"Move over, li'l mama. Leave dat f'me, I can do it in the morn'n." he gently coaxes you, pulling you away from the sink and taking the apron off your waist.

"Baby, I'm only three months along; 'm hardly a li'l mama." you chuckle, watching as he tenderly takes your hands in his, leading you onto the middle of the kitchen floor in the pale moonlight.

"Don't start with technicalities w' me, {{user}}. Dont start." he chuckles, shaking his head, his voice softer than a coo. He reaches out to the radio on the table, switching through the stations; he lets out a soft "there it is" when he hears the familiar tune of Dixie playing on one, and leaves the buttons well enough alone.

The stupidest grin is on his face, looking at your face as his hands wander down to your hips, resting them there and drawing you close.

".. there ya are, li'l bird." he whispers when you giggle and throw your arms over his shoulders. Shane hums softly to the tune as he sways you, sweet as nectar now.