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

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

[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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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

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

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

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

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

[foreman-eric-md.livejournal.com]

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

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

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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

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

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

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

[house-greg-md.livejournal.com]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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House couldn't hold back a smile at Foreman's response, letting it spread as he released a single, breathless laugh against Foreman's lips. He withdrew his finger, sliding his hands over Foreman's ass, around his hips. One hand wrapped around Foreman's dick, giving it a few hard strokes as House leaned up to steal another kiss. God, if he didn't do something else, switch this up, House was going to tell Foreman to fuck him anyway, and as much as he'd like it, he wanted what Foreman was offering. Wanted to prove that he wouldn't leave Foreman hanging. That Foreman could trust him when it fucking mattered. Wanted to keep going.

He tore out of the kiss abruptly, shoving roughly at Foreman's body. House grunted with the effort of pushing Foreman off him, forcing Foreman to fall onto his front. House hurried, opened the bottle and slicked another finger before Foreman could recover enough to wriggle away and change his mind. Now House was on board, imagining how fucking satisfying it would be to drive Foreman out of control. He doubted many people ever caught a glimpse of it, never mind be the cause of it. Even when Foreman allowed himself to let go enough for him to notice, it was always through the heavy haze of his orgasm, when he couldn't focus on it. But Foreman said he wanted this, and House wasn't about to let him take the words back now that all his previous awkwardness had been replaced with hot, driving desire. Desire to feel Foreman, tight and warm, clenching around him and pushing back, swearing and giving up everything he held onto so fucking closely. To see, and feel, and hear all of that before House let Foreman have his control back. Then he could let go, and, God, it would be so fucking good.

House pressed his left hand hard against Foreman's back, letting it take some of his weight as he leaned on his side. He swept his right over Foreman's ass, rubbed his fingertips over Foreman's perineum before pushing inside, starting slow all over again. Pushing just a little and waiting for Foreman's body to relax before going farther. Fuck, this was going to be good. It was getting harder to wait; House's cock ached, heavy and straining, precome leaking from the tip. He wanted to touch himself, give himself a few jerks to the same slow rhythm his fingers were moving, but he kept his hand on Foreman's back, trying to hold him there, keep him there. He wanted to feel Foreman buck and writhe, fucking let go, even for a minute or two, underneath him. So close. Getting so hard to wait. Foreman was starting to open up easier now, House's fingers sliding smoothly. He didn't know how Foreman could wait like this every fucking time. It was driving him a little crazy. Jesus.

House leaned down, twisting a little to reach across Foreman for the condom. "Yeah, you want that?" House asked, pushing insistently and finding Foreman's prostate again. "You want this?" House rubbed insistently, glancing up at Foreman's face, over his whole body, watching muscles shift and flex. He looked so fucking hot. House kept rubbing, trying to short-circuit Foreman's brain, distract him enough to let House tear the condom foil open with his teeth, shake off the wrapper, and pull the condom over the tip of his dick. It was hard to concentrate, his attention torn between the jolts of sensation at his own touch as he got the condom secure enough to roll it on, and keeping his rhythm inside Foreman.

It didn't matter for much longer; House pulled his fingers out, hoping Foreman was as ready as he'd ever be, and spread lube over his dick, letting out a moan. "You want more, Foreman," House said, rolling, half-falling on top of Foreman. He wasn't asking. He leaned on his left elbow, pushing up with his right hand to take the weight off of his right side as he settled his body over Foreman's. He ground his cock against Foreman's ass, wanting to push in, fuck Foreman until neither of them could think anymore. "You still want me to fuck you," House said, breathing heavily, lips grazing Foreman's ear. "Say it, Foreman. You still want me to fuck you."

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Foreman hissed as House pulled his finger out. He'd said more, not for House to stop. House's hands massaging his ass, then reaching to give his cock a few pumps, still had traces of lube on them, enough to turn his strokes slippery and so fucking good. God, that feeling. Foreman huffed out a breath of air, kissing House back, hoping that this wasn't going to be more of a delay than House slicking up his fingers again. He needed more, and he was beginning to want it more than he cared about what he'd be showing to House.

House's shove came completely by surprise, and House had pushed out from underneath him before Foreman knew what the hell he was doing. He lifted his head, but before he could roll to his side, House was on top of him, one hand planted in the center of his back. An instant of uncertainty made Foreman break out in nervous sweat, and he resisted, getting his elbows under him to shrug House off. House was heavier than he'd expected, though, and before he could rear up with more power, or stop and think, House was touching him again. Slick and hot, two fingers this time, and Foreman dropped his face down to the pillow, groaning hoarsely. Slow. Don't--not too much-- House seemed to read his mind, because the first pushes were--not tentative, or hesitant--but careful, and at the same time, firm and unrelenting. Foreman panted hard, forcing himself to unclench, to accept it. Christ, he didn't know that House was going to do this. Get on top of him like this. His heart was slamming in his throat, he could barely get enough oxygen, and he had no chance at all to think about whether he wanted to take it all back. Then, with another intense shock, House found his prostate again, and Foreman was lost, his brain whiting out for a second.

"Ohh--oh fuck. House. Oh God." Foreman couldn't stay still. He lifted his ass in time with House's thrusts--faster, fuck, he wasn't stopping, and the waves of pleasure roared over him, each one breaking over him before the last had receded. Couldn't stop. Jerking up into the touch, his whole body contracting each time, struggling under House's weight to get his knees under him so that he could push back, and up. His legs were flexing, and he ground the side of his face into the pillow as he arched his back. Spreading his legs. Sounds pouring out of him with each thrust. On some level he knew the way he was moving was practically begging for it, but his mind was buried, and all he could do, all he wanted, was to push for more. He could feel House's weight, the looming heat of him, the push of his cock against Foreman's ass.

Then, House's fingers were gone, and Foreman panted for a moment, getting his bearings back. He ground his cock against the bed, straining to get more pressure, aching for the sharp, electric pleasure of having House's fingers inside. House was close, his breath heavy and hot next to Foreman's ear. Foreman jerked his head aside, biting down on his lip. He'd already been letting out more words and jumbled sounds than he'd been planning on. House's low, eager demand made Foreman want to be contrary, not to admit anything. But he needed it. Wanted it. Was already so fucking close. The slight burn and ache in his ass felt more like a desire to be filled, to have House's dick inside him, rubbing the way his fingers had, but fuller, stronger, more powerful. Driving him out of his fucking mind with pleasure. And House had already shown how good he'd be, careful at first and then going hard enough to make Foreman come apart.

"Yeah," he breathed before he'd even thought he was going to speak, imagining it, imagining the incredible surge of feeling. He exhaled hard, nudging his ass up against House's cock. God, he'd already said it. Already more than begged. There was no point in holding back. Foreman kept his voice low, barely turned away from the pillow when he finally said it. "Yeah, fuck me, I want you to."

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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.

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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?"

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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."

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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.

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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."