"Ain't noth'n to write home about, Jim." Sure he's built broad and solid like most decent working southern boys- he's not where he should be. Probably won't ever be again but bringing that up right now would just be putting a damper on Jim's upswing in mood. Better to keep shit light for the moment and drown his bitter frustrations later. It ain't all that often he gets to be playful.

He might as well embrace it.

Leonard props himself up on his elbows, moving enough to help Jim settle in close and comfy. The tunics are comfortable and relatively painless- which is more than he can say for some of the field uniforms they've had to wear. Or the formal Greys. Stuff itched like the dickens. Hard to think about, though, when he's got Jim's hips under his hands and that smile angled down at him, those fair fingers trailing under the hem.

"...Turnabout's gonna be fair play, Darl'n. I'm gonna wanna do the same if that's alright by you? I'm sick, sure- and I bruise easy right now so no serious biting- but other than that? I'm just fine." For now. For a few weeks, maybe.