alwaysright | October 30, 2007

October 30, 2007 - Evening

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?"

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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.

"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 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.

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 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.

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."

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.

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."

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.

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 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."

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 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.

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.

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.

God, yeah. This was happening. Or else Amber was a worse tease than Foreman would ever have believed. The soft fall of her leg between his, as if by accident; the arch of her hips against him, seemingly as innocent as a stretch; the light draw of her breath, even and deep as if she might drift off to sleep...they could have felt coy, or like the lazy touches that happened after sex, affirmations before sleeping. But the air felt electric, like they were both, somehow, holding their breaths. Waiting. As if they were both caught up on almost, nearly. Foreman encouraged Amber's long, unhurried thrusts by pulling her closer when she ground against him, then skimming his fingers up under the loose hem of her sweater when the surge faded. Sweat started on his skin again, in his armpits and where Amber's mons slipped over his hipbone. Still quietly, he was breathing deeper and faster. Visualizing the moment when Amber would go further.

The green light was her kiss. Foreman's satisfied hmm was hardly voiced, more of a vibration in his throat than a sound. In the dark, his sense of touch felt heightened, and Amber's careful, gentle sucking on his lip brought all his attention to that one spot, touching off a rush of enjoyment. Foreman echoed Amber's kiss as much as he could, tracing her lip with his tongue, nuzzling closer by lifting his head, ignoring the strain on his neck. He could feel each part of his body, the firm mattress underneath him, the tangle of sheets around his legs, the cotton of Amber's sweatshirt against his skin; but most of all, it was her hips rolling against him, and her soft insistence as she kissed him breathless.

They'd been more or less on their sides, and it was becoming awkward, with leverage for Amber to push against him. Foreman gradually rolled to his back, concentrating on the kiss the entire time, his arm around Amber bringing her with him. This way Amber could rub off against him, and he'd benefit too; her thigh, when she pushed against him, massaged his dick at the same time, her leg between his providing friction with each movement. Already, his dick felt heavier, fuller. Every stroke felt better than the last. A throbbing rhythm of pulses, sensation heightening the more Foreman concentrated, focused on maintaining the same slow, deep cadence.

Her head swam. It was hard to think, desire breaking over her like the tide on the beach. Each new wave made her thrust impulsively, harder, harder, satisfying the building urgency in her clit for friction, pressure. She wanted. But she was nervous. Did the terms still apply, were the decisions still hers? Did she want them to be? She could sense how delicious this was for Eric; heard it in his soft grunts, the deliberateness of his motions mirroring her own care so far. His dick was filling out, nice and steady and so hot against her thigh. Amber wanted this to be good for him. Like, really good. What he wanted too, good. But, oh god, she really wanted this, and would he, too? Would it be okay to ask, to change the direction? Not the mood, she wanted to keep that, it was bringing her to a slow, glowing burn, but it'd be different. Amber was hardly aware of her gasps as she ground more and more, her whole body, not just her hips, but shoulders and spine and ass cooperating in that essential up and down, up and down. His heartbeat reverberated deep in her, through the pulse of his dick, of his whole body. Jesus.

"Eric," she said around shallow breaths. Found his face in the dark, rubbing one hand against his cheek, her other one supporting her weight against the mattress, to bring down her mound more heavily down against his thigh. She was so wet, and his skin was slick, too slick for just his sweat. She must be rubbing off on him. "How'd you feel about--" Amber looked down, raising an eyebrow suggestively, before realizing that if she couldn't see him, then he couldn't see her. Waited a moment before speaking again, moaning at an especially pleasing brush. He'd enjoyed it in the past. Did it Thursday, said he'd wanted to do it in the restaurant. Tried it last night. She'd never been comfortable, it was too intimate, too much, and always before she was ready. Eric rushed into it, did it without her asking, when she wanted something else. But that must mean he liked it. Craved it. And now, at this precise instant, she did, too. Wanted it with every mind-melting throb emanating from her clit. "I need you to go down me. Please." It came out as a whisper, not the statement she'd intended.

