alwaysright | October 29, 2007

October 29, 2007 - Evening

Nothing around here works the way it's supposed to work.

Of everything their John Doe--Robert Elliot--had said when Foreman had been with him, that was what rang the most true. It was stupid to think that talking with a patient with Giovianni's syndrome could change anything, least of all how he saw himself. The guy wasn't psychic; he was only picking up on the cues that Foreman had dropped inadvertently. Changing because of that was worse than stupid. It would imply that not only was Foreman ignorant about his own feelings and what he wanted, but also that he was spineless enough to act differently because of a stranger's neurological disorder. Foreman made his own choices. He wasn't looking for any advice, whether it was his own reflected back at him or not.

After the day's humiliation, Foreman had been more sure than ever that Princeton wasn't the right place for him. Less than an hour later, Chase had come up to him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and laughingly asked if it was true.

Foreman fixed him with a furious stare. "I didn't know she worked here. And I didn't have to beg her every day for weeks."

Chase, far from being offended, just grinned wider. "Once a week. Anyway, I heard Amber was the one calling the shots."

Foreman didn't bother pointing out that Cameron walked all over Chase on a daily basis. "I have to run a biopsy," he said, turning to walk away, his shoulders hunched as he pushed his fists into his pockets.

"She seems like just your type!" Chase called after him. "Did you ever consider lightening up and enjoying yourselves?"

Fat chance of that. Not with the whole hospital in on the joke and watching. For what it was worth, Foreman didn't have to work with Amber directly for the rest of the day. Both of them were too busy running cultures and keeping the patient alive. Foreman let House do whatever crazy thing entered his mind. He didn't have any illusions about being able to stop him today, and Foreman was more interested in keeping his head down. In thinking about how to get away.

But when House sidled up to him with a job offer from Mount Zion, Foreman's first thought wasn't to jump at the opportunity. It wasn't even to suspect that House was having him on, dangling the possibility with every intention of yanking it away the second Foreman seemed likely to believe it was real.

His first thought had been, I can't go yet.

That had surprised him more than anything, made him stop and frown once he'd finally shaken House off. After having his affairs aired in the middle of a differential like a choice piece of gossip he couldn't believe that there was any reason not to take up the job hunt again. Farther afield, where the hospitals wouldn't have heard of him, or had their diagnostics cases redirected to Princeton-Plainsboro, so that they'd only know House by his reputation, not by personal experience. Maybe as far away as California; Foreman still had contacts there.

But he didn't want to go.

Partly it was the medicine. He'd felt in the thick of it again today. Working against the clock to solve a case. Challenged, following the clues from one to the next. He'd always loved that, even if he hadn't been happy working for House. But partly, Foreman knew, it was Amber, and he didn't know what do about that. He'd been shot down enough, rejected enough, that he should want to stay away from her just to avoid any more scenes like this morning's. Even so, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Wondering what she really felt and whether the attitude she'd shown in front of House was all there was.

Well, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to ask. Once the case was solved, all Foreman wanted to do was gather his things and escape. It was late, and dark, and he headed for the doors slowly, already knowing he wouldn't have the same luck he'd had on Thursday. Nothing worked out the way it should.

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At first the only answer he got was Amber pulling away from him, the warmth of her hand disappearing from his leg, her arm no longer within reach. Foreman hadn't missed the flicker of her glance towards the bathrooms, and he wondered if she'd made her own calculations and decided it was too risky after all. He sat back, the roil of anticipation and arousal suddenly grinding to a halt. But a second later, Amber's voice curved warmly around the ordinary, pointless topic of what was good on the menu, as if she was cool, careless, and completely uninterested. Foreman couldn't miss the impish smile at the corner of her lips, or the slide of her foot along his calf. He swallowed hard. She wanted to tease him, and it was so damn sexy. She had to know it. And, knowing Amber, she had to be doing this on purpose. She was testing him. Seeing what he'd do.

This time Foreman didn't hesitate. He let his hand rest on Amber's knee, but instead of the light, warm, promising touch he'd intended earlier, he immediately went further, sneaking his hand under the hem of her skirt. His reach was longer than hers, giving him more room to play. There wasn't anything between his hand and her leg except the silky smoothness of her nylons. Foreman loved the sensation of the sheer fabric under his fingers, warm as Amber's skin, and so goddamn tantalizing. He might be imagining the hint of moist warmth as he reached higher, but from the flash he'd seen in Amber's eyes before she decided to pretend indifference, he didn't think so. With a hint of pressure, he urged her to uncross her legs. If she didn't want them to duck into the bathroom...God, it was even more open here, exposed. The waiter could interrupt them at any time. But Foreman wanted to know what Amber would show--whether he could deepen the flush on her cheeks, make her breath come sharp and halting.

"I've never been here before," he said, letting his voice stay dark and warm. Anyone listening might imagine he was talking about the restaurant. "You'll have to tell me what's good."

Amber shivered at the sudden intimacy of Eric's touch, hot and firm and absolutely right in all ways. But she quickly reigned in her reaction. This was a game, and rule number two was to be as discreet as possible. (The first rule was: have outrageous fun.) Even as Eric's hand climbed, closer and closer to where she really wanted to feel him, Amber maintained a calm expression. Only her rapid heartbeat and growing wetness would've given her away-- and only Eric could pick up on those indications.

"It's hard to go wrong, here." Amber crossed her legs, extending an invitation by granting more access. She could hardly wait. "But if you ask me, the best dishes are the strong, spicy ones." She punctuated the adjectives with more force than necessary; nothing in this world was cheesier than food double entendres, but if they were going to make out in public, she might as well go all out.

At worst, Amber would end up horny and desperately needing a proper attention; at best, she could come. Either outcome was fine with her. Eric, on the other hand, had more to lose. Not only was he more self-conscious of his image, but his horniness or orgasm would have far more visible signs than her own. If this came down to a game of chicken, she was confident of her odds. Her grin stronger than ever, she extended her leg further and higher, rubbing his knees and the inner curve of his thigh. How different and exciting to sense him through her toes; it was like looking underwater, familiar sights distorted into new forms.

In her peripheral vision she saw the waiter approaching and almost laughed, wondering how Eric would react.

"I like something rich," Foreman said. "Lingering." He was determined not to back down, even if Amber wanted to assault him with bad puns. He might end up with the world's worst case of blue balls, and have to sit here long after their food was finished to wait until he could walk out of the restaurant without advertising exactly what had been going on under their table, but he wasn't going to let Amber get the best of him. Her foot had found its way past his knee, and Foreman had no doubt where Amber meant to move it next. If she started pressing against his crotch, curious and exploring, he wasn't going to be able to hold on to his composure. Sweat was gathering in his armpits, running down his back, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing even. Pleasure jolted through him like electric shocks each time Amber's foot rubbed him higher up. Fuck. Fuck, he was getting hard. She shouldn't be able to do this to him, so easily. And, to top it all off, Amber's glance lifted over his shoulder for a second, her smirk growing. The waiter with the perfect fucking timing.

