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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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.

So nervous, so excited. Like a kid sneaking in a puppy hidden under his coat. Amber couldn't help laughing, and how good that felt, the near snort lighting everything up. This was how it should've been, them misbehaving together and finding only the joy in it. None of that guilt and embarrassment.

However, Amber did give credit where it was due: Eric's reflection revealed no misplaced amusement, just excessive seriousness for a man walking out of a bathroom. That poker face had probably been developed not just while working House, but from his experiences as a kid. As a teenager, the stealing he'd told her about.

It made her think, as she leaned her palms against the sink's cold, polished marble. Maybe this stint had been more than a game to Eric. He'd almost landed in jail, came this close to losing the life he had now as an accomplished, albeit career-frustrated, doctor. To her, getting it on in a public space wasn't anything more than a kinky prank; she'd never expected any retribution more severe than expulsion.

The soft rap distracted from her thoughts, and once more Amber laughed. He really had knocked; would he have hit the door twenty times, had the coast not been clear? Biting her lip, her smile grew. Now there was a sight to imagine, Eric becoming increasingly conspicuous as he tapped repeatedly.

Amber took a minute to run her fingers through her hair-- it needed more attention than that, but she'd left her purse, and the comb in it, at the table-- then opened the door imperiously, as if she owned the place and had the right to do whatever she wanted, wherever she pleased. No one seemed to even notice. What a pity, all that drama and no one cared!

Aiming herself towards where they’d been sitting, Amber looked for Eric, curious to see how he was faring, now that he was back under public scrutiny. She hadn’t forgotten the streak of worry that had perturbed her, as to how she’d reacted to Eric’s disapproval, but all in all, she felt back in place, her skirt swaying slightly as she strode back to the table.

Amber's laugh stayed with him as Foreman sat down at their table, making it hard to hold on to his serious demeanour. Glancing around, he didn't see anyone staring at him--but by this point, there was nothing to see, so why should they? A minute later, Amber joined him, her confidence back in place, so that Foreman wondered again if she'd really been upset at all. He smiled up at her. "I still can't believe we got away with that," he said, quietly enough, but not making much effort to hide what he was saying. Now that they were out of danger, he could feel the appeal of the escapade more strongly. He felt like laughing over nothing at all, and his grin widened. Amber might still think it was nothing special, but Foreman felt like they'd pulled the wool over the eyes of a whole roomful of people. He cut his eyes over to the woman he'd thought he'd seen watching them earlier. He didn't know what possible titillation she'd gotten from it--living vicariously, maybe. Keeping his voice more discreet this time, he asked, "Which of us do you think she was watching?"

His embarrassment was still there, but for the moment it was subsumed. Hell, if they could pull this off, they could probably manage to fool House. No--Foreman was fooling himself if he thought that was possible. But who cared? He felt good, and there were hours left before he had to even think about House again.

Their waiter didn't wait long before appearing. He set their plates down in front of them; the food looked like it had been sitting under a heating lamp for too long, which was probably no more than the truth. "Can I get you anything else?" he asked, his gaze sliding from Foreman to Amber speculatively.

Bubbling. That was the first word that came to mind when Amber spotted Eric, for contentment shone from his radiant grin, lighting up his whole face. Amber's own smile widened as his gaze followed her as she reached his side, sitting down without moving her chair away from his. She felt good again. Wanted to be by his side. The complications, she'd leave them later. For now, she couldn't resist being happy with him.

"Did you think they'd call the police on us?" Amber asked lightly. "I've done this a few times, and the worst that ever happened was that I got kicked out of a bar. And got called a few names." She poured herself and Eric more wine, the dark liquid swirling quietly into their glasses.

She glanced to where Eric was looking. The woman cast them a look their way as well, perhaps noticing she was being observed, but quickly averted any eye contact. Had she turned red? "You men are all the same," Amber replied, but with no malice, only good humor. "You'd like it if she'd been watching me, wouldn't you." Amber wasn't against sleeping with women; she refused to limit out anything that might bring her pleasure. She'd had sex with a few, mostly as a part of threesomes. With multiple partners, as long as it was just sex with other bodies, it hadn't mattered; it was just a different way of having fun. Yet-- something visceral and tight clenched around her throat, choking Amber for a second. She reached for her wine, sipping at it to quell her sudden outburst of emotion.

