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The Conference
by Mercaque
The hotel was a rather basic affair: rich reds and deep golds decorating the lobby, soft plump couches, and a high-ceilinged auditorium that, during the day, was the focal point of the medical conference. By evening, however, the center of the action was unquestionably the hotel's slickly decorated, black-and-chrome bar, upon which a horde of otherwise respectable medical professionals had descended. Doctors from all over the country crowded the tiny establishment, their drunken shouted conversations coalescing into one low constant roar.
One doctor, however, seemed determined to maintain his respectability amid the chaos. Eric Foreman hunched over a tall table in the back corner of the bar, a half-drunk glass of beer and a pile of notes in front of him, still trying to put the finishing touches on his speech. Syrinx interrupts the decussating spinothalamic fibers that mediate pain and temperature sensibility, resulting in the loss of...
"I still can't believe you're reading." Across the table, Chase was indulging that damned oral fixation again, twiddling a thin red cocktail straw between his lips. A bright smile lit his face, one Foreman normally would've classified as "cocky," but on this particular night he was happy to see his colleague in high spirits. Earlier this morning, he'd spent several hours listening to a jittery Chase rehearse his presentation, and he knew it was a massive relief for the Australian to have it over and done with.
Outwardly, however, Foreman barely looked up. "Easy for you to say. You already gave your talk."
"And yours isn't for another two days," Chase admonished him. "You should be having fun! Come on, you know what they say about these conferences."
"Meat market with a higher IQ," Foreman muttered automatically. "Yeah, I've heard that one."
"So come on." Chase nodded toward the bar. "What do you think of her?"
Pursing his lips in annoyance, Foreman nevertheless followed Chase's gaze across the room. "The green jacket?"
"Yeah."
The brunette in question was impossibly well-groomed, her tightly tailored green jacket hugging her waist and flaring out over a pert bottom. "Not bad. Seems a little high-maintenance." Foreman squinted. "Also, married."
Chase chuckled. "And the problem is?"
Foreman arched a disapproving brow and looked down at his notes again.
"Oh, lighten up!" Chase grabbed his hand recklessly, and to his surprise Foreman felt a tingle of goosebumps. He looked up, mouth slightly agape, and was further startled to realize he couldn't tell if the heavy-lidded cast of Chase's blue eyes was the result of too much scotch, or... something else.
"All right," Chase asked obliviously, "how about that one?"
Unnerved by the fact that that Chase's hand was still covering his, Foreman nonetheless looked at the South Asian doctor Chase had indicated. She was pretty, albeit in a sharp hawklike way, with deep olive skin and a curtain of black hair. He frowned mildly, realizing she reminded him of Sharon. "Not my type."
"Oh no?" Chase retracted his hand, seemingly oblivious that he'd even been making physical contact. "Then what is your type?"
Foreman narrowed his eyes. The impish, slightly sloppy smile that lifted the corners of Chase's mouth, as well as the languor of his steady gaze, suggested it was a loaded question. He glanced at his beer; seeing that he hadn't drunk nearly enough to seriously entertain the thought that Chase was flirting, Foreman admonished himself to get a grip. They were talking about girls, after all.
"I don't have one," he finally answered.
"Everybody has a type," Chase scoffed. "What about that one?"
"Her?" Foreman asked. Chase seemed to be looking at a petite redhead in a black dress, making lively chatter with a group of fellow doctors. "She's all right."
"No," he answered very slowly and deliberately. "Next to her."
Foreman tried, and failed, to keep his mouth from falling open in surprise. Next to the redhead was a tall, male doctor with wavy black hair, thick eyebrows and deep brown skin. He blinked rapidly, realizing that, no, Chase wasn't just asking him about girls, and that raised certain possibilities... To Foreman's severe consternation, a surge of heat tickled his groin.
"Well?" Chase tried, and failed, to clamp down on a triumphant smile.
"Yeah, he's all right," Foreman answered, and silently congratulated himself on how casual he kept his tone.
"Just all right?" Chase absently traced the straw along his bottom lip. "So, you think I should go talk to him?"
"What?" Foreman squawked before he could stop himself.
If Chase's earlier smile hadn't been cocky, the one he now flashed definitely was. "You don't mind, do you?"
"No." Foreman sounded crabbier than he would have liked. "Do whatever you want."
Chase hesitated for a long moment, looking as if he were on the verge of saying more. But he offered only a friendly "Good luck with your speech," before slipping out of his chair and disappearing into the raucous crowd at the bar.
Resulting in loss of these sensations, while astereognosis may be noted in the hands.... Foreman rolled his eyes and sighed, realizing his concentration was completely shot. He collected his notes and excused himself from the bar, pausing only once for a backwards glance.
