alwaysright | October 25, 2007

October 25, 2007

Foreman stepped out of Cuddy's office, closing the door softly behind him, and paused for a moment to look down at the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. Even if Cuddy didn't let it be generally known that she was rescuing from his own fuck-up, House would know just looking at him, and from there it was only a matter of time before the entire hospital knew his business. It wasn't much of an auspicious start for controlling House. Foreman didn't believe for a minute Cuddy's words when she'd still been trying to suck up to him that he was the only one on the team who House respected. Whether it was true or not, Foreman had missed his window of opportunity to actually squeeze something worthwhile out of Cuddy, and he was stuck with unenviable task of reining House in when House definitely didn't want it.

Foreman had had a shitty summer. No job, no relationship after he'd broken up with Wendy. He'd taken the opportunity of some time off to write articles and work on his contacts--he'd even gone to a conference in August, combining it with some long-overdue vacation--but mostly he'd been hitting the pavement, looking for the perfect job. Mercy had been it. He'd only been there a month, and he'd already felt so goddamn confident. This was his in. His chance to make his mark on the field. And he'd had an amazing catch with his lymphoma patient. One glance at her lactic acid level and he'd immediately felt like he'd been struck by lightning. He was so damn sure he was as good as House, able to synthesize the answer from one lab result. And he'd been right--but that wasn't good enough.

The weather outside tonight seemed to echo his feelings. Long, grumbling rolls of thunder accompanied the downpour. Foreman pulled on his overcoat and got his umbrella. On Monday morning he'd be back here, shoved into House's insane little game for hiring a team that Cuddy had explained to him, and he wouldn't want to be here, nor would he be wanted. Until then all he had to do was stew over the situation. Any distraction would be more than welcome, but Foreman couldn't think of much to fill his time with. He headed for the doors, but he didn't walk out right away. He waited just inside the doors, staring out at the weather as if he hoped for some break in the storm. Probably about as likely as a change in his own luck.

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Foreman relaxed even further as Amber smoothed her fingers over his suit coat, rubbing the muscles in his shoulders gently through the fabric. Her smile was playful, lazily satisfied, and Foreman saw her gaze dart down to his lips before she met his eyes again. Hers were a deeper blue, now, and she was studying him with an intensity he nearly recognized. Part of it was desire--Foreman was certain he wasn't mistaking that, and he was feeling it more himself as time went on--but part of it was...speculation, too, as though she was calculating exactly what her next move would be, what his might be. Foreman was just as eager to find out. A few teasing touches--her fingers against his lip, his brushing over her palm--were only the start. Amber was close enough that Foreman could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. In fact, he could feel the heat of her body all the way down, even though they weren't quite pressed together. After the cool damp outside, Foreman could feel himself growing warmer. As Amber squeezed his shoulders, her hands moving above the collar of his dress-shirt to touch the bare skin of his neck, Foreman couldn't help but dip his head closer to her, encouraging the massage.

His eyes widened slightly at Amber's words. They were cheek to cheek, and he didn't know if she'd caught his expression, but she couldn't help but notice the way he'd instinctively tightened his fingers on her hips. Her voice lilted teasingly, but after everything she'd said so far tonight, Foreman had no doubt that she was serious. "I wouldn't," he murmured back. Everything she did, everything she said, only reinforced his feeling of complete satisfaction with himself. He tipped his chin back just enough to meet her eyes from under half-lowered eyelashes. "Right here? That waiter might interrupt. I wouldn't have time to do everything to you that I want," he said, the words barely more than a whisper, and as sincere as he could make them. He leaned in, hesitating the barest second before kissing her, his lips only a breath away from hers. His heart was definitely pounding now, and he drew her flush against him. They'd stopped moving, but Foreman swayed against her body lightly. He could feel the heat in his groin building, probably not enough for her to feel yet, but if they kept rocking against each other, exactly how interested he was would be harder to hide. "I think we both want this to last."

At that "wouldn't," Amber's heart skipped a beat. Rejection. She'd assumed too much and blown her chance. In that split-second she believed she'd messed it up, her mind supplied: it's okay, there are other people here, all of them dreaming of someone like you. You can make up for it. Though that was what ran through her head, she was still overheated with hurt and embarrassment.

But Eric's hold on hers hip clenched, as if he wanted to take her up on that offer. She flushed again, this time with arousal. She laughed, partially from relief but mostly because it was funny, when Eric mentioned the waiter interrupting them. "I'd make him regret it, if he did," she promised, ablaze again with confidence. She shouldn't have let herself be so disappointed with a mere rejection.

