alwaysright | November 3, 2007

November 3, 2007 - Morning

Foreman had been right about one thing: when he finally woke up, his whole body felt like he'd run a fucking triathlon the night before. He opened his eyes slowly, a smile already curving his lips. Saturday. No work, no obligations. Last weekend he'd thought that he'd fucked up completely with Amber. This morning, here he was, grinning half into his pillow at the sight of her hair, tangled and fanned out across the sheets. So he hurt; that was no different than the morning after a lot of workouts. Some stretching and he'd be fine. If that was the only price he'd pay for last night, he'd always choose to do it again.

They'd finally made it out of the bath when the water was cooling. Fingers and toes pruned, shivering because they'd both fallen asleep, towelling off vigourously to warm up again. Foreman hadn't bothered waking up beyond the most basic functions. He'd gotten his teeth brushed, pissed, hauled his boxers on, and fallen into Amber's bed all without engaging any higher mental faculties. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Looked like he was the first one to wake up this morning. Usually his body woke him up after eight hours whether he needed more or not. Affection poured through him at the sight of Amber, still sleeping. This way he could admire her before she realized that her hair wasn't in place, and it made the feeling sweeter, somehow, that she didn't know. To let her sleep herself out, Foreman tried to keep himself quiet as he climbed out of bed. He eased out of the bedroom after he'd hauled his trousers and hoodie on. Amber's keys were next to her purse, near the door, and Foreman ducked out for a quick, shivering trip to his car. He came back in with the bag he'd packed yesterday without running into Murphy or any of the other tenants, thank Christ. It didn't take him long to sort out things that he could leave here--deodorant, shaving stuff, cologne, toothbrush--along with a few clothes, more comfortable stuff so that he wouldn't be limited to suits on the weekend.

He showered about as quickly as he would on a weekday, not lingering once he'd gotten clean. He dressed in a pair of battered jeans and a clean sweater, before heading for the kitchen.

He wasn't a great cook, which Amber knew by now. When he was a kid, Mom had let him and Marcus into the kitchen for baking only--to lick icing off the spoons, or to dump too much flour in the bowl, making a mess with the ingredients and then burning his tongue crunching through the resulting--usually rock hard--cookies or cakes. But she'd also considered the kitchen more or less her domain, and she'd swatted their rumps with a dishtowel if they'd gotten in her way when she was cooking the big meals. Not that it was her fault he'd never learned. If he'd ever shown a real interest, rather than sprinting through and grabbing at whatever was sitting out to stuff into his face while Mom was in the middle of preparations, she probably would have taught him. He'd been an ungrateful teenager, he'd expected his meals to be ready for him, and he hadn't paid much attention except when they weren't. What he did know, he knew from disastrous experiments when he was in college, and certainly Claire had never stooped to cooking for him when they both had the same punishing hours at the hospital.

But there was one dish that he was terrific at. It was Claire who'd taught it to him, actually, after he'd complimented her effusively one too many times and given her his best wide-eyed, hopeful look when it seemed like she might be about to make breakfast. Denver omelette, egg whites only since he was trying to keep himself in weight training trim. He'd seen all the ingredients he needed in Amber's fridge last night. Peppers, onions, even some bacon. Cheese, maybe. He'd have to check. He could even set the table this morning since he'd reuse the clean dishes from dinner last night. It wasn't that he always expected to cook, but in this one case, he knew what he was doing, and damn, he already knew Amber could be astonishingly grateful for a simple meal. The omelette, maybe some toast, and fresh coffee--God, who knew how she'd want to thank him next? Grinning, Foreman set to work, far more confident than he'd been about the stir fry.

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Suspicion flared in Foreman's chest. He wouldn't want to stick around someone who was throwing a shit-fit. His mouth twisted. Great, now he was going to get shamed into a better mood just by seeing how much Amber was willing to endure to be with him. The last thing he wanted was to put her off so much that she realized he wasn't worth it. The contradiction wasn't lost on him--in superficial relationships, one-night stands or a few weeks' good times, Foreman never let himself get like this. Nothing mattered, so it was easy to stay composed and urbane. But when it mattered, when he cared, things slipped out almost before he'd noticed. He wanted to pull back from Amber and get back that guy he knew he should be, the one who'd laugh off the talk of visiting families and erase his own with one casual shrug. Amber, though--if they were together long enough...she'd know. And he wasn't going to lie now and spring the truth on her later. She'd already more than made clear that that was a deal-breaker for her.

He nodded at Amber's encouragement and pulled out. The drive to the gym was a little longer, because first, it was convenient to the hospital, not Amber's apartment, and second because Foreman hadn't been interested in finding some second-rate place. He wanted all the perks thrown in, as long as he was paying a damn high membership fee. He was there most days, for a swim or a weight-lifting session or just a shower, and any place where he spent that much time should be first rate.

Saturday mornings were typically busy, but there was a lull just after noon most days, and they'd managed to hit that low point. Foreman pulled into his usual parking space. He hadn't said anything during the drive, because he figured at least that couldn't make it worse, and he kept quiet as he led the way inside. The place was huge, with the front room dedicated to crosstraining, treadmills, and weights. Further back were the gyms, squash courts, and the lap pool, with the rows of change rooms separating the two halves of the gym.

Carrying his gym bag, Foreman went straight to the front desk. One of the perks that he didn't call on that often, but was damn glad to have when he needed it, was access to a more private change room. The clerk recognized him and came over immediately, signing Amber in as his guest and passing over the swipe key. Foreman signed up for a court time in about half an hour. Once they'd passed through the gate into the gym, Foreman headed down the hall and waved the key in front of the lock, opening the door. The change room was quieter, and cleaner, than the typical one; it had its own shower and bigger lockers. It was more of a closet than anything else, but they could stay together, and it was pretty unlikely that anyone else would barge in. If they were going to have a stupid argument, at least it didn't have to be in public.

Terrible company indeed. Eric had warned her, in his way, but that didn’t make the long, dragged-out silence any better. Amber tapped her fingers along the window’s edge; crossed her legs and jiggled her foot. Right now she could be at home, reading. She’d gotten through a few articles on Wednesday and Thursday, but there was always more. Plenty more. Or she could be tackling the dirty dishes they'd piled up; for all she knew, the one she'd left in the dishwasher last night were still there. They'd have gotten out only if Eric had done her that favor, and why would he have? Cooking was more glamorous than cleaning-- or got more rewards out of her, anyway.

