We're still at the hospital...

Tomorrow we get to go home. Foster is still feeling horrible. It's been a looong week. I sat down for literally three minutes to hear the doctor's final report and I fell asleep. We're both so tired. I have a feeling we'll be sleeping in for the next week or so. I know I will be. It's hard to sleep with him kicking and hitting me nonstop. Seriously, I sleep like four feet away from him and in no time at all he's right beside me, his limbs flailing aimlessly. I hope it isn't going to be this way forever. I hope he gets better really soon. I don't like seeing him this way. It hurts. A lot. And he's still a bit twisted in the head. He's started seeing things and hearing things. The nightmares are horrendous. He jolts awake in the wee hours of the morning breathing heavily, covered in sweat, screaming.

Now...a happier thought to make up for all my depressing talk...

I like how Foster looks in the moonlight that streams through the hospital window; all dark eyes and pale skin. I slide my hand down Foster's back, enjoying the texture under my fingers, enjoying the way he murmurs encouragingly then rolls over, offering his front for the same treatment. I stroke up his belly and chest, tickle over his collarbone and burry my fingers in his thick, smooth hair. The noise Foster makes as I pull his head back is delicious, so I decided to reward him by softly kissing his throat, then up along his jaw to claim his mouth.



Tomorrow we go home. Home...at last.


Gabriel.