Foreman was starting to answer Amber's thrusts, raising his hips each time Amber brought hers down. Both his hands were on her ass now, making sure the peak of each repetition brought both of them the most pleasure. Amber was so fucking wet, her gasps rising in frequency and pitch, her movements growing stronger and sharper--God, he could make her come this way, and they'd barely even started, and that turned him on so much. Foreman's mouth had fallen open, his breathing louder and harsher as his dick hardened. He wanted to say something, tell Amber how hot she was, but at the same time, it was almost like they'd agreed on silence, because words only got in the way.

When Amber spoke, it was nearly a surprise to hear his own name whispered in the dark. The way they'd been going so far, he'd expected this to be quieter. Their slower, deeper movements, yeah, but more than that, talking less. They'd been pretty loud in the living room. God, everything Amber had said had turned him on so much, even when he'd already come. Just the sound of her voice, her nearly obscene encouragements, telling him down to the instant what she wanted from him. So fucking hot. It had been so good, but this way had its benefits, too. Speaking with their bodies, telling each other how good it was without even a word. And hearing Amber's question, Foreman had so many questions--would she stop him halfway through? Would she leave him with a hard-on for the second night in a row? Foreman wanted to be patient, wanted not to care about that; he'd be a real bastard if he thought he was entitled to sex or to getting off with anything but his own hand. But Christ, if Amber got scared off every time, he'd stop offering, and respond less readily when she asked.

Without seeing her face, he couldn't know what it meant--if the break in her voice had simply meant that she'd found the perfect angle for a moment, or if it was something deeper, some hesitation. Foreman didn't even know if he could ask if she was sure without screwing this up. But she'd asked, and fuck, he wanted to. He wanted to prove it was nothing to be afraid of, that--like their first night--he could make it amazing, even if she had doubts. "Yeah," he whispered. He lifted a hand to cover hers on his cheek, squeezing her palm. One arm around Amber's back, Foreman shifted underneath her, until he could roll them back over, as gently as he could, not landing on her with his full weight. He supported himself on his knees and his forearms, and dropped a kiss on her lips, or as close as he could manage without seeing her. "Talk to me," he murmured. How she'd take that, he had no idea--to order him around, maybe, but mostly he wanted her to feel free to make him stop, if she wanted.

Kneeling between Amber's thighs, Foreman nudged up the hem of her sweatshirt with his fingertips and bent to kiss her stomach. He could smell her, and God, he could bury himself in that scent, taste every inch of her. Soon, but not too fast. Not too much. He ran his palms down Amber's legs, firmly, massaging her quads, while letting his mouth roam lightly down her abdomen until he reached her pubic hair. He paused to pant, close his eyes and breathe her in. He kissed her inner thigh, and, at last, moved closer. His lips were wet instantly, the thick, slippery taste of her strong in his mouth. Foreman licked his way up her labia, until his tongue found her clit. Yeah. Oh yeah. He went softly, tracing his tongue firm and slow over her clit, trying so damn hard not to overwhelm her, and still make her feel everything he could give her.

Just him rolling her over, with such precision that not even her hair mussed up got caught under any moving limbs, made Amber shiver with pleasure. Yes. He was keeping the pace. Going slow. This was safe. She kissed him back, fully, tasting as much as she could from those lips while she still could, before they kissed her elsewhere.

"Yeah," Amber whispered. "Okay." He wanted to hear her. She could tell him. What she wanted, what she needed. That'd feel good. She'd be in his hands (mouth). She was trusting him, and from their time at the desk, when he'd understood her wordless pleas as clearly as if she'd written them out, she believed he'd do the same now. Trusted him to pick up on her cues. She was in his care. But if she could tell him, that was one more comfort, one more reason for her to relax, to preemptively spread herself. "Make me feel good, Eric," she said just as softly, caressing his collar bone and shoulders before he slipped out of reach.

As he settled between her legs, Amber tore her sweat-damp sweater off. It had long since become greater than a nuisance; her breasts swayed with the motion, freed. Her nose was clearing up, and she could just pick up the scent of sex-- it'd be overwhelming under normal circumstances.

