exerting enough control himself, this...God, this felt so good. He let the pleasure drag moans out of him, his eyes squeezed shut, and his brain shut down from way Foreman was moving on him, making him come like he didn't have a choice.

When the intense waves of pleasure gave way to warm aftershocks, tingly sparks that still left him drawing sharp breaths of air, he kept his eyes closed as he hummed and mumbled, "Oh, God, I fucking hate you." House almost laughed, didn't want to give in to the urge, even blissed-out on sensation, and reached for Foreman's dick, wrapping his fingers around it and starting to stroke, intent on having a part in making Foreman come, wanting to feel him twitch and give in, too, when he did.

"Yeah?" Foreman panted fast, slamming his hips down as hard as he could, clenching his jaw to be able to speak at all. It felt fucking good to be able to taunt House after Foreman had been the one jammed down against the sheets under House's weight, feeling the hot breath of House's smug goads against his ear. "What am I--doing? Making you come? Uhh--God." He wanted to keep going, drive House over the edge with his voice as much as his body, but he couldn't keep up the fast, brutal pace and everything he wanted to say at the same time. His hands on House's wrists were slick with sweat and traces of lube and he couldn't even keep up his grip as tightly as he wanted. House was arching under him, mouth opening, pushing up--into Foreman--oh yeah, so good, yes--his eyebrows arching, body shuddering, moaning harshly. Foreman grunted, forcing himself to keep going, keep his eyes open, wanting to see every last second of House's orgasm. His thighs and abs were burning, aching, but the pleasure overwhelmed it all. Jesus, he was close. One touch. Anything.

He only just caught House's words, and he laughed breathlessly, but he couldn't stop yet. Moving. Letting House's hands go so that he could concentrate on thrusting in time with the pulsing, simmering sensation that was almost, almost enough, on the fucking edge. "Yeah, I--ahh--" Hate you too. Foreman stopped, couldn't finish his sentence, not when House reached for him again. This time there was nothing he could do. No way to prevent his orgasm from smashing through him, not that he'd want to. Every jerking movement of his body was instinctive, seeking out as much pleasure as he could wring from House's body, from his hand on Foreman's cock. "Yes. Fuck me. House--" Whether he wanted to or not, Foreman knew he was losing control, practically losing himself, sharp waves of pleasure bursting through his body, coming all over House's hand, his stomach. Christ, yes. Like that. Like that. Foreman gasped through the aftermath, feeling stunned, his body jolted all over again when he moved and House's dick stroked his prostate again. Too much. Too intense. Foreman lifted himself slowly, just enough to collapse beside House, only enough presence of mind to fall on House's left side, still half draped over him. He dropped his face against the pillow, breath burning in his throat.

God, his ass was sore. Foreman grunted into the pillow. It should be impossible to feel this damn good and still know he'd be paying for it, if not tomorrow, then later tonight. "Fuck, haven't done that in a while," he muttered, eyes closed, hardly caring if House heard. He huffed a short chuckle. He felt vaguely ridiculous, for attaching so much meaning to any kind of sex, but fuck, that had been good. Powerful. He nudged closer to House, enough to share his warmth, not willing yet to do anything like moving.

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.

Foreman closed his eyes, feeling warm and drowsy and wrung-out. He didn't really expect a response from House, and he was only half-listening to the sound of their breathing, the gradual slowing of his heart beating in his ears. He flinched and opened his eyes when he felt House touch his face--cool, wet, and slippery, and by House's grin and the hint of his dimples, Foreman knew exactly what it was. He gave a disgusted grimace. "That's great, House," he muttered, not bothered enough to actually move. It would wash off, anyway, and he wanted to shower--he could feel the slickness of the lube between his thighs, as well as drying sweat on the rest of his body. House would probably love it if Foreman simply told him to knock it off and didn't fight back. Well, to hell with that. Foreman brushed his right hand up House's chest, smearing some of his own semen, and quickly returned the favour, leaving a whitish streak on House's cheek.

