[identity profile] house-greg-md.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] wooedforyears
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.

Date: 2009-04-06 08:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wilson-james-md.livejournal.com
Wilson raised his eyebrows. "If you weren't thinking with your dick..." he said, and trailed off intentionally, wondering if House even heard what he was saying. Yes, House was deflecting, but he was doing it by implying that he was with Foreman for some reason other than the apparently fantastic sex. House could be lying, but if the sex had been awful, why would he be upset that it was over? And if the sex was the only thing keeping them together, then why would House care about 'Nathan', enough to be yelling at Foreman in the streets about him? Every word House said only served to convince Wilson that he'd been right the first time, as unbelievable as it sounded. House...cared. For Foreman. And as soon as House had realized that, he'd tried to wriggle out of it in the best way he knew: by getting Foreman angry enough to leave him first.

Taking another turn, this time with a destination in mind, Wilson tamped down his flustered response to House calling out his lie. He wanted to keep House in the car to answer his questions, and to find out exactly what had happened tonight. There might be some way he could help, and as far as he was concerned, the best method was to throw House back into Foreman's company. He wouldn't know how, though, without a little more information. And that meant lying, and the best lies were the truth. "The consent forms for my Phase Two clinical trial," he said. He slanted an exasperated look at House. "I didn't have them earlier and I was going to wait until Monday, but since I got dragged out tonight anyway..." The fact was that he'd been distracted by thoughts of his date with Amber, so he'd given up working this afternoon when, otherwise, he probably would have gone back to the hospital to get the forms. He didn't have much else to do with his weekends. This way he'd have them for tomorrow, and get a head start on the next week's work.

And, to complete the lie, Wilson plunged in to another distraction. "Does this mean that we have to adjust the nurses' standings?" he asked, frowning in concern. "Because if you've been holding out on me, then that Cardiology nurse with the--" Wilson gave half a nod, eyes widened, a gesture well-understood between the two of them, "--might not be the most doable in the hospital." Wilson sighed in disappointment. April Petersen had the most amazing breasts he had the privilege to see in low-cut scrubs on a near-daily basis. She'd always be number one on his list, but he supposed as a supportive friend he'd now have to add male nurses to the roster. It was...weird.

Date: 2009-04-07 04:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wilson-james-md.livejournal.com
Wilson rolled his eyes when House started in with the details again. He felt sufficiently scarred by the idea of House having sex--with a man, with Foreman--and he didn't need even more mental images to fight off. "Would you stop?" he said. All he was really learning was that House had been having a better few weeks than he had. Two dates and a few kisses really couldn't compare to House's recitation. He squirmed again, focusing on April Petersen's breasts as if they might save him. "I'm sure your prostate thanks you, so it doesn't make any sense that you're trying to end this..." Whatever it was. "Relationship," Wilson finished, hoping it had actually gotten that far.

He shook his head at House's demand that he stop. House had figured out that he wasn't heading for the hospital. Playing clueless had gotten them close, but not quite close enough. Wilson only knew this neighbourhood because Amber had driven him through it on their first date a few days ago. She'd been showing him 'her Princeton', and she'd nodded at a modern brownstone, tossing off a casual, "And that's where Foreman lives. Boring apartments, and so trendy. Exactly his type."

Wilson had gaped at her. "How do you know where Foreman lives?"

Amber shook her head and turned to smile brilliantly at him. "You never know what will come in handy."

Wilson blinked, considered bringing up the subject of privacy, and settled back against the passenger seat instead, grinning to himself. Somehow he hadn't been surprised when, at the end of their night, Amber had not only driven confidently into the driveway of his hotel, but had given him a half-flirtatious, half-businesslike peck on the lips before sending him on his way.

Going out with her had definitely been the better part of this evening. Saving House from his own stupid, unnecessary stubbornness was less productive and less rewarding. Still, Wilson wasn't going to just give up when he'd already gotten this close.

He eased into Foreman's neighbourhood, trying to remember the exact street, but he didn't slow down. House wasn't going to leap from a moving vehicle; he might not want to see Foreman, but Wilson wasn't forcing that on him. He only wanted to give House the opportunity. "House, is there some reason you're trying to sabotage this?" he asked. He'd found the right street, and he pulled up in front of the building Amber had pointed out, putting the car in park and turning off the engine. "What the hell happened tonight?"

Date: 2009-04-07 08:49 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wilson-james-md.livejournal.com
"You never know what will come in handy," Wilson blurted out, fortunately keeping his face as straight as possible. He didn't know if House would recognize Amber's life philosophy, but he'd had his own occasional need to track House down or keep tabs on his life. Knowing where House's employees lived wouldn't be too far out of the realm of possibility. He hoped. "I guess he didn't move." He glanced over at House, raising his eyebrows as if that statement might help him remember that Foreman had come back. Although he'd bet that House would focus more on the fact that Foreman had been forced back as much as anything. House simply could not see the positive side when he was determined to sulk, and Wilson sighed.

