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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There, he'd laughed. Muscles Amber hadn't realized she'd been clenching relaxed, and she eased against the leather, into Eric's hold. "Don't know yet," she said, cupping her chin with her free hand. "I do have an idea of his type, from who he didn't fire. And there's always someone who likes a good bit of abuse in their love life, I'm sure we could find a volunteer somewhere. That's what they invented Craig's List for, the hopeless cases."

The more she spoke, the more convinced she grew. Yes. This could work. If they could get House laid and, better yet, laid regularly, then he'd be all the more lenient with any love-doves in his deparment. House's lover(s) didn't have to last forever, just long enough for the hiring game to end, with her as a winner. Then her relationship with Eric wouldn't be so vulnerable... if they were still together by then.

"Give me some time." Amber squeezed Eric's hand, growing restless with new excitement. "I'll come up with a brilliant, fool-proof plan, better than anything Wilson or Cuddy have tried." A good place to start, actually, would be by asking them about House's past, see what they had already attempted (and failed over). If she made it clear that it was for House's own good... Cuddy might not believe her, already convinced Amber was a soulless opportunity-hunter, but Wilson, they'd talked after House's faked suicide. He'd been discreetly grateful that she'd saved House' life. He'd listen to her, and he might be desperate enough for his best friend's wellbeing that he'd spill the beans. Yes, he would.

But tomorrow. Those battles she'd fight tomorrow. For now, enjoying the spoils of future victories was all she wanted. Amber looked back out the window, to see if she could guess where they were headed. She fully expected Eric to live in a good, if not the best, part of town.

Foreman was more than happy to laugh at Amber's plotting, since he didn't see it coming to anything, but he wasn't going to keep his doubts to himself. "House likes being miserable. The last time he was attracted to a woman, she was married, and she'd already dumped him once." It explained why House tried to break up the people around him. Why he believed he could never be happy. "If you try to mess with that, he won't thank you." Analyzing House's love life wasn't what interested Foreman at the moment, though. Amber could torture him tomorrow with visions of happiness. Foreman was far more concerned with making sure Amber's first impression of his apartment was favourable. Fortunately, he'd cleaned on Friday, and everything was ready for guests; he even had food and fresh coffee grounds. He wanted to make it look like it was effortless, even though there could be weeks that went by when he only ate at the hospital because he couldn't get away.

He took the last few turns into his neighbourhood. Fortunately, when he'd moved he'd sublet his apartment, and it had still been available when he came back. It had been shitty moving twice in less than a few months, but at least he hadn't had to worry about finding a place, or knowing where to put his stuff. The neighbourhood was a nice once. Foreman liked having little shops that were open all night not far from his building, because he came home needing groceries at odd hours. The street itself had an oak tree out front that perfectly shaded his living room, giving a good view but some privacy as well. He pulled in to his regular parking space and turned off the engine. "Let House take care of himself," he said. He'd prefer it if House wasn't the subject of conversation when they went inside, and he stroked his thumb over Amber's hand for a moment, hoping she'd agree. "He's a grownup, he can make his own decisions." Foreman got out of the car and headed for the door, unlocking it and waiting for Amber to join him.

"He would make it difficult," Amber said. Her thumb, already so near her mouth, glided between her front teeth, and she bit lightly. She still thought she could get House to be happy, for a little while. Long enough. And if not that, then interested in someone else, conveniently diverting attention from her own affairs.

But she'd find someone. Not herself, because even if she was House's type, the point here was to let her be with Eric peacefully. He wanted into Thirteen's suspenders just as much, if not more, but Amber wouldn't let it be her, either; she wouldn't feed him anymore reasons to hire her. Cuddy? Maybe. Or would someone not from the hospital be better?

Amber recognized a request for a change in subject when she saw one-- and maybe fear to mess up a worse situation into something catastrophic. If it ain't broke, don't fix it? With House threatening to break what she wanted, no way she wouldn't be pulling out a monkey wrench and screwdriver. "Can he take care of himself?" She didn't press her ideas, though; she'd let them simmer first, then share them once they were ready for the feasting.

She stepped out, admiring the surroundings. Her expectations had proven right: Eric lived in a quiet neighborhood, with carefully-tended apartments and shops. There were even some green touches, trees and shrubs. Amber was no country girl, but she liked dabs of plant-life in her cities. "Nice place," Amber complimented, hooking her arm around Eric's at the door. Soon, she wouldn’t have to feel him through multiple coats; she could delight in his bared skin as much as she liked. As curious as she was to see his home, Amber suspected she wouldn’t see much of it, not tonight—they had so little time, and so much to do. Her grip tightened with anticipation; she was here for the man, after all, and not the space.

Frankly, Foreman didn't care if House could take care of himself. It wasn't Foreman's business. Interfering in problems that weren't his concern would get him in trouble, which he didn't need more of. Despite the fact that House was a pain in his ass, and a medical practitioning nightmare, Foreman--reluctantly, occasionally--liked him, but that didn't give him the right to mess with whatever sort of self-destruction House threw himself into. He didn't have the right and so he didn't have the responsibility. If House messed himself up, which Foreman had seen plenty of times, Foreman only cared about making sure House was well enough to work. If he wasn't, Foreman had no problem first trying to patch him up, and second giving way to Cuddy's authority, such as it was. He'd help when House needed it, but he wasn't going to go out of his way to get knotted up in House's problems or his life. So he was glad enough that Amber seemed willing to drop the subject, even if her last question meant that she hadn't stopped thinking about it.

