October 30, 2007 - Evening

[eric_foreman]

For the rest of the afternoon, Foreman found himself chuckling at odd moments. He'd be in the middle of the monstrous pile of paperwork, his back cramping from leaning over, his eyes aching, and all of a sudden he'd realize he was grinning like an idiot. He'd glance up, glad that there wasn't anyone to catch him at it, and think of Amber suffering horribly down in the clinic, and shake his head before going back to work. She'd be tired after a long day, and if her reaction to the usual run of mild complaints was anything like his, she'd be too tired to do much tonight other than go home and collapse. Foreman could spare some compassion then: he'd offer to cook, or at least, to order something in. Hell, even massage her feet if she wanted. The fact that he was going with her--that she'd invited him again, and that he already had all the things he'd need waiting in his car--buoyed him up, even when the stack of consult requests only seemed to get stupider the deeper he delved into them.

By twenty to five, Foreman had sent form letter replies to as many idiot doctors as he could without losing his faith in humanity. He'd go down and let the candidates off early, be magnanimous for as long as he could afford to be. He needed to ingratiate himself with them somehow, even if was only by knocking fifteen minutes off their drudgery. Cuddy could hardly complain: she'd been underusing six of the most talented doctors in the hospital for most of the day, and, Foreman knew--since they had to be sharing Cameron and Chase's old salaries among them--for a pittance. House was a bastard, but days like this were ones Cuddy probably counted as a win in their perpetual battle.

Foreman turned of the computer, turned off the lights, and grabbed his coat. He wouldn't bother with his briefcase tonight; he wasn't planning on sucking up to Cuddy any more than he'd be compromising with House. If he'd gotten his own office and his own staff like he'd asked for, then she could think about making him stay late trudging through House's paperwork.

He arrived in the clinic five minutes later. The first person he saw was Brennan, who only gave him a mildly disgruntled stare when Foreman gave him permission to go. He snorted, but he seemed glad enough to go and tell the others that they were off the hook.

Foreman checked the board to see which exam room Amber was in with her last patient, and, leaving his coat at the nurses' station, he went and knocked on the door. He was already sure that everyone in the whole hospital was well aware of what was going on between him and Amber. That didn't mean that he had to confirm all their suspicions--but he could also take a few liberties that he might not have if they were still being 'discreet'. Feeling pleased with himself, he opened it just enough to stick his head in and said, with as much seriousness as he could muster, "Dr. Volakis, could I have a word with you?"

Comments

[amber_v]

Fuck, this was hot. Amber could taste the rapid beat of Eric's heart; hear the pounding of his blood; smell his musk where it was strongest. Looking up at the touch to her cheek, she saw his eyes shining down at her, watching her, and god that was amazing. If she kept on breathing, fast and shallow, and sucking on his dick, it was only by sheer instinct. Thoughts were fast abandoning her.

She'd meant this as a quick feature of their night, just a bit of fun before settling in for a good, hard fuck, but Eric's reaction, his pleading, his imploring thrusts, it made her want to give it to him, make him see stars. And now with his dick in her mouth, hard and salty and thick and so full, Amber couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to. And the condoms were all the way in the bedroom, anyway. This was instant gratification. So Amber stayed on her knees, bobbing her head just so as to cover the tip of his dick. God. She gripped his ass tight, squeezing, and moaned. If she could just touch herself, she’d explode, shuddering with orgasm. But later. Later.

For now she let herself take in more of him, slow, pressing her lips tight around his shaft and sucking, tonguing the bottom of his dick. She'd make him come. Make him beg, like he was now, make him scream. Maybe he'd even let out her name. How about that. One hand delved into his ass crack, as she forgot that he might not appreciate that, and the other one slid forward to cup one of his balls, clenched so tight to his body. She didn't do more than hint and tease with her touch, seeking out from his reaction what he wanted. By now her back was aching a bit from the position, and her knees protested against being scraped on the carpet. Some strands of her had even entered her mouth. None of this mattered, in the face of Amber's excitement. She'd engulfed as much of Eric as she could, without provoking her gag reflex, and worked her jaw, creating more spit; began to take him in and out at a quick rhythm, obscenely wet sounds accompanying her movements as she fucked him with her mouth. He seemed close, Amber was sure he could make him come soon.

[eric_foreman]

Time stopped meaning anything other than the sparking fire of pleasure along Foreman's nerves. His eyes fluttered closed, until he was watching Amber through his lashes, his mouth open, his chin fallen to his chest so that he could see her. He'd had no idea she was going to devote herself to sucking him off like this. Harder, her tongue circling the tip of his dick, then slipping along the underside, so fucking good. He had to adjust his stance just to stay upright, leaning over far enough to rest his hands on the desk behind Amber's head, so that he'd have something to hold on to. Already it felt like his body was flying apart, that Amber's breath, movements, the slick suction of her mouth were going to send him over the edge. He barely noticed her hand on his ass, on his balls, except as emphasis, a low roar as a counterpoint to the sharp spikes of pleasure each time she sucked him in deeper.

The last thing he could give a thought to was holding in his groans, the hoarse sounds that Amber seemed to rip from him each time she hit a sensitive spot. God, he'd stop her--he wanted more, he wanted to slide into her and kiss her while he did--but if this was what she wanted, he couldn't find any way to say no. All he could do was beg. Her name, please, more, all of it, pouring out of his mouth without a thought. Somehow, stop himself from thrusting into her mouth, and arch into the pure sensation as much as he could. Warn her, in case she wanted to back away. "Amber, God--I'm--nn--fuck. I'm coming--"

His breathing exploded in the same instant as his orgasm. Amber was good. So good he couldn't stop. He came, hard, the sensation whiting out his mind until he lost himself. A loud moan escaped the same instant his body froze in the rush of feeling.

[amber_v]

Oh, yeah, like that, just like that. Amber wished her mouth wasn't occupied, wished she could tell him how hot he was, how he should come for her. His own pleas and groans filled that lack, and every time he uttered her name, choked out like he had no control-- Amber didn't know how she didn't come from just that. Fuck, she loved hearing how much she affected him. Sure he was hard, and the taste of pre-come filled her senses, but physical stimulus alone could do that. If he kept calling her name like that, maybe she'd gotten in him. In his head, and elsewhere.

It made Amber feel powerful. Good. Warm. Sexy. She never wanted to let this feeling go.