He tried to kiss her, and as much as she wanted to give in, Amber didn't allow for more than a simple brush of their lips. She wanted to draw this out; make him desperate. It was harder to resist rocking against him, molding herself against him and finding their perfect fit. For a few intoxicating moments Amber couldn't keep herself from indulging both him and her, growing wetter with each slide against Eric. There was building up excitement, and then there was pointless frustration. She was reaching the latter.

Amber pecked him on the cheek before pulling her body away, her hands gliding down from his shoulders to hold his hands. "Then we'll make it last. C'mon, there's a good bottle of wine waiting for us, let's drink and tell stories we never would sober."

That first kiss, as light and fleeting as it had been, didn't disappoint. Amber was just as careful as he was, not immediately diving in to something involved. Foreman let his hands slide lower, into the more dangerous territory between her hips and her ass. He didn't think it would break the mood. Amber was already pressing her hips forward in small, frustrating circles. Foreman's breathing speeded up, enough that she might notice, so he forced himself to keep his breaths as even as possible, and leaned closer to press his nose into her hair. If she had this kind of effect when they were only dancing together, he could imagine that she'd be able to drive him completely crazy once they'd reached the privacy of her apartment. Christ, it had been a long time. Months. And everything was different, sharper, more intense with another person. Usually, for a first time, Foreman liked to take his time, make sure they were both comfortable. He thought he might have already passed that point with Amber--she was too sure of herself; she'd probably like to take control and set the pace herself, and Foreman knew he wouldn't mind.

He nodded when Amber agreed with him, and he kept hold of her hand as they went back to the table, letting her go only when they sat down. This time, the waiter was much more prompt. Maybe Amber had been right to snap at him, after all. He uncorked the bottle for them and poured an inch into each of their glasses. Foreman tasted it and nodded. It was good, full-bodied, and he set his glass down again to let the waiter fill it. It probably wasn't the best idea to start telling stories--he hadn't had much for supper, and sharing a bottle of wine would be enough to make him feel content with the whole damn world. After the day he'd had, he was looking forward to it. "Most embarrassing moment in med school," he suggested, once the waiter was gone. He'd probably offer to tell his own, too, but the trade would probably be worth it. "Or should I leave that until after the wine?"

Amber let herself ponder as she sipped wine, the liquid going down warm and smooth. Eric was right, he should've left that question for later. Her worst moment in medical school was nearly failing biochem; one point less on that final and she'd have to the class. It still bothered her, years later, how close she came to flunking. She wasn't going to tell him about that.

"Knocked over a container of formaldehyde," Amber said. "And it wasn't like spilling a glass of milk, where you can say whoops and wipe it away without anyone noticing! We had to evacuate the lab and everything. The professor was pissed, but everyone else was glad because it meant we got to leave early. We all had a test the next day, we needed to study!" It was a true story, too. Though Amber had been horrified at the time, unlike with her near-failed class, this incident had become more amusing over the years, and she recounted the event with animation.

"What about you?" Amber normally couldn't care less about her one-night stands. She didn't need to know someone's sob stories to fuck them right. But Eric knew more about her than she did about him; they needed to regain balance. And she wanted to know about this man that could give her own self-confidence a run for its money. It wasn't everyday she met someone that could affect her this much. "What do you do?" She didn't want to guess the way he had, she'd rather learn more about him by hearing him describe his work. "Any big dreams?" From what she knew of him so far, he was aiming himself for the absolute best. She let herself fantasize for a moment of being by his side when he became a Dean of Medicine; she herself would already be one, of course. She grinned at the foolishness of her fantasy. Still, who said it couldn't come true? She extended her hand to the center of the table, wordlessly suggesting he cover it with his.

Foreman glanced at Amber's face, making sure that she was amused by her own story, before he allowed himself to laugh. "Sure it wasn't on purpose? Sounds like the perfect opportunity." He grinned to show he was teasing, before taking another drink of wine. He doubted she'd manufacture an accident that would benefit the whole class, so the story was probably genuine.

He had his own humiliating stories, but Amber moved on before he could pick one--a less damaging one--to tell. She couldn't know that her questions hit him right where he was most sensitive, especially tonight. "Neurology," he said. Everything before the last four months was more than worth boasting about, but if he talked about working for House, Amber would probably ask him more about it, or share her own horror stories--it was rare that anyone in the hospital escaped some sort of backlash from House, even if it was just a brief encounter. If she was in Radiology, then she'd have her day disrupted more than most, simply because House believed that when he needed imaging equipment, the rest of the hospital should be honoured to get in line behind him. "I want to do more research, more writing," he said. When he'd signed on at Mercy, Schaffer had hinted that there might be opportunities in the future to work on major trials. Even if the opportunity had vanished, it still counted as a dream. "I've published a few things. Actually induced hypothermic cardiac arrest in a nine-year-old to find a clot in her amygdala." If Amber tracked down the article--and Foreman was sure she could, and probably would--then she'd know he'd worked for House. But by then, either they'd have had their night and moved on, or else they'd know each other better, maybe enough that Foreman wouldn't mind telling her what he was really doing at Princeton-Plainsboro, supervising House and all his deluded fellowship candidates.