He breathed easier when they went inside, Amber's arm linked in his, her bag over her other shoulder. Finally they could get away from the subject of House, what he'd do when he saw them together. When the elevator came, Foreman pushed the button for the fourth floor. "Not exactly the penthouse suite," he said, but with a hint of pride. He liked being above his neighbours, where he didn't have to listen to their clomping footsteps all the time, and the apartment itself was roomy. He liked high quality, good brand names, and a quiet sense of style, and he didn't mind paying to get that. He unlocked the door and let Amber go in first, watching her expression, certain that she'd be impressed.

"Nice," Amber said, taking in brown-orange walls, the mahogany furniture. All was neat and tidy, unlived in, almost; she wasn't sure if that was because he'd just moved in, or because he was used to spending most of his life at work. Hopefully she’d find out, with time. A quick glance forward revealed a huge flat screen and what she was must be the rest of a complete entertainment system. The scattered paintings were abstract, generic, inoffensive.

It was as if Eric had taken the image he wanted for himself and projected it over his apartment.

Amber dipped her head, grinning. She knew, thankfully, better than to believe this illusion. She'd gotten glimpses of other Erics: how he caved when scared, how his eyes flashed when pissed. How hard he could hold her, overcome with passion.

Those Erics were so much more fascinating than any idealized version.

"Nice," Amber repeated her earlier compliment. She twirled to face him, looking down because of her heels; his expression was so smug, like a cat surveying its domain from the highest perch. She took hold of his coat lapels, pulling him in closer. From here she could smell the sweat they’d worked up to earlier, and the memory made her smile. "But I'm here for the man, not the apartment."

If the desire she’d felt in the restaurant had been a roaring fire, it was now an ember, making her want him beside her. With her. And he finally could be, in the privacy of his home. She wouldn’t hold back. Amber tipped her head, sighing with a breath that went straight to her abdomen, and brushed her face against his, her mouth skirting the edge of his lips. His stubble tickled, made her shiver. “God,” she whispered, and it had to be the wine that had loosened her tongue so, “you have no idea how much I like you.”

Foreman followed Amber's gaze around the apartment, checking to make sure everything was in its place. The one room that tended to get untidy was his bedroom, strewn with workout clothes, papers, journals he'd been reading, CDs for the player on the table by the window. He'd cleaned recently enough that it shouldn't embarrass him, anyway.

Amber's bland compliment didn't fool him for a second. Coupled with her smirk, Foreman knew right away that he'd missed the mark. Compared to her place, he could see why. It was a space it was easy to feel at home in, warmer than his was, inviting. Foreman liked keeping his place neat, wanted a certain standard in the furniture and decorations he bought, but he knew he wasn't around to enjoy them much. But it was still important to him. Not so important that he didn't understand where Amber's laughter was coming from. Amber took hold of his coat and reeled him in, and Foreman stepped forward willingly, his hands finding her hips. He tipped his head to meet her eyes; his were half-closed, lazy with the pleasure of simply standing close to her. "You don't like it," he said, with a playful pout, pretending to be offended.

He inhaled quickly when Amber's next words reached his ears. She was so near, he was breathing in her perfume, the scent of her hair. Her skin was warm, and Foreman didn't quite kiss her; getting close and holding himself back was tantalizing. Her murmur was nearly too quiet to hear, but it reverberated through Foreman's body, the feelings it evoked more than the sound. He couldn't think, couldn't quite breathe. Answering seemed, for a long second, out of his reach. "I know," he finally whispered back, nuzzling nearer, still withholding a kiss for the time being. "Amber..." He slipped his hands up to the front of her coat, undoing it slowly, revealing her blouse inch by inch. He looked down, concentrating on the steady, deliberate motions of his fingers. "You don't have the same objection to me helping you get this off, do you?"

"Sure I like it," she teased, fingers curling over his lapels until the material bunched in her hands, taunting herself by not holding on to what she wanted. "It's a royal palace, worthy of a king." What more did he want? It was just an apartment.

Amber hummed, new surges of arousal running through her at his proximity, his attention. And then she stopped cold, stone as Eric kept on touching and kissing her like he hadn't just awkwardly shrugged off her confession. I know. I know? She'd bared her heart and that was all she got, a paused I know? It was with growing heaviness as she watched him undo her coat, his every movement making her sink further.

Over ten years of people telling her she was too cynical, of watching other couples and wondering that maybe she had been too hasty in writing off relationships, she'd finally found a guy she thought cared, and he proved her suspicions true. It all came down to the same thing. His question confirmed it. "Is this just about sex?" Amber's voice betrayed her, cracking halfway through the sentence, undermining the strength she'd tried to underline it with.

And to think she’d thought of risking her job.

She wouldn't make a big deal out of this. She wouldn't. She just wanted to know, now, that what he wanted was to get laid. That was okay. Nothing wrong with that. It was what she herself had looked for so far, what she'd had in mind when she first flirted with him, before he was Eric, before one look from him made her mood do a one-eighty. It was okay. Amber could get through this, tonight; she had to, to show him she hadn't been so stupid to think there'd been anything more to them. Though, at this moment, lump rising in her throat, Amber had no idea how she'd get through hours of faking. But she would. Somehow.

Later she'd puzzle how she'd so deeply misunderstood-- again-- his intentions. Later. For now, Amber stared into Eric's eyes, determined to hear his affirmation, or cowardly evasions, with dignity.

