Serenading him

"Shhh, just close your eyes." I whispered to a now half-awake/half-dead Foster. I had resorted to curling up in a nearby chair. Because after awhile on the hospital bed Foster started kicking me in places I didn't particularly like to be kicked.

He moaned, "M'sleepy."

"How's about I serenade you?"

Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to face me, eyes on the instrument I held dear in my lap, "I didn't know you played." He shut his eyes peacefully. 

"What'd you want me to play?" I asked, leaning forward to see if he was still in a state to answer.

He opened his eyes and smiled slightly. "I dunno, somethin' soft." His face looked so calm and welcoming in the dark room, with the light only slightly gracing his wonderful features.

I sank back into the chair, pondering whether or not to play something I had written (original) or something more familiar (BOR-ing). "I know just the thing." I said resolutely, resting my chin on the violin. I began playing very, very softly. 

Foster lifted his head to rest on his elbow, "I've heard this before." He said as though he couldn't quite put his finger on when or where. 

I immediately ceased playing and the violin fell clumsily into my lap. The floor had suddenly gained my full attention. 

I seemed to be lost in deep thought before I whispered shyly, "I practice when you're sleeping." Closing my eyes, only faintly recalling the memories of him lying on the bed, the moonlight settling on his pale skin, me sitting serenely in the windowsill, gazing at the galaxies beyond while my arm held the bow loosely, moving slowly and calmly over the violin.

"Well, it's beautiful." He said, dropping his head into the pillows. "Can you...can you keep..." He interrupted himself with a yawn...TWICE.

"Anything for you my love!" I said dramatically (mocking several playwrights in the process). I began playing for him once more.

The soft sounds escaped the instrument as the strings collided in perfect harmony. I couldn't recall having ever been taught how to play. It just sort of came naturally. The way my fingers moved along the strings almost involuntary. I could easily lose myself in thought. And I did. My thoughts solely directed on the man before me. He looks so fragile. I thought looking at him lying there, his expression one of undeniable happiness. I directed my eyes to the stitches that crossed his injured forehead. Why would anyone do that to him? He's innocent, weak...fragile. His entire posture reads Caution Handle With Care. The way he lays like that, open to whatever torment some twisted pervert might wish to inflict upon him. I stopped, realizing I had been looping the song. I couldn't handle the thought of some sicko doing that to him. To MY Foster. Even considering it overwhelmed me.

I carefully perched the instrument on the edge of the counter. Making my way to the bed quietly. I let out the breath I had been holding and laid down slowly on the bed. A sigh of relief escaping me.

"Dexter?" He whispered shakily. 

"I'm here." I replied, trying to steady my voice. I wonder how long it'll take...How long until he heals...

He leaned back, pressing our bodies together. "I thought it was Gabriel."

I told you he hates me. Gabriel growled internally.

He doesn't hate you. He just knows what we like...and you don't like this sort of stuff. Dexter replied trying to sooth and failing.

That's not why and you know it! Gabriel fumed. They both fought desperately for control. 

Realizing Foster had been staring at him Gabriel impersonated Dexter, looking guilty and blushing considerably.

Foster stares at him for a long moment, knowing he has to be careful with his words. Gabriel can be touchy, especially in situations that could be construed as rejection. "It's cute when Dexter does stuff like that…" he manages finally, then decides against the next line: when you do it, it's… kinda creepy. "You don't like being called cute," it's a good substitution, Foster feels a slight swell of pride at his own quick thinking. Gabriel's still frowning, so Foster continues, "And anyway, I love you for being you, and Dexter for being Dexter. Don't go changing on me just because you think it's what I want, I want you to be you."

"You mean it?"

Foster kisses him again in reply, a rough, hungry, demanding kiss. When he pulls away again Gabriel looks dazed, his mouth kiss swollen and sore. The other man squeaks with surprise as Foster bit at his jaw line. "Yeah I mean it," the nurses whispers, "of course, if you want to do the whole wanton hussy thing, I can live with that too…"