Before House could retaliate further, Foreman rolled away from him and sat up on his knees, smirking. He saw the bottle of lube in the sheets--which were a disaster again, and this time more his fault than House's--and tossed it back into his drawer. He was almost surprised to see House's Vicodin in the drawer, and the ordinariness of the routine, to at least offer House his pills after they'd had sex, made something like discomfort settle in the pit of his stomach. Foreman pushed the feeling aside, and dropped the pill bottle beside House without comment. "I'm going to shower," he said, standing up and heading for the bathroom.

It was getting late, but he was suddenly starving. He shook his head at himself. That wasn't a shock. They'd both walked out on dinner. Foreman bit back a smile, wondering if Marty would bill him for the two meals he'd been stuck with. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at House, not quite sure how to phrase his offer without bringing up the whole evening again. It was hopeless. House was probably already thinking about it. "I'll cook something after," Foreman said, keeping his look neutral. If Wilson had dropped House off here--and Foreman couldn't think of any other way he could have gotten here, considering Foreman had given Wilson House's keys--then House was stuck unless he wanted to call a cab or stay until tomorrow. Foreman would leave it up to House as to how he wanted to react, whether he'd stay. He'd given up enough of himself tonight without adding that he didn't want to see House walk out. He swung the bathroom door most of the way shut, blocking out House's first reaction, and started the shower.

Foreman's tired and weary response only made House grin a little wider, and he leaned back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. His eyes flew open again when he felt Foreman's hand on his chest, and House couldn't fend off the attack before Foreman swiped semen across his face in return. Fucker. "And here I thought tonight meant you were going to just lay back and take it," House said, wiping the back of his hand across his face, watching Foreman roll away and toss the lube back in the bedside table drawer. House's eyes followed his own pill bottle to where it landed next to him on the bed, rattling, and he frowned. His leg, despite all the activity, wasn't feeling any worse than usual, and while a part of him was relieved that Foreman had no trouble handing over his pills without any kind of comment, another part felt irritated that Foreman thought House couldn't get them for himself or that he couldn't go an hour or two without them.

House didn't reply, in word or action, when Foreman spoke and headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open. He ignored his pills as he got up. He slipped the condom off and followed Foreman, catching some of the semen running down his body before it fell onto the floor. "Hey," he said, barging into the room. He tossed the condom into the trash and set his cane against the vanity. Steam already started fogging up the room, and House could only see Foreman's shape through the shower doors. He opened it, doing his best to step inside as smoothly as possible--he had to grab on to the faucet handles and, even then, it was a little awkward. "Do you think that just because I'm addicted, it means I always need them?"

Foreman stepped into the shower when the water ran hot and turned his face up to the spray, scrubbing off the semen first thing. He hadn't done much more than that, let the water run over him, when the door banged open. On one hand, Foreman was glad it meant that House wasn't sneaking out, and he was relieved, too, that he didn't have to think about whether he'd have to be grateful to Wilson for dragging House over here and quite possibly dumping him on Foreman's doorstep to encourage him to break in again. On the other hand, when House hauled the shower door open and climbed in, water cascaded over the bathroom floor, and, since House was taller than him, his body immediately blocked the spray.

Foreman tilted his head to one side, more annoyed than resigned at House's question. The pills had been there, and he'd seen House take them after sex before. He hadn't made a chart of exactly when and under what circumstances House threw a couple back; at work he seemed to do it pretty much at random, and usually for effect. "I don't know," Foreman said. He wasn't Wilson, so he wasn't going to monitor or restrict House's intake. That wasn't his responsibility. As far as Foreman was concerned, House did always need the pills, and life got worse for him if House didn't have them. "Since I don't know, I thought I'd give you the choice." He moved closer to House, pushing him to one side as carefully as he could, while trying not to show that he was being careful. He wasn't about to shove House hard enough to make him slip in the shower, but he wanted access to at least some of the hot water instead of watching it pour down over House's shoulders. He set his jaw before he spoke again, a flush of embarrassment heating his face, but he wasn't about to let House mock him about fucking him. That was part of trusting him to do that, although now that the moment was over Foreman didn't feel like trusting him at all. "Felt like you were using it pretty hard."