Her tummy quivered as he kissed her there, a new rush of arousal lighting up her pussy. God, how did he do this to her. How was he so amazing. Amber squirmed, panting, as Eric touched her, always guessing right, making her rigorously aware of forgotten body parts. The tingling spread everywhere, like ink in a glass of water, bringing pleasure to her quads, to her hamstrings. "Yeah. Yeah, like that," Amber said, still quiet. She curved her hands around his head, fingertips brushing against the pinpricks of buzzed hair; wanted to let him feel how good she felt.

Her abdomen clenched as he lowered again, in anticipation, in sudden worry. What if this was like last time. She hadn't predicted hurting like that. Amber forgot to take in air as she waited for his next action, for her reaction to it. But all she felt, his breath moist on where she felt so sensitive, was a desire for more. She whined, hoping Eric wouldn't stop there, or lag for long. And he didn't. Amber threw her head back, moaning, arching up, digging her elbows into the mattress. But-- she gasped. "Not yet," she said, pushing down away from his tongue. "Lower," she tried to explain, letting him know that she still wanted this, and how. She hoped the moment hadn't been ruined, that they could build on this. "My entrance, inside--"

He'd reached the highest pitch of awareness, everything in him aware of Amber. Her gasping breaths. Her writhing, eager motion against the bed, against his mouth. Her words. Make me feel good. His dick throbbed, hearing her say that, hearing her want that. God, yes. He'd make her feel good. Anything. Feeling her hands trace over the back of his head, and hearing her encouragements, Foreman let himself relax, catch his breath, and increase the pressure a notch.

A second later he drew back, turning his face toward Amber's damp thigh, and panted hard, forcing himself not to pull away entirely. Why the hell not yet? Why did she ask if she didn't want it? He barely heard Amber's next words, caught up in his own frustration, but a moment later he realized her hands were still guiding him closer, and she hadn't said stop. Different, that was all. Talking to him as he'd asked. Telling him. Foreman licked one long line along Amber's thigh, back toward her labia, tasting salt: sweat and arousal.

He took a breath, steadying himself, and went lower this time. He circled his tongue around her vagina, where she was even wetter, her taste stronger. Not pausing to tease for long, Foreman slipped his tongue inside her, the tip exploring slowly. His grip tightened on her thighs, then moved up to her hips, to steady her and himself. He was getting a crick in his neck, but that was the last thing on his mind. What mattered was Amber spreading her legs wider, reacting more strongly with each passing second. Foreman thrust his tongue deeper, feeling how tight she was with arousal. Imagining his dick inside her, now, feeling each pulse and throb of her around him--oh fuck, it'd be so good, so fucking good. Later. His breath was washing over her, his whole face damp and hot from rubbing against her, her pubic hair scratching his cheeks.

He knew now what it was. That Amber was sensitive, more than he'd ever expected, from her previous orgasm or simply from how strong her arousal was now. Foreman touched her just above her labia, not directly on her clit but higher up on her mons, where she'd still feel the pressure. He began massaging his fingertips in circles, the same motion that had brought Amber off so spectacularly in the living room. Nothing too firm, too insistent. With his tongue lapping upward, deeper inside her, and his fingers pressing, Foreman breathed as best he could through his nose and started a rhythm, so light and achingly slow, touching her at the same pace that he wanted, so badly, to feel around his dick as he thrust into her.

