Aug. 15th, 2006

not_that_spike: (for Beth only)
"Hey, Slim. You sit right here." All the available pillows are fluffed up and leaning against the wall at the head of the bed like some benign and comfortable throne. That big body pillow is just lying the long way, though, ready and waiting, in case she decides she wants a back rub. But right now, he's ready to make good on a promise from way back when they first found out she was pregnant, before the shock over it had even worn off: he promised when she was as big as a house and couldn't see to tie her shoes, he'd rub her feet. Since it seems like all the conditions have been met, he figures no time like the present.

It's good: his leg isn't bothering him so much, and he can tell his ribs are probably... oh, about 75% and he knows it's that last 10% that takes the longest of all, but still, it's a fuck of a lot better than when they weren't healing at all. There are still a few new scars he picked up on Mars that she hasn't completely explored yet, but one thing at a time.

He takes his seat at the end of the bed, sitting cross-legged, facing where she'll be when and if she sits for this foot massage. Beth is probably the single most self-sufficient woman he's ever fucking met, and he loves the hell out of her for that and for a million other reasons, including Breast Number One and Breast Number Two which definitely wasn't cheating and he'd list them both again if he had the chance. Maybe he will. The bottle of massage lotion from the Golden Phoenix spa is taking up residence next to the towel on the bed beside him.

"Good potechi the other night." He can't help it: he laughs quietly. The other night had to be a new record on not eating that shit.

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