"I had the choice before you threw them at me," House said, throwing a hand out to catch himself against the wall. His body still caught some of the spray, and House used his free hand to wipe Foreman's semen away. "I don't need you to give me a choice when it was already--"

House stopped when Foreman started speaking again, suddenly feeling like Foreman was throwing this all in his face. Like fucking Foreman had been too much work. Too hard on him. Like he'd overexerted himself. Like he couldn't handle it without immediate downing some pills. Sure, sometimes sex--sometimes walking--took a toll on his leg and sometimes he needed a pill or two to take the edge off a pain flare-up. Being on top of Foreman, fucking him like that, had started to make his leg ache, but the pain had eased up--or at least House had been able to forget about it and focus on all the other sensations shooting through his body for a while--once he'd gotten to rest on his back, and his body automatically made accommodations without him having to think much about it. Foreman couldn't feel that.

House glared at Foreman and leaned a little closer, pushing off from the wall. He couldn't keep his balance on the slick floor on one foot, and he reached up to grab the back of Foreman's neck, grabbing Foreman's attention and steadying himself at the same time. "Well, the next time I have my dick in your ass, maybe you can pay attention to how that feels." Everyone needed to make everything about his God damn leg. His pills. House dropped his hand and leaned back against the wall. "It's my leg. I'll worry about it."

Foreman adjusted quickly when House grabbed him, reaching for the wall to stay steady on his feet. He'd been scrubbing down as quickly as he could, hoping to grab the soap before House took over the spray again. He stopped and met House's eyes evenly, tension tightening in his back as soon as House talked about fucking him, even though House only cared about his leg.

There were times when, against all logic, Foreman wanted to help House, do what he could to make his life easier. He knew it was pointless and mostly futile, not only because of the nerve damage in House's leg but because House wouldn't let him. He knew he shouldn't feel like House was pushing him away. How many times had he seen other people feel exactly that? Cameron, Cuddy, Wilson, they'd all made efforts and House had thrown them back in his face. Especially last year. Still, his immediate reaction was that House was accusing him of being like them, of trying to control him, and Foreman didn't like it. Didn't like the implications that he was caring too much and House was calling him on it. But he'd already decided that the only way he could be with House at all was to set aside his defensiveness about House's leg, since House wasn't going to. Foreman had already managed to get through one bad night with House, and he didn't doubt there would be others. House might appreciate some help then, and he still wouldn't want to ask for it. Foreman would just have to work on ignoring him more, and since he was already pretty damned practiced at that, it shouldn't be hard. "Fine," he said shortly. "You're right."

He wasn't about to let House get away that easily, though. He stepped forward, widening his stance to make sure he could catch House if he slipped, and pushed him back against the tiles, winding one hand up around House's neck to force him to look at him. Foreman lifted his chin, not quite initiating a kiss. "And I was paying attention," he said, keeping his voice low and serious, wondering if House would bolt if he could. I don't let someone do that and not pay attention.

House hadn't expected Foreman to get it that fast. Not exactly cave. He wasn't asking Foreman to give in to anything, just get it through his head that his leg and his pills weren't Foreman's business. House thought he'd have to argue his way into it, and tilted his head, not letting his surprise show on his face--he was pretty sure he managed to make it look more like he was interested, not exactly surprised--as he looked back at Foreman. When Foreman pushed him back, House felt his left foot slip a little, not enough to make him fall, but enough to make him reach for Foreman's arm and squeeze tightly. Enough to make his eyes widen and breathing catch. Lucky he didn't suck down some of the water on the way.

He didn't want to resist too hard and make himself fall, so he let Foreman steady him, looked back at him when Foreman spoke. House had known Foreman had been paying attention. Foreman had looked like he hadn't been focused on much of anything else at the time when House had been lying on top of him, in him, fucking him. But House had lashed out here, and he wasn't about to take it back. Still, it was interesting that Foreman was saying it.

