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alanwolfmoon

Don't you know there aint no devil, just god when he's drunk.- Tom Waits

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Morning
heart
alanwolfmoon
Title: Morning
Pairing: House/Foreman
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Warnings: not much
Summary: House and Foreman waking up in the morning.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: written for zulu for house_stocking.

Foreman grunted a little, and rolled over, intending to burry his face in his bedfellow’s neck–not because he liked the man, of course not... he just... smelled good. But instead of a shoulder, he found something almost sticking up his nose. He opened his eyes, and glared at the feet that presented themselves to his blurry morning vision.

Foreman looked down the bed, to the head that was burried under the covers at the other end. He shook his head, and looked back at the feet. They were fine, as feet went, and they didn’t smell particularly bad. But it was the having them in his face that he had a problem with. He tilted his head a little, and pulled the left foot closer to him, running his finger up and down the sole, very lightly.

At first it got no reaction, then the toes twitched and the foot tried to pull out of his grip, but he held on. Then the whole leg jerked, and he found himself slumped against the headboard, his head smarting, vision spinning, and jaw aching feircely.

“House!”

The grumpy form under the covers didn’t respond, unless you counted the foot retreating to under the blankets responding. Foreman glared, and pulled the blanket off. House growled, and rolled over, “what the hell, Foreman?!”

“You kicked me in the face!”

“Why was your face near my foot!?”

“Because you’re upsidedown!”

“That’s no exscuse,” grouched House, yanking the covers out of Foreman’s hands, “go away and let me sleep.”

Foreman grabbed the blanket again, trying to pull them away from the older diagnostician, but House wouldn’t let go, and before he realized what was happening, the blanket had ripped, and his head had received a rather violent reintroduction to the headboard.

He groaned, and raised a hand, too stunned to really move. A hand pushed itself between his smarting head and the wooden board, checking for injuries. He found himself leaning forwards against the person the hand belonged to. They smelled good. He closed his eyes, and buried his face in House’s neck, as he started to regain his bearings, “House?”

“Hmm?”

“We should make sure I don’t have a concussion.”

“Shut up. You don’t get to be a neurologist until you can see straight.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You must have hit your head harder than I thought, you’re starting to state the obvious.”

Foreman snorted into House’s t-shirt, “why were you backwards?”

“Wanted to see what would happen. Have to admit, this was pretty entertaining.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Duh. Come on, should probably check your pupils.”

Foreman sat up, and patiently allowed House to check his pupil reactions–six times–before finally snatching the penlight away from the other man, “stop it.”

House chuckled, and turned on the beside light, “get up. Your pupils are fine, but you were pretty confused for a while. We should probably get some tests, maybe a CT, make sure your brain is only as damaged as it was when you went to bed.”

“Like I’m the one with brain damage...” muttered Foreman, putting on the shirt that House threw at him. 

  • 1
Funny! Thanks for sharing!

Looool! I could never have guessed I might love a House & Foreman fic! But I love this one!

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