Her laughter had mingled with his, unreasonably pleased with herself, and it lingers in the shape of her mouth when she leans back on her elbows to allow him to fully appreciate the intricacies. It is, in fact, armored leather.

“People try to stab me not infrequently,” she says, “it's sensible.”

A solid point, but because at the best of times some of these particular intricacies are tricky enough for people whose hands are obedient and deft— it isn't unpleasant, the way that sitting up brings her closer to him, loosening a series of fastenings and laces behind her to start freeing herself of what keeps her back so straight and her kidneys unperforated. Probably, at least two lady's maids would be ideal for a dress like this, although it isn't impossible to manage on her own — more obvious as she starts to come undone that it is several disparate parts, and not a singular piece of stitched fabric.

It's hard to be completely, blindly impulsive in a dress like this. The actual effort to remove it necessitates a slowing down — an acknowledgment, even appreciation, of the fact that it is a decision to do so, that they are tumbling into bed together and can't pretend later that there hadn't been any opportunities to think better of doing it.