To distract himself, he took her hand again, slipping his fingers under hers and rubbing the back of her knuckles. He could feel the wine warming him. That, or Amber's closeness. Enough that he didn't mind being a bit more honest than he usually was on a first date--not that he ever lied, but it just made sense to show only his good side when making an impression. "I was having a hell of a night," he said. "Lucky you needed an umbrella."

His laughter made her feel closer to him, as if he were sharing in her exploits all these years later. Amber's grin widened. "Now that you mention it, maybe it was a Freudian 'slip.'"

Neurology, Eric said. A difficult field, one to be proud of. It certainly explained his confidence! He could feel like he was above not only people in general, but most doctors as well. But it was strange. Eric didn't seem pleased. His expression became clouded for the first time since she'd met him, and he stated his specialty quickly, like he wanted it to be over and done with so that they could move on to lighter subjects. Did he have a reason to feel bad about his work?

What he told her next contradicted that thought. If he was successfully carrying out unheard of procedures and following his dream of publishing, he should be beaming and regaling her with all the details. This simply wasn't adding up. Amber probed: "Neurology research? I bet you've got stories to tell! I can't believe anyone let you induce cardiac arrest in a nine-year-old!"

And it was a pity. Research didn't interest her so much, she wanted to be on the field, figuring things out no one else did. That's why she was working with House. Neurology didn't do her much good, either. Still. She was here for a fling, and if he ended up as nothing more to her than someone to get consults from, she still came out winning. And the worth of a night of fantastic, unforgettable sex was not a value to be scoffed at!

Amber interlaced her fingers with his, playing lightly. Her own night hadn't been so bad, before walking out; the peony lying near their hands was a reminder of her victory. But she had needed refueling after the mind games of House's contest, and this outing was invigorating her. Eric's words made her glow all the more. "I think the luck was all mine."

As quickly as he could, Foreman tried to dismiss the break in his mood. Tonight was about not thinking about work. About his problems. He shouldn't have been surprised that Amber would ask about the case. It was no wonder he'd had interest pretty much the moment he submitted it for peer review. Foreman felt a grin break through before he could stop it. Recently his luck hadn't been the best, but that case had been fantastic. "I couldn't even believe it when I saw it. We reperfused the circuit, and I saw it. The outline of the clot." He shook his head. He'd never believed it could work, and he'd barely been able to call out when the MRI had shown it--barely a blip, gone almost before it registered. Still, he didn't want to get into a huge discussion of it. He'd never be able to keep House's name out of it, then. A week of job-hunting had told him that the man's name alone was enough to put most people off. They'd look at Foreman with expressions ranging from distaste to outright wondering if he was crazy. Not the discussion he wanted to have. Especially not when Amber kept returning his volleys, her voice nearly husky as she flirted back.

Foreman quirked his eyebrows at her. He'd mostly finished his glass of wine. The conversation wasn't lagging, and if it weren't for his own stupid circumstances, he wouldn't mind trading stories all night. They could drain the bottle, play the get-to-know-you game, but he thought Amber hardly needed the pretense. Not when ten minutes ago on the dancefloor she'd told him the direction her thoughts were heading. "I think it's still raining," he said, letting his voice deepen suggestively. "Can I walk you to your car, Dr. Volakis?"

Eric spoke of the procedure with awe, and it wasn't because of himself, Amber thought. It was as if he knew spotting the clot had been a fluke. His amazement was at the medicine and science; he loved his job not just for the glory but also the intricacies of the human body.

Amber respected that. She understood the appeal of titles, but working a job because you wanted to, that was admirable. Eric went up in her esteem.

Amber had begun to float with the wine when Eric suggested they leave. She didn't want to go. They had almost a whole bottle left and she'd gotten only a glimpse of him and his contradictions. If she'd been teasing him on the dance floor, he was teasing her now, giving a taste of his personality and then fleeing before her curiosity was sated. She was looking forward to what they'd do, when they reached her place; her abdomen clenched with excitement at the thought of it. But there wouldn't be much conversation besides a few key phrases, and who said they'd ever talk after tonight?

