Look Before (PG-13)
Posted to foreman_house and housefic
Title: Look Before
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Foreman, Wilson/Amber mentioned
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1076
Summary: If Foreman's not careful, he might stumble into something.
Notes: Written for queenzulu. Thanks to daisylily.
Sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed, woken from a sound sleep by House being the loudest, most annoying sleeper ever, Foreman picked his way blindly across the bedroom toward the bathroom. Halfway there, his foot hit something on the floor and he stumbled momentarily before regaining his footing.
The piss was wonderful and the stagger back to the bed was uneventful.
***
Distracted, preoccupied with the revisions the JAMA peer-review panel was insisting on for his latest article, Foreman walked into the apartment without looking around. He dropped his keys and wallet in his valet on the table by the door and shifted his briefcase to the other shoulder. Something quick for dinner, and a glass of wine, and then he could make the -- The arch of his foot hit squarely on something unexpected, something hard that rolled and threw his balance off completely. He had to throw an arm up in the air, and even then he stumbled inelegantly and landed against the back of the couch. "House!" he bellowed.
From where he was seated on the sofa, two cushions away, House looked up at him slowly. "Yeah?"
"What the hell is this?" Foreman demanded, gesturing toward the floor.
House stretched to look over the back of the couch, turning his head the minimum possible. "It's a broom," he replied, and returned his gaze to the TV.
Fucker. "I know it's a broom," Foreman retorted, as he straightened himself up. "What I don't know is what it's doing there on the floor."
"Are you asking me? Seriously? Do I look like Sir Sweeps-A-Lot?"
Shaking his head, Foreman slapped his briefcase onto the couch and moved determinedly toward the kitchen.
“You’re lucky that I do like big butts, though!” House called after him.
“Lucky I have tolerance for gigantic asses,” Foreman muttered, and pulled the leftover lasagna from the refrigerator.
***
Flushed, aroused, driven mad by House in more ways than one, Foreman walked backward down the book-lined hall, dragging House after him. He had one arm wrapped around House’s back, and the other hand clamped onto House’s skull, firmly keeping that infuriating, entirely too clever mouth within easy reach of Foreman’s lips. House snarled, and Foreman scraped the upraised lip with his teeth.
“Yeah,” Foreman breathed, “that’s it, you bastard,” as he steered them toward the bedroom. Almost there, Foreman pulled his arm out from under House’s shirt to reach back for the door, when his foot came down hard on something thin and solid. Pain shot through his foot and calf; his other foot slipped; and as House’s hands dropped off him, he realized he was falling backwards to the floor.
Landing on his ass two steps from the bedroom was not the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to Foreman, but he really didn’t want to think about the things that had been worse.
House had leaned to the right to brace himself against the wall and was regarding Foreman with an excessively smug, aggravating grin.
“Fuck, House!” Foreman shouted from his seat on the floor. “The broom again?” He kicked at the offending object, sending it in House’s direction. “What the hell are you trying to do, kill me?”
Still smug, House tilted his head and regarded Foreman calmly. “You really are stupid.”
Asshole. “Delving into the labyrinth of your ridiculous mind games is not something -”
“And clumsy, too,” House continued. He nodded toward the broom at his feet. “You haven’t jumped over the damn thing once.”
Foreman stared at House. “You’re saying this is your twisted way of trying to propose to me?”
Evasively House looked back down the hallway and shrugged.
Shaking his head, Foreman hauled himself to his feet. “So I’ve almost broken my neck three times because you can’t buy a ring like a normal person?”
House was now looking at his hands. “Do I do anything like a normal person?”
“Not a damn thing,” Foreman replied and kissed him soundly.
EPILOGUE
House burst through Wilson's door as Wilson was finishing up his charting.
"Foreman and I are engaged; buy me presents."
Wilson looked up for a moment, then turned his attention back to Mrs. Krasinsky's file. "Amber's pregnant with septuplets."