As Eric's tremors became stronger, his tumbling sounds more irregular, Amber quickened her pace, penetrating his crack more, applying pressure to his asshole; stroked the ball she held. Amber wanted him to feel every bit of his orgasm; to flush with yearning whenever he thought back on it. Wanted him to keep coming back for more because no one else could ever compare. And then there was that wonderful moment of stillness—it sang of victory-- before he shuddered even more, groaning harder than he had so far. It hurt to smile around his dick, but Amber did, smug as she sucked him, doing everything she could to draw out his orgasm. She did pull back her head a bit, opened her lips wider to protect herself from his helpless, erratic thrusts. Even as his pulses died down, his penis starting to decrease in size, Amber kept on, encouraging him with her tongue. Only when she was certain he was drained did she carefully let his penis slide out of her mouth; swallowed his bitter come, kissed his groin tenderly, her hands smoothing down the back of his thighs.

Amber looked up at him, grinning, and then clambered to her feet. Kissed his mouth-- he hadn't objected, that first night, to tasting her after she'd blown him-- deep, demanding. Her body still strummed in demand for release, but making Eric come like that had been a satisfaction in and of itself. "That was amazing," she whispered, "And so hot. So fucking hot, Eric.”

They couldn't fuck in the immediate future-- it was her own fault, and she cheerfully accepted the responsibility-- but they could before long, certainly. Eric had proven his stamina in their previous experiences. And as a stopgap measure, he could bring her pleasure in other ways. Amber took Eric's hand, pressed her lips to his knuckles, tenderly at first, then fervently; pushed it down her body, down her sternum, down her abdomen, then round to the swell of her hip. "You wanted to touch me-- now you can." How did she want this? She couldn't even have explained why, only that it felt so right: she turned over, supporting the base of her hands on the table, exposing her behind to him. Her legs spread slightly. Didn't think about how he wouldn't be able to look into her face like this, and see just how weak she'd be in this moment of indomitable lust. "I need you inside of me," she said, voice almost wavering with desire. And to avoid any misunderstandings, "Your fingers, please, in my vagina--"

[eric_foreman]

"Oh, yeah..." Foreman moaned again, quieter, his hips rolling forward languidly as Amber didn't pull back, didn't even start to. Knowing he didn't have to worry about her sensibilities let him focus for that much longer on the sensations reverberating through him. Letting them echo, and finally ripple away. His moans became a low, sated hum. He felt wrung out, his whole body shivering, not from cold but from reaction. All he wanted to do was lie down and let the endorphins carry him away.

He met Amber's kiss with that feeling. Her mouth, bitter with his come, was urgent, demanding, and Foreman kissed her back as hard as he could, but with the sleepy, loving feeling underlying it. Amazing. As if blowing him had been something for her. Foreman's warmth tinged brighter with smugness. God, she wanted him like that, helplessly fucking her mouth, coming before she'd even thought to turn her face away. It had been her choice and she'd pushed his hands away, focused entirely on him. "Yeah," he answered, still feeling slow and quiet and not quite alert, despite the singing awareness in his nerves. "God, you made me come so hard..." He sighed, deeply, as if he was expelling every stupid memory and bad feeling from earlier in that one breath. He could have held himself together, waited, pulled away from her before he'd come. He could have told her what he'd wanted when they'd started. To hold her; to meet her eyes and see the pleasure filling her expression when he thrust into her; to kiss her in languorous increments, each one filled with all his feeling for her. For now, it wasn't his call. But, Jesus, he still wanted that, more and more as time passed.

Amber guided to his hand to her body, and Foreman smiled as she made him touch her only where she wanted. He didn't mind--God knew she was right, he wanted to touch her so much--but it did seem that her need to control him had only grown. His eyes widened as Amber turned away from him and bent over the desk. His eyes went immediately to her ass, to the firm curve where his hips would fit so well against her, the incredible length of her spread legs and the flex of her calves as she practically offered herself to him. Foreman stepped closer, leaning over her, where he could nearly cover her with his body, and speak against her ear. "You're incredible," he said. With his left hand, he reached around to her stomach to hold her back against him, and steady her. He spread his right hand over her back and slid it down her spine, and finally--Christ--between her thighs, feeling how wet she was. "So hot, make me want you so much." His fingers teased along her labia, until they were coated and slippery with her moisture, and then, with a grin, he followed her instructions. He slid one finger inside her until he'd found her g-spot, exploring and rubbing the pad of his finger over the slight change in texture. Perfect. Throbbing with heat, her heartbeat a pulse he could nearly feel in her muscles, quivering around his finger. "Amber, tell me what you want. Tell me you want more."

[amber_v]

Amber broke. "Oh, god," she whimpered. "More, everything, please--" She didn't know how to tell him what she needed, for him to wrap her up, to cover her, to kiss her along her neck, to massage her stomach, to cup her breasts, to-- to surprise her. This wasn't enough, too cold, too distant. He'd ignored earlier what she wanted, making jokes about how she needed to be more specific about what (who) needed to get off, and now he was following her instructions literally, and it wouldn't do, it wouldn't do. In an erratic burst of resentment, Amber wished he could read her mind-- not everything, she'd keep most everything to herself, but enough for him to know exactly what she wanted, and when. "Eric," she let out, and tried to stand up, to let the warmth of his torso warm her back, to feel his breath against her cheek as she turned her face towards him, but she was stuck to the spot, not wanting to change what already felt so good, so overwhelming, so strong. She wasn't a machine, touch a button and make it go. "Touch me, anything, I want to feel you, all over, please--"

The smooth polish of the desk was slippery as it was, and her sweaty palms made it impossible to hold on firmly; even as Eric held her stomach, Amber slid with every tremor of her body. Couldn't anchor herself. She cried out, unable to stop the sounds of her pleasure, loud and frequently interrupted by sharp intakes of breath. It felt so good, Eric playing with her wetness, and god, that blew her mind, imagining how slick his fingers were now, covered with her arousal, and how it only helped him to drive into her faster, harder, more directed. Amber bent her head, eyes closed, rolling her hips because she couldn't help it, because that motion was instinct itself. She didn't notice how her hair brushed against her face, or how she was standing on tip-toe as if that would bring her nearer to heaven, for her world had narrowed down to the ecstasy rippling through her, the roar of building climax. Couldn't even distinguish scents anymore, overwhelmed with the aftertaste of his come, the strenghtening odor of their sweat. But that finger, its relentless stroking, it wouldn't be enough. Amber tilted her face towards Eric, asking without realizing herself that it was a request for more-- a kiss, a bite, a caress. Her lips parted with the unexpressed hope.