Foreman's head jerked up the second Amber spoke. "No," he said, the word jerked from his lips before he had a chance to think about it or call it back. The break in her voice cut through his heart. He stopped opening her coat, his hands freezing as if she'd accused him of forcing himself on her. Foreman swallowed, searching her expression. Amber was pale, and she seemed suddenly fragile, like crystal that could shatter at a touch. He'd said I know and then he'd choked on the rest of what he'd meant. I have no idea. I have no fucking clue. And it scares the shit out of me. Christ, his voice would be breaking next, as if he'd suddenly regressed to high school. Like he couldn't even manage to tell a girl he liked her. Fucking pathetic. He couldn't admit that he hadn't done this in years, dated someone that he felt this much for, so quickly. All that kept repeating in his mind was Five days. Less than a week. There was no way Amber could have done this to him, like he'd lost his choice to do anything but want her, want to be with her. And now with two words he'd fucked up. He'd thought Amber would leave him the second House said jump through the hoop, but why wait for that when he could ruin it himself?

"I wanted to ignore you today," he said, forcing his voice into a low, steady register. He could barely keep himself from tearing his eyes away from Amber's, look anywhere else. It would be safer, if she couldn't see him, couldn't judge whether he was being honest. Her haughty stare was a front, he could see that now, and his stomach clenched, knowing he'd hurt her into building up those walls again, but so fast that they were imperfect, and he could see the cracks. "I wanted to act like I'd never met you. But every time I tried, you... I couldn't stop." Foreman's eyebrows drew together. God, this had to sound like he was a lovesick teenager. There was no way Amber wanted to hear him getting sentimental, acting like a complete sop. Christ, he'd be writing awful poetry next, or calling her by a cutesy pet name. He felt like an idiot, but he wasn't going to let his throat close up on these words. His heart was hammering so loudly he wondered if Amber could hear it. "I can't forget you. I want you here." Foreman pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. He couldn't escape from what he was saying; he didn't want Amber to, either. "Here. Not just in bed."

Barely breathing, her heart stuttering from the lack of oxygen, Amber steeled herself for the worst. No. She hadn't thought it possible, but she stiffened more; Eric was going to deny what he wanted. A liar through and through. At least his face had the decency of spilling the truth, crumbled with guilt.

If he wasn't going to come clear with her, then she saw no reason to keep faking. They didn’t both have to lie through their teeth. Amber's hands fell from his lapels and already she was calculating how to get a cab, whether to wait here or outside.

But before she could further develop the escape scenario, Eric expanded, haltingly, on that "no." That same hesitation which had so alarmed her pulled her back in, and she listened attentively, needing to hear what came next. Her hands ceased their fall midway his chest and once more she gripped his coat, the cloth bundled up in her fists.

It was as if his words were walking circles in a forest and she was losing her way following them, going deeper and deeper into the woods. There was nothing definite about what Eric said, just that he couldn't stay away; that could mean anything. He could have a fixation on her legs, for all she knew. But the earnestness of his gaze, and how suffered the sentences came out, it was as if he wanted to open up and had no idea how. Whatever he meant but couldn’t express fully, the more he spoke, the redder Amber flushed, flattered by what might be the truth, embarrassed that she had made a big deal out of what was nothing.

Worried, too, that she was misreading him again.

She exhaled sharply with the hug, her arms flying up, out of her control, to hold him back just as tightly. "Dr. Eric Foreman," she intoned into his ear, and god, the scent of him, up-close like this addled her brain all the more, "if you're lying, I will rip your ball off." She squeezed him harder, rested her head against his shoulder. If it were possible, she'd will him to cast no more problems, so that she close the distance and kiss his throat, lick the salt of skin; so that things could be as they should.

Foreman couldn't tell at first if what he was saying was having any effect on Amber at all. She seemed not to be listening at all--holding herself away from him, as if she was depending on not hearing him in order to stay safe. Her fists against his chest were shaking, but Foreman couldn't have said whether that was because of Amber or himself. He was saying everything wrong, he had to be. Maybe what she'd wanted to hear was that he wasn't demanding more than sex, that she didn't have to worry or feel guilty when she ended this. It would explain the casual way she'd treated him in the restaurant bathroom, and even the blithe way she'd assumed, tonight, that they could just start over, as if that didn't meant something. He'd told her then that he didn't want to play. If she was going to discard him without a thought, then she should have done it then, before he'd thrown away his dignity in the restaurant, getting so carried away in public. When she was the first one to look away, her cheeks flushed red, he was sure he was going to lose her. He'd said the wrong thing, wanted the wrong thing. He wasn't in control. He was a fucking follower, trailing after her, after all. She'd shove him back and slam the door behind her, disappearing.

Instead, Amber threw her arms around his shoulders. Foreman heard her threat, but it sounded shaky, as if she was on as uncertain ground as he was. "Just one?" he teased, but his voice was unsteady. Was she trying to tell him that she wanted this? For it to mean more? He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, burying his nose in her hair. Her warm scent was already familiar, but muffled by all the layers between them. He wanted to hold her like this, closer, and just forget that either of them had said anything. That's what he'd wanted when he'd asked her back here. To have her away from the damn world, where he didn't have to worry about anyone watching. Only the two of them, without the landslide weight of expectations and doubts. He rubbed Amber's back, massaging as best he could through her coat. Her kiss against his throat was hot, soft, and slow, and Foreman shivered. "This matters," he said. Warmth flowed through him, expanding his chest and easing the tension in his muscles. He turned his head to meet Amber's mouth. Gently, he kissed her, not insisting, but tasting her top lip, and then the bottom, and then the corner of her mouth. Exploring, as if everything depended on his delicacy, on not overstepping his bounds. "I promise."

"Just one," Amber confirmed, words muffled because her face was buried in his neck. "The other one will remind you what you lost, and what you could still lose." With the next woman, anyway. If she had to rip off one, she wouldn't stick around long enough to find reason to tear off ball number two.

