Lol postwhoring
May. 7th, 2008 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Untitled (With Perfection)
Summary: It's a perfect damn morning.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 281
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, swearing, improbable circumstances
Pairing: House/Foreman
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
queenzulu's challenge, cause her ship needs more love, y'all. And really, I know she wasn't trying to give it a title, but it works so damn well I had to steal it.
House sits sullenly by the window, looking out into the entirely too cheery day. The sun is shining. Birds are singing. There are children catching butterflies, for Christ's sake. He rather thinks he's been set up.
Foreman, despite all odds, is still asleep- that lucky bastard. Not only that, but he's sprawled all over his- House's- their bed, so House couldn't even crawl back in if he wanted. Which he does want to, rather badly. He's not going to, though, because he's made up his mind, and there are more important things to worry about than the four more hours of sleep he's going to keep needing every night if Foreman keeps insisting on doing that thing with his tongue (House very much hopes he will).
He pulls the ring box out of his pocket, toying with the little clasp on the front. It springs open in an obnoxiously enthusiastic way, as if it just can't fucking wait one more second. The light from outside glints off the wide gold band, sparkling for everything it's worth, and House wonders exactly when the fuck his bedroom was taken over by a DeBeers commercial.
He looks out the window again, where the children have- I shit you not- started dancing around in a circle, holding hands. Looks out the window and back to Foreman, spread-eagled on his bed, looking more adorable than he really has a right to (and House throws up in his mouth a little even thinking it). It's the perfect moment.
House picks up his cane and hobbles to the kitchen for some orange juice. He obviously can't propose now. If it was perfect, after all, it wouldn't be them.
Summary: It's a perfect damn morning.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 281
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, swearing, improbable circumstances
Pairing: House/Foreman
A/N: For
queenzulu's challenge, cause her ship needs more love, y'all. And really, I know she wasn't trying to give it a title, but it works so damn well I had to steal it.House sits sullenly by the window, looking out into the entirely too cheery day. The sun is shining. Birds are singing. There are children catching butterflies, for Christ's sake. He rather thinks he's been set up.
Foreman, despite all odds, is still asleep- that lucky bastard. Not only that, but he's sprawled all over his- House's- their bed, so House couldn't even crawl back in if he wanted. Which he does want to, rather badly. He's not going to, though, because he's made up his mind, and there are more important things to worry about than the four more hours of sleep he's going to keep needing every night if Foreman keeps insisting on doing that thing with his tongue (House very much hopes he will).
He pulls the ring box out of his pocket, toying with the little clasp on the front. It springs open in an obnoxiously enthusiastic way, as if it just can't fucking wait one more second. The light from outside glints off the wide gold band, sparkling for everything it's worth, and House wonders exactly when the fuck his bedroom was taken over by a DeBeers commercial.
He looks out the window again, where the children have- I shit you not- started dancing around in a circle, holding hands. Looks out the window and back to Foreman, spread-eagled on his bed, looking more adorable than he really has a right to (and House throws up in his mouth a little even thinking it). It's the perfect moment.
House picks up his cane and hobbles to the kitchen for some orange juice. He obviously can't propose now. If it was perfect, after all, it wouldn't be them.