"Have you decided what you'll be having?" the waiter asked, looking at Amber as if he was on his guard against her.

It meant that he wasn't paying attention to Foreman. Under the guise of listening closely, Foreman shifted his chair an inch or two closer to Amber's, until he was more or less beside her. It was all the extra room he needed. He gripped Amber's ankle firmly, preventing her from going any further with her teasing. He pulled her closer, until her leg rested in his lap, giving him full access to return the favour. She might feel his erection against her outer thigh, but he was free now to tease every inch of her inner leg, hitching her skirt higher under the cover of the tablecloth. "I've heard the kebabs are good," he told the waiter quickly, before his voice could give him away. "I'll have that with the roasted potatoes and green salad." He hadn't so much as glanced at the menu, and he was more or less making a stab at what might go with the kebabs. Once the waiter nodded, accepting his order, Foreman paid full attention to Amber. To touching her. Nothing too firm, nothing that would give her any relief. Skipping and brushing his fingertips up and down her thigh. All the way, this time, and he hadn't been imagining it, she was already wet. He could feel it through her panties, through the nylons. Knowing that sent another surge of sensation through his cock, and he tightened his right hand on Amber's thigh, pulling her leg closer against him. His heartbeat was so loud he was surprised the waiter couldn't hear it. He could only be glad that his skin hid any blush. Refusing to show any reaction (he'd worked with House for three years; he could hide how he felt for five minutes), Foreman slipped his finger over the damp spot at the juncture of Amber's thighs, soft and fleeting and, he hoped, as frustrating as possible.

Ah, so Eric rose to the challenge of terrible culinary-based dirty talk. She snickered. "Lingering?" She deliberately stopped her foot's progress forward, circling her big toe over the same spot, digging in. "I'm sure we can find something along those lines." Amber could sit here all night, fondling him through appetizer and main course and desert-- but he might not find 'lingering' so appealing a taste after all.

Having made her point, Amber continued with her foot's rise. The real tantalizing would come in at and around his groin, and she was curious as how hard he was. And hard he had to be, judging from the curving of his back, the pinching of his face that he couldn't hide.

"I want the Thai chicken.” It was the only thing she remembered seeing during her faux-review of the menu. On the verge of laughing-- at the waiter, at the fun of sneaking around, at the anticipation of Eric having to talk with her foot eliciting his hard-on-- Amber let her attention slip. A serious mistake. With a few key maneuvers, Eric turned the tables on her, so to speak.

At least now she knew how hard he was.

Sure, with the new set-up more of her leg was over him, but the position twisted her too awkwardly, giving her less mobility for subtler motions. So she slipped her leg down, just in time to savor him playing along her thigh, light and casual and wonderfully teasing. Her heart rate exploded as his fingers brushed her wetness and she couldn't not tip her head back, eyelids fluttering.

Had anyone noticed? Did they suspect? Wasn’t that other couple looking their way?

Amber wanted to kiss him, to bite his lip, to scrape his beard against her throat. That she couldn’t, not without waving a flag declaring what they were up to, only made her want it all the more. So she went for more sly contact, fixing her gaze on Eric’s shining eyes. God, his excitement was so sexy. She loved that they were in this together, surfing the same waves of joy and frustration. Her hand snaked beneath the tablecloth, cupping his tenting crotch, feeling yet another flash of desire. “I want you inside of me,” she said as conversationally as possible, but she couldn’t keep the edge from out of her voice. “I want you to fuck me on this table, hard.”

Foreman barely noticed the waiter escaping with their orders. Amber tipped her head back, her chin lifting slightly, her eyes slipping closed for an instant. Her breathing hitched in reaction to his touches, growing shallower each time he stroked her fully. With her lips parted, just enough that he could see the tip of her tongue, all Foreman could think about was kissing her, deep and thorough, tasting every shaky breath she let out, until he could feel her arousal with his mouth, not just his hands. Answer it with his own need. Let it build, both of them getting more than was possible right now. Christ, he needed more. Never taking his eyes off Amber's face, Foreman massaged his fingertips just above her clit, or as close as he could tell through the fabric, wanting to feel Amber's thigh trembling under his restraining hand.

He'd thought hooking her leg across his lap would save him from her teasing, but God, it was worse. If he'd let her keep going, her foot massaging his cock through his pants, then maybe he would have lost control, but maybe he wouldn't have cared. He could have pushed against her, trying to roll his hips forward as much as possible without giving himself away. As it was there was the warm pressure, enough that he couldn't get away from it but not moving. His erection was starting to strain against his pants, full and hard, reminding him with every chafing second that this was a stupid idea, that any sound or movement would make everyone in the damn room aware of what was happening. Somehow, though, that only added to his excitement, glancing around and seeing people involved in their own conversations, with no idea.

He nearly gave the game away himself when Amber touched him. Upping the stakes, her hand covering him--so fucking good. A strained sound caught in his throat, not enough for anyone to hear, although Amber probably would--and would be pleased at his reaction, he'd bet. I want you to fuck me on this table. Fuck, he couldn't think, Amber's words echoing in his mind, the images conjured up making him almost painfully hard. But, like her barely-double entendres of a moment ago, it was another push, something that he'd find even easier to answer. "I want to make you come," he said, matching her tone. "Right here. For me, while I'm watching you. Touching you. So no one else knows."

Amber pushed her hips up, guiding his touch towards her clit; he was so close, so painfully close. The tease, he was doing this on purpose, he had to be. And she loved it. When she finally did come, here or wherever, it'd feel so good, having earned the pleasure. She wouldn’t forget this night, not for a long time.

Eric’s words made her shiver with anticipation and she squirmed, squeezing his hands between her legs. God, she loved hearing him, loved hearing that sophisticated voice speaking such vulgarities. It was so unexpected, like a newscaster suddenly narrating a sex scene with pornographic detail. "Do you?" Amber asked, tone low and cool and taut. She wanted to hear more, hear him let lose a stream of obscenities.

"Funny," she commented, gripping his erection through the fabric. He was so hard she could feel his form through the silk, and she couldn't help imagining him entering her, how he’d feel inside. She already knew, from experience, but once wasn't enough. She had to have him again. But, for now, she unzipped his pants, undid his fly and, oh, it was so much more satisfying holding his dick this way, with only his underwear between their skin. Her hand encircled him. "I was thinking the same thing, making you come right here, my hand fucking your dick, with everyone around us." Amber glanced quickly to that couple she’d noticed earlier. She was pretty sure it wasn’t just her imagination: the woman was peering at them with wide eyes. But Amber wasn’t worried; the woman was far too mousy to report them to anyone. On the contrary, it only excited her all the more, that someone might really be watching.

