"Heh. Of course." A few long moments pass. Not long enough for Raylan to have fallen asleep. The bed creaks again and sheets crease as Doc turns to face Raylan's back. An uncharacteristically soft ghost of a brush of lips and the slight tickle of moustache tells Raylan he got his goodnight kiss on his shoulder.

A bold hand slides from Raylan's waist, callouses scratching along soft skin across until the weight of his arm sits comfortably on Raylan's side and a wayward, restless thumb strokes across that soft, sensitive spot above Raylan's naval. Doc - Henry - whoever it is pressed up against the Marshal feels warm, a few hard edges of torso and thighs melded against Raylan's back, protective without being possessive, gentle without being too intimate.

Raylab might not have needed that reassurance, but he got it anyway.