[eric_foreman]

Through his own satisfaction, Foreman couldn't help feeling excited all over again at Amber's cries, the surge of her body against his, the way she let everything--every feeling, every sensation--show, in her voice or her movements. He hugged her closer to him, until her back was nestled against his chest, sweat slipping between them and magnified by their shared heat. God, he'd always loved this, from the very first night they'd been together. How Amber didn't hold back. How she let him see the pleasure he brought her bring her to pieces. "That's right, like that. Like that. Show me how it feels."

Fuck, Amber was magnificent, giving him what he'd asked for, telling him what she wanted, what he could do for her. His name on her lips--hearing that caught at Foreman's heart, like she'd pierced his chest with his name alone. Foreman let more of his weight fall on her, pinning her against the desk, giving her nowhere to go except arching up into him, then down onto his fingers. Amber was moving her hips, her whimpering cries getting more and more desperate as she begged him for more. Foreman added a second finger, then a third, until he could feel the tightness of Amber's muscles gripping him. He pushed in and up, stroking firmly. Over and over again, as she clenched around him, slippery and hot and needy. He kissed her shoulder, nosed her hair aside to follow the line of her throat, licking and sucking as he went. When Amber turned towards him, he kissed her deeply, her hair caught between their mouths.

When they parted to breathe, Foreman whispered against her lips, "Gonna make you come now, baby. Gonna be good." He didn't quite ask if you're ready, if that's okay--he didn't want to stop, and Amber seemed too caught up in her own pleasure to want to stop him. That was what he'd hoped for from the beginning. To give her this, without letting her fears or need for control get in the way. Foreman moved his left hand down her stomach, letting her feel where he was going, just in case. With light, circling pressure, he slipped his fingers between the top of her labia until he reached her clit. He massaged his fingertips over it, circling and rubbing, and he pushed his fingers harder inside of her from behind at the same instant. The rhythm of both motions, the heat and moisture already easing his way, and Amber's own need, all of it, Foreman wanted to see it drive her over the edge. At the last, he kissed her again, so that he could feel it, everywhere, the instant she came.

[amber_v]

Oh, yes, oh please, fuck yes, he understood. Amber whimpered her appreciation, so glad, and it wasn't just because of the pleasure, though there was that, and it was amazing, so perfect, washing her over from head to toe, but her happiness was because he'd gotten it, he'd given her what she needed, even when she couldn't say what it was. She reveled his heat, rubbing against his chest, and it was so sexy, his nipples against so unexpected a place, his chin digging into the back of her neck, beard scratching her where she was so sensitive. And he was opening her up so wide, filling her, stroking, until she couldn't have taken anymore, so hard, so good, it was almost like being fucked with the real thing. She probed against his tongue with her own, flicking, the moist sensation heightening her thrill.

Her climax was building up, and Amber was almost there, so close, just a bit more, if he'd just touch her clit, that'd be it. Amber wanted to tell him, trying to mold her mouth into forming consonants, but as if Eric had read her mind, he did precisely what she needed, touching her lightly but insistently.

There. That. She was gone. Amber closed her eyes, let go. For all the noise she'd just been making, Amber was quiet as the orgasm flourished inside her, just a few soft gasps. She was still, only quivering slightly. It was as if all the emotion had been directed inside, and she felt it with the intensity of facing a large, open bonfire. Amber quivered for a moment, her heartbeat paused. And then she was crying out, shaking, rocking on his fingers, riding out this feeling for as long as she could. For a moment she just forgot it all, caught in the aftershock.

When Amber came back to reality, she was panting, soaked in sweat, and still covered by Eric. And couldn't have felt better. She twisted her head again to look into his eyes, since she'd straightened herself out and faced forward during her orgasm. Seeing his satisfaction, so clear in his expression, the pleasure glinting in his eyes, Amber actually did feel better. Warm, fulfilled. "God, Eric, that was--" she had no words for what that was. There were no comparisons. She didn't know if she'd ever come that hard before. Then again, her brain wasn't up for rigorous thinking right then. Amber mentally reviewed what had just happened, to try to get her bearings-- and when she remembered, she started to laugh, the sound coloured with her endorphin-filled joy. "I can't believe you called me 'baby.'" So cheesy, like a porn video or some asinine romance movie, but coming from him, at that moment, it had worked for her. Amber blushed, realizing how much she'd liked it. Never in her life did she expect that term would make her do anything but roll her eyes. But his tone, low and melodic, his sincerity, she'd been drawn by that. It'd been a part of what made her come.

[eric_foreman]

Amber climaxed hard, bare moments after he'd started touching her. "Yeah, come on," Foreman said, the words lost as he spoke into her hair. Amber's mouth was torn from his as she gasped sharply for air, letting out shuddering, half-panting breaths. Foreman kept moving his fingers deep inside her, keeping up the intermittent pressure on her clit, to keep her at her peak for as long as possible. He was breathing hard himself, from the desire, the arousal, of seeing Amber like this. Making her come like this. God, she was so beautiful.

Gradually, Amber relaxed under him, the spasms of her vagina around his fingers slowing. Foreman drew his fingers out slowly, and wrapped both arms around her, nuzzling against her neck as he held her close and tight. "Mmm," he agreed, letting the sound out into her skin, along with a kiss to her shoulder, when she finally spoke. It had been. Everything. He didn't need the words, but it still felt good to hear it, pride swelling to know how much he'd affected her. He felt warm, satisfied, tired with the muscle-deep exhaustion of an amazing workout, his body still resonating on the same level as Amber's.

His head lifted, jerked up without his conscious knowledge as soon as Amber mentioned calling her baby. Foreman hadn't even considered it. He'd said it because he felt it, because of how much he felt about her. Maybe that was too much. In the moments when he wasn't with her, Foreman could see how damn fast this was all going, how much he'd invested without stopping even once to protect himself against it ending badly, or ending at all. "Baby" had come to his lips as naturally as all his other encouragements, every appreciative word pouring out of him. He never would have thought twice about it if Amber hadn't brought it up. And laughed at him.