Threesomes were fine and all, but she wouldn't be suggesting them to Eric. Almost anything else she'd be up for, but not that. Eric wasn't-- she wouldn't share. And here was one more thing to consider when she had a moment to herself. For now, she raised an eyebrow at Eric. "But she stopped looking, which isn't very flattering. I hope she wasn't watching either one of us."

The food, though limp, smelled fantastic. She must be hungry. Amber grinned at the waiter. "No thanks, we're... satisfied." She then ravenously cut into her chicken, dying to eat.

Foreman sobered a bit at Amber's mention of the police. The manager could very well have called the police on them. If the restaurant had been any busier. If someone else had wanted to use the bathroom, or if anyone had been seated closer to their table and had complained. Getting kicked out was probably the lightest punishment possible. And 'a few times'--what did that mean? Casual fucks, or something like this? Foreman couldn't say, even to himself, what 'like this' was, but he had a sudden urge to ask leading questions until he'd figured out a bit more about Amber's history, how many men there had been, how many serious boyfriends. What the competition was like. He took a drink of the wine Amber had poured to distract himself.

"Her?" Foreman spared another glance for the woman across the room. "No." She wasn't unattractive, but she was nothing special, especially considering the comparison. Not his type. Foreman could usually get a knockout in one way or another. But Amber's implication wasn't lost on him, and for no reason, other than brainstem instinct, Foreman's mind leaped to Thirteen. The three of them, Amber smirking at him as she lowered her head to suck on Thirteen's nipple, while both of them were draped over him, their hands exploring. It was a hell of a fantasy. Foreman's mouth curved in a smirk he tried to hide. Knowing how Amber felt about Thirteen, he'd be suicidal to even suggest it. He didn't need to have his ass handed to him for the second time tonight. It was an image he wouldn't soon forget, though, even if his dick couldn't so much at twitch at the idea right now. Hell, maybe he was wrong; maybe Amber would bring up the idea, and ask for his input. He couldn't really rule anything out, after the nights they'd had so far.

He barely held back his chuckle when Amber slyly sent the waiter away. Subtle wasn't her flavour of choice. He took a bite of his kebab--the meat was tough and chewy, but he supposed that was his own fault, and he finally managed to swallow. "We're going to be banned from this place," he said, but he still couldn't bring himself to regret it. He tipped his head back, considering Amber slowly. "What's the wildest thing you've done?" he asked.

Eric's grin could be only be described as lurid. That, or as lewd-- or any other number of synonyms indicating sex-filled, really. She could very well imagine what was running through his mind. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking," Amber drawled. "It might not be of her, but it's of someone. Like I said, all you men are the same." It was clearer than ever that threesomes appealed to him, but she still wouldn’t be suggesting anything of the sort. And if he asked—well, just how mercilessly she’d shoot down that notion depended on his approach to the question.

They’d reheated her chicken, and though she wouldn’t grant it any awards of the year, it tasted as good as it smelled: excellent, and precisely what she wanted. Nothing like working up an appetite to make you appreciate food with all due respect. It was sharp and spicy, just as she liked it; her earlier remarks hadn’t been only innuendo.

“For all we know, they can’t wait for us to come back. I bet we’ve been the best entertainment they’ve seen in weeks. And if they do kick us out, there’s plenty of other fish in Princeton-Plainsboro.”

His question required a great deal more consideration, though. Amber chewed more carefully than needed, her gaze roaming around the room as she dove into her memories. There were a lot of possibilities, for ‘wildest’: multiple sex partners, sex in inappropriate (and usually public) places, assorted difficult positions, taping--

But none of it, she was starting to realize, was as crazy as what she was doing right now. Sitting across from Eric. Having dinner with him, opening herself up even more. This was a high-risk investment, in so many ways. Sure she could angle to manipulate House to fall on her side, but who said he'd be persuaded? And that, Amber thought as her stomach tightened pleasantly just by looking back at Eric, might be the simplest part.