Of course the gym would be on the other side of town. It wouldn't have mattered, if they were talking. But, hah. So much for having enough in common to carry actual conversations. No sex, constant fighting, refusal to meet either one of their families... Amber didn't want to even touch him, not even to hold his hand. Too irritated.

At least his workout place was top-notch. Amber studied it as Eric went through the motions of getting her in. If they were going to be together longer, she might get used to this place; she liked hers, and she wouldn't give up the aerobic classes, but if they were going to play sports together, Eric could spend more of his guest passes on her. Then again, "longer" didn't feel like would last much, at this rate.

The small changing room didn't improve Amber's mood any. Didn't he want to work out on his own? Why did he cram her in this tight space, where they'd have to get naked together-- hardly a conjecture she'd mind in other circumstances, but there'd be none of the fun, if their sex drive was gone, if he couldn't bear to look at her. She couldn’t even get the fun of knowing other people were checking her out.

Amber threw her bag on to one of the benches and hastily drew the zipper, the sound louder than the outside thuds and low radio music. If Eric was going to ignore her, then she would, too. Fuck him. He was the one losing out, not getting an eyeful as she ripped her shirt over her head.

Foreman felt restless and edgy in the silence, but as far as he could tell, Amber's irritation with him was low-level enough that she'd decided not to confront him and shout him down in front of everyone working out. She'd never hesitated to yell or walk away from him when she was angry before, and she'd agreed to stay with him through his bad mood. It was like trying to keep balanced in an earthquake--Foreman had no experience with someone who tried to ride out his moodiness. Claire always used to throw up her hands in disgust and leave him to it. But Amber kept following him, even though there were plenty of opportunities for her to leave him to stew.

After opening his bag, Foreman skinned out of his jeans and tugged his sweater over his head. Amber was dressing quickly and efficiently, but that didn't stop Foreman from watching in the mirror in front of her. Yeah, he could see she was pissed off, but he also loved the sight of her body. Whether they were having sex or not, she was amazing; she'd mentioned going to the gym once or twice before, too, and Foreman liked that she kept in shape. That she was willing to challenge him at sports. He felt a faint smile, his first since he'd brought up his mom for no good reason. Amber would be willing to challenge anyone at anything--but he still liked it.

Foreman pulled on his shorts and his tearaway warm-up pants, then a dark grey t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Helped keep his arms free for weight-lifting, but it didn't hurt that he also got to show off a bit while he was out on the gym floor. The place was co-ed; Foreman had scored a few dates here. Not something to be thinking about today. Foreman bounced a bit on his toes, his energy coming up as it always did here. He was starting to feel better. Some stretching, maybe a four or five mile run, and he'd probably be back to the point he'd been at before all his own stupidity came crashing down on his head. "You want to stretch?" he said. They could help loosen each other up. It was an overture, anyway. If Amber didn't, they still had their court time in half an hour; Foreman could wait until then to touch her.

Her shirt and jeans yanked off, Amber glanced to her side where Eric was changing. Nice. She still found him attractive; if Amber weren't knotted up with frustration, she might’ve been inclined to take advantage of their half-public, half-private location.

In sweeping her gaze upwards, Amber noticed Eric's eyes were directed at the mirror; a quick look confirmed that he was checking her reflection out, complete with a tiny grin.

Maybe the rest of the day wouldn't be so bad.

Amber slipped on her red tank top (matching her sports bra) and her snug, black yoga pants in calmer, smoother motions than she'd removed her outfit. Bent over to put her sneakers back on, giving more of a show should Eric want one (and he better). Up straight again, Amber found an elastic band wrapped around her hairbrush and tied her hair up in a tight ponytail. She didn't have to look in the mirror-- though she did anyway-- to know she looked great. Amber liked drawing attention, letting the world know just how hot she was. If she ended her work outs with sweat-stained clothes, so did everyone else; didn't stop her from picking up guys. Gym men weren’t necessarily the best fucks, since brawn didn’t translate into technique, but it took less work than going to a bar.

As for Eric, he was stunning. At least her company looked damn good-- and not just for the skin he was showing off, but because he seemed more cheerful. The fact that he could make eye contact with her was a vast improvement. "Not much choice," Amber said. No matter what she did, whether passing the half hour on the tread mill or slipping into an in-session aerobics class, she had to stretch. Since Eric wanted to work out alone, they didn't need to stretch in the same area. If he could get rid of the rest of his bad mood with physical action, that’d be perfect. Sulky Eric was no fun.

She zipped up her bag again and strolled to dump it into one of the lockers. Small as the space was, it was easy to brush against him as she did so; his mood had picked up enough for at least that much.

Foreman was sure he'd meant to add 'together' to the end of his question, but he was distracted the second Amber bent over in her yoga pants. Damn. His first instinct was to step across the tiny distance that separated them so that they'd be snug up against each other the second she stood up. His palms itched to cup her ass, so perfectly outlined in the skin-tight material. Yeah, he was definitely starting to feel better.

He'd just finished tying his own shoes--eyes peeled for another look at her, so that he had to retie the right lace twice--when Amber walked by him to put her bag away. It was nearly reflex, the way he turned to follow her, stay within range of the warm aura of her body. He stepped up behind her, with his bag, and tossed it into the locker on top of hers, being as casual as possible about cornering her against the row of lockers as he did so. She could escape around him, sure, but maybe she wouldn't want to?

That was such a better question to be thinking about than whose family they'd be stuck with for Thanksgiving. Foreman pocketed the key after clanging the locker shut, the swipe card for the change room going with it. He was ready, and his heart was already pumping fast enough to count for his cardio workout. "Ready?" he asked, voice low, not bothering to make it sound like he was talking about the workout at all.

Amber backed up against the metal lockers, its vents digging into her shoulders, as Eric threw his bag into the compartment above. Moving up against her like this was no coincidence, not when he'd been avoiding her five minutes ago. Tease. If he wanted to touch her, he should go ahead and do so.

His warm tone and that suggestive, lingering look said it all. The longing she'd been walling off since this morning, stopping herself to test Eric's reactions, came rushing back. "No, not ready," Amber fired off. Her heat wasn't just from delayed desire; anger too was mixed in, blending so thoroughly together she couldn't tell them apart. She stared intently at Eric as a challenge, as an invitation. "Did you know we haven't kissed once today?" That thing in the kitchen, fleeting and flinched aside in favor of a frying egg, didn't count. "I think it's time we corrected that." Instead of the fighting, the sulking fits, that's what they should've been doing. What she should've done. If she'd jumped him when they were in bed, they couldn't have fought about family, Eric couldn't have dismissed her.