Leaning in closer to whisper in Eric’s ear, "Race you to it—whoever comes first, loses.”

Foreman kept moving his hand as Amber tried to pin it between her thighs. Back and forth. A strong, heavy pressure, then a short teasing brush. He had no idea if he was winning or losing this game, but the longer it kept up, the less he cared. He felt more like a teenager than ever, holding back his groans, his jaw tight with how hard he was clenching his teeth not to let loose how he was feeling, like he was hiding a furtive beat-off session behind the bathroom door. "Yeah," he said raggedly. I love watching you. God, he couldn't say that, not even if he wasn't trying to keep back as much as he could. It was their second--third?--date, and they might be practically fucking in public, but he couldn't say that.

"Amber--" Her name jerked out of him when she started undoing his belt. The word stop leaped to mind, but he swallowed it down. Couldn't give in. Her fingers were deft, more skillful than he could have ever imagined. It seemed like only seconds until her hand was inside his pants. Close. Stroking him. Eroding his control. Foreman sucked in a deeper, even breath, and reached for his wine with his free hand. He took a sip, although it wasn't the wine he was savouring. The pull of silk across his cock was light, slippery, so fucking close to perfect. When his hand dropped back under the table, he brought his napkin with it, pushing it against the back of Amber's hand. He was not going to walk out of here with a semen stain on his shirt, and he hoped Amber took the hint. From her words, maybe she wouldn't care about that either. The more she spoke, the more the sounds of the restaurant faded from Foreman's attention. He forced his eyes open, taking another look around. That was the only thing saving him from coming on the spot: knowing that he might be watched. He'd kept up his own efforts at bringing Amber off by an act of will, and his fingers were already moving harder and faster. He had to get the better of her, and fast, before they both went too far.

"I think you're wrong." Start with a challenge, to make sure she was listening. "I know you don't like to lose, but if you--mmn--do that--much longer, then you will." He'd looked around when Amber did, seen the woman who was peeking furtively at them from across the room. What could she see? The tablecloth moving? How close Foreman was sitting to Amber? The soft, intimate way Amber had leaned in to whisper in his ear? Whatever it was, she kept looking back. She suspected, at least. Embarrassment burned through Foreman, but it wasn't as strong or as hot as the feel of Amber's fingers curving around his cock through his shorts. And Amber hadn't stopped after seeing that they were being watched. She'd grown bolder, more brazen. She liked it--wanted to be seen. "I could...follow you back to the bathroom. Have you up against the door." Foreman clenched his teeth, struggling to keep too many images, too many sensations at bay just a little longer. It wasn't his fantasy, his kink, but he could see how to drive Amber over the edge, make her picture everything the way she'd been invading his imagination since this evening began. If he could just hold on to his control a little longer. Keep touching Amber, firm circles over her clit with the heel of this hand, teasing strokes along the damp material with his fingers, pressing up rhythmically, so close to being inside her. Ignore the eager, dangerous play of her fingers up and down the length of his erection, the treacherous heat of pleasure building in the pit of his stomach. Foreman leaned in, his lips warm and close against Amber's ear when he finished speaking. "Anyone could be listening. Right on the other side. I'd fuck you until you couldn't stay quiet."

Christ, she couldn't stay quiet now, not with the barrage of words and images and Eric's hand doing things to her, rubbing and pressing and bringing her so close to the edge. It suddenly didn't seem fair, that she couldn't climb into his lap and take him in, as she should be able to, humans were made for this, weren't they? But with Eric sharply bringing down the handkerchief as a shield to his shirt, Amber was reminded to keep up the least in propriety and limited herself to a few throaty gasps.

Still. The images he conjured, they hit her hard, striking precisely at some of her favorite fantasies. The two of them coupling, her back against cool wood, the soft bangs and clicks the door would make, and the knowledge that they were just inches from public gaze. She'd have take him up on the offer, gone there to the bathroom this very moment, but even if they couldn't fuck there, fact was, here they literally were under public scrutiny. Amber liked to think she'd seen a flash of jealousy in that woman's eyes, wishing to be in her shoes. Doing what she was, with Eric. But Amber wouldn’t give her shoes away, not even in exchange for the whole world.

"Fuck, Eric," Amber gasped, shuddering with his breath against her ear. “This is amazing.” The more excited she got, the faster and tighter she gripped him, trying to match their paces. She'd meant it about the game rules, and while she wouldn't mind losing in this case, she had to stand up to the principle of the matter. And it was so tempting, to make him cave in, make him relinquish some of that pride he held on to so fiercely. She knew Eric was close too, his pupils huge and his grimace in holding back whatever sounds he couldn't help making. His erection was so hot in her hands, so inviting, and she stroked furiously, her thumb up tighter along the base of his dick. "C'mon, harder, like you mean it--"

Foreman frowned fiercely, his eyes shutting against his will, as Amber's breath--the word amazing--puffed against his throat, his ear. Yeah. Oh, fuck, yes, it was amazing, more than that, but he didn't know if he could keep this up. Arousal and adrenaline sent his heart slamming against his breastbone. Amber's gasps--barely held back, badly concealed--heightened his urgency so much that he didn't know if he was going to come or panic. They were being watched. He knew that, and yet he hadn't pulled back, hadn't insisted on at least escaping the goddamn room. Their food would be here any minute. If the waiters weren't watching them and laying bets as to how far they'd go. Foreman felt caught, like he'd been carried away in a whirlwind, with no will left of his own; Amber's hand was hot and deliciously tight around his cock, sending surges of thought across his mind. Give in. Let go. Come.

His mouth drifted closer to Amber's throat. All he wanted was to suck her pulse point to the same tight, hard rhythm of his hand. Kiss her, finally, ravage her mouth until she couldn't push out another sound past the seal of his lips. The second he started, he'd be lost. Kissing her would give them away. Even once. Foreman wouldn't stop himself then, from groaning harsh and loud, from letting their badly-kept secret become a public indecency charge. He let out a quick, hot breath, but didn't let himself close the last quarter-inch between them. With his right hand, he let go of her leg and grabbed her wrist, gripping it tight enough to stop her. Maybe he was a coward, maybe he was an idiot, but he couldn't let her finish him off, not like this, not in front of a restaurant full of people. "I won't lose," he said. "This time."