“Streaking across my college campus,” Amber eventually decided. It’d been the most blatant bit of law-breaking she’d ever attempted—though not necessarily the worst crime she’d committed. “I guess I was never as wild as when I was a co-ed.” Her eyebrows went up. “Your turn.”

Amber's eyes became a paler blue when she was thoughtful, her profile softer when she looked around the room, not directly challenging. Foreman took full advantage to watch her--he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and he knew that once they were back at work, he'd be even less able to pretend nothing was happening. They'd share thoughts with a glance, and he'd be looking to Amber to check her reaction to whatever egregious thing House said. To an extent, he'd had that with Chase and Cameron: the three of them had shared their disbelief and outrage when House's back was turned, not that it stopped him from knowing exactly when they were groaning silently at him. Coming back had left Foreman without that sort of ally in the differentials, but he had Amber now...maybe. It was easy for him to think that they'd share something when they were at work, but it might just as easily become a situation like in the bathroom at the end, when Amber had slipped free of him and changed the subject. And it might be discretion, but it might also be distance. Foreman wasn't sure. There was no point getting ahead of himself, though, and leaping to conclusions.

He laughed quietly at Amber's story. That must have been amazing, seeing her sprint naked through a crowd, her breasts bouncing, the sight of her long legs and her ass as she bolted away. "It can't be my turn yet. You didn't finish the story." He raised his eyebrows and took another bite, then pointed his fork at her, trying to guess. "It wasn't for a sports team, was it? I'm going to guess you had a cause." Nothing would make him pay more attention than a slogan helpfully written in makeup across Amber's skin as she ran past.

Relenting finally, he thought about what he'd done in his life that counted as wild. The nagging feeling that he was boring--Christ, it was the wrong word, but it was the one that kept popping up in his mind. Damn House, anyway. That he was conservative, or that he liked his life the way it was, wasn't a problem, but it didn't make for that many good stories. If he'd been out of control as a teenager, he'd been a real prig in medical school. He'd kept to himself and studied. He'd earned his arrogance. But he'd been boring.

Foreman pressed his lips together and frowned in concentration. The wildest thing in his life had been Marcus. By the time Foreman was seventeen, Marcus at fourteen hadn't been quite such a pest. That was before he'd gone too far, when he'd just been a stupid kid like Foreman had been. He could have imagined, then, that Marcus would grow out of it, like he had. It was his last year of high school and Marcus's first, and it had been fun enough to have a kid brother that he could rag on a bit in front of his friends. "I dared my brother to a race," he said, wondering even as he spoke why he was talking about Marcus--it would only bring more questions, eventually. "I had this little motorcycle. A Honda XL. My dad wanted me to learn something practical like mechanics. And Marcus was always asking for rides. I told him he could have it if he could get a better time than me down our main road." It had only been a few miles, and a pretty deserted street after ten at night. Safe enough for Marcus to try out the bike, which didn't have that much power to start with. But he'd done better than Foreman had ever expected--he must have been practicing when Foreman's back was turned. "I got up to nearly sixty. At the last minute, a car turned in front of me, and I had to ditch the bike. I could've killed myself. I sprained my wrist landing, but my friends all thought it was a cool crash."

"Football doesn't deserve my naked ass," Amber noted. With feigned modesty, "There isn't much of a story to tell. It was my first semester, and some of the sororities made their new girls streak across the greens. It seemed like fun, so I joined in." There'd been a begging-of-year fair, and she'd run straight through it. While she saw little of the reaction, everything blurring by as she pumped her legs, the sounds had been more than enough reward. Shrieks, incredulous laughter, hoots. Amber grinned. "I’d been right: was fun."

But, like earlier in the evening, Eric managed to hit a singularly somber note, unpredictable given the melody up until then. Though his reminiscence wasn’t out of tune, entirely misplaced in their conversation, it caught Amber off-guard. His question had, she'd thought, wanted a sexual escapade as an answer; she'd delivered along those lines, and expected the same of him. The tale of daring his brother to dangerous sport and nearly maiming himself felt like an entirely different category of "wild," not to mention more intimate. Lingering, haunting memories were harder to part with than boast-worthy feats.