Amber fell back, elbows slipping until they no longer supported her, and raised her hips, moaning, shaking. She couldn't think, only feel, thrust, writhe, her existence concentrated down there, where it was burning and wet and she could only barely remember the reason why, Eric, but whatever it was, it could only be good. Her hands ran over her breasts, pinching, pressing, squeezing, lips falling open. God, she wished she could kiss him, taste him, breathe him deep to fill her head with his scent and not just this general smell of sex and sweat. It was almost a tease, that she couldn't. One half of her was ablaze, the other missed him so much. Amber bit her lip, holding back yet another sound, and then couldn't anymore, a cry tearing out of her. This was excruciating, depending so much on someone. This was absolutely out of her control, her most sensitive region at his mercy, and she had to count on him, to know how to get it right. Amber was skirting this side of pain, one misstep and she'd hurt, for real this time, like last night; worse. But after her correction, he'd understood, going lighter, going to where it felt good, softer, and Amber cried again, unable to stop herself, the pleasure was so great. Didn't notice how hard her ass was grinding against the bed, how much her back arched, the clench of her inner thighs so tight she'd ache tomorrow. Missed all the details of Eric probing her entrance, tongue and fingers exploring her swollen genitals.

Amber forgot time, lost in the increasingly higher brinks Eric raised her to. Forgot herself, every muscle of hers delivered to ecstasy, straining for climax. If she'd had the presence of mind, she'd have told him not to come; told him to save himself so that she could really feel him deep inside, where his tongue and fingers couldn't reach. Even now, about to come, Amber still wanted that, Eric as close, as inside, as he could be. It would never be enough. But they could do better. As it was, Amber could only clutch his head once more, because it was now, only she'd lost her words, and the best she could do was to angle him, her cries becoming louder and increasingly frustrated. He had to bring her off now, touch her clit more directly, because if the moment passed, she’d become too raw for any more. It’d be a repeat of last night.

Foreman was so hard it hurt. If he'd had a hand free, he would've reached down to stroke himself, echo the same pattern he was using with Amber--come with her--Christ. His erection curved against his stomach, and he moved his hips impatiently, need clenching low in his stomach, tightening his balls. If Amber had worried that he'd never manage to call her baby again, she needn't have. His mouth was too busy to form the words, but they filled his mind, over and over again; every motion was his way of saying it, of showing it. Amber's desperation had grown, her thighs squeezing tighter around him, her rolling thrusts opening her up to him as much as she could. Each new suck or lick brought a fresh, stronger taste of her with it. Foreman's skin burned, feeling Amber's heat in sympathy with his own.

Amber's frustration, her impatience, it all showed through. Her fingernails were pinching the skin at the back of his neck as she tried to pull him up; her hips were moving so much that she was nearly rubbing off on his face the way she'd been doing on his leg earlier. Each sound that left her throat seemed to be torn from her, high-pitched and halfway between pain and entreaty. They were wordless, sharp moans, ohh gasped out, and Foreman knew she needed more. Was asking for more. He was almost hesitant to go further, though. The last thing he wanted was to ruin it now. Just enough, just that last touch--God, he wanted her to remember this, remember feeling like this, remember trusting him. He never wanted to hurt her.

He switched positions, sliding one finger inside Amber, enough to give her something to clench down on, not so much that his thrusts would leave her oversensitive. His mouth went to her clit, careful, so goddamn careful. One swirling lick, paying attention to Amber's reaction, straining his ears to hear her, concentrating on her hands tightening around the back of his head. All the signs pointed towards keep going, and he did, sucking gently on her clit, adding the occasional probe with his tongue, his finger inside her rubbing almost delicately. Foreman increased the suction incrementally, let Amber's hips free to push herself against him or to pull away, tell him what she wanted. She had to be close. Because of him. Wild, because of him, lost and needy and feeling so good, for him. So hot. Come on, baby. Come for me.

Amber screamed. Didn't even know it, it just came out of her, together with the rest of her orgasm, flooding her every nerve, muscle, cell with intensity. Couldn't even really tell if it was pleasure or pain, just that she was heightened with awareness of her self, and that she was crashing, crashing. And then she was sobbing, because past the first wave, it felt good, and she covered her face, her body jerking helplessly with each new ripple. Eventually the sensations ebbed away, leaving her mostly with a faint humming all over.

