perspicacious (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} perspi) wrote,@ 2008-05-18 22:12:00 |
|
| Current mood: |  relaxed |
| Entry tags: | housefic-complete |
Fic: Plonk
Title: Plonk
Author: perspi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 308
Pairing: House/Foreman
Summary: "If I cut the wire for that note, will you knock it off and come back to bed?"
Relates to Episodes: Mentions of events in 'No Reason.'
Disclaimer: House MD was created by David Shore and not me. Me, I own nothing.
Notes: Written for queenzulu, who asked for sappy House/Foreman, and as an exercise in bifictionality. Also for the ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
100_situations challenge.
My prompt was: #24: String
Comments and concrit always welcome.
Plonk
Foreman didn't twitch when House got out of bed—middle-of-the-night forays occurred often enough that he barely roused anymore. He did twitch, however, when the piano started. A loud, piercing, single note, repeated over and over.
He huffed, then rolled over to stare at the ceiling, listening to the piano plonk. Plonk. Plonk. He narrowed his eyes in concentration—that plonking was familiar. Foreman groaned aloud when he realized he recognized it—the 'score' from Eyes Wide Shut. Last week House had made him sit through it, in its painful, horrific entirety, as payment on a bet. Someday he'd learn about betting against the man.
House was hunched over at the piano when Foreman finally got sick of the tuneless plonking and came to yell at him. "If I cut the wire for that note, will you knock it off and come back to bed?"
House...pouted. "You paused."
"What?" Foreman would have rolled his eyes but he didn't want to miss the sight of House in a full-on for-real snit.
The plonking continued. "Don't think I didn't notice. You had to psych yourself up to give me a blowjob."
"I didn't immediately peel off your jeans, which could mean I don't like giving blowjobs—"
"—Please, have you seen your mouth?"
"—so the alternative must be that I don't actually find you attractive. Despite all the evidence, despite every choice where I chose you. That...is fucked up."
House finally stopped playing, going still and silent. Foreman crossed the room, putting his hands on his hunched shoulders.
"I was looking at the bullet scar," he whispered in House's ear. "And thinking about keeping you from bleeding out." Foreman reached over House's shoulder and hit a key: one final plonk. "We need to do one thing very soon," he growled.
House smirked and followed him back to bed.