As Eric recounted the incident, Amber wiped her mouth with her napkin, listening carefully and thinking hard. This memory definitely hung over Eric; she'd have to be blind and deaf not to realize that. His voice dipped when he mentioned his brother, his eyes glancing downward for a second. Guilt from the risk he'd put his brother through, or from something else?

Forgetting her reheated, and once more cooling, food, Amber slid her hand over the table, reaching out for him in more than one sense. She'd been-- and was-- scared of her outburst, but that didn't seem to matter. Not now. Not in face of Eric's troubled demeanor. "You must've been terrified." Amber suddenly remembered all the teenagers injured by stupid stunts she'd seen over the years, shocked not just by the damage they'd sustained but also by the comprehension of their treacherous vulnerability. Yes. Of course Eric had been one of them. He was too-- proper, not to have experienced this. Amber shuddered, suddenly imagining how it must've been, the sudden lights, his muscles swerving of their own accord, acting on instinct. Without a second’s thought, her hand inched closer towards him. "How about your brother? How did he take it?" Knowing not-quite-men, she was willing to bet he'd also thought the crash was 'cool.'

Foreman gave himself a mental shake after telling the story. Coming out with a memory like that was part of how he knew that his relationship with Amber was different. He was different when he was with her. Marcus didn't enter his mind most of the time, and when he did, Foreman pushed the thoughts aside just as quickly. Marcus had had more than enough chances, and Foreman had made the decision not to give him any more. So why the hell was he bringing him up? He'd done it before, too, when they were mini-golfing. Amber seemed to invite confidences; the way she met his eyes made him feel like what he was saying was the only thing in the world.

Still, he didn't want to hash out his entire family history. He glanced down and saw Amber's hand, close to his but not pushing, not presuming. That felt good, better than it should, and he relaxed slightly. He covered her hand with his, stroking the side with his thumb. He couldn't help a quick laugh at Amber's question. "He thought I'd done it just to get us in trouble," he said. Marcus had seen it as the most supremely unfair thing in a very unfair life. Eric got to have the bike in the first place, and Eric had a midnight curfew two hours later than his, and Eric was the favourite--that was Marcus's whole refrain, from about thirteen onwards. Foreman had to admit, from a distance, it would have to seem that way. "Mom banned motorcycles, and he didn't get it after all. He said he'd beaten me because I didn't finish the race." And, because it hadn't been entirely heartless, he added, "After he saw me get up."

Fuck, this was a depressing topic. Why did he have to drag them down into them all the time? He smiled at Amber, trying to make less of it. "I'd rather hear about how you were in a sorority," he said. "Any other interesting pledge stories?"

Amber warmed when Eric mirrored her motion, linking their hands together. This was nice. Close, but not too much. Just right. Maybe they were on the same page again. Feeling-- snug, somehow, with relief and anticipation (over what?), Amber sipped more of her wine. It went down easy, but came back up make her head spin. Okay, maybe she shouldn't have anymore. Good thing Eric was driving. "I'd be amazed if the bike survived the crash-- and if he obeyed the ban." Aided by her tipsiness, her words flowed freely. "But I bet you'd have sworn off, with or without your mom's decision."

He'd mentioned his brother before, hadn't he? When they'd been playing mini-golf. Amber pushed back her more unpleasant memories of that evening to earlier, when they’d still been flirting and exchanging casually tidbits about themselves. If she remembered correctly, Eric had made a point of beating his younger brother at the same game. There seemed to be a repeating theme of competitiveness; Amber wondered if they still tried to out-do each other. She certainly did, with her own brothers. Or had Eric mellowed into a more benevolent elder sibling? Did they even keep in touch? If this- whatever it was- lasted, she might even meet him. Maybe it was the wine, but such an eventuality seemed only natural. Rubbing her thumb against his palm, slow, affectionately, she asked: “What does your brother do now?”

She'd been so involved in Eric's story it took her a moment to recall what sorority he could be referring to. "Ah, not quite," Amber corrected, smirking at the thought of her as a Greek. "I said the new girls were hazing, not that I was one of them. I don’t do groups; I don’t play well with others.”

