Laying there, panting. Your cowboy took you to space and left you floating around up there, watching dust dance in the lamplight. Hands intertwined, breathless.

The bed creaks as he sits up and runs his hands through his hair. There's only a second's pause between that and him turning around to scoop you up in his arms like a princess.

"C'mon, birdie. Gotta clean ya up." he hums, as you giggle and you throw an arm around his shoulder for balance; not that he'll drop you, of course.

"Shaaaane.." you drawl, smile on your lips. As many times as you've assured him that you can do aftercare by yourself, he's a jerk and a gentleman, and insists on doing it for you.

"No complaints, dollface." he sighs, setting you down into the porcelain tub and turning the faucet on, testing out the stream's temperature with a hand, then watching it flow and start to surround you patiently.