"What?" House had planted himself on Wilson's couch.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were playing 'Who Can Make Up the Biggest Whopper About the Person He Lives With' again."
"Nothing's going to beat, 'No, seriously, there are no fangs in her vagina,' so that game's permanently on the shelf. Buy me presents. I'm thinking some of those fancy copper-bottomed things you like." House pointed in Wilson's direction. "Not the sex costumes, the cookware."
Sighing, Wilson signed Mrs. Krasinsky's latest orders, closed the folder, and pulled Mr. Dobbin's file off the tall pile of charts. "The upkeep for septuplets isn't cheap, you know. I probably won't have the money for a whole set of pots and pans for your wedding present."
House was bouncing something small and hard off the ceiling and catching it. "No, kitchen crap is the engagement present. I'm expecting you to shell out even more for the wedding present. Either new living-room furniture or a big-screen HDTV."
"You going to tutor my seven kids so I don't have to pay for college?"
"No, but I know a neurologist who can dumb-ify them so they won't get in."
Amusing as this wasn't, Wilson had a lot of work to get done before he could meet Amber for a late lunch. "House --" he began, but was interrupted by Foreman's arrival.
"Is House -- Oh, there you are." Foreman stopped in the doorway and stared House down. "Let's get a move on; we've got to meet the vendor in five minutes."
"Vendor?" Wilson asked, looking back and forth between House and Foreman. "Did Cuddy give Diagnostics its own equipment budget?"
"Nope," House replied as he pushed up from the couch. "Caterer. Apparently May's a busy month for weddings in Princeton, so we've got to start interviewing now."
Wilson laughed and turned the page in Mr. Dobbin's file. "Have fun."
House gave him a grin and followed Foreman out the door. Wilson turned back to his charting, still smiling at the crazy things House could come up with. Engaged. Funny.
He was only two words in when Foreman's voice floated in from the hallway and stopped him cold. "For the third time, House, we are not having fried chicken at the reception."
"But I like fried chicken," was House's over-exaggerated whine of a reply, and all Wilson could do was stare into space in his shock.
Title: Look Before
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Foreman, Wilson/Amber mentioned
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1076
Summary: If Foreman's not careful, he might stumble into something.
Notes: Written for queenzulu. Thanks to daisylily.
Sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed, woken from a sound sleep by House being the loudest, most annoying sleeper ever, Foreman picked his way blindly across the bedroom toward the bathroom. Halfway there, his foot hit something on the floor and he stumbled momentarily before regaining his footing.
The piss was wonderful and the stagger back to the bed was uneventful.
***
Distracted, preoccupied with the revisions the JAMA peer-review panel was insisting on for his latest article, Foreman walked into the apartment without looking around. He dropped his keys and wallet in his valet on the table by the door and shifted his briefcase to the other shoulder. Something quick for dinner, and a glass of wine, and then he could make the -- The arch of his foot hit squarely on something unexpected, something hard that rolled and threw his balance off completely. He had to throw an arm up in the air, and even then he stumbled inelegantly and landed against the back of the couch. "House!" he bellowed.
From where he was seated on the sofa, two cushions away, House looked up at him slowly. "Yeah?"
"What the hell is this?" Foreman demanded, gesturing toward the floor.
House stretched to look over the back of the couch, turning his head the minimum possible. "It's a broom," he replied, and returned his gaze to the TV.
Fucker. "I know it's a broom," Foreman retorted, as he straightened himself up. "What I don't know is what it's doing there on the floor."
"Are you asking me? Seriously? Do I look like Sir Sweeps-A-Lot?"
Shaking his head, Foreman slapped his briefcase onto the couch and moved determinedly toward the kitchen.
“You’re lucky that I do like big butts, though!” House called after him.
“Lucky I have tolerance for gigantic asses,” Foreman muttered, and pulled the leftover lasagna from the refrigerator.