He lifted his left hand--still trapped under the bunched material of her skirt--and finally pushed his fingers underneath the elastic of Amber's nylons and panties. She was slick and wet and it felt so amazing that Foreman stopped breathing altogether, until his lungs ached from lack of oxygen. No leverage this way, and he couldn't keep up the same rhythm of hard, driving strokes, but he could curve his wrist, thrust his middle finger deep inside, press up into Amber's tight, slippery heat, feel her muscles constrict around him. Like he meant it? This was more than that. More. Plunging in, his palm squeezing Amber's clit, his finger rubbing her inner walls. Anyone--that woman across the restaurant--who was looking--they'd see his shoulder moving; he couldn't conceal that anymore than Amber could hide her expression, but Foreman couldn't stop. Couldn't stop staring, watching Amber's face, wanting exactly what he'd told her--for her to come for him. He didn't care about anyone else, what they saw, what they heard. For him.

Well, if Eric was going to play dirty, of course he was going to win, and he was a cheater, big, huge, dirty cheater, and Amber could've burst from sheer pride. So he played to win. 'This time,' he he'd said, which meant there'd be a next one and then, oh, yes, Amber would be ready for his underhanded ways.

This round, though, she had to concede defeat, her heart dashing against her chest, her thoughts so muddled she couldn't keep track of what was happening, what hand was where and what Eric was doing but did it really matter, as long as he kept doing it, kept on pushing deeper and harder. Her wrist, he'd gripped it so tight it almost hurt, but the chafing, it only added to the senses assaulting her, his cologne's scent as he leaned in towards her, and his skin, it was slick with sweat, hers must be too, christ, what did it matter, where they were and who was watching, she just wanted--

"Eric," she breathed, peaking so high, like she was flying, here in this chair with him right next to her, and she bent her head, moaning, "Oh, god," and kissed him as she soared through clear blue skies. His mouth was so hot, so wet, and she sucked him in, channeling her gasps into him, and she could taste the wine and god, yes, could feel his pulse as fast as her own, and she never, ever wanted to come back down.

But back down Amber came, and of all the places to come back to, this one was pretty good. Opening her eyes to peer around the restaurant, she verified that no one was making a huge fuss over what had just happened at their table, and then looked back to Eric. She couldn’t tell if he was indignant, turned on, or tremendously embarrassed. Probably all three. “You’re no fun,” Amber teased, squeezing his hand between her thighs again. He was uncomfortable, she knew, and wouldn’t take well to further innuendo, but coasting on a good mood, she couldn’t resist pushing him. She twisted her wrist out of his grasp and encircled his balls, thumbing the base of his penis. It throbbed, strong and insistent. He wanted this, how could he not? “C’mon, give in,” she invited, flashing a promise-filled smile. “For me.”

God, Amber was fucking beautiful when she came. She was holding back--Foreman remembered how she'd cried out last time, how she'd nearly dissolved for him, her body shuddering against his--but even though she was quieter, Foreman could feel how unrestrained she was, how much she simply abandoned herself to her orgasm. He kept moving his hand, his finger inside her, his eyes trained on her face, seeing her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth open around a moan. "Amber..." It was half a warning, half an amazed reaction, and before he could finish saying anything else, she was kissing him. His cock jumped in her hand where she was still holding him, and Foreman choked back a groan of his own. Kissing her. Everyone watching. He'd thought he'd be lost if he kissed her, but instead, he felt like he was outside of the kiss, watching himself, just like the rest of their audience must be.

All his invincibility, the feeling that it didn't matter who saw, drained away, leaving him more embarrassed than he could remember. He pulled back from the kiss, licking his lips. Nobody seemed to be watching. The woman at the other table had finally stopped peeking, or at least Foreman didn't catch her at it. But his hand was wet and slippery, smelling--and, he imagined, tasting--like Amber. He drew away from her, sliding his hand out from between her clenched thighs. He took the napkin from his lap and wiped his hand as best he could. Each time he looked around, he expected to see someone outright staring, in disgust or lascivious interest. It made his skin crawl, like there were a thousand eyes on him even if he couldn't catch them at it.

He twisted back to face Amber when she spoke. No, he wasn't fun. This wasn't fun. It had been. Had been so overwhelming that he'd lost track of himself. He'd wanted to break the rules, but now that he had, he felt a sick, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know whether to get pissed off about it--anything but this feeling of humiliation--or to simply disengage, brush it all away like nothing had happened. Even as he wavered between reactions, he knew neither one was fair. He'd started this, continued it, and he had no right to get uptight about it now. But that didn't mean he was able to finish it. Amber's encouragements, her voice, her hand teasing him, only made his shame hotter.

"I can't," he said, low and strained. "Not here." He drew her hand out of his pants. God, couldn't believe he was stopping, when he was so close, when he didn't have to. It hurt to zip up his pants. His erection pushed against the zipper, the teeth digging in even through his shorts. He was throbbing, painfully, but he finished fastening his pants, and buttoned his suit jacket all the way down--at least that would hide how hard he was from a casual glance, although it would be stupidly, moronically obvious to anyone who knew. "I'll--be right back," he said, standing up. He took the shortest, most discreet route to the bathrooms that he could manage, trying to walk as normally as possible, and ducked into the men's, hoping like hell it was empty.

Amber was all smiles and near-laughter, sated with orgasm and the prospect of teasing, and maybe even satisfying Eric in return. But her mirth drained as Eric rubbed his hands vigorously against the napkin as if he were removing oily gunk from some undesirable source, like his car's engine. Her heart started to pound again while he zipped up and packed himself away. The whole time, he wouldn't meet her eyes. I can't, not here.

That first morning after, too, Eric had turned away from her. She now knew the reason why: he'd just realized they both worked for House, and was, in an automatic reaction, giving up what-- who-- he thought he couldn't have.

There was something to be said, though, to the fact that Amber always ended up feeling filthy after having sex with him.

Neatly-- or as much as possible-- cleaned up, Eric turned tail and ran. Amber seethed, jaw hurting from how tight she clenched it. If he hadn't wanted to do this, he could've said so. A simple "no" and she'd have stopped. He shouldn't have egged her on, shouldn't have let her foot him into an erection, shouldn't have fucking made her come.

If she wanted to feel dirty and shamed after sex, she’d do so. But she was Amber fucking Volakis and she did what she liked. No one here had been hurt by what they’d done, and if anything, they’d profited. They’d have a story to tell. 'Once, in a restaurant, can you believe,' they could start in scandalized tones, thrilled that they’d experienced, even if only vicariously, something so exciting. People paid for taped porn, and she and Eric had given a live performance. For free. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and she refused to feel like they had. Except that tuck-his-business-into-his-pants-and-slink-away had made her self-conscious. How, if they enjoyed themselves so much with each other, did she always end up feeling like a cheap prostitute?