She squeezed his hand. "We've still got all this wine, let's stay a bit longer. And I want to know more about you."

Foreman sighed when Amber turned down his suggestion, although he kept it discreet, and covered it by returning her squeeze. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in learning more about her, simply that he wasn't sure he was ready for her to know more about him yet. "Now that's just mean," he said. "I didn't know 'on the dancefloor' was my only choice." He shook his head and grinned, drawing back just long enough to fill his glass and to top hers up as well, before he skimmed his fingertips over her hand again. "What did you want to know? Family, schools? Old girlfriends?" He thought he could handle most questions along those lines, as long as she didn't probe too deeply. He was opening himself up for more interrogation later and he knew it, and it made him just slightly uncomfortable. He could feel himself falling back into his usual stories for a first date--not the whole truth, and brief enough in some areas to discourage Amber from asking more. He wouldn't talk about Marcus, and some relationships he'd mention without details. He wasn't interested in revisiting the closed chapters of his life, or letting anyone know about the life he'd led before he'd gotten his head screwed on straight in his sophomore year in high school.

"Since I'm doing so well at guessing, I'm going to say you are an only child," he said, lifting an eyebrow as he considered her. He wouldn't ask for an itemized list of every man she'd ever dated, although she might take the hint since he'd suggested the topic, but he was beginning to wonder where he fit in. Foreman didn't think he counted as a simple pick-up, if she wanted to talk with him longer. But he also couldn't quite believe that Amber wanted something committed and monogamous from him. Casual would be fine, if that's what she was aiming for; if at least one area of Foreman's life was working out, he could stand a lot of humiliation from House without letting it affect him.

Amber didn't miss Eric's sigh. Why was he so reluctant to talk? There was a trend here, with him stating his specialty so briefly and him suggesting they leave before the conversation got too deep. Was something bothering him?

She almost laughed when Eric overfilled their glasses. Maybe he was just rushing out of horniness! Very flattering. She herself was feeling that pressure: she was still wet from their dancing and she was showing no signs of getting any dryer. She drank more wine, more light-headed than ever.

She wrinkled her nose at his suggested conversation topics. "Oh, god no, I don't want to talk about your old girlfriends. Or about your schools, my family, or our favorite colors. This isn't a job interview, Eric." She raised his hand and held it to her face so that his palm and fingers cupped her face. So warm. "We're here to have fun, right? Tell me something good that's happened to you recently. Besides having an umbrella in the right place and time."

Amber lifted his hand to her face, and for a moment that was what Foreman concentrated on--that, and the way she'd said his name. So much more intimate than usual. But at the same time, he could hear the echo in his mind, the way she'd said job interview. He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone and then let his hand drop, staring into his wine glass, at the burgundy glints of light reflected from the lamps onto the table. God, he'd had such a shitty week, and he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to have to present himself to one more person as having taken on House's brilliance without letting House's rogue doctor unpredictability touch him. For three years he'd had the run of the hospital; every no was a yes because House was so goddamn brilliant and could get around Cuddy no matter how much protocol she tried to tie him up with. How was he supposed to forget that and practice medicine like a mortal again? He'd taken one fucking chance, and he'd been right, and the whole world, all his ambitions, had been ripped away like a carpet yanked out from under his feet. He shook his head. Being honest with Amber would probably drive her off. Ruin the one good thing that had happened recently. But Foreman didn't see any way around it, not if she was going to keep pushing in the same direction. He almost wanted to be standoffish, to ask her to just let him alone, but that would break off all the good feelings that had been growing between them tonight. Maybe it shouldn't matter. One quick fling more or less didn't really matter. He was stuck in this city, with this job, whether he wanted to be or not. A night with Amber could be good, even amazing, but it wouldn't fix anything. He'd been stupid to think he could forget about his life by going out with her, especially when she worked at the hospital.

"The crappy night I was having?" he said, mostly to the table. "It was more like a crappy week." He looked up at her, shaking his head. Christ, he felt like an idiot for feeling so damn sorry for himself, and in front of Amber. He wouldn't be surprised if she accused him of breaking the mood and telling him thanks but no thanks, a drink was all she'd ever really wanted. Teasing about rewards and doing him on the dancefloor wouldn't mean much if he was going to dump his emotional crap on her after they'd only known each other a few hours. "Not much good has happened recently. I just got stuck with--" He still didn't want to mention House. As if Foreman couldn't stand up to a supervisor, or do whatever job he had with any grace. "A job I'm not looking forward to. And I don't have the opportunities I'd like to get out of it."

