November 24, 2007 -- Late Afternoon

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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.

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The work week felt endless. Foreman hated getting sucked into House's games, but no matter what he did, House had anticipated him, making him play a part whether he wanted to or not. And the last thing Foreman needed was to have Chase point that out to him.

On Thursday night, when the case was winding down, his father called and asked if he wasn't coming home for dinner. Foreman had to check a calendar before he realized he'd worked right through Thanksgiving. He'd had to apologize, endure his father's disappointed silence which seemed to line up every holiday he'd missed in a row and accuse him of not caring, and then promise to be there for Christmas dinner, whether "that boss of his" was on one of his tears or not. Foreman grimaced, infinitely relieved that no matter what was going on between him and House, House wouldn't be interested in showing up in Trenton on Christmas Eve to join his family, not even to screw with Foreman's head.

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On the other hand, House would do a hell of a lot to confuse Foreman. He'd been smirking all week, ignoring Foreman, giving him the brush-off whenever they were in the same room together while the candidates were running around making desperate attempts at a diagnosis. House hadn't shown up on his doorstep, either, or so much as thrown a glance in his direction that hinted they'd ever been together at all.

It wasn't like Foreman could forget what House had done, either. And he couldn't even force himself to want to forget. The first night he had a chance to go home, when the patient wasn't coding, he'd been half asleep when the memory of House's voice crept back. Rough and halting. Describing how hot his boyfriend made him. How fucking turned on he got just remembering it. And with his voice, Foreman could practically hear the sound of House's hand stroking, slicking precome over his cock. Foreman frowned in the darkness, but he was already reaching under the covers for his dick, rubbing himself slowly, drawing out every memory of House's voice, House's story. God, he could practically picture it. Pushing House down. One hand running down the center of his back, then grabbing his hips and yanking him close, burying his cock inside House's body in one long, forceful thrust. Listening to House whimper--fuck, he was hard. Foreman sighed, spreading his legs a bit, bringing his right hand down to join his left, cupping his balls and rubbing one finger up behind, along his ass. Trying to recreate House's intonation, his exact words. Fucked me when people were knocking on the other side of the--door. Oh, fuck. That break in House's voice. Foreman tightened his fist, letting out a groan. Christ, he needed more.

Foreman hesitated, glancing at his bedside table. Who knew when he'd be uninterrupted again. This wasn't something he wanted often, but he had the time tonight. And he was so fucking horny. He needed something better. Better than fucking his fist, better even than fingering himself. Foreman reached for the drawer, groping for a moment before finding the dildo, and his lube. It didn't take long to warm the silicone to body temperature, to spread lube down the shaft. Giving himself the occasional touch to keep his body at a fever pitch. Not that it took much. Not when he was imagining House biting back a moan with every thrust, trying so damn hard not to be heard, his body writhing as Foreman fucked him.

He was going to come too fast if he didn't do this now. Foreman breathed out slowly, keeping his eyes closed. Pressed the dildo against his ass--Was jerking me off as he did. Oh, yeah. Had me naked.--nudging it in deeper, slowly, until the tip was inside, then letting out a shaky exhale. God, yeah. Thrusting up into his hand, getting used to being filled. Pushing back against the firm, warm silicone. Sensation ricocheted from one touch to the other. Foreman grunted, getting the dildo all the way in, the curved tip rubbing just there. So fucking good. Breath harsh in his throat, hand working furiously over his cock, so close--

Could feel it when he came. No condom. Fucked me like that. God, yeah. Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck--

Yeah. Yes. His orgasm burst over him so quickly that Foreman couldn't suppress a groan before he was coming all over his hand, spurts of pleasure rolling through him in long, deep waves. Foreman kept stroking until he was spent, finally collapsing back on the bed. After a moment, he eased the dildo out, hating himself for giving in to the fantasy, but too damn satiated to really care.

Apparently House felt the same way. His fucking jerkoff fantasy must be better than the reality, because he was avoiding Foreman, and being as smug as possible the whole time. Foreman didn't make any attempts to go over to House's place himself. He'd had more than enough of making gestures. He had no idea what House's sudden reversal of tactics meant, but Foreman didn't like the implications. He didn't care if House had never seen Jake again after their residencies. House had still used his boyfriend to get off when Foreman was right there, then walked away from him. Foreman wasn't going to be the one to make a first move.

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

On Friday, Foreman's cellphone rang while he was in the conference room working on Quid's discharge papers. He answered it absently, his pen still running across the page. "Foreman."

"Eric, hi."

"Marty?" Foreman glanced over his shoulder automatically as if House might have snuck up on him. Either he was getting paranoid, or he was finally becoming just cautious enough. House was in his office, apparently having the sole objective of destroying his eardrums with Jimmy Quid's "music". He wasn't looking and he certainly wasn't listening. "If this is about--"

"Hey," Marty said. "I know, I know. You're not interested in the job. But I'm in town--"

"You're in Princeton?" There weren't any neurological conferences happening over the holiday weekend, and any case Marty might be called in on would probably be referred to Princeton-Plainsboro first.

"My wife has relatives here," Marty said. "I'm at the in-laws' for the holidays. You want to grab dinner? Catch up?" He chuckled. "Trust me, you'd be doing me a favour."

Foreman raised his eyebrows, thinking about it. It looked like House wasn't going to quit his gloating any time soon, and Foreman didn't feel like indulging him. If House wanted to avoid him, fine. It would be a good chance to catch up with Marty without House getting wind of it. "Sure," he said. "Tomorrow?"

Marty agreed, gave him the name of a restaurant, and Foreman closed his phone, feeling better already. House figured he could let Foreman hang in the breeze. Whether he thought Foreman was going to come crawling back, or he was just looking for the perfect moment to throw himself into Foreman's life again, Foreman wasn't interested in the wait. He'd go out for a friendly dinner, and if House caught wind of it afterwards, then he'd know that Foreman wasn't going to sit around waiting for him. He wasn't anywhere close to that pathetic.

Saturday afternoon, Foreman dressed well, knowing the type of place where Marty preferred to eat. He left a little early, and was just pulling away from his parking spot when his phone rang. "Hi, Marty."

"Eric, I'm glad I caught you. I just left a message on your machine. I'm sorry, I got the address wrong. Let me give you better directions."

Foreman nodded along to the directions. He knew the place Marty meant, and pretty soon he was heading downtown. He'd spend the evening not thinking about House at all. It would serve him right.