[Lust can't help but laugh as he struggles with her brassiere clasp. They're such cumbersome things, half a dozen hooks and the width of her palm. Her face buries into his chest as she laughs, an honest and joyful sound.]

[And then she lowers her hands, letting the underthing fall away and leaving her breasts bare and framed by the dark falls of her hair. She steps back, letting him look, knowing he wants to. She wants him to. Lust's relationship with her own beauty and appeal to men is a complicated one. She both takes pride in her appearance and dismisses it - it's a fluke of genetics and healthy living. But Boone wants her, for all that she is. It makes the difference.]

[Her own hands find their way to the hem of his sweater, toying with it. She's seen him in states of undress before, admired his body. She knows the planes of sleek muscle that lay beneath, has traced them with her eyes before. It's a different thing to begin to undress him, to let her fingers slip beneath the thick purple hem of his sweater and trace lightly over his abdomen.]