Amber pressed into him, to be as close as possible, to breathe the same air as him. Eric’s coat buttons dug into her, as would his belt buckle would, she was sure, if only there was less between them, and she was being more a fool than ever, if that fact bothered her for more than the mere physical inconvenience. Eric’s hands massaged her back, and she straightened her shoulders, welcoming that touch. She closed her eyes. Yes. Yes.

She'd have to take his word for it, that 'this' mattered to him. But the slow, gentle way he kissed her, soft as if she were a dandelion whose seeds he didn't dare scatter with his breath, it was easy to believe. Her eyes opened up again. "Yeah," she said, her lips brushing against his cheek. "It does." She then covered his mouth with her own, opening it slightly, just reveling in the feel of him. His lips were dry, perhaps from kissing her so much. It felt the right thing to do, to run her tongue lightly against them, a small way to mark herself on him. "So," she said, and she almost laughed, realizing how what she was about to say would sound. "Not to sound like a hypocrite, but where's the bedroom?" Her eyelids lowered, her tone deepened. "I want you." Need, really; she hadn't been sure, earlier, if she was up for another round, but with Eric in her arms and this whirlwind of emotion, all of her craved him. Her body strummed with desire. For him. And not in a quick, up-against-the-wall way, acting more out of horniness than anything else. “Slow,” she kissed him, hands sliding down to his sides and tightening over him, “and deep.” Her tongued slipped past his lips, seeking his.

Amber's attempt at intimidation made Foreman's lips twitch into a smile. He'd never expected to hear her sound so young. The power and assurance were stripped away from what she was saying, so that only the words themselves were left. He didn't doubt that she'd go through with it, if she felt she had to. If she was hurt--if he hurt her. Foreman inhaled deeply. He'd promised, he'd taken on that responsibility. Usually he tried to avoid commitments, because of what they meant. He didn't break one lightly, and so he didn't promise just anything. Tonight, with Amber's arms holding to him tightly, as if she was searching for some sense of stability, made him realize that in some ways she wasn't as strong as she seemed. If she could show him that, he could let himself open up, too.

When she deepened the kiss, Foreman followed her lead. Compared to the rough, hasty urgency earlier, it was nearly a revelation. He'd been so fucking hot before, he hadn't stopped to think. By the time Amber had cornered him in the bathroom the last thing on his mind had been why, or what it meant, or what it could be. Now he could let his feelings guide him, rather than his dick. The flick of Amber's tongue across his lips tingled, and Foreman moved forward, not to press, but to answer her. Simply to have time. Long moments to meet her tongue, lick his way into her mouth, feeling his breathing quicken through his nose.

He grinned when Amber asked where the bedroom was. "I won't think less of you," he said, a warm thread of amusement in his voice, but it was true. He felt like he'd just had a good workout, his muscles humming with an almost achy warmth, but his pulse was quick, waking him up and leaving him alert, eager. God, she could turn him on with nothing more than her voice. Her promises. When she kissed him again, Foreman let out a groan into her mouth, pushing a little harder. He let go of her long enough to shrug out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor in the entryway. He reached for Amber's, undid the last button, and brushed it off her shoulders. "Down the hall," he said. "I'll show you."

That felt like a promise, too. He might not have been able to tell Amber at every moment what he meant, what he wanted, but Foreman was certain that he could show her. He took her hand and led the way, until they were standing near the center of his bedroom. The blinds were drawn, so Foreman reached for the light, flicking it on. "I want to see you," he said, and moved close again, kissing her at the same time that he slipped his hands under her shirt, meaning to push it up, away.

This—kisses, undressing, fucking-- Amber understood. Dominated. She knew what to do, how to do it, and when. It was familiar-- fun-- terrain, and Amber eagerly lost herself in those old, yet never boring, rites. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself. So determined to throw herself into the act, Amber barely took in Eric's room and his comment about wanting to see her.

With sex, the goal was simple: get everyone off. She could do that.

There was the shedding battle, to see who would get naked first; of course Eric sided with stripping her, and Amber fought back with the cunning ploy of unbuttoning his suit and pushing it off him. It fell to the floor with a rustle, though she didn't hear it, occupied with kissing Eric back, gasping softly as his fingertips encountered her bare skin.

His touch was so hot it burned her, through her surface and deeper, deeper. Amber sucked harder on Eric’s lip, pressing her tongue out together with a moan. They'd just fucked, no more than a few hours ago, and already she was this turned on, this needy. She knew why. They’d— in the hallway, they’d done something, talking, coming to terms, or simply making each other all the more confused. Whatever it was, it’d affected her physically, and she wouldn’t let herself think about it, not now. The last thing she wanted was to become so namby-pamby sensitive again. Now was about wanting, giving.

“You make me so hot,” Amber whispered, vehement. That was safe, nothing she hadn’t said before. Trailing her mouth down his chin was old business, too, pausing to nibble his jaw line. Still—even if she’d done this countless times, smelling Eric as she did so, tasting his sweat, it made her dizzier. She set to undo his shirt buttons, too, to ground herself.

Fingers trailing over Amber's stomach, Foreman was determined to study her by touch, reading Braille in the heat of her skin, the tone of her muscles. He felt them quiver, tense and relax with Amber's breathing. The silk of her top brushed the backs of his knuckles. He'd meant to push her shirt off right away, uncover her, so that he could spend the same unhurried time admiring every inch of her, his hands and mouth following where his eyes led him. As soon as he'd formed that intention, though, Amber distracted him, kissing him fiercely. Her hands were busy, pushing his suit coat off, moving to his shoulders and then back to his throat to start on his shirt buttons. His tie was already hanging loose. He was falling behind, while Amber moved with the same single-minded determination that had caught him off-guard so many times already. He had to catch up.

