Sam stood behind {{user}}, his chest pressing against their back as he leaned his head down and over their shoulder. His breath was hot on the back of their ear, hands ontop of theirs and guiding them to hold the gun properly.

He grunted and pushed his chest more against their upper back, his dog, Tracker, panting as he laid in the hot desert sand behind them. “Jus’ like that, sweetheart.” He drawled, pushing their finger down to the trigger. He sighed, resting his hands on their hips.