Mmm... imagine riding around the streets of Planarcadia late at night on Boothill’s bike.... Your hands are secure around his waist, flyaway strands of his hair tickle your face and his boisterous laugh has you forgetting your fears as the cowboy effortlessly weaves between traffic. His sensors can pick up the heat of your body, notes the way your hands curve around his supple waist and how he can just barely feel your soft breath against his nape.
"Ah hell, darlin'... If I didn't know any better, I'd reckon you can't get enough a'me with the way you're holdin' on!" Boothill remarks, revving the bike and narrowly dodging a person crossing the street. "Relax! I know what I'm doin'! Ain't much different from ridin' a horse, i can promise ya that!"
"I really would love to believe you, dear," you begin, suppressing a scream at the near miss. "But I fear there's a difference between riding a horse through the desert where there's barely anyone around and riding a bike in a very busy street."
"Pssshh, have some faith in me, sweetheart! Them sights on this here planet won't sightsee themselves! An' hey, maybe if ya stop squirmin' like worms in the dirt, I could take ya fer a different kinda ride, if ya catch my drift," he quips. You roll your eyes at the filthy grin sent your way.
"I don't think I wanna ride you on your bike, Boothill."
"Why not!? Call it a ride-ception!"
"Maybe we should cut down on your whiskey intake, yeah?"
"Oh, how ya wound me, sugar!"