The slow stroke of Amber's thumb across his palm had started off by relaxing him, but when she asked more about Marcus, it felt like too much, like it trapped him into answering. He took his hand back in order to pick up his napkin and wipe his mouth. He pushed his plate away and then sat back from the table slightly. "I don't know," he said, hoping that would close the subject, or at least that Amber would see that he didn't want to talk about it. It was true enough: he knew where Marcus was, but he had no idea what he was doing, how he was doing, and he didn't care. Let Dad keep on worrying about Marcus. Foreman was finished.

It took an effort to concentrate on Amber's story, but it did help. The clench of his muscles eased, and he breathed out slowly. Yeah, he could imagine that groups weren't Amber's thing--she'd belong as much as, and no more than, it suited her. And she was proud of it. She'd bestow the gift of her presence on whoever was worthy for the moment, but there was always going to be a higher goal, something she was focused on. Foreman respected the hell out of that. Admired her. He leaned forward, wanting to touch her, not sure how after he'd drawn away a minute before. He didn't know how to say what he wanted without it being too much. Trying to remind himself that they'd met less than a week ago didn't help, it only made the feeling of being trapped come back, leaving him edgy. He wanted to ask her a thousand more questions, about college, about the friends she'd had--there must have been some--about her family; he vaguely remembered that she'd said she had brothers. But anything he asked, Amber would turn around on him, and he wasn't ready for that kind of reciprocity.

He reached for Amber's hand again, holding it open so that he could trace the lines of her palm lightly, watching his fingertips as he did. "I want to take you home with me tonight," he said, finally looking up to meet her eyes, his voice low and husky. It was the only way he could think to let her in without going so far as to answer her questions--not now, anyway. Not yet.

That would be a 'no' to meeting the brother, then-- and, for once, not because of her. She'd met family before, but that was in high school, where everyone had known each other for years, and you didn't need to go through flaming hoops of courtship to know someone's parents. Or, for that matter, to run into them at fundraisers, the supermarket, school ceremonies... oh, she'd known some of the parents of the boys she'd slept with, alright.

Amber was more curious than ever about this brother of Eric's. Keeping close family ties would be part and parcel of the perfect man persona he had going, and if he didn't know-- or claim to know-- what his sibling was up to, there had to be a serious piece of history behind that. But he clearly didn't want to talk about it, and she wouldn't push; he wouldn't say anymore even if she did.

Eric's curt reply, I don't know, his near bolting away like a horse frightened by thunder, these all conveyed the message loud and clear: his brother was one touchy subject. It wasn't about her, Amber understood. It still stung a little, though, through the haze of the wine.

But she plowed on, not letting the new sign of just how under her skin he'd gotten bother her, telling him about her Free Agent status with plenty of enthusiasm. Before long she'd brought him back from that dark brink, and he took her hand again.

"Want more already?" Amber asked, playing with his fingers with her own. She brushed her fingertips against his, stroked his index with her thumb. Truth be told, she was still buzzing from her latest orgasms, flooded with endorphins and the occasional pleasurable surge. She could go home that night fully sated. A second-- or was that third?-- round was hardly needed. Amber might not even be up for it; it'd been an emotional roller coaster of a day, starting with their fights, and the public sex, and more fights, and sex again-- and they had work tomorrow.

And yet. The thought of wrapping herself around him, tight and possessive and complete, like she couldn't have before this audience, of riding him slow and deliberate, it welcomed her. Take him in full, in so many meanings of the phrase. Even if they didn’t do more than kiss and hug, the thought of falling asleep besides Eric appealed far too much to her. "And I want you to," her mouth quirked. "Ready to go?"

A small smile turned up the corners of Foreman's mouth as Amber playfully returned his light touches and explorations. They could both name all the muscles and bones and tendons involved, but right now that list didn't seem to account for how powerful the caresses were. Foreman lifted his eyes at Amber's response, wondering if she was serious. He didn't need more sex, but if she was interested, it wasn't like he was stupid enough to turn her down. Amber's voice was soft, though, without the incipient, sly teasing that meant she wanted to toy with him, torture him, and then satisfy him completely. He contented himself with a grin. They'd go back to his place, and see where that led. Warm, close, comfortable, the sort of small kisses and touches that they were indulging in now, might lead somewhere, slower and deeper than the frantic roughhouse in the bathroom. But if they slept instead, then that could be just as satisfying as sex could be. It was rare enough to get a full night's sleep working for House, and even better to have Amber pressed next to him, still there in the morning.