No. No, she wouldn't let him do this to her, ruin what had been great with guilt and embarrassment and fucking shame. Amber drained what remained of her wine, its bitterness only curdling her mouth, wiped her mouth, and got to her feet, her chair clattering behind her. She strode to the bathroom, where Eric was jerking off or hiding until his raging hard-on went away or who knew what.

What she'd do there, yell at him or ravish him until he blew his too-sacred-for-public-viewing load, his puritan ways notwithstanding, she didn't know, but sit alone stewing in her misery, she wouldn't. She pressed down on the bathroom doorknob. "It's me," Amber declared.

Thankfully, the bathroom, and the hallway outside it, was empty. Foreman shut the door and went straight to the sink, forgetting even to lock the door behind him. Adrenaline surging through him in reaction, making his hands shake like he'd stayed up all night on bad coffee. He gripped the sides of the sink, his head bent, not seeing anything. He took deep breaths and tried to shove aside any thoughts about what he'd just done. His erection throbbed, reminding him with each beat of his heart exactly what he'd walked away from. Fuck, maybe he shouldn't have. A few more seconds and he'd have come. Joined Amber in afterglow, instead of running out like a fucking coward. Like he couldn't face the consequences of what he'd started. Foreman squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. Shit. His cock brushed against the lip of the counter, and he grunted in pain--he was too oversensitive for any rough contact.

How could he face Amber now? Walk back into the dining room like nothing had happened--too fucking dishonest. He knew that. He'd gotten another chance and he was in the middle of screwing it up. Tendons stood out on his knuckles as he tightened his hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, his shoulders knotting. He didn't even want to look up at his own reflection in the mirror. Jerking off would be stupid, even more adolescent than the game they'd been playing under the table. Hiding out in the bathroom to wait out a hard-on like a fucking kid. It wouldn't feel good, even if he managed to bring himself to orgasm. He'd have to wait. Apologize, if Amber was even still waiting for him when he went back.

Before Foreman could even think about what tomorrow would be like at work if she wasn't, the door jerked open. Foreman squared his shoulders and stood up, expecting a guy looking for the washroom, but a glance in the mirror made him freeze. Amber was looking at him like he was a bug--like a bug she intended to exterminate. Foreman swallowed and tried to get his expression under control. He felt even more like an idiot, but he wondered if she'd locked the door, or if someone would walk in and overhear this, too. He darted a glance at his own reflection and pressed his lips together before he turned to face her. All he could be was honest. "I've never been here before," he said quietly, keeping his gaze assertive--stating a fact--even though his words weren't as steady as he wanted.

Wrenching the door open, all Amber knew was that she was tired of Eric's pride, of how he turned his back on her when it mattered most. Outrage made her hands flex, compulsively opening then closing so hard it hurt from the strain.

There he was, so small bent over the sink, his head bowed. He hadn't even reopened his jacket or pants, allowing himself no physical relief. What a coward, that even alone he'd rather (supposedly) nobly suffer than accept and give in to his body's needs.

God, why did she like him so much?

Eric flinched when he saw her reflection in the mirror. Something inside her hardened, that he was even more embarrassed because of her, but a bit of satisfaction trilled through her. He should feel guilty. She slammed the door.

Eric spoke with that voice she'd heard too many times in so short a period, with defeat and apology. But his words, they threw her off as she tried to make sense of them. If he meant this bathroom, his statement was redundant: having never been to this restaurant before, of course he'd never have gone into its toilets. If he'd said it in a figurative way, she still didn’t get his point. "What, hiding away in an unlocked bathroom after indecently exposing yourself in public?" Amber asked, purposefully using the harshest wording she could think of. It wasn't the smartest thing to do, not if she wanted him to stop with the humiliation already, but she wanted to throw in his face the worst they'd done, make him realize it hadn't even been anything all that serious.

Amber still had no idea what she meant to do. She was burning up, hotter than even when she'd come, and all of her shook with indignation. She wanted Eric to stop looking like a grievously injured dog; wanted herself to stop feeling so goddamn angry and guilty.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, stepping away from the door slowly, eyes narrowed on Eric. His alarm was crystal clear in the bright lights. She didn't care. Rather, she cared too much. Raising her hands to his face, she cupped his cheeks and whispered fiercely, "Don't you dare run away." And she kissed him. She kissed him with all her fury and frustration, fit to bruise, bearing down her body to trap him against the sink. She'd show him, this could be good. They could be wonderful, if only he'd quit sabotaging them.

Foreman opened his mouth to explain himself to her, but he didn't fully understand it himself. He'd never been here before--here, in the position of not knowing what the hell he was doing. He'd always been the one to cajole, lead, show the women he was with what they could do, what they could want. He'd always been the one to offer as much of himself, and no more, as he wanted--as was easy. Twice he'd been with Amber and each time he'd felt pushed beyond his comfort zone, like he was constantly catching up. Like she knew more, desired more, than he'd ever thought was possible. He wanted to be assured, confident, show exactly how self-possessed he was, but Amber pushed him constantly, until his pride got in the way and got him in trouble. It wasn't that he didn't like what they'd done. It had surprised him, how much Amber could affect him. And the surprise was difficult too. He wanted to know where he stood; he wanted to be in charge. And, as he'd found out today, he wasn't.

There was no way he could say that. It was too much, and it made him sound like he couldn't handle the fact that Amber was a strong woman, and knowing that he had that kind of hang-up made him feel like the bug she'd glared at him like. He didn't say anything, just straightened his shoulders, and before he'd gathered himself to do anything, Amber had crossed the room and taken his face in her hands.

And kissed him. Foreman's eyes closed immediately, forgetting the world around them, even though Amber hadn't locked the door any more than he had. He kissed her back, but he was startled at how ferocious she was, how demanding her mouth was. Her body brushing against him reminded him of exactly how aroused he was, and he groaned. Letting it out, how he felt, not concerned now about being overheard. He dropped his hands to Amber's hips and pulled her close. "I'm not," he muttered, pulling back only long enough to push the words out. He'd meant it, before. Not out there. Not in front of anyone who wanted to glance over and get a laugh about the guy getting jerked off under the table. But here. He gave everything to the kiss, gripping Amber's hips tightly, letting her push him back and trap him, letting her take control. His hands spread across her lower back and he pushed into the kiss, tasting wine on Amber's tongue, his breathing harsh and loud. "You made me so hot," he whispered, when he pulled back to breathe. "I couldn't. Out there. Amber--" He dove back--kissing along her throat, her jaw, fierce and hot and unstoppable. "Please."