Foreman looked away from her, towards the door, half-plotting his escape. He should probably get up and leave; at least then she wouldn't have the opportunity to pity him or let him down gently. "Sorry," he said. "Not what you wanted to hear, I know."

Amber listened with concentrated attention. She understood now. There were no contradictions here, Eric was simply embarrassed by his own fall in luck. She wondered what the job he'd taken on, and why. Was it because of an administrative shuffling at Princeton-Plainsboro? Judging from the extent of his ambition and confidence today, she imagined that any kind of step down would be a blow to him. Perhaps he was taking this new, unwanted job harder than most would.

When his hand fell away, she felt a coolness on her cheek at once. She wasn't going to stand for that. Amber took his hand again, gently, and held it to her mouth. She pressed her lips to the center of his palm, holding it there for one heartbeat, one. She slowly went down, butterfly-kissing her way to his wrist. "I'm-- also going through a rough time. I have a job right now, but I have no idea how long it'll last, I could get fired tomorrow! It's actually, it's fun, and I'm doing things I dreamed of-- but I need tonight, too." She kissed his wrist again.

The last thing Foreman wanted or needed was reassurance. He knew he was good, that he was worthy of every chance he'd had at Mercy and all through his career. This was a problem, a set-back, but he wasn't going to let it define him or his life. He'd find a way to make the most of it. Too often, though, the women he'd dated had been too sympathetic, too cloying in their attempts to comfort him. Foreman didn't want to hear that from Amber. He hadn't wanted to talk about it at all with her. He could tell from her attitude that she didn't accept no for an answer, didn't let anything stop her, and he didn't want to seem as weak as that in her eyes. He'd hung on for three years with House on the determination to learn as much as he could and then get out. He had a hell of a lot of strength, and he didn't need anyone else to tell him so.

Amber took his hand, and Foreman let out a breath, relaxing despite himself. She didn't dwell on what he'd said, or press for more details. He really would have told her he wasn't willing to go into it if she had. He could feel her breath against his palm, and the soft touch of her lips. She kissed his pulse point, and Foreman wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating. Even the lightest breath revived the excitement from the dancefloor. What she said--Foreman was less sure of how he felt about that. He knew it had been chance that brought them together, but he guessed from what she said that if she hadn't picked him up, then it would have been someone else. Nothing really special or remarkable about him other than the fact that he'd been there when she was looking. Still, had he felt any different? He'd taken advantage of Amber coming on to him to forget his own problems. He'd wanted to use her as an escape, a distraction. He had no right to be bitter simply because she saw him the same way. Foreman cupped Amber's cheek again, feeling the smooth curve, feeling warmer this time, less like pulling away. "I'm pretty sure I can help you relax," he said. It was a terrible line, but he was confident they'd be good together, the more they exchanged these small touches, getting bolder with each one. A single kiss while they'd been dancing was only enough to sharpen his desire.

From her years as a doctor, Amber learned how to count a pulse with the lightest of touches. Quickly, too. So Eric's rapid heartbeat didn't escape her attention, nor the way it sped up up as she laid her kisses against his wrist. She couldn't help but smile; she loved the effect she was having on him.

Now that her curiosity about Eric had been sated, she felt no more need to stay here and chat. She was ready to move on. "You know what, forget the wine, let's take this to my place." She kissed the bump on his hand formed by his first metacarpal, letting her teeth graze against his skin for a second. Not hard, just enough for him to feel it. That should give him an idea of the "relaxation" in store for him.

Even as her own heartbeat quickened with the thought of what was to come, the back of Amber's mind was already tackling practical matters. She looked for their waiter, certain that just one look from her would bring him running to their table. "We'll split the bill-- and don't try to argue! If you want to be a gentleman, save it for bed."

Foreman was almost ready to laugh at Amber's quick change, her sudden desire to get out and go back to her place, but before he could, he caught his breath instead at the slight scrape of her teeth. He was getting more interested with every second that passed. They weren't talking about his job anymore, and Amber was still kissing his hand. The coy look in her eyes and the sight of her lips against his skin were inspiring, to say the least. Foreman fought off the image of her kissing her way down his stomach the same way, keeping eye contact while she gauged exactly what effect she was having on him. Getting damn pleased about it, too.

"You want me to be a gentleman in bed?" Foreman asked, teasing her with a disbelieving eyebrow. The way she'd dragged her teeth against his skin suggested otherwise. "That's not nearly as interesting as I was planning." When the waiter showed up, Foreman pulled his hand away from Amber and brusquely asked for the bill, not wanting to make the contact he and Amber had been enjoying anything like the man's business. The waiter had apparently anticipated the request, because he dropped the cheque on the table and left quickly. Foreman pulled his wallet out of the inner pocket of his suit coat, and left enough for his half of the wine and a very minimal tip.