But Amber's words wiped away whatever he'd meant to do. It wasn't the first time she'd said something like that. I'm here for the man. You have no idea how much I like you. You make me so hot. Self-satisfaction roared through Foreman, making him far more than smug. Like he'd won a victory. Pride and heat, clenching low in his stomach, and the desire to prove to her that he could do more than that. She was going too fast, for all she'd told him she wanted this slow. Foreman inhaled quickly, realizing that. Amber would have him hard and desperate all too soon if he didn't fight for what she said she'd wanted. He took his hands from under her shirt and lifted them to her arms, his fingers circling her wrists. "So let me," he said, meeting her eyes for a moment. It was nearly a taunt. He was stronger than she was, and his grip, while not tight, would be hard for her to break. Pulling Amber's hands away from his shirt, hanging half-open now, Foreman raised an eyebrow to...ask her if this was all right, or to tease her by holding her still, he didn't know himself which. "Amber. Let me." He leaned in and kissed her again. Too lightly, slowing the pace, then moving lower. He tasted her throat, lingering, open-mouthed kisses guiding him from her jaw to her pulse point, then down to the notch at the base of her throat. God, she was right. So hot, burning against his lips. Foreman nosed aside the neckline of her shirt to follow the line of her collarbone, sucking hard and then teasing with just the tip of his tongue. Her skin was flushed pink, and Foreman wanted to follow that blush as far as it went. Amber was beautiful naked, but she was all the more provocative when he couldn't see everything, when he teased himself as much as her by leaving her clothes in place.

Trying to hold her back, was he. Defiance flashed within Amber, like lightning striking ground. These emotional entanglements might be new to her, but physical restraints, she'd dealt with those before.

"Let you what?" she asked, all coyness. Striking up her competitive spirit seemed to be the motivation she needed to snap her out of her uncharacteristic, and frankly, annoying, insecurity. It brought herself back to an Amber she knew and enjoyed. It felt good, liking running and laughing against the wind, to be herself again. "Tell me, Eric," she teased, just as she rotated her wrists and slid them from his grip, freeing herself.

But she could tell what he wanted, his every languid motion crying it out loud and clear. She embraced his head and, moaning, let him. Let him kiss her slow and careful, let him adore her and her body. More importantly, she let herself relish every sensation, discovering worlds of pleasure in the mere brush of his nose against her throat. Her heart thudded, loud and all-encompassing, the sound of a time-ancient drum beat.

Her fingers ran over his head, taking in the rough texture of his almost-baldness. It was so different from her own long, straight hair. More intriguing, too. Amber played, skirting the smooth skin behind his ears before caressing the crown of his head, pressing softly. If lingering was what he craved, then lingering she’d give to him. She tilted her face so as to lay her lips against his forehead, fingertips hovering down to the nape of his neck. Amber let her nails graze over the area, wondering if she’d find a sensitive spot. She hoped so. She wanted to drive him crazy.

Foreman should have been surprised at how easily Amber broke his hold, but instead, it felt completely natural. Of course she'd slip free of any attempt of his to control her. She'd probably fight even harder if he'd gripped her tightly. God, he could imagine her delight if he ever tried seriously to restrain her. She'd use everything, every trick, writhing away from him, rubbing against him, to distract him or slip away, if he tried anything of the sort. Foreman had played at tying up bed partners before--finally, something he'd actually done--but it had never felt real, only like a game. With Amber, he was certain, it would feel real. Fighting him off energized her, Foreman could hear it in her voice, and he grinned against her shoulder. "Let me touch you," he murmured. She already was, but he wanted more. She wasn't rushing now. Foreman could feel her matching his pace, starting to explore the way he was. Her fingertips brushed over his head, behind his ears, making him breathe in sharply. Her fingernails skimmed lines of electricity down the back of his neck. Shivers tightened to goosebumps across his chest and down his arms. His breathing picked up, nearly panting now, feeling like, no matter how slowly he went, it would always be a race until Amber drove him out of his skull with desire.

"Let me tease you." That, Amber was less likely to allow, and Foreman glanced up at her, smirking in challenge. Under her shirt, his palm traced a line up the center of her stomach to the clasp of her bra, opening it with a twist of his fingers. Brushing the cups aside with his palms, Foreman returned to kissing her, this time dragging his tongue over the sheer fabric of her shirt, until he'd found her nipple through the material. Foreman's breath caught. His cock was already firmer, fuller, from the sight, from the sound of Amber's breathing. "God, I want you," he said, his voice harsh and low. Wetted by his tongue, her shirt clung to the curve of her breast, outlining the tight peak of her nipple. Foreman bent to lick it, spiralling around her areola before closing his mouth on her nipple and sucking lightly, tongue teasing. With his hand, he reached up to find her other breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple and finding it hard, too. Quickly, he pinched it, a sharp contrast to the soft suction of his mouth. He raised his head, then, watching for her reaction, and said quietly, "Tell me what you want."

Good-- no, perfect. Amber smiled wide, pleased by reaction she'd elicited from Eric with so minor a touch. She liked knowing she could make him tremble and shiver with just a stroke of her nail. The power of it made her as excited, if not more, as when his hands had travelled up her shirt, his lips on her chest. Arousal built up inside her, coiling in her abdomen, but present all over, making her skin tingle.

Slow was nice.

"Alright," she breathed. He already was teasing her, bringing her stride down, pacing himself as if time were a useless thing to be squandered. She wanted to know what he considered teasing and what other, subtler sensations they could create through mellow exploration. But she had to half-laugh, half-moan, as his mouth covered her nipple. It seemed he wouldn't be so patient after all, no matter what he begged of her. "If you're able to, that is." Hair falling and sticking to her sweaty face as she peered down at him, Amber raised her eyebrows in a dare.