No more holding back. Amber pounced him now, throwing her force against him and kissed him hard, hands on his shoulders. Yeah, like that, hard, a clash. Amber poured out her frustration and confusion through her lips, not thinking, just acting. It felt good, to let it all out, and to feel him; she'd missed this, the taste of his lips, the passion. Somewhere along the way she'd convinced herself it'd never happen again.

Foreman could have kicked himself. Of course she wasn't interested in fucking, not after he'd been a pain in the ass most of the morning. One look at her body and everything was peachy again? Yeah, he should have guessed that she wouldn't be ready just because he'd suddenly checked in with this sex drive. Foreman backed off as quickly as he could, angry embarrassment nearly undoing all the good the promise of exercise had done.

Amber's next accusation caught him off-guard. You expect to act pissed off with the whole damn world and still get some? Not likely--those were the words he was waiting to hear. The fact that they hadn't kissed hadn't so much as entered his mind. They'd been close from the moment they woke up. Playing footsie under the table, wrestling like kids--he'd carried her back to the bed and practically used his whole body to pin her down. They'd been wrapped in each other's arms until the conversation soured. Maybe they hadn't kissed but all of that seemed to show that it would've been only a matter of time.

He didn't have a chance to point any of that out. A short moan rose in his throat, surprise mostly, but also arousal at just how urgent Amber's kiss was. He was the one slammed back against the lockers, his arms full of Amber; his hug was tight and an instinctive answer. Just as deeply, he kissed her back, opening his mouth and twining his tongue against hers. Not thinking. It was what he'd wanted. A distraction. Breath rushing and heart slamming, all in five seconds flat. Responding to Amber's passion was simple, because he didn't have to think about why.

Even as his hands roamed down, over Amber's ass, and pulled her all the more satisfyingly against him, though, why was still tripping him up. Because they hadn't kissed all day? What did that have to do with now? Was there a countdown, number of hours they could spend without having sex, and once that time ran out it didn't matter what kind of mood they were in because they were on a schedule? Foreman ripped away from the kiss without moving away; his bent forehead rested against Amber's, and his hands were still massaging her ass. "I'm sorry," he said, testing his way. "I was being an ass. But--" He was still confused, and uncertain of his theory. The idea that he'd get it wrong and ruin this made him hesitate. "That doesn't change this..." Kissing you. Easier to show than to say, and he leaned in close to kiss her again, strongly, but with a gentler intent.

Amber closed her eyes, her frustration infinitely satisfied in receiving so strong a response. This. That moan, that clench. The metal clang of Eric crashing into the lockers, the greediness of his thrusting tongue. Her mouth was filled with his taste, her nose the scent of the gym's strong cleaning-product. She breathed in sharply as his hands found her ass, pulled her in possessively. Yes. Wouldn't have thought it possible, but she kissed Eric deeper still, angling her head to get closer, closer. Pissed as she was, Amber wanted him with her. Removing that distance that had grown between them today.

She didn't care for his apologies, mere words. Actions were was she needed. Amber kissed the side of his mouth, reminding him what they could be doing if he shut the fuck up. Scraped her teeth against his cheek, bit down on his earlobe. Gentleness could fuck itself. "What won’t change?" Amber defied. "You won't always want me." Maybe it wasn't today, like she'd thought. But all couples lost it, sooner or later. And then what? He'd keep on having bouts of being an ass, and there wouldn't be sex to make up for it? How could that be okay, and how could she still be kissing him desperately, accepting this temporary, paltry solution? Shit. Amber pressed up into Eric, pushing him harder into the lockers, her hands sliding down to the hem of his shirt only to slide right back up, palming his skin. None of what she was doing made any sense. But she wanted this. Him. Things always seemed so much better after they’d touched, kissed. Why could they only get this right? “Why do we keep fighting?” Amber loved a confrontation, the adrenaline that came from being fucking right and making everyone piercingly aware of just how much. But not with Eric. It only felt like losing, with him. “I hate it.”

Always. The word tangled Foreman up. Forever was too much to promise. But he couldn't imagine giving up having Amber arching against him, even more eager to press into him than his arms drawing her in. He grunted sharply at her bite, and twisted his head away from her teeth. The throb of pain in his ear urged him to turn the tables, and he rolled easily, pushing her back against the lockers with a rattling clang as all the combination locks around them rang against the doors. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, and threw his weight against her, like it was proof. His hands moved from her ass to her wrists, squeezing spasmodically, an echo of the wrestling clinch he'd had her in. Holding her captive under his kiss. His hips pinned her against the lockers as much as anything else, and he gave up gentle to give himself entirely over to the kiss. He invaded her mouth, trying to fight her on whatever terms she wanted to make it. The physical sensation was thrilling, and it kept his blood pumping angrily.

"It's not--" But maybe it was a fight. He'd thought of the kiss as a competition, or something he could win. How fucked up was that? Either he'd absorbed too much of Amber's world view or he was already taking the wrong perspective on a relationship he wanted to last. Foreman let go of Amber's hands, and stroked his palms along her body, ending at her hips. Had he been the only one with anything to apologize for? He'd stiffened up the second she'd mentioned meeting her family, but that was his own damn paranoia, nothing Amber had done wrong. "I fucked up." He forced his body to stay loose, and lightened the press of his body against her. "I hate--talking. When I can't...it doesn't help." Eyes closed, he tried to imagine anyone, even Amber, accepting his family as they were. But she'd stayed with him even when he nearly growled her away from him, and she hadn't demanded a million questions about Marcus, either when he'd told her, or since. It made him freeze up, imagining that he could trust her. But that was what they were fighting over, wasn't it? That was what she hated. Foreman breathed out, shuddering and slow. "But you should know."

Amber let out a grunt as Eric rolled her against the lockers; damn it, he could only do that because he was stronger. Stupid relative muscle capability according to gender. But it turned her on too, Eric's physical rebelliousness, and she was ready for more. More kissing, more shoving, more of him proving that he wouldn't go anywhere, at least not as long as he was hot for her.