Foreman stood up and put on his jacket, before pulling hers off the same coat tree and holding it for her. Another chance to get close to her, to touch her. He was getting far too involved for a simple evening, but he was almost beginning to think there might be more here than he'd first imagined.

Amber lit up to see how Eric's eyes narrowed as she lightly bit him. Good, he'd be in for something more than vanilla. She could play with him... and he with her. They could be rough. Her mind flashed with the image of them naked and slicked with sweat, up against a wall. She wouldn't even be touching the ground, her back against the rigid surface and her legs and arms wrapped around him, as he fucked her. Fucked her hard as he could, without mercy. From the strength she'd noticed in his shoulders, she knew he could.

They needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

"I said if you want to be a gentleman," Amber said. "But if you want to score big with me, well, don't." She made a show of grinning and biting her lower lip, both to emphasize her point and to make clear that the last thing he should do was treat her like a dainty flower. Though from his own hints, she wasn't worried he would.

Amber was disappointed when Foreman pulled his hand from her face yet again. She knew it wasn't because of herself or her words; it couldn't be, not from the way he'd been growing more and more coiled with the sexual tension he couldn't properly release here. It had to be because of the waiter, and that was a pity. Amber wanted to be seen, by any and everyone, with this gorgeous man; she wanted her happiness and pleasure to be witnessed by all, even by this surly waiter.

Amber paid for her half of the wine and no tip. The waiter's work had been satisfactory once she'd made it clear she wouldn't accept shoddy service, but if he wanted his tip, he should've treated her right from the very beginning. He should be glad she wasn't going to report him to the management!

She picked her peony and let Eric help her slip on her coat. They touched lightly as she slid her arm through one sleeve and then the other; once she was dressed, she leaned her back against his chest and turned her head towards his, her lips parted slightly.

Foreman returned Amber's smile, focusing for a moment on the press of her teeth against her lower lip. Jesus, he was going to embarrass himself like a teenager if they kept this up. Foreman was almost glad that he'd have the drive to her place, on his own, to cool down and get his control back. Not that he'd need it once they were inside her apartment door. This whole evening had been foreplay, and Foreman was ready to get to the main event.

Once he'd helped her slip her arms into her coat, he drew his hands down her sides to her hips, as if they were dancing again, this time with her back pressed to his chest. He resisted the urge to pull her ass against him--but Christ, she was the perfect height for it, and Foreman couldn't help squeezing tighter as she turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder. Her mouth looked so damn inviting. Foreman barely thought before leaning in to kiss her. He wasn't about to let her pull away too fast this time. On the dancefloor, the first kiss, she'd ended it after barely a breath. This time Foreman pressed his lips against hers firmly, letting his tongue flick out to trace her mouth, tasting her lipstick, inviting her to let him in. He'd forgotten the waiter and anyone else who might be watching. All the night's anticipation felt concentrated in the kiss, until that was all he could think about, his body filling with smug pleasure. Foreman slid his hand around to Amber's stomach, pressing her back against him gently.

Amber leaned into Eric, her shoulders rising and her back curving against his front. It was like being wrapped in him, both physically and in her senses. He was all around her and she could smell only his light scent of aftershave; see only his dark eyes and round cheeks; taste only his lips and mouth. Without realizing it, Amber let her hips follow Eric's indication, her ass molding against him.

She would've smirked to feel his burgeoning hardness, but she was too busy gasping lightly, opening her mouth further to take in his tongue. And it wasn't as if she were in a position of superiority, her own underwear slippery with wetness. She closed her eyes, overcome with sensation.

Amber vaguely wondered why Eric was now willing to make out with her in front of everyone, when before he'd been shy about it. Had he forgotten they were still in public? Amber hadn't. She imagined who might be watching them, jealous and turned on by their joint hotness. She moaned and kissed all the more fiercely.

Foreman hummed in satisfaction when Amber kissed him back. He wanted to take his time, explore her mouth, but she was already kissing him harder than he'd expected. Foreman tightened his arms around her, unable to resist, even though the angle was awkward. He could practically feel the eyes on them, whether anyone was actually watching or not, but he'd started this, and he was hardly going to back down. He'd rather do this where they had more privacy and more time--where he could let his palm, spread flat over Amber's stomach, slide down between her legs and find out if she was reacting anything like he was.