For far too many heart flutters, Amber half-feared Eric would push her away again, panic getting the better of him and making him bolt from the bathroom, the restaurant, her. Did he have the guts to stay? So his groan, his possessive grasp over her hips, they were a balm to Amber. Relief poured through her, cooling her feelings like a fire-extinguisher aimed at a fire. She didn't understand what Eric was thinking, where his limits lay, and why what he thought of her mattered so much. Didn't want to think about it, either. With any other man, Amber would've laughed off or rolled her eyes that her momentary partner couldn't keep up with her. With Eric-- she couldn't bear him thinking less of her. Damn it, he shouldn't have gotten to her this fast, no matter how much she liked him.

But she wouldn't think of that. Not now. A moan ripped out from her, deep and so satisfying and his mouth was all along her throat and this was what she wanted, unabashed and uncontrolled. His words were contradictory, I couldn't one second and Please the next. He wanted, didn't want? Whatever conflicting thoughts were running through his mind, Amber didn't care, because his mouth, ravaging her skin, his body, hot and demanding and pulling her in closer, told her all she needed to know. His erection, hard as ever, dug into her abdomen, and his hands tightened possessively. He wanted her.

He could have her.

Still kissing him fast and insistent, her hands flew to undo his clothes all over again, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants, pulling down his underwear. A hand or a blow job would be a quick solution. He wouldn't last long, not with his dick straining like that, and by now, he must be in pain, delaying his pleasure so long. But Amber wanted more. She'd been embarrassed, and she wanted-- needed-- affirmation. "Fuck me," Amber murmured around his lips, voice raw, eyes lidded. She ripped off her own shirt, unzipped her skirt so that it fell to the floor; peeled off her nylons in seconds. Before he could think to say no, to consider the unlocked door and all the people that could burst in, Amber wrapped her arms around him, burning skin meeting burning skin.

Kissing Amber felt like the only right thing he'd done all night. Except for the quick peck on her lips outside the restaurant, he hadn't since Friday night, and even then it had been a few light, teasing promises. Not like this. Nothing like this. Foreman kept going, down Amber's throat, along the tendon in her neck, then following the curve of her jaw, to taste the thin skin behind her ear. Her pulse throbbed quickly, stronger when he used suction against her skin. He scraped his beard across her throat, flicked out his tongue to explore, as if he could taste how she really felt along with the salt-bitter heat of her perspiration and perfume. At the same time, he was trying to pull her against him--he could come like this, simply rubbing against her, through their clothes. He'd forgotten his embarrassment in the rush of finally kissing her the way he'd wanted to all weekend. When Amber started yanking at his clothes, Foreman took a shuddery breath, watching as she opened his pants, exposing him. God, if she'd just touch him--

No. Not enough. Foreman watched--tried to help, although Amber was too fast for him--when she threw her clothes away. Fuck me. Foreman's heart slamming against his sternum. "Yeah," he said. He took her hips again to guide her, and pushed her back, kissing her the whole time. Just like he'd told her. Like he'd imagined. Against the door. He kissed her again, only a hint softer this time, but just as intense, trying to tell her that he was with her. He slid his arms up her back, all warm skin under his palms, until he'd reached her bra, opening it with a jerk. Nothing would ever match this sight: Amber's eyes, fierce as a hawk's, her breasts rising and falling with her breathing. Naked, for him, and magnificent in her pleasure and impatience. Foreman paused only long enough to draw his tongue along the lower curve of one breast, rising to Amber's nipple and sucking it hard and quick. "God, I want you," he said. So much. He was going nearly crazy with desire, with seeing her. He fumbled in his back pants pocket--he'd bought condoms on Friday, and now he thanked his foresight for putting one in his wallet. He got it out, dropped his wallet and didn't care. His fingers were clumsy as he ripped the packet open. His dick twitched, and Foreman hissed as he rolled the condom on.

This wouldn't last. He knew that, and Amber had to as well. He was already trembling with the effort of holding himself back. Need rose up in waves, as if it might blur his vision away, but Foreman could see through it; see Amber. He could try to make tonight up to her by doing everything he could for her. Foreman hitched his hands under Amber's knees and lifted her, his shoulders tensing, his palms cupping her upper thighs. Only a few inches off the floor, just enough that he could, slowly, let her ease down--supporting her against the door, letting her hold him however she liked--so goddamn slow, pushing her hard against the door and groaning in relief as he slid inside her.

"That's right," Amber murmured as they backtracked towards the door. "Yeah, like that," she got around shallow breaths and kisses. As she'd imagined, its surface was cool and smooth, and she shuddered at the sudden contrast: like being between two worlds.

Those weren't the only dimensions she was stuck between. Eric's near tenderness in his kisses, soft and intimate, like she was the one that mattered, like it couldn't be anyone else-- it clashed with the anger and lust she'd been coasting on. She'd known she liked him, but she didn't do this, didn't let it get all personal, and now that she was in the middle of so many feelings, she didn't know how to react.

So she did the only thing she could: she let herself go.

"Eric," she breathed, then kissed him, deep, tongue flush against his, and became increasingly lightheaded. Eric pulled away, and she whined, but then gasped a second later, arching her breasts into the wet, hot pressure of his mouth. God that felt good, it was what she needed. So when he pulled away again, she literally growled, even if it was for so practical a matter as procuring protection. "You want me," Amber spread her arms open, welcoming him into them, "you take me."

Without him wrapped around her, sensory overload dizzying her, Amber could take a moment to appreciate Eric's intensity. He moved sleek and fast, a feline prowling its prey, his gaze filled with hunger. She couldn't doubt how much he wanted her, and it was so, so arousing. Overflowing with sheer desire, and willing to act on it… Amber didn't see him like this often enough.

Her shoulder blades and spine dug into the wood, just as Eric's digits pressed into her flesh, raising her; she did her part, wrapping her left arm around his shoulder, and how slicked with sweat was his back. It afforded her no hold, and she might've slipped, but Amber knew she wouldn't, not with Eric holding her up; and then his latex-covered erection was finally, at long last, penetrating her entrance, stretching her open. Wet as she was, Amber took him in easily, eagerly.

God, they were fucking against a restaurant bathroom door.

At least they could be pretty sure no one would burst in on them now, lock undone or not; their joint weight would keep the door closed.

Amber glanced to the side, where they featured, large as life, in the mirror. If Eric inside and around her hadn't been enough to set her heart racing, their reflection would've done the job. She could see them in all their glory: her reddened skin and mussed hair, his arm and leg muscles flexed to support her weight. Fuck. Her own thigh hid his dick, but her legs wrapped around his hips, the shine of his ass, it was more than enough. Shuddering, she needed the pulse of his thrusts, to feel Eric deep inside.