But he went for her wrists. Amber flinched, stiffened. Breath went shallow. Trapped. She wanted him to fight back, but not like this. Fuck he really was strong. By gut instinct Amber strained, pulling her wrists up and away. He was only doing what she'd egged him on to do, get aggressive. But she turned from his mouth. Not like this.

The hold was temporary. Before she could say anything, he let her wrists go. Oxygen worked again. "Not my wrists," Amber gasped. Knew it hadn't been intentional, but, fuck, she didn't want that happening again. Damn it, it'd feel so delicious otherwise, clamped between his thighs. How could one hold be wonderful and the other terrible? "Didn't feel good," was all she could give in explanation, because Amber didn't understand herself.

The fact that he was apologizing streamed in through her distress. Again. It wasn't what she wanted. Didn't mean anything.

Despite her split-second panic, though, Amber was calming down. Easy to, given the tenderness of Eric’s light touch over her hips. And she needed to be pacified, that made her more receptive. The fact that he was trying to explain himself (not just apologize) and that the hold hadn't lasted, filled Amber with affection. Head throbbed with it. Again she acted without thinking, lifting her hands to cup his face. "I never know what you're thinking," she said, gazing at him. Amber loved his face. Loved learning what his expressions meant. This one hurt a little, vulnerable, but tender, too. "I keep imaging what you could be thinking, and-- you've gotta tell me, Eric. Though--" Amber laughed weakly. "Talking's never seemed to help us much."

Foreman blinked his eyes open, catching Amber's expression for the first time since he'd let the kiss envelop his senses, when she yanked away from his grip. He'd already let go before she froze against him, and his heart skipped a beat at her flinch. Jesus, what had he done now? She almost seemed frightened. When he'd done so much more this morning, playfully tumbling her into bed and grabbing her arms to hug her against him, she hadn't reacted like this. Or maybe she had, and he'd missed it? Foreman wanted to rock back on his heels, give her more space, but she didn't let him.

Her palms on his cheeks were familiar, slightly cooler than his skin, and Foreman met her eyes, given little choice to do anything else. Hers were grey-blue and stormy, direct, but still a little bit wary, even scared. Foreman let himself shiver and relax, eyelids closing slightly, though not enough to break eye contact with her. His body seemed to mould into hers naturally, the fit between them warm and true. Turning his head slightly, Foreman kissed the center of Amber's palm, his beard brushing lightly against her skin. Talking hadn't helped them, yeah, but then, he hadn't tried to talk this much in so many years that he'd nearly forgotten how. "I think... I haven't told anyone so much, this fast..." No one had been around while Marcus was dragging his second chances into the ground. Foreman had been alone, and he'd learned to damn well deal with it on his own, because there'd been no one else. "I don't know how." He wanted an answer for every question, even if it was wrong--at least he didn't look like he couldn't think, couldn't come to a decision. "I don't like that, I don't like that it's hard." He met her eyes again, breathing slower now. God, he'd never been more glad of the privacy of this change room before, but knowing how unlikely it was for anyone to walk in allowed him to simply take his time, and watch her, and stroke his thumbs over her hips. "Hey. I don't know what you're thinking, either."

Her hands covered so much of his face, as if he were hiding-- or she hiding him-- behind them. Eric's kiss to the heart of her palm sent a flutter of warm feeling through her. But to see more of him, of those gently sloping cheeks, Amber slipped her hands back to curve around the nape of his neck. His skin folded there, and her fingertips ran over the pinpricks of his hair as she distractedly caressed him. From passionate kissing and shoving to feather-light touches in less than five minutes; she didn't understand them. Not one bit.

What hadn't Eric told anyone so much, this fast? About his family? And what was the remarkable part, the fact that he'd revealed that much, or that it was in so brief a period of time? House probably knew a lot about him-- from bribing other people and other schemes. Amber wondered what Eric had told his past girls, the ones he'd loved and not. Shouldn't matter. Fact was, he was telling her. Awkwardly, and often accusingly, as if what he'd done was her fault. Maybe he resented telling her. Amber sighed. He'd also admitted that she should know and that he didn't like how hard it was to let these things out. She'd have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Hugging like this, snug and cozy, made it easier to. She inched closer, away from the cold flatness of the lockers and into his welcoming, familiar torso.

"I tell you," Amber started to protest. She told him lots of things, like what she wanted from him in bed and how she hated not being in control. There were only a few things she'd kept from him, like her confrontation with House, her jealousy over his past girlfriends, how upset she'd gotten that he wasn't attracted to her-- "Most of the time," she acknowledged. "Okay. Go ahead, ask me something you wanted to know." The worst he already knew.

As Amber slipped away from the lockers, Foreman worked his arms around behind her again. The metal chilled the backs of his arms, but it didn't matter; he wanted Amber closer, tucked right up against him. Her fingertips drifting over the back of his head and the contrast, warmth and lightness, nearly undid him, with how tender she could be. It would be so easy to bend his head, rest against her shoulder while he tasted the side of her throat, continued down the familiar path along her neck to suck and lick at her collarbone. If they'd been somewhere else, with more privacy, he might have. Or if there wasn't a real conversation happening, almost despite himself.

Foreman's eyes flickered across Amber's face, trying to see how much she meant it. He'd given her an opening; she could have asked him a question, but she'd opened herself up to him instead. That she'd expect it to be reciprocal, he didn't doubt; an eye for an eye seemed to be her style, if nothing else. But it meant something that she was willing to go first and put herself out there. The way she'd reacted after Foreman had grabbed her wrists, and he'd thought maybe this would be like the other times when she'd shut down any conversation about herself and begged off telling him anything until "later". He doubted that she'd always meant later to be now, but it helped him to trust her. Still, the idea that he would have to tell her more, even afterwards, even after promising to try, erased some of his ease.

Worry about it when she asked him. Foreman figured he already knew what she'd ask, anyway. For himself, there were plenty of deep questions he could ask, but only one immediate thing. "You said we hadn't kissed today," he said. He wasn't quite sure how to frame his theory. Most of the truth he wanted he thought he'd see as he studied her face, measured the tension in her body under his hands, for her response. "Did you think we weren't going to?"