"I...don't understand this," he admitted. "Seriously, House, it's--" Foreman. "Surprising. I didn't see this coming. But you could..." Wilson lifted his hands helplessly and then let them drop back to the steering wheel. "You could break in. And piss him off." He shook his head. House loved pissing Foreman off, and he'd already said something about the sex being even better when Foreman was angry. Maybe this was romance, to them. "It could be a gesture."

Date: 2009-04-07 07:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wilson-james-md.livejournal.com
Wilson lifted a shoulder noncommittally, hoping House would assume that he'd conspired with Cuddy to get Foreman's address. That was another lie it was easy to stumble into, since it was often true. House fell silent, and didn't push it, which was a good sign--he wasn't hanging on to the extraneous details any more, so he might actually be considering what Wilson had said. And maybe pigs could fly.

Surprise made him sputter when House actually agreed to go in, and Wilson stared at House when he said he had his own keys, before Wilson relaxed back when he caught up. "He...doesn't know you have them, does he?" he asked. Or stated. Month-long relationship or not, sudden confrontation with House's bisexuality or not, Wilson would not believe that Foreman had happily handed House a key to his apartment. He fished House's keys out of his pocket and set them in his hand, suspicion narrowing his eyes. At least there was no chance here that House would drive off. Wilson wanted to ask why House had changed his mind, turning on a dime without a single argument, but he realized if he asked, he might derail House's sudden determination. Whatever House and Foreman were fighting about, Wilson had done his best to make sure they hadn't retreated to their separate corners to brood. Beyond that, he couldn't claim it was his business. Although it wouldn't stop him from following up the next time he saw House. As long as House wasn't feeling quite so free with the details.

"If you're sure," Wilson said, unwilling to abandon House completely. And, wincing at issuing an open-ended invitation, he added, "Call me if the heist calls for a wheel man."

Date: 2009-04-08 02:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
Foreman had no place to go. He considered a bar, to catch House up and probably pass him, numbing away the evening with alcohol. He knew he'd end up having to take a taxi, stumble into his apartment, and still have nothing to show for it. Even more briefly, he considered tracking Chase down and dragging him out. Talk to him. But Chase had been even more annoying than usual this week, telling Foreman he took himself too seriously, that coming back to Princeton hadn't gotten him anywhere new and that he was the butt of House's games. Yeah, Foreman got that point loud and clear tonight. He didn't need Chase gleefully pointing it out. He definitely didn't need Chase's fish-faced gape or his laughter at Foreman's expense if he told Chase the whole story. In the end, after taking half a dozen random turns, Foreman scoffed at himself for caring, for reacting like this. It shouldn't even be a surprise. He turned towards his apartment, slowing down because there would be nothing more idiotic than getting pulled over because he was upset. When he got in, he took the stairs instead of the elevator, trying to physically work out some of the frustration that still surged through him.

It didn't help. Foreman dumped his wallet, keys, and phone on the kitchen counter, and went to the bedroom to strip out of his suit. He pulled on his Columbia hoodie and a pair of jeans, fuming the whole time. House would be getting the third degree from Wilson. Since Foreman doubted House would take that silently, he must be lying his head off about Foreman, about everything. Or just telling the fucking truth for once. He's a good lay but I could take or leave him. That it was over, because House had no clue how to leave something well enough alone. Or how to trust him.

Foreman turned the television on, got annoyed, and flicked it off again. Paced through the apartment. Finally threw himself into his office chair, his jaw tight, staring off at nothing much. Foreman wasn't House; he wasn't going to escape how he was feeling by getting drunk. He'd deal with it the same way he always had.

The sound of the apartment door slamming brought him up short. Foreman clenched his fists when he heard House call out. Joking, as if everything was just fucking fine. He pushed back his chair and went out to the living room, glaring at House. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. "Breaking in once wasn't good enough for you?"

Date: 2009-04-08 04:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
Foreman rolled his eyes at House's dig that sometimes, astonishingly enough, he liked to go out. There wasn't much chance of having a life while working eighty-hour weeks and taking extra shifts as their patient's status and House's whims dictated, so Foreman was going to take the opportunity when it came up. He didn't give a shit if House didn't approve. He really didn't expect House to show up again, to barge in like nothing had happened. He still looked pissed off, but Foreman would have guessed that he'd run away rather than try to deal with anything.

And he was right. House went into the kitchen, ignoring him, and without a word, started looking through his phone. Foreman should be furious. He should be grabbing for House's wrist, yanking the phone out of his hand, slamming him up against the counter and asking him when he thought he'd gotten the damn right to know about Foreman's every move. Instead, he leaned back in the doorway, crossing his arms, and watched, compressing the pointless feeling of hurt that made his chest ache, until it felt the same as his anger. "You think I'm lying but you trust my phone?" he asked. The corollary of everybody lies was everybody knows how to use the delete function on a phone, but of course House would have more faith in a fucking cell phone than he did in Foreman.

Date: 2009-04-08 05:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
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."

Date: 2009-04-08 04:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
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."

Date: 2009-04-09 03:48 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
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."

Date: 2009-04-09 05:46 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
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.

Date: 2009-04-10 05:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
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.

Date: 2009-04-11 01:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com
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.

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