Not here, though. Foreman heard Amber's moan, and damn, he wanted to hear it more--pull sounds and reactions out of her, see just how wild he could drive her. He was sure she'd be more than satisfied, and the ideas of what he'd do, how he'd make her writhe for him, filled his mind. Foreman had to stop this before they really were fulfilling Amber's promise to have sex on the dancefloor. He dragged his mouth away from hers and kissed his way up her neck, bringing up one hand to brush her hair back from her throat. Sucking lightly towards her ear, catching her earlobe in his teeth, to show he was more than fine with returning the nip she'd given him earlier. "We should go," he whispered, before stepping back. He closed his overcoat--Amber would probably laugh at him, knowing why. He took his umbrella and started for the door slowly, waiting to walk with her. He'd need to follow her once they were on the road, and he was too eager to wait any longer than necessary.

The kisses along her neck were nice, but it was when he lightly bit her earlobe that she shuddered with pleasure. She curved towards that touch in a physical invitation for more, and was frustrated with his simple reminder that they had to go. She couldn't argue the point, though. Public displays of horniness were grand and all, but they were limited here; they couldn't strip and try out the pornographic acrobatics she had flashing through her mind.

Amber was reminded that Eric could get away with even less than she could when he hastily covered himself up. She didn't hold back a laugh, her cheeks dimpling. It was funny and, more importantly, she loved how much it said about the effect she was having on him. He didn't seem angry or embarrassed, though: the word "smoldering" came to mind, probably thanks to all those romance novels she devoured as a teen.

She grabbed her own umbrella and tucked it into her coat's pocket. "I want you next to me." With her peony-less hand, she slipped an arm around his waist. Even above his many layers of clothes, she could feel the solidness of his frame. Oh, she couldn't wait to see all of him the bared. She pulled him in closer; maybe she could make him have even more to hide before they reached their respective cars.

"You think that's funny?" Foreman said, unable to hold back his own grin even though he'd tried to make his words sound indignant. In a lot of circumstances he'd be embarrassed, defensive, but Amber's uninhibited laughter, even at his expense, made it seem only natural. "You don't make it easy on a guy." He let Amber curl herself against him, wrapping his arm around her in return, before heading for the doors and stepping outside. The air was chill, but the feeling of Amber pressed up against his side made up for it. The mist of their breaths mingled above their heads as Foreman opened his umbrella and lifted it over them as they crossed the parking lot.

He recognized Amber's car and headed for it. Now that they didn't have anyone watching--the parking lot was mostly dark except for a few streetlights and the reflection of the sign above the Blue Velvet--Foreman waited until they got close and then made his move. He pressed Amber against her car and settled in front of her, letting her feel a hint of his weight pushing her back, and leaned in to steal another kiss, keeping the umbrella above them. It was shorter than the last, but hungrier; she had a way of working him up. Foreman only pulled back when he knew he'd rather not get too wet and cold before getting to her place. "I hope you live nearby," he said.

Water from her car's metal and glass seeped through her coat. Though uncomfortable, it provided an interesting contrast to Eric's warm body. She pushed up against him, kissing him again, pressing his bottom lip gently between her teeth. He was so willing here, so open, and for a moment Amber considered taking his hand and running it suggestively over her thigh. Maybe he'd take the hint and find his way between her legs, it wouldn't take much, just a few strategic strokes--

But making out in cold rain wasn't that much fun. She straightened her back, regaining her balance by holding on to his arm. "Not near enough, but it'll do." She gave him the directions to her home, being as precise as possible: how many traffic lights, which turns when, and what streets take.

She pressed a finger to his mouth, like she had the first time they had separated. They'd done so much more since then, but it felt right, parting with the echo of their first 'promise.' "See you soon, Dr. Eric Foreman." She half-smiled in an alluring smirk. He looked especially handsome in the dark ambiguity of the night, the lamp posts throwing curves of light over his face.

She drove faster home than on her way to the bar. Drinking always made her go faster anyway, and now she also wanted to get there before him, to prepare. She parked on the street so that Eric could see her car and know she lived here. She made sure there was a space for his car-- if there hadn't been, she'd have called and complained to her neighbors. It was amazing how a few numbers and determination easily fixed conflicts like these. There were plenty of places, though, so Amber got out and hurried up the steps to the building.

She quickly lit all the lamps in her apartment for a cozier feel than the overhead lights. She slipped in a "Best of Jazz" CD she saved for occasions like these, and shed her jacket. She made a trip to the bathroom to relieve herself and touch up her makeup. Reapplying her lipstick, she pondered stripping herself entirely, just to see Eric's expression. She grinned at the thought. His jaw would fall straight to the floor! But, no, she wanted him to undress her. She wanted more than a quickie. As she brushed her hair, she imagined just how they might spend the rest of the night.