Eric really liked it when she did that back-of-head scratch thing. Amber smiled fondly, letting her fingers sweep more gently still. Like a big cat purring, lazing, tension unfurling away. Strange, but that momentary burst of panic made Amber feel safer. Wasn’t good, that it'd happened, but it hadn't lasted; if that sense of imprisonment overcame her again, perhaps it'd be resolved just as quickly. Eric's arms, warm and right around her, were a better backdrop than vents and combination locks. The radio played some mindless techno and, for a second, Amber rocked to it. How much time had passed? They’d either missed the beginning of their appointment or were about to. Didn’t matter. Amber could wrangle them a new timeslot if they wanted one later. This was more important.

For whatever reason, it hadn't occurred to her he'd ask that. Thought he'd go for something more meaningful, like why she'd frozen just now; how did that one remark grab his attention, much less matter? Caught between a blush and a face-scrunch, Amber couldn't even hem and haw. She'd promised (more or less) to answer and now she had to. "Yeah," she said fast. The rest took more friction to get out of her mouth, even if it was the explanation to make the 'yeah' less stupid. "A bit. I thought-- I didn't get why you didn't want to kiss or anything. We were in bed and nothing happened." It was an overreaction, she knew it was. This was so embarrassing. Why had she ever imagined telling each other their thoughts was a good idea? And this was only the tip of the iceberg, as far as her inane ideas went. It was okay, though. She’d admitted to dumber things already. "Nothing but more fighting," Amber added with some lament. Sex was so much better than hissy fits.

Foreman nodded slightly as Amber spoke. He'd had a feeling it had been something like that, although he hadn't really been able to put it into words even for himself. Seemed like a strange thing for her to bring up now, when they were fighting, and he'd thought it had worried her more than she wanted to say. He'd never once thought sex was their problem. If anything it was so simple that they could fall into each other's arms and pretend the world away. Like now: he was relaxed again, almost as comfortable as he had been lying next to her this morning. The fact that they could lie around talking, that meant something, and he wanted Amber to know it too.

It was easier to talk about them; he wouldn't have thought it was true even a few days ago. Telling Amber that he liked her, that being with her meant something--he'd gotten just as tied up in knots about that at first. Now that the issue was something even more intensely personal to him than his feelings for her, which bubbled warmly to the surface every time they were close like this. He'd been protective of his family and what people knew about them for most of his life, especially since Marcus started having problems while Foreman was in college. His instinct to keep his mouth shut had intensified while he worked for House. The best defense was to be boring, and to be boring there had to be nothing interesting about his life; nothing worth telling. If it wasn't worth telling, then it wouldn't matter when House inevitably found out anyway and taunted him with it.

Apologizing for the fight again wouldn't get them past it. He'd said his piece and he'd leave it at that. "I liked being with you," he said. Not the fighting, although even that hadn't been as intense as some of their earlier shouting matches. He'd wanted to walk out at one point, but only to protect his own damn self, never because he'd been upset with Amber. He grinned lightly. "Picturing you sitting on your brothers. I bet you had pigtails." His shoulders shook slightly, but he kept the laughter silent, at least, even if she'd see it dancing in his eyes. "You know--" Heat rose to his face, but maybe he was finally ready to say it. "You know what you can do to me. Like last night. But that's not all I want with you."

Who knew how many minutes into an argument and they hadn't blown up at each other. Yet. Amber didn't know if they'd keep it up, but if they did, it might be the first time they talked serious without anger spiking up on either side. Well, she'd been embarrassed, did that count?

Maybe it was from the discomfort of admitting to her overreaction, but Amber was starting to feel antsy. What had seemed like would lead to sex fizzled out to more hugging and conversation, just like earlier this morning, and maybe that was okay. But still she was restless; wanted to move, release the energy that was starting to coil up in her. The radio music, now playing a fast-beat pop piece, only motivated her to move; she was in the clothes to do it, too, sneakers ready for bouncing. The embrace was becoming stifling.

Amber took Eric's playfulness and ran with it. "Oh my god, I did not wear pigtails, that is the worst thing you've ever said to me." She joke-punched his bicep. "I was a kid, not brainless." He liked being with her and had been imagining her as a child. Neither statement disabused her of the notion that he'd not wanted her when it would've been so natural and right.

Yeah, Amber knew what she could do to him. Tie him up and make his hottest dreams come true. She could also make him recoil with shame afterward, for having done what he'd wanted. Amber palmed the outline of his shoulders, his arms, til her hands twined round his. Held them. She liked the movement of it. "Okay. Good. I-- want more from you, too. You know that." She'd been the one to get upset when it seemed all he wanted was sex, that second night. She'd been the one to suggest he meet her family. "But I'm warning you, I'm not giving up the sex!" Amber grinned, amused. What a ridiculous warning to have to issue, especially to a guy. So much for the 'wisdom' that women wanted it less.

She tugged Eric sharply and kissed him around her smile briefly, just enough for their lips to meet. "C'mon. Didn't you want to play ball?"

"You did!" Foreman burst out laughing. "I bet there are pictures--ow!" He pulled back from her far enough to rub at the place she'd punched, sticking out his lip as if she'd severely wounded him. If they went to her parents', he could probably get a peek at the photos, too. Cute wasn't how she'd want him to see her, but if it was true, he'd only point it out. Amber's hands joined his, smoothing over the place she'd punched, and taking his hands. Foreman squeezed back. It wasn't like he wanted to hang around in a damn change room all day, but he hadn't been lying--just being with Amber, hugging her, left him feeling good.

He accepted her kiss, raising his eyebrows. "Is that permission to make horn-dog advances whenever I want?" he asked, amused. Amber was more likely to jump him in unlikely locations, but just the thought that she'd accept it if he happened to get a hard-on at an inopportune moment was enough to set off a string of fantasies. Later, after they'd played, when his blood was pumping, and he'd been crowded around the basketball court by Amber for an hour, then yeah, he'd want to get out of here and back to a bed as fast as possible.

He'd already set his ball out, and he picked it up off the bench where he'd left it. Grabbing it up, he bounced the ball once, hard, to check its air pressure. It leaped back into his hands sharply--perfect. Not that it'd been long since he'd filled it. It was an old, leather ball with the nubbins nearly worn smooth from being played with for so long. "All right, let's go." Pushing the door open, he led the way down the short connecting hallway to the courts. A couple of other half-court games were going on, but their designated one was empty--good thing, because they were probably a few minutes late.

Foreman smirked at Amber, and took a run at the net, dribbling the ball easily, and went for a simple layup, easing the ball against the backboard before it slipped through the net. That was about as ambitious as he wanted to get without stretching. Catching the ball, he grinned at her as he dribbled it in front of him and through his legs. "Come on, I'm ready to see what you've got."