And then her head was tilting back, her mouth gaping as she took in the gasps of air she suddenly needed. "Bite me," she commanded, pulling his head closer. Her fingers tightened of their own accord, curling. Her hips too pulsed forward, seeking a surface to rub against, and found nothing. The sheer frustration of lacking friction between her legs, with the scent of Eric so strong it overwhelmed her, made her gush. If he meant to torture her by asking what she wanted and not delivering, then telling him what she desired was dangerous. But she couldn't resist. "Pinch my other nipple," she gasped. "Hard."

Amber's gasp, the swift clutch of her fingers, pulling him forward--Jesus, she was so hot. Her whole body tightened when he'd pinched her, like he'd electrocuted her with a touch, brought her to a peak of sensation and left her there, balanced, precarious. It was fucking gratifying to see it, hear it, taste it. Amber's impatience, pleasure, desire, they all echoed his. Heat throbbed through Foreman, and fuck, he was hard. He wanted to press against Amber. Show her how damn much he wanted her.

Teasing her meant he couldn't. Not yet. He'd felt her hips buck forward when he pinched her, heard her moan when it hadn't brought her any relief. He fucking loved her reactions. Loved how open she was, never holding back, and, Foreman was sure, never pretending she felt more than she did. She wasn't stroking his ego. Only giving in to her own enjoyment, and Foreman wanted to give her even more. He stayed close--her hands curved around the back of his head would hardly permit anything else--but he switched his mouth to Amber's other breast, sucking firmly. His fingers found her nipple, moist and tight from his attentions, and he pinched, hard, not letting go but rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Fuck, he wanted to hear her moan, louder, not giving a shit if anyone might hear--Foreman knew she'd held back, if only slightly, in the restaurant, and he'd been damn glad of it, but now he wanted to hear Amber's every hitching breath. Wanted to hear anything she'd demand of him. Through her shirt, Foreman took her nipple between his teeth, only hard enough to hold it in place while he ran his tongue over it, again and again.

Anything to drive her crazy. To make her ask for more. Come on. Amber. Tell me. Their first night, she'd straddled him, touched herself, told him everything she did to bring herself off--that had been at least partly performance, but fuck, it had riveted him, left him captivated and helpless as he watched her. Foreman wanted that. Amber had barely been able to speak, her orgasm coming over her and breaking her voice into gasping moans, and God, he wanted that. The memory was enough to force a low groan out of his throat. He didn't want to stop to bother with their clothes, but at the same time, he wanted to see more than he could now. Get rid of any obstruction. He pulled back long enough to yank his tie loose and over his head, to undo the last button on his shirt and drop it to the floor. In a second, he was back, tugging Amber's shirt up and shedding it, and her bra. When they were gone, he took her in his arms and started pushing her backward, towards the bed.

"Oh," Amber cried out, and then again, her body jerking. She hadn't thought he'd do it, but he had, pinching so hard it almost hurt. She'd been expecting a caress, at best, but this, it concentrated all her sensations on that one spot, channeling them into a crystal-clear jolt of pleasure. And then again, on her other breast, with his teeth, and oh god it felt good, so right. All that was missing was his body against her lower half, so that she could thrust and thrust, in rhythm to her thudding heart.

They'd get there. She'd make sure of it.

Amber complained, loud, when Eric pulled away; how could he stop now, when she wanted it to never end? But she couldn't object to him ripping off his tie and shirt, not when it afforded her an uncensored view of his upper body, gleaming slightly with sweat. Amber cracked into a smile as she remembered what joys existed beyond a thorough tongue-job over her clothed breasts; she could return the favor. Lick him all over, nipping here and there. Taste his skin, feel the pulse of his blood, and-- best of all-- have him under her control. Begging.

So caught up in fantasizing her next steps, Amber forgot to get around to acting. She barely had the time to process him stripping off her blouse and bra, to appreciate just how freeing it was to be exposed, before he was pushing her onto the bed. "You," she laughed, her breathing off a beat from the impact against the mattress, "are a terrible tease." Her laughter became a wicked grin; they'd landed so that she could feel every bit of his erection, hot and hard against her abdomen. She rolled her hip once, not for her own benefit like she'd wished just moments ago, but to make him crave more. "And by that I mean you're not very good at the teasing." She propped herself up on her elbows, pausing long enough to whisper into his ear: "Let me show you how it’s done." Taking his face between her hands, she kissed him everywhere: cheeks, nose, eyelids. She avoided only his mouth, purposefully testing his reaction to him being forced to slow down. As for herself, she was more than happy. The warmth of his body bearing down as she learned the contours of his face with her lips, it was amazing. No other word for it.

Foreman landed with his knees on the bed, not quite comfortable. Looming over Amber, he grunted as he pushed himself up the bed, leaving room for Amber to join him, lying down fully. As loudly as she'd moaned in disappointment when he pulled away, she was quick to smile up at him, and Foreman's chest tightened. It was impossible to do anything but smile back at her. Foreman was nearly on top of her, and she was so warm, soft and yielding. His erection was trapped between them, constrained by his pants, and Foreman couldn't help nudging his hips forward incrementally until he was cradled just right between her hips. "You're hard to tease," he said, a feeling like laughter that hadn't quite escaped warming his chest, making him feel infinitely tender. He brushed a strand of hair back from her lips; they were wet and swollen from kissing. "I want to touch you so much." He sucked in a breath when she lifted her hips, pushing against him. Scowling playfully, he added, "Especially when you do that."