Foreman took a step back, to let Amber up instead of keeping her bent over the desk. Instead of sharing her happiness, self-consciousness took over, leaving him embarrassed and resentful and more aware than he had been that they'd fucked in the middle of Amber's living room, without so much as a thought. A glance around showed him that all the curtains were closed, but Amber might just as easily have left one of them open, left them exposed to any nosy passerby who wanted a thrill. "Shouldn't I have?" he said, his voice struggling between defiance and the remains of the tenderness that had led him to say it in the first place. Was he supposed to police his damn words now, not only touch her only as and when she wanted, but keep his mouth shut about what he might feel as well?

[amber_v]

Amber closed her hands over his forearms, smiling softly, glowing. This was perfect. Exactly how she'd wanted it-- well, not exactly, there had been some missteps. But they'd worked their way around them, Eric picking up on her cues when she wasn't content and changing his actions accordingly. Amber felt good. Safe. She sighed and rubbed her cheek back at the parts of him she could reach that way, each and every one of her senses humming with satisfaction. Amber was floating, lying on her very own cloud nine. All she wanted now was to find a soft surface and be there with him, languorously kissing and touching and smiling at each other.

Amber noticed the sharpness of his movement, wondered at it even through the haze of her afterglow. And then Eric wasn't there, and she missed him at once, the air nowhere near as satisfying as his warm torso. Amber stood up, wincing slightly at the ache that had crept into her lower back without her noticing, and turned towards him, brushing away the strands of hair that where still plastered to her forehead and neck. And then he asked that question. She heard his anger, caught the glower even in the near-darkness.

No. No. Amber blinked, her hands clasping quickly over her abdomen. Not now, why now, when everything was working out so well. "No," Amber whispered, vehemently. "Don't-- It was perfect." She reached up, cupping his cheek. Smirked wanly. "I'll deny it on my grandmother's grave if you tell anyone, but, actually, it was pretty hot." Amber took in a deep breath; god, she only wanted to kiss him, to make him not get caught up in this, to misunderstand what had only been amusement and embarrassment. And maybe it was the endorphins, but Amber let herself do so, refusing to be as paranoid about his reactions as she had recently been. Softly, like a butterfly landing on a petal, Amber brushed his lips with hers. What she wanted tonight, she got—that was the deal. And she’d decided he couldn’t get pissed at her over a few words. She simply wouldn’t have it.

[eric_foreman]

He didn't want to tense up again like this. But Amber had blindsided him, held up a mirror that he wasn't ready to look in, and Foreman felt edgy and trapped. The only thing he'd meant by it was I like you. I care about you, but he had no clue what it meant that he felt so much, so soon.

Amber stood up and turned to him. Foreman kept his weight back on his heels, uncertain. Her face was flushed, sweat glowing on her chest and at her temples, and her eyes were still dilated. As if everything was still perfect. Foreman played her words back over, remembering the low, amused way she'd spoken. Amber hadn't been thinking, hadn't been judging him. She'd been speaking lazily, not to laugh at him but just to express how he'd made her feel. More reassuring than that, though, was her immediate step closer, reaching out to touch him. None of the rejection he expected if she wasn't comfortable or if he'd said too much.

Foreman closed his eyes and accepted her kiss, pursing his lips to echo the lightness of it. He circled Amber's waist with his arms, hugging her close, bringing her warmth back to his. "Good," he murmured, turning his face into the side of her throat. Kissing her, gently, only enough to taste the saltiness of the skin just over her jugular, before he spoke again. "Because if you're going to be that damn gorgeous, I might say it again."

He could relax now. Eyelids drooping, mouth parted slightly as he breathed Amber's scent, arms lax at her waist where he was holding her, he realized, in a distant way, that everything he'd needed had happened. Amber had helped him escape, forget. Feelings of contentment, low remains of pleasure, and most of all, the desire to be near to Amber, like this, all night--they took precedence, leaving no room for any of his embarrassment or anger that came from explaining about Marcus. God, it was so good. Being with Amber. Letting go with her, for her. He smiled, slowly, pressing his cheek against hers. "Don't you have a bed around here somewhere?"

[amber_v]

Amber's glow intensified, her smile warm like spring day. Again Eric's words, calling her gorgeous so easily, made her heart pick up speed, doing its best to thud hard in her post-orgasm laziness. She believed him, just as much as when he'd said she made him feel good. But now it wasn't frightening. Amber felt immune, protected by their bet, by how much was under her control. His-- their-- feelings were definitely out of her grasp, but at this moment, fulfilled and with complete decision power, she could pretend that they were. Hadn't she just stopped his anger from ruining the moment?

Eric was still terrible at saying what he meant, but she thought she had an idea of what he was hinting at, now. "Oh, yeah?" Amber challenged, breathing in deeply with his mouth caressing her throat. "Do it." She wanted it. Wanted to hear him call her baby, wanted that spontaneous, natural affection. Didn't care that if it'd come from anyone else, she'd have told them off; all that mattered to her was that he meant it with whatever emotion he had. And Amber didn't know how, since she'd just come, but the thought of it, sent a jolt straight to her clit; made her wetter. Her arms folded around him, below his armpits, and she rose up into him, her bare, sweaty breasts pressing against his chest. Closed her eyes as she brushed her cheek against his, her chin resting on his shoulder. She wanted him, so much.

"Yeah," she murmured, nodding. It was about time they got horizontal.

[eric_foreman]

"I will." Foreman dropped a few more teasing kisses along her carotid artery, to feel the pound of her heart against his lips. He'd say it again when he felt it. Probably it would have been sooner, if Amber hadn't brought his attention to it. Now he'd feel too self-conscious to simply let it slip out. But some moment, the heat of his feelings would carry him away again. Knowing it wasn't going to get Amber all hung up on what it meant would make it easier. Amber's arms around him were warm, and she was pulling him as close as he was pulling her. Christ, he was glad of that. His face was burning, and he knew he wouldn't be able to actually say the word, like this, prompted because Amber wanted to order it out of him. Foreman drew back slowly, just enough to meet Amber's eyes. He put off the move to the bedroom, his heart kicking harder against his chest as he forced himself to be open. Even in the darkness, he wanted her to know how much he meant this. "I don't--I won't always. But I will."