"There are no pictures, because it never happened!" Maybe. Amber was pretty sure she'd never been humiliated by a pair of pigtails-- one for each brother to pull, how delightfully convenient-- but she'd have to pour through the family photo albums to be sure. Fortunately Eric wouldn't be joining her for Thanksgiving. He might never visit her parents, home to her childhood photos, but better safe than sorry.

Amber smirked at his question. Oh, how little he knew of her. "Don't hump my leg," she said, wagging her finger as she might to a misbehaving dog. A really cute one, too. "And not at work. Other than that, I’m always open to suggestion of fucking." To say the least. She mirrored his eyebrow-raise as if the grin that'd overtaken her face wouldn't be enough to let him know just how serious she was. Maybe their complications were more of a hassle than picking up strangers, but being with him meant sex on a regular basis-- good sex, at that.

That ball was one of the most ancient things Amber had ever seen. At home, she and her brothers had played with glossy, new balls with that one-of-a-kind basketball smell. It wasn't that they were constantly sinking dollars buying things they already had, because her parents had been rigid about teaching them the value of money. She and her brothers had earned their possessions. They’d just liked things nice. Getting a new ball every now and then wasn't too big a price to pay. "That a childhood relic?" she asked. Amber had no idea how long it'd take for the leather to wear down that much.

The music was louder in the corridor; a handful of people passed them by, in groups or pairs, talking animatedly. The ones coming from the courts had pit-stains, a muscle-loosened swagger. It pumped Amber up, increasing the spring in her steps. She was going to beat Eric.

The courts were filled with the sound of squeaking sneakers, balls smacking against hard floors; that, and the odor of wax and sweat, hidden beneath cleaning product, made Amber even more excited. And the sight of Eric bounding through the court, jumping with such ease-- it got her excited in a different way.

It was also a reminder. Right. Strategy. Amber could win every and anything, it was just a question of how. Eric had the advantage in experience and power; she'd have to beat him through speed and tactics. The first and last time they'd played, he'd been casual at the beginning of the game. Like now. Better to score as much as possible at the start.

"I'll show you," Amber taunted. Or, actually, she'd deliberately not show him. She fumbled a couple of attempts to grab the ball from him, cursed as if frustrated, then pawed wildly enough to get it. Amber awkwardly bounced the ball up as close to the basket without leaving the boundaries and jumped. She let shoot fall through; didn't want to fake her ineptness too much. "See?" she said, then, ball under her arm, travelled back to the key without dribbling. Turned to face the basket. "I get to start because I'm prettier."

Completely self-satisfied, Foreman decided he'd be looking for pictures the first opportunity he got. If Amber's mom was anything like his, then she'd be dragging out every album from birth through her high school prom the second he expressed even the faintest interest, and Amber wouldn't be able to put the brakes on the tour down memory lane. Foreman could expect the same treatment if Amber ever met his parents, but his dad was stuffier, less likely to even know where the albums were...and his mom probably wouldn't remember, much as she would have gloried in showing off Foreman's baby pictures to a girlfriend even a few years earlier.

He looked down at his ball when she dissed it. Sure, the leather was scuffed to a lighter brown in a few places, and the lines were more like faint trails by now, but it was still perfectly serviceable, and familiar in his hands. "It's only a few years old," he said. Playing outside, on cement courts, during the summers had worn it down, and it wasn't like he used it every time--during his pick up games, somebody usually had a ball, and they didn't always need his. The point was it was a good ball, not how old it was.

The court was familiar, too. When the guys had it booked, they played full-court in the same gym. For their smaller game, they had a quarter of the big gym. Foreman recognized a couple of the other guys playing in the far corner, but only from a few games, no one he knew well enough to shout a greeting at. Besides, he needed all his concentration to keep Amber off-balance. No sooner had he caught his rebound when she advanced on him, her eyes telegraphing exactly what she was going to do. Go for the ball. They hadn't really started a game, but no way was that stopping her.

Laughing, Foreman turned his hip towards Amber, glancing over his shoulder at her as he deliberately dribbled the ball a little far from his body, making it about as easy to steal as possible. Her first few swipes he shrugged aside with his guarding arm. "Is that the best you can do?" he said, goading her after she swore. He switched hands, to give her a better chance at stripping the ball from him. Amber's next grab batted the ball out of his hands, and she approached the basket bouncing the ball with the flat of her hand, staring up as if she'd only make her shot if she positioned herself exactly right. Foreman didn't guard much except to raise his hands in front of her as she made a simple basket.

Foreman made a grab for the ball, but Amber got there first, before she marched purposefully to the free throw line, carrying the ball like it was a football. Foreman snickered so much he had to put his hands on his knees to support himself. "Okay," he said. "No argument here." Amber was staring at the rim of the basket as if sheer determination would let her sink every foul shot, and she was definitely the best sight on the courts. Her red tank top was a bright, vivid colour against her skin, and those yoga pants were still stealing more of Foreman's attention than could possibly be healthy. Foreman stood up and took his place in front of her, holding his hands out for her to check the ball. "I'm gonna enjoy guarding you," he said, desire smoothing his voice. Having her ass in his crotch while he leaned over her to steal the ball was not going to be any kind of hardship.

Eric was laughing at her. The condescending jerk, he really thought she had no clue. She'd thought that maybe totting the ball under her armpit was laying it on too thick, but apparently not, from the way he was doubled over, mirth shining from his eyes as he snickered at her. Just because he had some fancy moves, fluid as water, he thought he was all that and more. Good for him she was so crazy about him; otherwise, she wouldn't be quite as magnanimous about him assuming superiority.

Well. The joke was on him. She'd swipe this victory from him so fast he wouldn't know what hit him. Amber hid her own smirk, letting her irritation at his laughing at her show instead. His eyes were on the wrong parts of her body, too, unless he honestly believed she'd be dribbling with her ass. She'd used the sexy-ass trick during the mini-golf game and couldn't believe Eric was already setting himself up for that bit of trickery.

Amber checked the ball, hands barely having to spring back from the impact. He'd thrown it soft and at chest level, going easy on her. Perfect. "Is that a horn-dog advance?" Amber asked as she sunk her knees slightly, bending slightly. She hadn't really warmed up; dribbling awkwardly and throwing like someone on the basketball court for the very first time didn't count. Eric seemed looser. She breathed in deep, rolling her head and neck; held out the ball in front of her as she stretched her arms, her back.