He let his eyes flutter shut when she kissed him. Each kiss was only a flicker of a touch, ticklish and airy. "Mmn," he said, sighing as Amber held his face in her hands, not giving him any choice but to accept the butterfly-light kisses. He supposed he should be pushing for more, but somehow Amber's kisses only relaxed him, so much that he could barely hold himself up over her. He raised his eyebrows, eyes still closed, waiting to see where she'd kiss him next. He couldn't believe that she'd be patient enough to keep it up longer than he had himself. Looking at her briefly, he gave her a half-smile. Teasing her probably worked better when she thought she was the one teasing him.

"I could smell you on my fingers all through dinner," he said, smirking a bit as he kept his voice deliberately low and intimate. "You were so fucking wet. You don't know how much I wanted to go down on you. Taste you." Firmly, Foreman ran his hand down Amber's hip to her thigh, feeling the change in texture as he reached the hem of her skirt and continued over her nylons. Reversing direction, he brought his hand up, but he didn't continue any further, just massaged the back of her thigh, pulling her a bit more tightly against him, until they were rocking together lightly. Felt so good. He was hard, but he'd come once already, and even though it had been a few hours ago, he'd have more control this time. He'd bet his stamina against Amber's, right now. Dipping his head so that he only had to whisper, he said, "I think you'd rather tease me than let me make you beg."

"If I made myself untouchable, would it be easier on you?" she asked, purposefully lowering voice and eyelids, smirking. She was pretty sure the answer would be a resounding 'no.'

And then he started to describe what he'd been thinking at the restaurant, Christ. Hanging on his every word, Amber's full-body blush only deepened. She knew Eric wanted her: if the way his gaze followed her, and a thousand other signs, hadn't been enough to clue her in, she had the concrete proof of his desire pressing up against her. But to hear him say it, to catch the pitch of his voice on keywords-- it was amazing. There was no other word for it. Amber couldn't not kiss him properly, sucking on his lower lip, slipping her tongue into his mouth. God, how she loved this, their being so close together, as if they could come to occupy the same space.

With Eric's rocking steady between her, the friction problem was more than solved. Amber hummed, buzzing from the consistent stimulation against her mound; she could stay like this a long, long while. "Duh," she answered. Teasing meant having power, with begging the polar opposite: submitting to someone's will. While she could relinquish control to a sexual partner for brief periods, before long she inevitably chafed against the structure and found a way to get back to the metaphorical top. "Don't you?" Being an underling didn't suit Eric; he'd risen to the position of department head the first chance he got, and it hurt him to be back under House's thumb.

Yet... Amber stroked Eric's back as she thought. That first night, despite his fears, he'd let her penetrate him. Wasn't that a form of submission? She'd been a stranger to him and still he'd let himself trust her that much. And their patient, with a neurological condition, pathologically imitating whoever was in control, had chosen her. Maybe Eric liked begging. Maybe he didn't know that about himself.

Now there was a theory to test.

Timing it just right to the roll of their hips, Amber pulled down her nylons and kicked them off before lazily bending her legs over Eric's. He liked seeing her, she knew. This might be enough to get him more excited but not so much as to make him lose his head—in other words, the perfect tease. Though, she reflected as she rubbed her bare skin against the silk of his trousers, this was not helping keep her own arousal down.

Foreman let a sound grow in the back of his throat when Amber kissed him. It was still slow, gentle, and it grew out of the low thrum of arousal that was rushing through his body like a rising tide. He met her lips, leading the way first with soft, open-mouthed kisses, before her hand cupping his cheek drew him closer. Foreman kissed her hungrily, twining their tongues together, the pleasure of the kiss mingling with the waves of heat from his groin. He breathed unsteadily, his rhythm deepening, and he couldn't quite focus on Amber's question. He'd thought he could challenge her to give up control, even if it didn't last, but she brushed past the implication without acknowledging it. Foreman would have pointed it out to her, taken his time to challenge her more directly, but he wasn't interested in semantics right now. Amber's fingers, skimming down his sweaty back, cooled him with shivers. Before he could retaliate, she'd pushed down her skirt, her nylons with it, and wrapped her legs around him. God, there was even less between them now, and Foreman could see all of her. He braced himself against the bed, his erection rubbing harder against her stomach as he pushed up for a better view. Amber's hair was spread out in a cloud across a pillow, her skin pink and flushed, her nipples hard, the curls of her pubic hair dampening the front of his pants. "Fuck, Amber." Foreman bent to taste her mouth again, wanting to show his appreciation, how much she affected him. "Beautiful," he whispered, kissing her hard, speaking against her lips. "So fucking beautiful."

She was, and Jesus, he had to get out of his pants. He was so hard it was starting to hurt. Foreman reached for Amber's thigh again and shifted her leg down, even though it cost him the feel of her body against him. His hands were nearly shaking as he opened his belt and unzipped, pushing his pants and shorts down. His cock throbbed, finally free, and Foreman let himself brush his hand down it, just once, while he stared down at Amber, his chest heaving as he panted. He kicked free of his shoes, quickly stripping off his socks and tossing his pants off the side of the bed. He wasn't thinking about looking awkward; all he wanted was to see her, and touch her, now that there was nothing between them. As soon as he could, Foreman bent down to kiss Amber's stomach, his tongue swirling in hot circles. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and Foreman wasn't going to miss an opportunity that had already passed him by once tonight. Maybe Amber wanted to tease him, wanted to wait until she heard him beg. If that was all she was waiting for, he could give it to her now. Spreading his hands over her hips, holding her down to the bed firmly, he grinned up at her, along the length of her torso. So fucking gorgeous. "Please," he said, his voice amused, anything but subservient. His tongue flicked out, licking just above her pubic hair. "Please..." He drew the word out, lowering his mouth to kiss the crinkly hair, and then, at last, slip his tongue down, along the length of her labia, as gently as he possibly could. She was swollen and wet, and Foreman's cock twitched the instant he tasted her. God, fuck. "I want to make you scream."

