His lips are suddenly, unaccountably dry, and he gulps convulsively, his calm shattered. He takes a moment to shuck off both scrub top and the underlying half of the body suit, shivering faintly as he shucks it aside. Natural air is, and always will be, just that little bit better, if sometimes more uncomfortable, than recycled ship air.

Now he leans forward, nimble fingers doing away with the catch of her trousers.