Once more Amber was caught between two: watching them in the mirror and looking straight at Eric's face, its lines boldly defined with exquisite pleasure. Jesus, how could she pick? Undecided, she looked back and forth, all the while rolling herself against Eric, her right hand rubbing her clit fast and furious. He wouldn't, couldn't last long, and she wanted to come here, now, with him fucking her. She daren't even speak the phrases galloping in her mind, like oh fuck yes and come inside me, lest it hastened his orgasm. But the various whimpers and moans, she couldn't hold those back, not even as she kissed his jaw, his beard scratching her lips.

Pleasure suffused Foreman in an instant. The pain of his neglected hard-on was forgotten. There was only heat, spreading through his body as if each nerve was tuning in separately, until every part of him was focused on his desire, on the deep sensations Amber was pulling out of him. Getting the condom on felt like it had taken forever, and even taking his time to make sure Amber was ready, willing, wanting, had all taken their toll, but Foreman took a moment to slow down. The latex dulled the sensations, only slightly, but enough for him to catch hold of his control. Momentarily--once he started moving, he'd break far too soon--but Foreman tilted his chin back, answering Amber's kisses, his eyes half-lidded as he watched her. Flushed and dark-eyed, her hand already slipping between them to touch herself. Fuck, that was hot, that she had no problem at all taking what she could from him, and adding to her own pleasure. No guilt, only desire, and it spurred Foreman on, reminded him of how close he was himself. Breaking down. Jolts of electricity smashing down all his walls in pulsing waves. He moved inside her, starting a quick rhythm immediately, matching the movement of her fingers over her clit, and looked for a sign in Amber's expression of what she wanted from him.

Amber's eyes were flicking over his shoulder. Foreman twisted his head to follow her gaze and saw his own reflection there. Ass clenched, pants fallen below his knees, shirt pulled askew by Amber's spread palm running down his back. It was all he could see before he had to turn back, concentrate on keeping his balance and hers. He thrust his hips forward, the movement bringing the amazing, mind-blowing friction with it, and he gave several short bucks of his hips. He couldn't believe Amber was watching them. Like their audience in the restaurant hadn't been enough. She wanted the mirror too. But Foreman couldn't blame her. He loved watching her so damn much. Why shouldn't she like the sight of herself, or him, just as much. "Like watching that?" he asked. She might not even hear him, over the sounds breaking from her now, each one goading Foreman on and bringing him so fucking close. He thrust in, sharp and hard, lifting her higher in the same instant, so that he'd be the only thing for her to cling to for balance. The wild surge of sensation made him groan, harsh and low in his throat. "Like--seeing how hot you are? Watching yourself come?" He increased the pace, his body taking over, and he let it. Let himself give in. "I--uhn--" He'd meant to say, I do. Watching you at the table, watching every second when you came, such a fucking turn-on, but the words jumbled as he verged on the edge of his orgasm. "Amber, fuck."

His orgasm erupted a second later. His muscles spasmed, electrocuted by pleasure. He barely kept his grip on Amber, his arms and shoulders trembling for the long, incredible seconds that his pleasure lasted. He kept thrusting inside her afterwards, but more slowly. Wringing out every moment that he could. His mind was wiped clear, and he buried his mouth against Amber's throat, kissing her long and lingering as he came down from the high.

Amber's eyes widened, stunned by Eric's words. He was speaking her mind, growling out the very thoughts turning her on. But, oh how much better to hear them in his voice, with a desesperation as if those images were making as wild as she. Wilder. New waves of arousal crashed through her, and she could ride this out, yes, she could. Would. "Unn," she tried, and when that didn't work, Amber focused harder. "Not-- not as much as I like watching you--" She curved to whisper in his ear. "Us."

And just then, a perfectly timed roll of their hips hit her just when she needed it, or maybe it was the way he squeezed her thigh that sealed the deal, the pitch of his groans she sensed rumbling from abdomen, his chest. Whatever it was, Amber thrust back against the door, pushing her pelvis against him, crying out softly, overtaken. This wasn't-- she'd just come, she shouldn't have come again this fast, and it wasn't as good, as pure, as when Eric had brought her off beneath the table, but this was so much more intense, Eric himself shaking with release, his rapid thrusts only prolonging her orgasm. Scarier, too, Out there it had been so simple, a bit of naughty fun, them playing around. Eyes squeezed shut, Amber let herself soak up the last of her pleasure, shuddering as Eric mouthed her throat.

But as the last of the orgasm lingered away, Amber breathed in deep and opened her eyes. She'd slid back down to her feet, her soles back on the floor. The mirror showed all: the disaray of Eric's remaining clothes, her nakedness. What had just happened? Not the physical facts, Amber knew those well enough. They'd made out, she'd come, Eric had run away, and she-- she'd been so angry. She felt none of that fury now, just drained and bewildred, their bodies cooling, Eric's penis decreasing in size inside her. She didn't know what to think.

Amber brought her hands to Eric's shoulders, squeezed them for a second before pushing him slightly, just enough to make him slip out, for her to maneouver to the sink. "Wow," she said, so he'd know she wasn't-- running away or anything, not like him. She just needed a moment or twenty. "That was... wow." The water she splashed on her face was cold, refreshing. It made her able to look up again, into the reflection of Eric's eyes.

Time slowed, afterward. Foreman trailed his lips over Amber's throat, back up to her mouth. He smiled as he kissed her lightly. Laziness seemed like the only possible response, since all the endorphins had dissolved any tension in his body. He thought he'd felt Amber come, but he'd been so absorbed himself at that moment that he couldn't be sure. He studied her for a moment, trying to know without asking, but her expression didn't give it away. She pushed at him gently, like she was setting him aside, and Foreman watched her go to the sink, trying not to frown. "Yeah," he said. He could agree with that honestly, openly. After waiting so long, his orgasm had taken over far too quickly, but it had been bright and sharp, unforgettable.

Foreman slipped off the condom and threw it in the trash. He pulled up his shorts and pants so that he wouldn't trip over himself, but he didn't fasten them, leaving them to rest by the weight of his belt on his hips. Amber was watching him in the mirror again, and Foreman wasn't sure why. She was still naked, but for the first time, she didn't seem able to command an entire room no matter how she was or wasn't dressed. Some measure of her intensity had faded. Foreman followed her to the sink and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "That was..." Crazy. Incredible. He still couldn't believe how far he'd gone out in the dining room. Foreman lifted a hand to brush Amber's hair back from her neck, tucking it behind her ear, so that he could feel her cheek next to his as he searched her face to see how she felt. She'd been so angry; he didn't think she wanted to hear again that he'd never done this before. "I want to do so much when I'm with you," he said instead. Both oblique apology and explanation. Foreman wasn't sure why he was saying so much, except that Amber had demanded honesty, and he was trying as well as he knew how to tell her what he was feeling. His heart was beating in his ears, but he kept the eye contact. It left him itchy and restless. His arms rested around Amber's waist, and he could feel the warmth of her skin; he hugged her closer, to stop himself from looking away.