***
Flushed, aroused, driven mad by House in more ways than one, Foreman walked backward down the book-lined hall, dragging House after him. He had one arm wrapped around House’s back, and the other hand clamped onto House’s skull, firmly keeping that infuriating, entirely too clever mouth within easy reach of Foreman’s lips. House snarled, and Foreman scraped the upraised lip with his teeth.
“Yeah,” Foreman breathed, “that’s it, you bastard,” as he steered them toward the bedroom. Almost there, Foreman pulled his arm out from under House’s shirt to reach back for the door, when his foot came down hard on something thin and solid. Pain shot through his foot and calf; his other foot slipped; and as House’s hands dropped off him, he realized he was falling backwards to the floor.
Landing on his ass two steps from the bedroom was not the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to Foreman, but he really didn’t want to think about the things that had been worse.
House had leaned to the right to brace himself against the wall and was regarding Foreman with an excessively smug, aggravating grin.
“Fuck, House!” Foreman shouted from his seat on the floor. “The broom again?” He kicked at the offending object, sending it in House’s direction. “What the hell are you trying to do, kill me?”
Still smug, House tilted his head and regarded Foreman calmly. “You really are stupid.”
Asshole. “Delving into the labyrinth of your ridiculous mind games is not something -”
“And clumsy, too,” House continued. He nodded toward the broom at his feet. “You haven’t jumped over the damn thing once.”
Foreman stared at House. “You’re saying this is your twisted way of trying to propose to me?”
Evasively House looked back down the hallway and shrugged.
Shaking his head, Foreman hauled himself to his feet. “So I’ve almost broken my neck three times because you can’t buy a ring like a normal person?”
House was now looking at his hands. “Do I do anything like a normal person?”
“Not a damn thing,” Foreman replied and kissed him soundly.
EPILOGUE
House burst through Wilson's door as Wilson was finishing up his charting.
"Foreman and I are engaged; buy me presents."
Wilson looked up for a moment, then turned his attention back to Mrs. Krasinsky's file. "Amber's pregnant with septuplets."
"What?" House had planted himself on Wilson's couch.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were playing 'Who Can Make Up the Biggest Whopper About the Person He Lives With' again."
"Nothing's going to beat, 'No, seriously, there are no fangs in her vagina,' so that game's permanently on the shelf. Buy me presents. I'm thinking some of those fancy copper-bottomed things you like." House pointed in Wilson's direction. "Not the sex costumes, the cookware."
Sighing, Wilson signed Mrs. Krasinsky's latest orders, closed the folder, and pulled Mr. Dobbin's file off the tall pile of charts. "The upkeep for septuplets isn't cheap, you know. I probably won't have the money for a whole set of pots and pans for your wedding present."
House was bouncing something small and hard off the ceiling and catching it. "No, kitchen crap is the engagement present. I'm expecting you to shell out even more for the wedding present. Either new living-room furniture or a big-screen HDTV."
"You going to tutor my seven kids so I don't have to pay for college?"
"No, but I know a neurologist who can dumb-ify them so they won't get in."
Amusing as this wasn't, Wilson had a lot of work to get done before he could meet Amber for a late lunch. "House --" he began, but was interrupted by Foreman's arrival.
"Is House -- Oh, there you are." Foreman stopped in the doorway and stared House down. "Let's get a move on; we've got to meet the vendor in five minutes."
"Vendor?" Wilson asked, looking back and forth between House and Foreman. "Did Cuddy give Diagnostics its own equipment budget?"
"Nope," House replied as he pushed up from the couch. "Caterer. Apparently May's a busy month for weddings in Princeton, so we've got to start interviewing now."
Wilson laughed and turned the page in Mr. Dobbin's file. "Have fun."
House gave him a grin and followed Foreman out the door. Wilson turned back to his charting, still smiling at the crazy things House could come up with. Engaged. Funny.
He was only two words in when Foreman's voice floated in from the hallway and stopped him cold. "For the third time, House, we are not having fried chicken at the reception."
"But I like fried chicken," was House's over-exaggerated whine of a reply, and all Wilson could do was stare into space in his shock.