"Good," House said, just as shortly, but acknowledging what Foreman said, keeping his gaze steady on Foreman's and keeping his head still. No need to say anything more than that. Tackled everything he'd wanted to clear up pretty fast and that was good enough, as long as he was understood. House knew he wasn't going to get very far unless Foreman backed off, so he waited, holding on to Foreman's arm and hoping his feet stayed under him. But just in case Foreman was so focused on drowning himself in his eyes, House nodded up toward the spray and said, "Kinda came in here to wash up, too."

Foreman raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of House's comment. Apparently he could be straightforward and say what he wanted. Foreman hadn't caught him off-guard, but House seemed faintly suspicious that Foreman wasn't arguing further. Maybe he'd get that Foreman didn't argue for the argument's sake. He argued when he thought he was right, which more often than not he was. If House told him what he needed, what he expected, and it was reasonable, then Foreman wasn't going to try and coddle him. That would be the definition of insanity, to even attempt that.

"Yeah, very goal-oriented of you." Foreman backed off slowly, gripping House's arms in return, to make sure that House wasn't leaning too heavily on him when he let go. Most of the time, Foreman didn't even think about House's leg, and what he would or wouldn't be able to do. It was usually pretty obvious, and Foreman made the equally obvious accommodations without saying a word. But right now it would have been nice if House could take care of his own balance, so that Foreman could keep him pressed up against the wall and kiss him, suck away the drops rolling down House's throat and jaw. The steam and the water plastered House's hair against his forehead, and it darkened his stubble and the hair on his chest and trailing down his stomach. He looked stupidly appealing--just something about having him naked and wet and in Foreman's shower--and Foreman blinked and looked away, hiding a laugh at himself all over again for getting in to this. He grabbed the soap and started lathering up, scrubbing his chest and arms and then reaching out to hand-paint a line of soap bubbles from House's collarbone down to his stomach. Slippery and warm. God, he was an idiot. Making excuses to touch House when he already knew he was allowed. Just not necessarily like this, when sex wasn't immediately on the table. Foreman smirked and handed House the bar of soap, and then turned to face the spray to rinse off.

House managed to get his feet under him better, letting Foreman go to brace himself against the wall, before Foreman stepped away, back under the water. He was relieved that Foreman let the other subject drop. House would have shut him up himself--at least interrupted him--if Foreman had insisted on continuing, but Foreman started washing, conversation over. House nodded to himself, looking around and frowning. He wasn't getting much of the water, because Foreman was taking up too much space, and he couldn't really rinse off when Foreman dragged a line of soap down his body. House looked down at himself, then at the back of Foreman's head.

"Hmm, yeah, big help," House said, letting the bubbles slide down his body. "Wouldn't happen to have any shampoo laying around? You used to have hair, right?" He took the soap when Foreman handed it over, starting to wash as Foreman rinsed off.

Foreman finished washing, catching the soap as it ran down his body and using it to clean off the lube and traces of semen. He still felt vaguely sore, his muscles aching slightly, but no worse than if he'd worked out too hard. He twisted away from the spray, glancing at House over his shoulder, and grinned at his question. He'd lay bets that House could name the exact day Foreman had walked into the office with his hair gone, but what really amused him was that he did have shampoo. House wasn't going to like it, though. "Sure," he said, moving to the back of the shower and opening the door to step out. The floor was already mess, the bathmat soaked, from House climbing in while the shower was running, so Foreman didn't bother with a towel. A few more drips wouldn't make much of a difference.

He bent down to check the cupboard under the sink, pushing a few things aside before he found the dusty bottle. Wendy had left her shampoo and conditioner here a few months ago, and Foreman hadn't bothered to get rid of it. Foreman grabbed the bottle and went back to lean into the shower, grinning widely. The bottle was bright pink, with swirling flowers, and Foreman glanced at the slogan before handing it over to House. "Gives straight hair beautiful natural movement and sways with only slight shakes," he read aloud, swallowing down a laugh. "I think it's mango-scented. Did you want the moisturizing body wash, too?"