Foreman was willing to get wrapped up in the kiss again, but the rain pelting the back of his head was more of a distraction than it was worth, so he nodded when Amber gave him directions. He'd felt the wine when he'd been sitting with Amber inside, the warm glow spreading from his stomach and making it seem like the world was in his corner. Didn't matter what mistakes he'd made at work, didn't matter that his personal fortunes had been shot to hell, because he was warm and content and flirting with an attractive woman. Coming outside didn't diminish that feeling, but the cold made him feel more awake and alert. Probably better for driving. This time when Amber touched his lips, Foreman kissed her fingertips completely deliberately, and grinned at her before making his way to his own car.

He climbed in, checking in his rear-view mirror to see Amber's brakelights come on, and then started the engine. He shook his head at himself, half-amused and half-astonished that all of this was happening so fast. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. If Amber hadn't so clearly wanted him tonight, he'd probably be at home brooding. This was a hundred times better than that, and he was glad of it, but that didn't mean it was the best idea. Even though they worked in different departments, if nothing came of tonight it would be awkward seeing her in the hospital hallways. Still, Foreman could handle that, he was a professional, and he was sure that Amber could, too. Anyway, there was no point in borrowing trouble. Right now he'd rather follow her as closely as he could, and make tonight memorable, no matter what happened after.

Amber beat a red light that Foreman had to stop for, but he remembered her directions well enough. He drove a bit more slowly than he normally would, so that he wouldn't barge in on her in case she was making preparations. Foreman smirked to himself again, picturing exactly what those preparations might involve. He'd calmed down enough to want to savour the evening. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Amber's address, parking behind her car. He climbed up the steps, seeing the warm glow of lamps from the windows to the left of the main door. He drew himself up and pressed the buzzer, feeling nearly high on his own confidence and on every promise Amber had made so far.

Amber gave her hair a few last strokes before putting the brush down and checking herself in the mirror. She'd gone light on makeup since they'd be getting hot and heavy soon and too much face-painting could lead to unfortunate results. Rubbing off mascara onto his skin might prove hilarious, but it wasn't the effect she was aiming for.

Anyway, she looked fabulous. Hands on her hips, Amber admired herself from several angles. She not only looked gorgeous, she felt it. She was about to sleep with the first man of her picking, just like that! All she'd had to do was be herself. She was good, yes she was.

She dabbed perfume behind her ears, nothing much, just a hint of it. Anything else she should do before he got here? Drinks she could offer him when he arrived, though she'd had enough dallying, she wanted to reach the main course already. She'd made her bed that morning and nothing needed neatening. Everything they might need for sex was in the bedstand, easy to get. The toys were stored in the closet, but if their chemistry on the dancefloor was any indication, they wouldn't need aids to have mind-blowing sex. That was it, then.

Or not. She needed to make sure she woke up early tomorrow. Wrinkling her nose, Amber set her alarm clock for six-thirty. No matter what happened, she couldn't be late. House could axe her on the spot if she were. Though, she sighed, he might also fire her for being on time.

She was saved from dwlling on House's whims when the buzzer rang. She strode back to her living room and picked up the interphone by her front door. "Hey sexy." She rang him in.

Foreman dropped his gaze to his feet, smirking to himself at Amber's greeting. If it was just for show, he'd probably find it trite or corny, but she said it with the same casual honesty that she'd used all night. Damn, she was good. Made him feel exactly as sexy as she said--not that he usually had many doubts on that score. Foreman pushed the door open and let it shut behind him, walking the few feet to her front door. He tried the handle, although usually he'd knock first. Manners before assumptions. In this case, though, after the rest of the evening, it seemed redundant. "Hey yourself," he said warmly, dragging his gaze over her, admiring everything he saw. Returning the compliment in a glance. She looked amazing, and more than just her appearance, it was the flush on her cheeks, and the provocative interest in her eyes. Made him want to pick up exactly where they'd left off in the restaurant, and then the parking lot.

First things first. Foreman slipped his coat off his shoulders and hung it on a coat stand just inside the door. The living room looked warm, homey, and Foreman was impressed by that, too--even if Amber was keeping up a doctor's ridiculous hours at the hospital, she still had time to actually live in her apartment. It was comfortable, and had a clear sense of her personality. No-nonsense but undeniably alluring. Foreman raised his eyebrows at her, then, and waited to see what Amber would do next. Play the hostess or simply pull him to the bedroom. Foreman wanted her to feel comfortable and in control, not that he had any worries that she'd let this happen any other way; mostly, he was curious, and hoping she felt like he did, that the preliminaries had already been more than adequately addressed.

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