Once she felt ready, and only then, did Amber let the ball fall. Batted at it like she was scared hitting too hard would hurt her hands; might as well keep up the beginner's act for as long as Eric bought it. She was pretty sure he wouldn't make serious attempts to steal her ball for the first couple of points, at least. Amber followed the outer rim of the court slowly, turning her back to him as she did so; if he wanted ass, ass he'd get.

But, small as their section of the court was, it wasn't long before Amber got to pivot, twisting out of Eric's groping standing in for guarding, and shoot. It was a simple throw but more complicated than the previous one, since she'd done it mid-turn; the ball sailed through the air and down the hoop without any vacillation. "Wooo!" Amber cheered, thrusting her hands into the air. The cheering was as much for her as for him; let him think she was foolish for getting worked up over a point. "Point for me!" She then chased after the ball as it skidded away.

"That," Foreman said, snapping a soft chest pass at Amber, "was flirting." He arched an eyebrow, leering at her happily as she stretched. She'd know a truly horny move when she saw one. Or felt one. She'd told him not to hump her leg, but he didn't see how he could avoid it, seeing the way she bent over the ball, elbows sticking out like wings, her balance completely off as she dribbled around the edge of the court. Foreman kept close, on the balls of his feet, staying between her and the net but making no move for the ball. He could've stolen it from her a dozen times over, but he was actually studying her technique as much as he was keeping his hips glued to hers for...aesthetic reasons.

Last night he'd worked himself up so much, straining against those damn handcuffs of Amber's, that he'd thought he'd ache in the morning. The hot bath had helped, but he could still feel the pull in his muscles as he got into the game a little bit. Since Amber wasn't giving him much of a challenge, he took the time to work out some of the kinks and get through his initial stiffness. Would've been better if they'd stretched, but this was so much more fun. He resisted stroking a hand down Amber's spine or pinching her ass--that'd be cheating.

The longer she worked her way to the basket, though, the less Foreman believed she was as bad as she made out. She was just a little too awkward, the ball too invitingly easy to snatch. He wouldn't be surprised if she was trying to con him. When she twisted and made her shot, he raised his hands too late to block it, and glanced over his shoulder to see the ball swish through the net. Perfect. Chuckling, he nodded at Amber's celebration. She was trying to play him. Well, he wasn't going to lose to please her, that was for damn sure.

"One nil," he acknowledged, and held up his hands for her pass, taking the ball easily up to the foul line. "Play to eleven?" They didn't have time for a full game, and besides, Foreman was far more interested in defense than offense. Once Amber was in position, Foreman dribbled in big, exaggerated movements--she wasn't the only one who could pretend. He flicked his eyes right, twitching in that direction, and then slid easily to the left, going around her and flicking the ball up for an easy shot. Reaching out, he collected it as it fell and passed it back to Amber.

After all, the chance to drive Amber crazy, following her around the court, leaving not so much as an inch of space between them as she tried over and over again to drive to the net, was the best time he'd had in weeks. She was worried that they'd been in bed and hadn't had sex, but as far as Foreman was concerned, this was more of a tease than a simple hug and quiet conversation ever could have been. Keeping close, watching the sweat start to gather along her temples, panting himself as he blocked her shots, was practically foreplay. Amber was fast, but Foreman had the advantage of position, and on the smaller court, that meant more. He let her twist and dodge, and then, at the last minute, he'd sweep the ball out of her hands. One quick jog up past the foul line and he'd take a jump shot, hitting the net from farther and farther out each time, stretching himself a bit.

He'd hit four shots in a row when he finally over-judged himself, and his shot hit the rim, the rebound taking a bounce practically into Amber's hands. She was already close to the foul line. Damn. Foreman sprinted to get in front of her, but he'd put himself badly out of position.

Amber bounced the ball so as to reach Eric; she could’ve flung it, but that took more skill and she wasn’t ready to reveal her cards. "Sure," Amber agreed to the endgame of eleven. Fewer points worked in favor of her scheme.

As Eric stumbled with the dribbling, clumsier than that first graceful circuit when they'd reached here, Amber knew the jig was up. He was faking now. It was so stupid it was almost funny. Why would she fall for her own trick?

Even pretending to be worse though, fuck, he was better than her. Amber reached fast enough to grab the ball, but she didn't have the needed moves ingrained; Eric blocked her automatically as if he knew in advance where she'd be. And when he threw her the ball, for her turn at offense, he still managed to nab it right back.

Fuck. Amber just stood there, panting, a hand on her hip as Eric went in for a fucking fifth point. She might as well not even be there. Time to pull in more of her heavy-duty tactics. But before she could, Eric himself messed up. Just great. She could get the ball back, as long as he screwed up his own maneuvers.

She'd take up any opportunity, though. Amber grabbed the ball, dashed, jumped. Her ponytail had loosened from all the running and jumping, sweat ran down her face, but none of that mattered, because she felt fucking alive, driven by one glorious goal: to win. No more pretending, now, this was as good as she got, determined, fast, forceful. Eric getting in her grill without doing anything to actually stop her was annoying, but she'd still take advantage of his horniness. Feet pounding the smooth floor, Amber managed another shot, the ball whistling sweetly through the net. Score.

Catching the ball as it fell from the hoop, Amber hated to relinquish it again. Stupid rules. Not time to break them yet, though. Amber passed the ball back to Eric, running to block him. He was in his element, though, grinning, assured. He was sweating more than she was, stains spotting his shirt, but even so, lunging and throwing seemed to come effortlessly to him. Inside, Amber growled.

She managed to score another couple of points on the offense, reluctantly passing the ball back to Eric after each turn, so she wasn’t too far behind. The third time, though, about to lose the ball, she shot from far away; missed by a mile. Damn. Amber stopped for a second, hands on her knees, getting in air now. Damn it, she'd lost herself the chance to keep on scoring. If she was going to play like this, she might as well sit down on the outer edge and watch Eric as he slam-dunked consecutively. No. They were even and that'd be laughably easy to beat. Amber righted herself, ran again, the end of her ponytail whipping against the side of her head.

"Hey!" she cried out once she was within arm's reach of Eric. "Weren't we going to play for the skins?" He'd meant himself and the other guys, but whatever. Once she had his attention, Amber tore her tank top off. The distraction-- shock-- might just be enough for her to steal the ball back.