[amber_v]

Amber waited: maybe he'd drawl it out, purposefully dramatic and cheesy. Or maybe he'd whisper it, repeating the word as he nuzzled her neck. But all that came was a promise.

She frowned, her arms slipping down slightly as her hold loosened; she'd told him to call her that. Later wasn’t good, she wanted it now. Hadn't he understood? Did he think that some of her decisions were optional, do only if you fucking feel like it? He'd felt like it when he'd had his fingers up her vagina, why not now?

It was hardly a big deal-- two syllables-- and if he didn't want to, then he didn't want to. When they set the terms, she'd asked him for his limits; he'd said he didn't know, and that he'd find them with her. Okay. Amber sighed. It was idiotic and made no sense, but she'd agreed, and Eric did have this right.

It shouldn't have mattered, but the refusal weighed on her, sinking in her chest. Amber slipped out of his arms. She wasn't really in charge. Sure she could call the shots, but the Eric got the final word; everything she wanted hinged on his approval. And if he couldn't call her one stupid endearment she wouldn't have ever thought of craving, before he himself had used it, what else would he refuse?

Amber tried to shove her disappointment aside, taking his hand and lightly covering it with hers. "Okay," she answered quietly. She couldn't get angry. She'd agreed to respect his boundaries, and that was that. Even if it felt like a slap to the face. Turning towards the bedroom, Amber was glad that it was dark; that he couldn't see her face as she led him; that she'd have these few seconds to recompose herself.

[eric_foreman]

It wasn't hard to know that what he'd said wasn't good enough. It was a kinesthetic feeling, on the level of their bodies, a constriction, a weightedness that hadn't been there before. And Foreman could hardly fucking miss the fact that Amber backed away from him as soon as he'd managed, against his own better judgement, to tell her the truth. He'd nearly laughed off her order entirely, certain that she couldn't mean it. He probably would have pissed her off all the more if he had. And that wasn't fair. He'd nearly choked on his own quasi-explanation; he couldn't have managed more than that. But he'd tried. He'd fucking tried. He'd been honest.

Amber's response was quiet, but everything about her body screamed that she was holding back. She was holding his hand, but she'd pulled away from him, marching more than walking to the bedroom, refusing to look him in the eye. Foreman frowned at her back, following her but not because he wanted to lie down with her and go back to playing at being obedient. He wanted to spit out more questions. What would she ask next? It was her turn to be in charge--Foreman snorted mentally at the idea of "her turn", it had never fucking been his turn that he'd noticed--and so she'd tell him to say I love you, as if the empty words would make it true? Nothing ordered meant anything. This wasn't supposed to be another way for Amber to prove that patient of theirs right. Foreman got it, he wasn't the dominant one, message fucking received. That didn't mean he did what she said because he had no choice. He acted that way because it made Amber feel good, because she wanted it, because he wanted to give her what she wanted. He loved making her respond, giving her pleasure, making her come; if it turned her on for him to follow orders, then that turned him on too. It didn't mean he was no better than a dildo, acting only as much as Amber could manipulate it to do. He wasn't a fucking robot. He cared, and he'd tell her he cared, in his own way, in his own time.

He paused in the doorway of her bedroom, all his thoughts keeping him from going any further. He kept his voice as quiet as hers, but it damn well hurt, that she couldn't accept what he'd said. "Did you want me to say it, or did you want me to mean it?"

[amber_v]

Amber took a deep breath, and then another, trying to become calm in what little time she had. She was just-- just so embarrassed. Embarassed that she'd reacted so strongly to so fucking stupid a word, embarassed that she'd wanted to hear it-- hear Eric and, oh god, that warm tone he'd used, like the one candlelight in the middle of darkness-- so badly, and so unbelievably embarrassed at how upset she was now. And how fucking could he, it was just a word, couldn't he have said it? It'd have been so easy. She could call him a baby right now. It'd be easy. Her grasp on his hand tightened. That's what he was, after all, just a big baby, one who couldn't make porno-doctor jokes without getting flustered and who couldn't follow the fucking rules. How sexy was that?

So firmly she'd been striding ahead that when Eric stopped, she accidentally went on a step or two without him, their contact broken. Something vicious flared in Amber, deliciously validating her anger. Good. Better this way. If he was going to start digging his heels, let him dig them in all the way. If he wouldn't do what she said, then let him fucking not do any of it. She hadn't forced him into accepting the bet and her position. This wasn't the Diagnostics Department, where he'd be her superior no matter how they fucked or how pathetically doe-eyed they got over one another. They'd promised, and if he hadn't been willing to follow through with the terms, he shouldn't have misled her by agreeing.

So she whirled around, hair whipping, and she squared her shoulders, daring him to spit out whatever crap he had in that head of his. He was a shadow in the doorway, unreadable. Her nostrils flared as he spoke, clenched fists flying to rest on her hips. "I wanted you to say it!" Amber exclaimed, lashing out. She'd wanted him to say it as a joke, for them to laugh and bond over it. "And to mean it, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean!" He'd been-- it'd been just so right, tender and caring and she'd felt so good at that moment, safe. The very opposite of how she felt now. Naked. Sticky. Amber lowered her face slightly, fingertips at her temples. Burned quietly. "How could you mean it one moment, and not the next?" If she'd been yelling before, now she was subdued, eyes closed. Fuck. Fuck.

[eric_foreman]

Stricken, Foreman watched Amber turn from anger to hurt, so quickly that he hadn't seen it coming at all. He knew it wasn't over a word--it was part of what he'd been trying to make her understand, that a word like that meant something beyond just forming the syllables. In some sense, she had to get that, because otherwise she wouldn't be this upset if she thought he'd somehow stopped meaning it.

Foreman moved towards her, then. Like he was drawn, like he couldn't have stayed away. He enfolded her in his arms, not letting her get away--he was strong enough to manage that--and held her tight, wanting to keep her steady, stable, let her hold on to him in return if she wanted. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay relaxed. He was holding like she was the only comfort he had, and he hoped she didn't fight, didn't want to back away, because he needed her to hear him. This time, the words bubbled up easily, through all his discomfort and insecurity; soft and gentle and low, for her, only for her.