Foreman nodded to her question, and managed to catch their waiter passing a moment later to bring them the cheque. The cash he'd raked in from Chase's bet would go to a good cause. Foreman didn't bother counting out the total exactly. As far as he was concerned, the waiter, and the restaurant for that matter, had earned a pretty hefty tip for not threatening them with legal action. Leaving the money on the table, he stood up and pulled on his jacket. He picked up Amber's coat next. Probably he should content himself with handing it to her. He knew by now how she felt about chivalrous gestures. But Foreman still wanted to show her that it wasn't simply a matter of being some sort of gentleman. It was another chance to touch her, in a way no one in public could object to. He held up the coat and quirked an eyebrow at her, letting her know that he'd anticipated her objection and he was doing it anyway.

Normally Amber would object to her date paying for her half of the meal, but she'd already agreed to let him treat her. Given the fact he'd gotten that money partially thanks to her job performance-- good yet not enough to outrank the others significantly-- it was more than fair he shared the bounty. Though, wrinkling her nose when Eric didn't wait for the change, he shouldn't have shared that bounty so generously with the staff. It bothered her, like rain on a planned outing, to not get his (and therefore her) money's worth. It wouldn't be wise to aggravate the waiter, though, not when he could report them to a superior or the police, so she left the crisp bills undisturbed.

More chivalry awaited her, with Eric taking her coat and holding it up, eyebrow raised expectantly. God, was he still doing that? "You know, if you're doing that just to get laid, it's pointless." Though Amber tried to sound stern, she couldn't help an amused twitch of her mouth, oddly flattered. Any other guy, and it'd just be annoying and trite. But this wasn't any other guy. This was Eric, showering her with attention. "You've already got me bagged, to mix my metaphors."

With a regal chin raise, to remind him and let everyone else know she could dress herself without aid, Amber slipped into the sleeves her coat, the material rustling as she did so. From there, it was just a step backwards to stand beside him, the perfect place for her to wrap an arm around his back, fingers grazing lightly as she did so. Winking, "Here's the last, G-rated show of the evening."

Foreman couldn't help a quick laugh at Amber's assumption that he was helping her with her coat in order to get her into bed. That would be not only pointless, but counterproductive. It was more a way of saying thank you, or of sharing how she'd made him feel, without getting caught up in the stupid sentiment of words. "Maybe I'm showing off," he said, to put it in terms she'd accept. Despite what he'd been telling himself, the whole restaurant had to know what they'd done, it had been so blatant. With the danger of being caught past, Foreman was indulging himself in feeling smug, and proud, that he'd had a better evening than any of them. That he was the one who was allowed to draw Amber close and take her home.

With her heels, Amber was an inch or two taller than he was. Most of the women he'd dated were smaller, short enough that they could lean their heads against his shoulder when he wrapped an arm around them. The protective urge that came over him so easily then was missing, but Foreman knew Amber wouldn't miss it--would resent it, if he showed it. He found that he didn't have to shorten his stride to match hers, either. Amber's walk was as determined as she was. When they got to the doors, Foreman didn't try to open it for her.

Outside, the air was colder than when they'd arrived, making the idea of getting to his apartment and curling up in bed together all the more attractive. Foreman didn't want to let Amber go for long enough to walk around the car and get in. He gave her a squeeze and then let go, unlocking the doors with his key, and starting the engine and the seat warmers as soon as he got in. He frowned, though, as he realized it wasn't simply a matter of driving home. Both of them had to be at work tomorrow, bright and early, and Foreman didn't want to wake up early. Better to get the logistics figured out tonight. "Did you need to get anything for tomorrow?" he asked. He had extra toothbrushes and other toiletries, and several bottles of shampoo, hair conditioner, even a blowdryer that Wendy had left behind at his place and never shown up to collect. But Amber would need clothes, and anything else personal. Unfortunately it worked both ways: if they stayed at her place, Foreman would still have to go home to get a clean suit and his shaving gear.

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