“Yer lookin’ a bit burnt,” John commented as you woke up from your nap. You sit up on the towel, rubbing your hand over your oiled skin, you neither feel nor look burnt.

“I’m fine—“ You cut yourself off once you turned and caught a good look at John, he was burnt. His skin was perfectly pinkish, like a medium-rare steak. You were shocked, shell shocked.

John grinned widely, flexing his biceps, then turning and flexing his back muscles, his traps. “Admiring the view, aye?” He boasted.