********
A fourth glass of scotch had ensured Chase was too sloshed to do anything with Dr. Molina - he wasn't even positive Molina was the guy's name, but he didn't particularly care. The look on Foreman's face last night was well worth this entire conference, although receiving nothing but stony silence from him this morning significantly dampened Chase's glee.
And he was further disheartened when Foreman simply blew off the day's second lecture. Maybe he'd needled Foreman too sharply last night, although he'd only intended to test the waters. It was a total surprise, albeit a thrilling one, that Foreman had taken the bait so readily.
On the other hand, Chase reflected, it was possible that Foreman's absence meant nothing; somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded like House brought up the possibility of sheer narcissism...
Either way, that empty seat seemed to taunt him. So Chase excused himself from the lecture early, although he felt a bit foolish as he looked up and down the empty hallway. Foreman was probably in his room, for starters, and even if Chase found him he didn't know what he'd say.
Still, curiosity propelled him on an ambling search of the first floor. The bar, which had been bursting at the seams last night, was now desolate but for a few lonely souls nursing late-morning cocktails. To his immense relief, Foreman was not among them. The gym, the lobby, the mediocre chain restaurant attached to the hotel - all were similarly deserted.
Humid air blasted his face when he pushed open the clear, heavy doors to the pool area. Squinting through the steam, Chase saw a lone familiar figure reclining in the hot tub, a thick sheen glinting off of coffee-colored skin. His breath quickened slightly.
Chase's shoes squeaked on the wet tiles as he walked over to the hot tub, the embarrassingly dorky noise signalling his approach from several feet away. To his fascination, however, Foreman hardly moved. Even when Chase perched on the edge of the hot tub, his face remained a smooth still mask, his eyes closed.
It was too much, really, to ask that Chase's eyes not drift up and down his colleague's body, stopping to watch the hot water dance just below his dark nipples. Foreman had once confessed to being an overweight child; despite his cutting remarks at the time, Chase had to admire the thick sensuality of Foreman's bare chest - not quite muscular, but rather sturdy and supple.
Steam and sweat were beginning to plaster Chase's hair to his face, and the nervous excitement that sent blood rushing to his face only made him swelter more. But when he spoke, he managed a remarkably casual bluster. "You do realize you're skipping class."
"On vasculitis?" Foreman's eyes were still closed. "Please."
Chase idly dipped his fingers in the churning water. "I just didn't peg you as the type."
"Yeah, well." Foreman snorted. "When else am I gonna get this thing to myself?"
"Oh," he answered lamely. His blood suddenly ran a little colder; was that a dismissal? A great awkward chasm of silence stretched out between them while Chase grappled with his next words. "I, ah, hadn't realized you wanted privacy..."
But Foreman just shrugged. "You can get in if you want."
No, not a rejection, Chase realized with relief, although he still felt foolish in his now-smothering shirt, tie and slacks. "I didn't bring a suit," he confessed.
Foreman's eyes finally flicked open, absorbing Chase's appearance with a leisurely warmth. "That's too bad."
They trailed into silence, and again Chase felt the chasm widening between them. With a sudden clarity, he realized that this was probably the best opportunity he would ever get. Almost dizzy in his recklessness, he spat out the question before he could change his mind: "Do you want to go upstairs?"
Foreman's cool reserve suddenly faltered; his eyes shot up to meet Chase's. "What for?"
"I think you know." The prospect of having to spell it out was faintly horrifying.
There was no mockery in Foreman's tone, only a healthy dose of self-protection. "You're serious?"
His heart roaring in his chest, Chase answered simply, "Yes."
Again Foreman looked him over, the wheels turning in his mind. Finally, as if deciding Chase had passed some unspoken test, he nodded and got out of the water.
**********
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Foreman pushed Chase against the wall, delighting in the smile, a mixture of shame and ecstasy, that parted his lips. He swept down with a bruising kiss, and for a long moment nothing existed but the soft salty thrill of Chase's tongue, the feel of Chase's slender body in his arms, the sound of Chase sighing into his mouth...
...the chime of the elevator bell...
The two men flew apart as though suddenly on fire, as a trio of giggling teenaged girls boarded. Thankfully, they were too absorbed in discussing their swimming teammates' love lives to notice Chase's severely rumpled attire, or the fact that both men were trying very hard to catch their breath.
*******
Fingers shaking, arousal already throbbing between his legs, Chase jammed the key into his hotel room's lock. The door had barely closed behind them when Foreman captured him with another fierce kiss. A surprisingly lithe tongue explored Chase's mouth, while frantic hands tore at his clothing.