House was finishing up, finally taking the advantage of the space when Foreman stepped out of the shower, and stepped under the jets of water. He set the soap in its tray and let the water rinse him off. Foreman's little grin had made House curious, a tiny bit nervous, and when Foreman returned and held out a bottle--a pink flowery bottle--of shampoo, House realized the nervousness hadn't been completely unfounded. What the hell was that? He'd asked for shampoo not...that. That wasn't shampoo. That looked like some kind of liquid tropical flower garden. In a bottle. House narrowed his eyes, staring at Foreman for a second, but reached out and wrenched the bottle out of his hand before closing the door in Foreman's amused, satisfied little face.

"Should have known you had a fling with Chase," House said, frowning at the palm of his hand as it caught a quarter-sized amount of shampoo. Jesus, it really was mango-scented. Great. Foreman was going to be sticking his nose in his hair as if he were a damn flower and giving him comments for the rest of the night. "Only person I know willing to walk around smelling like a fruit." House suspected some woman that Foreman had slept with had left it here, but there was no reason for Foreman to keep it unless he wanted to stash it in case he ever had to use it, and it wouldn't stop House from sharing with their colleagues that Foreman kept mango-scented shampoo. Might even bring the bottle as a visual aid, he thought as he started lathering the shampoo in his hair.

Foreman's grin widened when House complained over the water that he was going to smell like a fruit. "You know," he said, still feeling smug, "the irony isn't lost on me." He didn't bother responding to House's remark about Chase, although it made him think again about the moment when he'd tell Chase about this. He couldn't keep it to himself forever. Wilson already knew. The only thing stopping him--other than the fact that Chase would probably laugh in his face and refuse to believe him at first--was the news getting back to Cameron. Foreman doubted she'd be impressed. The more she protested she wasn't interested in House, the more obvious it was. Still, Chase was about the only person left at the hospital that Foreman could talk this sort of thing through with, and even then they mostly tried to shrug their way through conversations rather than actually talk. This conversation was going to be excruciating, but at least once they'd had it, Foreman wouldn't have to keep his complaints about House to himself all the time. He'd have someone to vent at, even if Chase blinked at him with his stupid fish-face and didn't get it. Foreman doubted House would appreciate Chase knowing. Chase wouldn't be able to hold back a smirk. House would know that Foreman had told him. Well, he'd just have to get over it. It'd be the whole damn hospital soon enough.

Foreman dried himself off and left the towel on the rack for House when he was done, then opened the linen closet and got out fresh sheets. He'd been about due to change them before House fucked him into the mattress, and he wasn't going to give House a chance to infiltrate the bed this time before he'd cleaned up. He went back to the bedroom and pulled on his boxers and a pair of sweats, along with the hoodie he'd been wearing before. He stripped the bed, threw the old sheets in the hamper, and started pulling on the new ones.

It didn't take long for House to finish up in the shower. The whole fucking room smelled like mango, he was convinced. Or maybe the damn scent was just stuck in his nose. He couldn't tell. Either way, he felt like the smell was all over him, and he felt like a damn moron. Foreman was going to just love this, the bastard. As he hauled himself out of the shower, he looked around for another towel. Just Foreman's. Already used. And damp. Yeah, that was going to do him a lot of good. He didn't have to wander very far to find a linen closet and a fresh towel, which he stole for himself, dried himself off, and hung it on the rack next to Foreman's. He was forced to use Foreman's deodorant, which did not go very well with the mango scent. Not like it mattered. He hoped the stronger smell of the deodorant would drown out the damn mango. Maybe.

House made his way back into the bedroom, his eyes falling on Foreman's dresser. His own clothes were still in the kitchen, and it was too far to go just to get them. Foreman was busy with changing the sheets--of course, the freak--and House crept over to the dresser and started pulling out clothes as if they were his. Boxers. T-shirt. The same pants he'd stolen last time. Maybe the smell of Foreman's clothes would help cover that mango even more. It was as good a plan as he was going to come up with, besides soaking his hair with Foreman's cologne, and House went to a chair in the room and pulled on the clothes, refusing to look at Foreman until he'd gotten everything on.