That was-- no, words still hadn't come back to her. Amber took a shuddering breath, sitting up, trying to avoid any more physical stimulation to her genitals. She was tired, raw, sated, like she'd just finished five exercise sessions one after the other. Tingled all over. But she sought Eric with her hands, wanting to bring him up, to kiss him, to hold him as her heart kept on swelling, threatening to burst. She wanted to tell him, to give him an inkling of how she'd felt and was feeling, and how, if she weren't so exhausted, happy she'd be. Amber wouldn't have told him how dependent she'd been there, relying on his every movement to keep her on the right track, as if he'd been carrying her along the edge of a cliff. That she'd keep to herself. But if he'd known, read her well enough, how to keep her from falling, then he could probably notice all that without her saying a single thing. Amber sighed, carressing with her hands every part of him within reach, trying to communicate that way some of the emotion inside her.

Foreman lessened the intensity almost as soon as he heard Amber's scream, leaving his finger inside of her, but lifting his head enough to get some sense of how she might look, if only he could see her clearly. He could feel the tremors jerking through her muscles, the twisting, tensing clench of her vagina around his finger. Panting, he tried to see more, staying close enough that she could rub against him for as long as she needed. It lasted, longer than he'd thought, and even through his own rushing feelings Foreman couldn't help feeling a deep, satisfying pride that he'd done that, that he'd left her helpless. It was overwhelmed a second later by his realization: helpless. Amber. She'd been willing to let go that much, let him take her that far.

God. He didn't have to see her to know how beautiful she was--messy and sweaty and shaking, yeah, and his, all his. Foreman ran his forearm across his face, wiping himself off as best he could, and then he moved up the bed. He couldn't have stopped himself. It wasn't even because he wanted, needed to come--for the instant, his body was his last concern. He wanted to cover Amber, hold her, share his warmth, and keep this feeling going for as long as possible. He let his weight settle on her, his cock trapped between them, and hugged her as well as he could, kissing her lightly where he could reach. He gulped back his breath, trying not to pant too heavily right in her face, and finally he buried his face in the crook of her neck, so that he could force his breathing to calm down without making Amber feel like she had to do something for him--at this point, Foreman wouldn't ask for more if she couldn't take it; he'd bring himself off with all the satisfaction in the world, because he'd already been with her in the moment that mattered.

Amber let herself fall onto down to the bed as Eric tugged, curling up around him. Let him kiss her, hold her, shower her with affection. The most she could do was nudge Eric, rubbing her cheek against his, and hum with satisfaction. He was-- still no words. All Amber knew was that she leaned into him, wanting to be nowhere else.

God, she was exhausted, practically numb from ecstasy. Every once in a while a new aftershock washed over her, and she shivered, sensitive, unable to stop her body from singing so much joy.

Still. Despite her haze, his hard, thick erection hadn't escaped her attention. It seemed so distant, hardly related to her, throbbing hot against someone else, though some part of Amber knew that he must be aching with desire and that it was because of her. She blinked, slowly, pupils immense, slowly working through a thought process. He was hard. He wouldn't want to stay that way. Warmth tinged through Amber, making its way past the fog she was traveling through. She could help him with that. Could coax him into her, into coming. Maybe she was too sensitive for that. Just his body around hers, their sweat-- when had they built up so much, they were sliding against one another-- felt like an overkill. Amber rolled her head to the side, breathing shallow, but deep.

Still. She wanted him inside her, wanted him to feel pleasure from her, to feel every inch of him losing control, to know inside and out how his orgasm was. To know how good she made him feel. It’d make her happy, that she could return the favor. Her hips rose, not as another aftershock of the orgasm, but as an encouragement. She wouldn't come again, not any time soon, but she still wanted more. "The condoms," Amber whispered, lazily, somehow finding the strength to cup his face again. "They're in the bed stand, top drawer--"

Taking advantage of the natural lube their bodies had provided, Amber twisted so that her back was to him for the second time this evening. Earlier, it had been to hide her vulnerability; now, it was because on her side, with him aligned against her back, there'd be less stimulation to where she felt sore. Amber's breath quickened in anticipation; sucked on her lip in anticipation. Wriggled and bent her upper leg forward to give him the space to enter. To invite him.

October 30, 2007 - Evening

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