"I care about you. That doesn't change, okay? I always mean that." Foreman cupped the back of her head lightly, stroking his fingers through her hair. "Saying something like that, it's special to me, and if I said it every time, it wouldn't be." He sighed, turned closer to her, pressing his nose into the side of her head. Now, when she was upset, when he was doing everything in his power to make it better--even if he failed--he felt the same welling up of tenderness that he had when he'd been driving her towards her orgasm. She'd been lost in his arms. She'd been something fragile, she'd given herself entirely over to his touch. He'd wanted so much to make her feel good. Now, it was a tightness around his heart; he needed her to know, beyond ordinary words, how much it mattered to him that she was happy, that he hadn't hurt her. And even though they'd just had a damn argument about the word, making him more anxious and awkward than he ever had been to start, and saying it might set her off--it was still what he meant, in this moment. "Baby, I mean it. I mean it so much, but you can't--I can't just say it. Amber honey, you gotta let me say it because it matters."

[amber_v]

No, fuck no. Amber wanted to push him away, and she put her palms to his chest, ready to shove, because he couldn't fucking do this, he couldn't treat her like a princess one second, freeze up and yell at her the next, and then fucking envelope her like that'd make up for that moment of pure asshole. Because he was still an asshole and he still hurt her and if he could change his feelings that fast, flipping them as easy as a dime, then she didn't want it, she didn't want any of it. He could go find himself some other girl who'd simper along with that volatile behavior, and fuck her, and fuck himself. Amber did pull away, and drew in a huff of air when Eric refused to go along with it, insisting on closing himself in on her. Fuck that. It was against her will that he spoke to her, explaining himself. He was gentle, and her bitterness at hearing that caressing tone when she was so angry made her eyes sting. Fuck. He couldn't do this to her. She wasn't-- he had to stop treating her like she was fragile.

And then. He called her that stupid word again, worried, upset that she was upset, and it was dark, she couldn't see his face, but he held her so carefully, cradling, practically. Even his breath was tentative, as if he might blow her away. Tears spilled from Amber's eyes before she'd realized they'd built up. Fuck. And what did it mean, that he cared about her? How much? How? Like, he'd be sorry if she vanished, but he'd forget her when the next bit of news came in? Or was it more? How much more? And then it was honey, yet another word she'd never thought to apply to herself, and it hurt to hear him say it like he meant it, because how could he do this to her, yet another fucking ridiculous endearment. As if the first hadn't caused enough damage. Now she cried in earnest. Damn it, she hadn't cried since she'd been rejected for that fellowship at Mayo. Amber covered her face, hiding. "Fuck you, Eric." She said it with a sob, unable to stop that sound. "Oh, god, fuck you--" And the next thing she knew, she was clutching him, arms squeezed around his neck, her cheek to his, because she was mortified, because she couldn't bear if it he turned away from her again. She just didn't know how to believe him, at this moment, from now on.

[eric_foreman]

Amber pushed against him at first, struggling against what he was saying, and Foreman nearly let her go. He could have backed away. Last night she'd asked him to stop and he had; he respected her, he didn't want to force anything. But she'd said--maybe she hadn't meant it, but she'd said that she hadn't done this before, been with someone long-term, and that she still wanted it. Wanted to learn. Maybe she knew more about having sex in washrooms, or whatever other wild stunt entered her mind, but maybe there was a way that Foreman knew more. He'd felt so embarrassed about not having that kind of experience, no store of raunchy stories or embarrassing morning-afters, and he'd thought she'd judge him for it. But to see her like this, it was clear that there were times he'd been in a place like this, and she hadn't. He knew what it was like to get so ground up and knotted by his feelings that he did the wrong thing, or nothing at all when that was worse; and, even when it was hard as fuck, he knew how to, in the end, get the hell over himself and say everything he needed to. He knew how much it hurt, when he didn't hear it back, or heard it wrong; when somehow, no matter how much two people tried, they could fuck up what they were saying to each other. If he'd said something wrong this time, he'd wait for Amber to tell him so, but he wasn't going to let her go in the meantime. He wasn't going to let her see distance when there wasn't any. It didn't matter if she swore at him, Foreman just kept his hold. He wanted to help her, to be with her and wait it out. He wasn't going to lose her because he'd been the one to let go.

"Shh," he whispered, maybe too soft for her to hear. His face was still buried in her hair, and now he could feel the hot dampness of her tears on his shoulder, against his neck. This morning she'd wanted reassurance about how they'd know, when they were fighting, that they'd make it through to the other side, and he'd said they'd talk. What it hadn't even occurred to him to say was that this was important too--holding on, closing his eyes and swaying with her, breathing slowly to encourage her to do the same. There was still a part of him that was so damn terrified of this--of caring--but it was fucking true, and he couldn't make himself deny it just for his own smug comfort. Amber was the one who mattered now, what she felt. Her shoulders were shaking, her breath catching in her throat, and Foreman spread his palms, his thumb rubbing in soothing circles over her muscles, the other still tangled in her hair. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

[amber_v]

There it was again, him patting her and treating her like some wild animal too stupid to understand that he meant well, that he wanted to feed her and mend her broken leg. Amber wasn't lost, she wasn't weak, she didn't need mending. Hadn't needed it before him and his stupid umbrella-- she could've walked in that rain just fine, she hadn't needed his protection, he'd just been convenient and she'd taken advantage of him-- and she didn't need it now. Or ever. She was only crying because he was unpredictable and fucking up and she was so angry at him, for failing her. Amber wasn't weak. "It's not okay!" she blew up, and now she did shove him away, hard, pushing at his shoulders until she'd stumbled out of his grasp. She turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest. Shit, why did she still have to be naked.

"It's not okay," Amber repeated, furious at that thought, because how could it be, now. He must think she was a basket case, crying over nothing, then thrusting him away. It couldn't be okay because she was making everything worse. Even without the lights Amber knew the room well enough to know exactly how many steps to her dresser, and which drawer to yank open to her storage of sweaters, the oversized grey ones she wore when lazing around at home. She grabbed the topmost sweater and started to jerk it over herself, jamming her head through the collar, her arms through the sleeves.

This was stupid. The whole bet had been stupid. She'd never been in control, not really. Not of herself, and especially not of Eric. All the bet had done was deceive her, giving her false security. Amber lay her hands on the top of the drawer, trying so hard to keep back the sobs, breathing shallowly and quickly, lungs hurting from the effort of holding in her tremors. It'd be hard to go back to before, knowing that the terms had only been a lie, highlighting what she could never have. So what if for a few hours she could decide when to tell him to take off her shirt, and when she to suck him. So what. At the end they'd still be who they were, he a doctor with a career hitting a brick wall and a brother behind bars, and she no better than a game contestant working under the whim of judgmental bosses blind to her value. Amber rubbed at her nose with her arm, the snot threatening to fall before she could reach a tissue box or toilet paper or anything remotely dignified.