Water droplets ran down her face as Eric padded towards her, wrapping himself around her. Amber wasn't even sure if she wanted him near, much less hugging her, but his touch drew her in, and she leaned back, angling her cheek to brush against his.

It bothered her. It bothered her a lot, the fact that Eric could shake her that badly, disturb her so much. Amber wasn't one to care about opinions; other people's judgments were nothing more than barriers to what she wanted and she never let them stand in her way. Okay, maybe she didn't love the fact that most of her classmates and coworkers watched out as they expected her to pull a dagger out at any moment. But being callous and self-centered had worked for her.

Her skin tingled as Eric combed her hair, fingertips fluttering over her skin. This was more complicated than she'd imagined. She thought she'd be okay with being into Eric and whatever else that meant; up until now she'd assumed the worst of it would be fighting, boredom, or having to chose between him and work. That he could make her feel like trash over a few words and actions, that she hadn’t seen coming. Though, really, she should've; it was one of the reasons why she'd sworn off serious dating in high school.

I want to do so much when I'm with you. Despite her hesitations, Amber clasped her hands over his, unable to pull away. She didn't understand that statement any better than she had the previous one. Was it only literal, that he got sexually adventurous with her, or were there other readings? And when had she become someone kept analyzing the meanings behind casual statements? If she wasn't careful, she'd start asking Eric how he felt her about her and where he saw this going.

She smiled. This musing thing was going too far. "We're just getting started," she said. "I suggest our next big step be eating dinner; if the staff hasn't decided to throw us out, our food should’ve arrived by now. It’s probably all cold.” Nimbly extracting herself from his hold, she gathered her scattered clothes and began redressing herself. They’d probably have to talk, at some point, but she didn’t want to right now.

Foreman wasn't sure what to make of Amber's response. She leaned back into him, and turned to press her cheek against his, her hands holding his in place over her stomach for a moment. But her words were dismissive, and again, she was the one to step away, to change the focus and the subject of conversation. She was backing away from him. Foreman didn't think she was still angry. If she was, she'd make sure he knew it. But her withdrawal confused him, because it was the first he'd seen of it. He didn't know what was making her pull back, or even if he was right that she was pulling back. Maybe she was casual because this was casual to her. Something else she had experience with that Foreman didn't. At this rate, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be 'just starting'. Finding out how vanilla he'd been without knowing it wasn't exactly on his list of breathlessly anticipated life experiences. All the accusations he'd heard--mostly from House--about being boring echoed in his mind, and he wondered if that's what Amber thought. That initiating him didn't really touch her or affect her because she'd done it all before. 'Wow' could be nothing more than an empty compliment she expected him to want.

Foreman looked down to fasten his pants, then picked up his wallet and returned it to his back pocket. Amber had sounded genuine. Or she had, right up until she'd slipped out of his arms. Much as Amber wanted--or had appeared to want--honesty, Foreman wasn't comfortable asking her what was going on. If he was right, and it was some fault of his, he wasn't interested in hearing it. Stiffly, he faced the mirror to knot his tie, before pulling on his suit jacket. Other than a few wrinkles in his dress shirt, there wasn't any evidence of what they'd done. His reflection looked back at him seriously, and Foreman tried to shrug his mood away. Amber hadn't done anything or said anything that should start him thinking like this. She wanted to dress quickly and get back to their table before someone walked into the bathroom, and Foreman should be just as eager to get back to normal. No one had caught them yet, as unbelievable as that seemed, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"You want me to sneak out first?" he asked, offering Amber a quick grin. A few worries aside, he felt more than good, and the fact that they'd gotten away with this stunt left him feeling smug. "I'll knock if the coast is clear."

It was nice to focus on something so banal as getting dressed: legs through cotton holes, nylon sliding over skin, zipper up, and a round button to seal her skirt. None of it required much attention; she could do this in her sleep. But the familiarity gave her comfort. Not everything had to be earth-tilting and confusing.

By the time she got her bra and shirt back on, Amber felt much better, not as weak and defenseless. Eric smiled her, not entirely without some sheepishness, but mostly glowing, like they'd performed some great crime and gotten away with it. Which, actually, wasn't too far from the truth. So was he glad to have fucked her in public? He wouldn't resent her for making him commit a felony? Or had House broken him in to ignore the law already, and he'd only needed a bit of goading to commit a sex-related infraction?

"Who says we have to sneak out?" Amber tilted her head, grinning. "Maybe they're waiting for us to walk out hand-in-hand, and they'll give us a standing ovation." His suit, she couldn't help noticing, was back in place, aligned as it should be. Yet there were wrinkles in the pants that wouldn't be smoothed out by hands, and she wondered if his shirt wasn't stained with sweat. "Or they're lining up, waiting impatiently for their turn."

Touching him was just a question of reaching out. So much to go for: a tug on his tie, a hand wrapped over his, her arms around his torso. But Amber still felt too raw for that, like skin worn down to sensitivity by repeated rubbing.

Eric did have a point: it was probably better they didn’t go out together. She doubted they’d get in trouble for walking out of the bathroom at the same time, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful. And they could play it like a game. “You go first, then. One knock if it’s clear, twenty if I should stay inside.” She winked at him.

Foreman let out a quiet snort and ducked his head, shaking it a bit, at Amber's vision of their reception. He'd much rather walk into the dining room to see everyone concentrating on their own food and their own conversations. If their waiter was any good, he'd act like his customers hadn't disappeared on him and simply bring them their food. Foreman was glad that he and Amber had left their coats on their chairs. At least there wouldn't be any suspicion that they'd ordered and then walked out on the bill.

Foreman didn't know how to answer. He could feel the words, stupid and romantic, building up, but he wasn't going to blurt them out. Christ, he was tongue-tied, like he'd never gotten involved with someone before. Or more like he didn't remember what it was like--medical school felt like a hell of a long time ago. He hadn't even thought of Claire in years. And, damn it, he'd known Amber for less than a week, there was no possible way he should be comparing her to Claire, or anyone else he'd loved.

Getting out of here without any more embarrassment should be his only priority right now. Foreman reached for Amber's hand and squeezed it quickly, then he opened the bathroom door. He walked out as confidently as he could. Three years with House had taught him that breaking and entering--or any sort of law-breaking--required confidence more than anything else. Look like you're supposed to be there and you're halfway home.

Their luck held. The manager wasn't standing in the hall tapping his feet and glaring. No police called on an indecency charge. Not even a single person waiting to see what the hold up was. Letting out a deep breath, Foreman tapped his knuckles lightly on the door and then headed back for their table.

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