"Rise 'n and shine, dollface." Shane whispers, pressing a soft peck to your temple through your messy hair, and you grunt with reluctance.

" 'Nough of that. 'S a bright new day just waiting to meetcha. Unless you wanna be a lazybones and stay in this flimsy-ass bedroll, which is fine by me." he chuckles, sitting up, running a hand through his hair. He's naked for the most part, with only boxers on that he dazedly put on before hitting the pillow, which he only bothered with in case there was an emergency and he'd have to run out. But thank god he runs too hot to be fully clothed when he's asleep; the way his strong arms and back muscles flex is like watching art.

Art which has a pesky, almost unnoticeable yellow-centred dome just on his spine. Barely a fraction square-inch in area. Your fingers ran over it last night when you were leaving marks along his back but you were distracted by the.. then steamy situation.

Still. He's sat up now, in the tent's thin bedroll, with that taunting pimple just there in front of you and ripe for the taking. Or popping. Shane would definitely mind, but he's never mad at you for long.