The truth was, she didn't want it to be a game. She wanted those rules-- I decide-- every night, always. Never wanted to give them up. Didn't know what she'd do after tonight, when the carriage turned back to a pumpkin and all the magic meant no more than a brief illusion of splendor. It meant nothing if she had to go back to not being in control, when morning came. Cinderella got her happy ending, but Amber couldn't be so stupid to think *she* had the glass slipper invitation to a lifetime of absolute power.

And Eric. This was assuming she hadn't scared him off, set him running for his car so that he could drive far and fast away from her crazy. "I'm sorry," she said, covering her face again, and she tried to speak again, but the tears got in the way. Her head hurt. "I'm so sorry, Eric, I don't know what I'm doing." She wanted so badly to run to him, to catch him, to gather him up in his arms, to keep him from taking to heart how she'd pushed him away, because she hadn't meant it, at least, she didn't mean it now, but she'd done it, and she didn't know how he wouldn't not think her fucked up. Amber hated this so much, how she was crying, the embarrassment. This was worse than a train-wreck, and why couldn't she stop.

[eric_foreman]

Foreman was sure that the worst--whatever it was--would be over soon. Amber would calm down, and they'd talk again. He didn't know what was upsetting her so much, because at this point it had to be something more than a name that he did or didn't call her. But they'd figure it out, even if it took some time to get to the point where they could.

He was taken completely by surprise when Amber shoved him back, wrestling out of his arms. He let her go, confusion warring with all the rest of what she'd left him with. Why wouldn't it be okay? Why was everything he tried to make it better the wrong damn thing? He'd pushed Amber into accepting his hug, he knew that, and he couldn't approach her again without making her feel stifled. He took a step back and sat down on the bed, watching Amber's shadow as much as her face; it was all he could really see. She yanked on a sweater, rubbing her face dry on the sleeve, and Foreman could feel the moist patch on his shoulder where she'd cried on him at first. He didn't try to wipe it away.

"Tell me what's wrong," he said. It felt like nothing at all; he'd missed something. Maybe he'd been oblivious to whatever it was. But for God's sake, he wasn't going to stop screwing up if he didn't know what the hell was going on in Amber's head. If it wasn't over an endearment, if it was more than that, then she needed to tell him.

[amber_v]

Amber didn't know whether to be glad or humiliated at the sounds that indicated Eric's presence; there was no running, or even walking, to the door. Only a few careful steps and the rustle of covers. Maybe if the pulsing of her blood, augmented by her headache, weren't so loud in her ears, she'd hear his breathing. Would have an idea of what he was feeling, thinking.

She should be glad. She didn't know how she'd have faced him, tomorrow at work, if he'd fled the room and her. Angrily, probably, defying him all over again, getting back at him by throwing accusations and refusing any of his orders that hadn't come from House or Cuddy. This was better. They could still do-- something.

What had happened? She couldn't even say. Eric hadn't followed one of her commands, saying something about how he would, and implied that he didn't always feel "baby" about her, whatever the hell that meant. And that'd somehow made her angry and embarrassed. She didn't know why it had escalated that badly; she hadn't reacted so badly when Eric had lagged about stripping them.

Amber took a few solid gulps of air, which helped lessen her sobs. Good. A few more deep breaths and all that was left of her crying was a throbbing behind her eyes, some shaking, and a wet face. That last one she could take care of. She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, using the cotton that hadn't already been rubbed against her snot; thought thankfully of washing machines. Tomorrow she'd clean this up.

She then turned around and padded softly to where she'd heard Eric sit, her bare feet chill against the wood panels. As silly as she felt now to have pulled on the sweater, it kept her from shivering any more than she had to. But Eric's warmth, immediate and encompassing, would be such a better solution. She was glad he was here, tension-melting glad. She reached out to where the darkness more intense; her fingers brushed against his left shoulder. Let them curl around him, shy about getting any closer. He wanted to know what was wrong. How could she tell him, when she herself didn’t? When just thinking about it tied her stomach up in knots and threatened to bring the tears back? "Can-- can we talk about it later?" Amber asked. This wasn't a command. This wasn't a part of her winnings of the bet. She needed to know if Eric would be okay with her not telling him, right away. "I don't really want to talk about it right now." Even as stupid as she felt, Amber couldn't stop herself from bringing her left hand to his cheek, stroking. She couldn't believe he was still here; how dear he was. She might not be able to piece what had just happened in an order that made any kind of sense, but he had, at one point, said he cared. Called her “baby,” and, for crying out loud, “Amber honey.” How cheesy could he get? Her heart swelled. "I just want to hold you."

[eric_foreman]

Foreman hated not being able to do anything. Jesus, if there was one thing that he couldn't handle, it was feeling helpless. He'd thought he could help Amber, even if it was only something as simple as holding her while she cried. Assuring her that it'd get better. He'd nearly gotten his head bitten off for his trouble, and now he didn't know how to approach her. She was still standing across the room, wiping her eyes miserably, and not answering his question. The less Foreman could do, the less active he could be, the more uncomfortable he got, waiting for some kind of condemnation or else an order to get out of Amber's apartment, because whatever it was, he was making it worse instead of fixing it.

As Amber approached him, Foreman braced himself to hear any of that. He could hear the tears in her voice when she asked if they could talk later, even though she'd mostly stopped crying. Half of him wanted to insist: What did I do? What's so wrong about what I said that it made you cry? What's really going on?

She'd confused him enough already. Clinging to him and then pushing him away, crying and then yelling and now touching him softly and telling him she wanted to be held. Foreman wasn't going to run himself in circles trying to figure out what parts of her anger had been directed at him, and what was Amber's own feelings. Last night he'd got caught up imagining that she'd once had some asshole of a boyfriend. Gotten fucking delusional about it. Amber had laughed as she dismissed the idea, and he could only believe her. And yet he'd felt absolutely furious, at this figment. For all he knew, Amber was going through something like that; nothing to do with him, or, maybe more likely, tied to something he'd done or said but not directly his fault. If that was the case, it was pointless to ask her to explain. Foreman hadn't wanted to tell her every detail of what he'd imagined. He wouldn't ask her to get into it the same way. Later. He could deal with later, since Amber was sitting next to him now, telling him that there was something he could do. A way for him to make it better.