Hurling the key mindlessly in the general direction of the desk, Chase returned his full attention to his shirtless colleague. Foreman was still clad in only his swimming trunks, and his bare, cocoa-skinned chest was like an open invitation. Chase's fingers, even paler against the rich hue of Foreman's skin, greedily caressed his rippling back and square shoulders, stopping to flick a curious thumb at one dark nipple before closing his mouth over it.
Foreman moaned, and in a swift motion, pulled the shirt from Chase's shoulders and pressed him to the wall. His mouth found the tender skin at Chase's throat, kissing voraciously before trailing down to nip sharply at his collarbone. Chase yelped loudly as the pain flared and transmuted into a tart erotic bliss. He thrust his hips almost involuntarily, his cock straining against his pants.
In turn, Chase felt a thick demanding bulge pressing against him, and he trailed exploratory fingers along the smooth hot skin of Foreman's belly. Finding an elastic waistband, he and easily slipped the trunks off, revealing a massive erection. Chase's fingers closed eagerly around it, and Foreman gasped sharply.
"Come on," Chase panted. He broke their embrace and flung himself across the bed. As he stretched to open the nightstand drawer, he felt urgent fingers unlatching his belt, opening his fly, decisively stripping him naked. The sensation of Foreman's mouth trailing kisses along his inner thigh temporarily drove all rational thought from Chase's mind, but he managed to recollect himself and find what he was looking for inside the drawer.
Chase silently held up the condoms in one hand, the lubricant in the other, and Foreman stopped short. The dark flash in his eye suggested he was more than ready to grab them and fuck Chase senseless; still, he wouldn't be Eric Foreman if his characteristic skepticism didn't rear its head.
"You HAVE those?"
Chase laughed, slightly self-conscious. "Hey, it's the meat market, isn't it?"
Foreman's right eyebrow quirked in amused disbelief, but when he spoke his voice was low and serious. "You're sure?"
Chase nodded, hoping he wouldn't actually have to talk Foreman into this. He needn't have worried. The last thing Chase saw was an almost territorial fervor in his colleague's eyes before Foreman flipped him over. The condom was taken from his hand and quickly donned; and then with the decisive grace required of a doctor's hands, Foreman prepared him with the lubricant.
A tender hand trailed down Chase's back, and then a murmur came in his ear.
"You really okay with this?"
"Mmm hmmm," Chase answered into the pillow.
"All right."
Foreman planted a few more reassuring kisses at the back of his neck before drawing back. Two firm hands steadied Chase's hips, and then Foreman entered him.
"Oh--fucking God--!" Chase shrieked.
There was pain, and pain, and pain - as if Foreman would split him in half - and then just as sharply, a violent pleasure rocked through his body, firing through his muscles like a current of electricity. Foreman thrust slowly and tentatively at first; when Chase moaned his approval, he began to move faster and harder, his lips buried in the blond hair at the nape of Chase's neck.
"Rob..." he breathed, his voice a ragged grateful hiss.
His hands moved over Chase's body, dark fingers dancing across a pale belly, feeling blindly for Chase's rigid cock. At last Foreman closed a strong hand around it, his every stroke bringing Chase closer to losing himself entirely. He drove his hips back, as if to consume Foreman's entire length, and elicited a loud helpless moan.
Foreman himself was beginning to lose control, his breath reduced to frantic heavy gasps. His hand moved along Chase's cock with a similar urgency, and climax was so close it was nearly blinding. Foreman slammed into him wildly, coming with a possessive force that in turn drove Chase over the edge, consumed by a white-hot orgasm as if by fire.
When it was over they collapsed sideways in a tangled heap on the bed, gasping for air. Chase lay in a satisfied fog, pleasure having so numbed his legs he felt as if he could hardly move. After a few moments, Foreman kissed his shoulder affectionately, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and staggered off to the bathroom. Chase could hear water running, but it scarcely mattered. He just let his eyes flutter closed, savoring the aftershocks, still in a daze from what they had just done.
******
The remainder of the conference was, for Chase and Foreman, essentially a long sustained sexual encounter punctuated by the occasional lecture about medicine. Foreman gave his speech as planned, impressing his audience with his extreme relaxation as much as his actual knowledge of syringomyelia.
When they returned to work at Princeton-Plainsboro the following Monday, House was immediately waiting to fire questions at his long-absent employees.
"So, did you cover yourselves in glory with your scintillating presentations?" he asked bitingly. "Or just take the opportunity to kiss a lot of high-powered ass?"
"Something like that," Chase answered casually, and in the corner Foreman quietly snarfed his coffee.
-end-
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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