Ha, he'd called it. Amber's game improved by leaps and bounds as soon as Foreman showed he wasn't going to take it easy on her. Sure, he was bringing the level of his defense down to practically nothing, but he wasn't holding back on scoring. Taking a few more chances than he normally would when he had teammates to pass to, but that was the fun of one-on-one. He was the only hero on his team, and if that meant boasting with a few showy attempts from the center line, then that was what he'd do. As soon as he lost control of the ball, Amber grabbed it and dribbled for the net like she had the ball attached to her hand. None of that stumbling, clumsy push-bouncing she'd been doing before. Despite his race to get his position back, he missed stopping her from scoring.

With a smirk, he took the ball back. Now that Amber wasn't pretending, he shifted his own game into a higher gear. Spinning lightly on his feet, he danced around her, not playing games. No more stupid chances; he took clear shots from close in, layups when Amber wasn't close enough to block him--which she hardly ever was. She fell for his fakes nearly every time, one telegraphed move giving him all the time in the world to sprint the other way and make the basket. On defense, though, he wasn't interested in stopping her. The more he stayed with her, the closer she rubbed up against him, giving him the occasional hip-check. God, he wanted to wrap her up in a bear hug and bury his face against her throat, taste the sweat shining in the hollow of her collarbones. The longer they played, the hotter he got, and it wasn't just because he had to work a bit now to keep up with her. Any time he let his eyes wander down her body, she managed to twist around him and score. Wasn't very good for his pride, but he'd rather watch Amber extending to make her shots, muscles working in perfect unison, than worry about who was winning a damn game. Foreman bumped up against her a bit more, nothing hard enough for her to call a foul, but just to put her off-balance again, the way she had been at first.

After they'd traded points back and forth, Foreman worked Amber back from the net, until she had to throw the ball away or give it up. It didn't even hit the backboard, going out of bounds at the baseline. Foreman gathered in the rebound and sprinted for the foul line, ready to take another quick point and get back to the game. He ignored Amber's hey, since he'd gotten wise to her distractions, and sighted on the net, lifting his hands and bending, ready to spring with a sweet shot.

The sudden flash of skin caught his eye just as the ball left his hand. His shot hit the backboard and rebounded, and Foreman barely noticed. "Jesus, Amber--" She was gorgeous, and she knew it, and after spending most of the game fantasizing about getting her clothes off and really getting in close, the combination was hotter than it had any right to be. But, fuck, they weren't alone in the gym, and Foreman spun around to check the reaction of the players at the other courts to seeing Amber in those skin-tight pants and a sports bra, her smooth stomach and the dip of her spine curving under her waistband showed off to the entire world. The guys across from them had definitely noticed; they'd paused in their game to grin and stare. Foreman glared at them, clenching his jaw, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. It wasn't like Amber was naked, or even like she was showing so much as to be scandalous. It was only that Foreman wanted to be the only guy she showed off to, not every random gym jock who happened to be staring.

This morning in bed, she'd all but tried sending telepathic signals to him to make a move, to reaffirm that she hadn't lost her sexual appeal overnight. And now Eric was all over her, bumping into her from behind, hand-swats just missing the ball and brushing against her skin instead. Distracting as hell, and not because it was turning Amber on. She was too focused on not loosing to let her sex drive get started. Her attention was wholly focused on that leather sphere and Eric's next move: even their shadows in the bright halogen lights served as indications.

Eric ran for the ball after she’d missed and positioned himself, legs and arms ready to spring for what would certainly be another point. He didn't look her way at first and for a second Amber worried she'd blown her chance; but then he did glance her way and, oh, how lovely the sound of the ball smacking against the board was. Amber tossed the tank top without bothering to see how far away it'd landed and jogged a couple of steps back, catching the ball on the rebound. Her turn. Eric might be able to argue that it was his turn for the offense, but she could just as well argue that it was hers.

Amber wasn't deaf to the hoots as she bounded across the court; so she'd gathered an audience besides Eric. Pity she had a greater goal, otherwise it'd have been fun, playing up for the crowd, showing off skin just as much as skill. The air hitting most of her torso as she whooshed by felt good, cooling. And knowing she'd caused an impact gave her a boost, powering up her confidence and determination. She came up to the net, just to be sure Eric wouldn't block her shot, and gracefully jammed the ball in.

Amber scooped up the ball before hit the ground, dribbled once while glancing at Eric. He looked so pissed now, body tensed in ways it hadn't been since they'd started the game. Shoulders all hunched, elbows closer to his ribs. So he’d start to play angry.

He expected her to pass the ball. And now, by the rules, she definitely had to; there was no leeway for argument. Well, if she'd been shameless about scoring after he'd stolen the ball from her, no reason why to go back to having scruples. Amber casually tossed the basketball right back into the hoop, just about as close as when she'd scored the previous time. "Six to six," she declared cheerfully, catching the ball again. Halfway through. Now that she was cheating, Eric would get even more competitive; she could handle it. All she needed was five more and to make sure he didn't get any.

Foreman turned back to Amber, still glaring over his shoulder at the idiots ogling her. Instead of running, he marched over to her, ignoring the "point" she scored by blatantly cheating. If she thought he'd been crowding her before, it was nothing to how close he got now, getting right up against her. She still had the ball, and Foreman didn't try to grab it out of her hands. Yeah, he was pissed off that those jackasses were getting a free show, but he wasn't going to let that get in the way of the energy he'd been working up during the game. Until that moment, he'd been loving every minute of it. Seeing Amber's face, flushed with excitement, sweat making strands of hair cling to her forehead, and the rise and fall of her breasts as she panted, it got his blood pumping, but he actually could concentrate on his game even playing against someone so desirable.

"You think you can play me?" he asked, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. That was exactly what she thought, but as a matter of fact, no matter how hot Amber was, the truth of the matter was that Foreman had seen it before, and he'd see it again. "Go ahead," he taunted. "I'll even give you that point, if you think you need it." The one she'd taken by distracting him--that was fair enough. The one she'd stolen by usurping his turn, that was just sad, that she'd resort to that, and Foreman let her know it by lifting one eyebrow in disdainful amusement. She thought she could use sex, or his anger, or both--well, Foreman figured he could piss her off right back, by calling her tactics into question. And he wasn't going to hold back on his defense, either, if this was the way she was going to play it.

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