Her gambit worked better than she'd hoped, with Eric getting this close to crazed. Over her. Amber let him kiss her, her own mouth curling up into a self-satisfied grin, basking in his compliments. What made glow weren't the words themselves, but how he said them. Heartfelt. Intense. Like he couldn't ever have enough-- of her.

It relaxed her, somehow, made her ease in Eric's arms like nothing else had since that I know in the hallway. If she'd had anything to prove, she'd done it. No-- the one who'd had to prove himself was Eric. Had to make her believe she had gotten to him, somehow. And if she could make him lose himself, then she must've gotten under his skin. In a sexual manner, admittedly, but at that moment, arching into Eric, feeling his groans reverberate against her breasts, Amber demanded less. She was secure here, with him drawn to her like a butterfly to a flower. Her smugness grew when Eric stripped himself without any further motivating on her part; not once had she reached to cup his erection, and he was already giving in. That much abandon, just from humping and kissing. From her.

He went first went for her stomach. That was okay. More than okay, really. Moaning, Amber rolled up to him and into that wet hotness, her muscles quivering and twitching. She expected more of that. Expecting him to keep on tantalizingly slow, exploring her abdomen and paying her back in the same coin she'd used on him. She'd expected time.

But he went too fast, holding her down, dipping his head below her navel, and she gasped, her legs folding up as if she could escape that way. This wasn't what she'd planned, and now it was too late to stop him; he was already kissing her mound, licking her outer lips, short-circuiting her nerves. Amber couldn't stop her shuddering breaths, trying to get in as much air as possible, no more than she could keep her hips from jerking up for more of that stimulation he'd promised with that teasing dip with his tongue. She'd meant for them to stay at slow-motion until she mounted and fucked his brains out, and here she was, clenching bed sheets, starting a ride she wasn't sure she was ready for.

Amber didn't answer him, beyond the arch of her hips toward his mouth. Foreman smugly took that as permission. Maybe he could wrest control from Amber, at least for a time. If the only way he could was by going down on her, then that was more than fine by him. The only down side was that he couldn't watch her--couldn't see her face. Watching her mouth open with moans or twisting with the strength of the sensations he was causing. The idea of a video camera flashed through his mind. Fuck, that would be the ultimate jerk-off material; being able to see how he'd affected her, to hear her moans and words, to know if she'd only grabbed the sheets or if she'd reached for him too, or touched herself to heighten the pleasure he was giving her.

He licked delicately, enjoying himself, focusing his attention on Amber in order to ignore the tight clench of his cock. He knew he could cover Amber's clit with his mouth and suck hard until he dragged her orgasm out of her--he'd done that once before, when she'd already been on the edge after she'd sucked him off--but she'd already accused him once of not being a good tease. Foreman wanted to prove himself, and it didn't hurt that he couldn't imagine anything more arousing than taking his time. Practically worshiping her; her smell, her taste. With his thumbs on Amber's hipbones, she was caught exactly where he wanted her, and it was so damn easy to explore, slowly, and savour every second of it. He leaned closer, finding Amber's clit and circling it with the tip of his tongue. No direct stimulation, only the slippery movements of his tongue, the warm stream of his breath across her skin. From time to time he turned his head to scrape his beard across the soft skin of her inner thighs, or caught her labia between his teeth and bit down, not hard, but firmly enough that she'd feel the possibility of pressure.

God, he ached with wanting her. Foreman didn't know whether he wanted to make Amber come like this, or only make her so frustrated that she begged him to fuck her. He didn't know if he could--Amber might bask in his attention longer than he could stand to have barely a touch against his cock. But the important thing was her pleasure--drawing it out, making it last. She'd done the same for him when she'd sucked him, and that memory alone made Foreman groan against Amber, and quicken his pace. He found her entrance and teased her with quick flicks of his tongue, promising to penetrate her and then backing away. He listened as much as he could, trying to hear Amber's response above the rush of blood in his ears, his own pounding heartbeat, and the slick sounds of his mouth.

Oh, god, of all the times to practice his teasing, he just had to choose that moment, didn't he. Amber didn't even know what to do with herself, body shaking from head to toe, sweat breaking out all over her skin. "Eric," she cried out, far passed being able to think of controlling what did or didn't come out of her mouth. "Oh, god," she let out, and from then on, her cries were only that, formless and uncontrollable.

It was suddenly too hot, as if they'd cranked up the heating past the maximum and closed all the windows and doors. The air was stifling, nowhere near enough, and Amber's skin, it burned up. Eric was doing things to her, without doing anything at all, like a prolonged flirtation. His breath tickled her where she was most sensitive, maddening her, and his tongue, how slippery he was, sliding just past where she most needed him. Her thighs opened and closed as her hips rose and fell, over and over, desperately seeking relief, but finding it nowhere, not against the smooth sheets or his overbearing weight.

It was too much, and not in the good way.

Amber struggled to find the word she needed. "Stop," she choked out, and then again, "stop." This wasn't how she'd meant it, and she'd wanted to save her pride, hide just how taken aback she was by this unexpected turn. But, so sensitive it ached, she wouldn't come. Not this way.

She sat up and breathed in deep once, twice. Her hair stuck to her forehead and neck, and she wiped it away. God, how was Eric taking this? What was going on in his head? With one more breath, she knew she could speak properly, and so she did so. "I want to fuck you," Amber explained. She hoped it'd be enough. Maybe the smile would help; it was a real one, because she meant every word. "Me on top."

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