"All right," he said. It was a bit awkward, but he tugged the comforter and sheets down, and then pulled her with him as he lay down on his side. He let her settle herself, and then pulled the covers up, lastly throwing an arm over her and inching closer until their bodies were aligned. "Tell me something else," he murmured. He wasn't ready to sleep, and in the darkness, his silence and slow breathing might seem like he'd fallen asleep instead of caring enough to comfort her. "Something good."

[amber_v]

Amber was unspeakably grateful that he went along with not knowing, for the time being; was washed with relief when she heard the covers rustle once more and when he pulled her down with him. She closed her eyes, sighed. It wasn't fair, she knew. Last night and this evening she hadn't let him keep his peace; insisted until she'd forced answers out of him. And she wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep herself from doing so again. She just felt so lost, when he didn't tell her what he was feeling; unable to open herself up to him when he had those barriers up.

Her nose was still out of commission, stuffed up as it was, so she couldn't sense any scents. Couldn't visualize more of him than just shadows, either; it seemed all the darker, here in bed. Even so. Amber's lips parted. Her entire body throbbed, not just her head, in a low, intense beat. The sensation grew stronger with each moment, especially where they shared contact: Eric's arm draped over hers; their legs brushing against one another; and his breath on her face. It was like the entirety of her she was humming. For him. She wanted him. Amber moved closer, working a leg between his, resting a hand over his hip, stroking lightly. So warm, just like she'd thought.

Something good. It took a moment, but Amber thought back to Brian, to a business venture they'd attempted, offering to wash neighbors' cars-- they'd found customers, but Amber realized she could turn a higher profit by pretending to liking to babysit brats, so she gave that up, leaving the work in Brian's hands. He'd bought a guitar with the money he earned that summer. She didn’t know why she thought of that, maybe because the carnival had made her think of him and Geoffrey. But she couldn't tell Eric that, it'd only upset again, reminding him of his own brother. Not a topic she wanted to raise right now. So she answered, with an almost smile, "You."

Amber leaned in, tilting her mouth towards him, pausing, hesitating. Would he want any more, tonight? The way he'd covered them suggested he was thinking of sleep. And if that's what he wanted, then this time, she really would accept and make no fuss. But she wanted him so much, her labia becoming wet with a new round of arousal. With a paused breath in her chest, Amber fluttered a kiss against Eric’s lips. His were still swollen, from their earlier kissing, but dry. She licked them instinctively.

[eric_foreman]

Under the covers, with Amber pressed against him, Foreman already felt warmer. He'd meant to comfort her, but it was working on him as well. Proximity. Easiness. He ran his hand down her spine, then back up, a quiet, soothing stroking. He could feel her breasts against his chest, her breath on his lips, and in other circumstances, it would be arousing; for now, he simply drifted on the good feeling of having her close. And then closer, when she entwined their legs, and answered his strokes with ones of her own, over his hip. Foreman was still waiting for her to answer his question, or he might have curved his hand over her ass and pulled her even closer, until her pubic hair brushed his stomach. It was an idle thought, but one that heated his body even more than their shared body heat did.

He smiled slightly, taking Amber's answer as an apology of sorts. If he was good, that meant it couldn't have been entirely his fault, whatever had made her so upset. He was about to say something, tease, maybe ask her for an answer outside of this room, if he was the only good thing she could think of when he was this close, but then he felt her shift. Her breath came closer, until he could feel the aura of her, the warmth of her lips were so close to his. His mouth opened slightly, parting his lips in anticipation, and a second later Amber brushed a barely-there kiss across them. Foreman's breath hitched lightly when her tongue followed, a flick that wetted his lips and made his heart pound.

He wasn't going to assume. Fuck, that really would get him into trouble. At this point, it seemed like saying anything would. Amber's face was still close; there was the softest glow around her silhouette, light from the doorway and the curtained window catching in her hair. Foreman lifted his head and answered her kiss, the feather-light pressure, the momentary length. His arm was still around her, and Foreman slipped his palm down to her ass, the way he'd fantasized, and drew her the last half-inch closer. After that, the next move would have to come from her.

[amber_v]

Contentment bloomed through Amber, filling her. Eric reciprocated her kiss, matching her tone, and then took it up a notch, pulling her to him. It was comfortable, sweet, and so very arousing. He was so firm, but gentle, too, using just the right amount of force in molding his hand to her ass, nudging her closer. Amber automatically fell into the same rhythm, hips rolling even as he coaxed her closer, closer. It was like that soap sud on his chest in the shower: beautiful and shining and delicate. She'd popped that one, for the fun of it, but this, this moment, Amber wanted to cup it, protect it. Make it last.

Maybe she was just avoiding what had happened. Escaping her embarrassment and fears in sensuality, just as Eric had tried to drive away his anger against Marcus by overpowering her. But if she could-- if Eric were willing-- then she would.

Each heartbeat made Amber pulse, most of all between her legs, especially as she let herself, once, deliberately, brush her groin against Eric's hard abdomen; drew out the intensity of that motion, that suspended gasp of pleasure. Her own public hair scratched against her skin, sending tingles of excitement through her privates. Her hair down there was still damp, from when Eric had earlier made her peak, and Amber wondered if Eric would feel that wetness. If he'd like it as much as she did the mere thought.

Amber was becoming too hot, between her sweater and the covers and their combined body heat, but she didn't want to pull that article of clothing off; didn't want to break the spell with so sudden and drastic a movement. Feeling stuffy seemed a small price to pay to relish in this tenderness. Amber pushed her leg between his, slow like a cloud drifting through the sky, making her way up between his thighs. She considered the space before her: she could only just make out the outline of his head and shoulders. It'd be so good to see him, to know the expression he wore in this soft moment they were sharing. Maybe it was better she couldn't; seeing might make her heart ache with longing for what she had but could not last. It was enough just to lean in, holding his lower lip between hers (and, oh, it was familiar, that wide curve; it was Eric's, and it thrilled her that she knew it). Sucked it carefully, feeling the volume of his flesh. Breathed in deep, overcome.