It didn't take more than a minute to get the fitted sheet on the bed, and Foreman was tucking in the top sheet when House came out of the bathroom. The fruity scent wafted out with the steam from the shower, and Foreman pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. He couldn't tell if House's hair had more beautiful movement than ever before, since it was towel-dried and standing up in damp spikes, but he'd be sure to compliment House on it anyway. House went straight for his dresser, and Foreman couldn't even find it in himself to be annoyed. He'd let House fuck him. Letting him wear Foreman's boxers hardly held the same uneasy connotations that it had the first time. Besides, it was hot to see House in his clothes, in ways that didn't quite make sense. There was nothing new about seeing House naked at this point, but it was different, seeing the matter-of-fact way he dug through Foreman's dresser, the stubborn I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary tilt to his shoulders. Well, fine. They shared clothes. It would be weirder if Foreman let himself think about it, so he threw the comforter on the bed and concentrated on making hospital corners instead.

When the bed was made, Foreman took a step or two closer to where House was sitting and thoughtfully sniffed the air just above his head, then shrugged, as though it was a complete puzzler to him how his bedroom suddenly smelled like a produce aisle. With another half-smothered grin, Foreman left the room, laughter catching in his chest. Saying nothing would probably be worse than making comments that House could shoot back at him. When he got to the kitchen, he scooped House's clothes off the floor--another thing he wasn't going to think about, the meaning behind what they'd done--and stepped into the living room long enough to toss them onto the couch.

Foreman opened the fridge and then the freezer, to see what he had on hand. He'd managed a grocery run yesterday, but only for beer and snacks. He'd planned to spend Sunday parked in front of the game. As usual, there were some vegetables he'd have to use before they went off, that he'd ignored for a week because of the case. That and a couple of pork chops would make a reasonable stir fry. He picked out what he needed and started getting things ready.

When House was dressed, he leaned back in the chair, looking up to see Foreman approaching. House glanced up as Foreman bent over him and sniffed. Sniffed at his head. House waited, gritting his teeth, for Foreman to make some kind of remark. Laugh at him. Anything. Something he could use. But a moment later, Foreman shrugged and left the room. No words. Barely a laugh. House blinked at the open doorway. What a bastard. What a neat-freak, mango-shampoo-stashing bastard. It took a moment for House to start moving, grabbing hold of his cane. "That's it?" he shouted, starting for the kitchen, where Foreman was already creating enough noise to give his location away.

House glared at Foreman from the doorway for a second, trying to ignore how that damn mango smell had caught up to him and seemed to engulf him in a cloud of scent. Christ, why did no other shampoos seem to do this? He breathed through his mouth, catching as little of the scent as possible, and slowly stepped forward. He didn't stop until he was inches away from Foreman, peering over Foreman's left shoulder, and reached around to Foreman's front. House didn't have much in the way of words he could use against Foreman, since Foreman hadn't even spoken a word, so he went for old-fashioned physical schoolyard retaliation. "This," House said, flicking his hand and tapping Foreman's crotch, hard enough to know that it would make Foreman flinch and clench his teeth but not double over in pain, "is for making your bed with hospital corners. Who the hell does that?"

Foreman raised his eyebrows when he heard House coming--well, more like smelled him coming. He kept on chopping vegetables, tossing them in a frying pan as he went. If he looked at House, he was going to burst out laughing. He let himself smile when House approached him, smirking down at the food as House peered over his shoulder. Foreman couldn't quite help shifting his weight, subtly, but enough to invite House into his space. He expected a barbed comment, maybe about the shampoo, maybe about the food. He wasn't expecting to get a shot to the crotch.

"Hey!" Foreman recoiled, more from a protective instinct than from the pain, half turning, and stumbled, catching himself before he stepped on House's foot. He twisted around the rest of the way and grabbed House's wrists, both of them, to make sure he was safe from any more attacks, and glared at him. He couldn't keep it up, though. House's hair was still sticking up, but it was drying, and Foreman couldn't help noticing that it was shinier than before, and looked softer. He leaned his ass back against the cupboards, feeling the smirk take over his face, no matter how hard he tried not to, until he was grinning widely. He yanked on House's wrists, tugging him forward. "I'd take that question seriously if it wasn't like I was talking to Carmen Miranda's hat," he said.

November 24, 2007 -- Late Afternoon

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

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)