Walter wasn't surprised when Juliette stripped off her shirt.  He knew from experience that she needed very little provocation to do so.  There were many days when she'd gone around the ship wearing nothing more than his long-tail duster.   She did this, he suspected, because she knew it vexed him, slightly; but she also knew it turned him on like nobody's business.   And at the juxtaposition of frustration and arousal, there lay raw, mad desire.  Such was the nature of their relationship.<br/><br/>He grunted into Kenzie's lips when Jules bit his thumb, reminding him where she was.    He liked running his fingers over the brunette's mouth, for some reason.   Like he was blind, and was using his fingertips and sense of touch to tell whether she was smiling or frowning.  It was an easy, casual intimacy.  Neither of them ever asked for permission, because it was never necessary.  They simply knew each other too well.<br/><br/>But Jules put his hand on Kenzie, and he felt compelled to obey.  He felt up the blond's side, probing and exploring, feeling out the curve of her hip, then gliding upward, smoothing along the side of her belly before traipsing over her ribs.  Feeling emboldened, he moved his palm upward, over Kenzie's left breast, and gave it an affectionate squeeze through her shirt.  His thumb stroked against the material, seeking out her nipple, while his fingers curled and tested the sponginess and springiness of her chest.<br/><br/>Now Kenzie was pulling away, so she could kiss Jules.   He watched them kiss, right in front of his face, and was completely entranced.  He had no wish whatsoever to break them apart.  It was beautiful.  It was like watching an erotic ballet, a sensual dance of lips and tongue and teeth.  Already, Jules was eliciting soft little happy sounds from the blonde's throat.  He wished he could take a picture for posterity, preserve the moment forever.  It was like being a kid on Christmas morning, the overwhelming excitement of the anticipation of things to come.<br/><br/>He felt Kenzie grind against his thigh, felt the dampness there, and shivered.  For a man, there was no aphrodisiac in existence as powerful as knowing he could get a woman wet.    Both women, now, were plucking clumsily at his shirt buttons, and so he felt obliged to assist them.  He half-unbuttoned, half-ripped his shirt off, discarding it to the side somewhere.  He took their hands, one from each woman, and put them on his chest so they could feel his skin, his warmth, the beat of his pulse deep under the flesh.  Then he placed his hands on the women, sliding the limbs over them in a ceaseless, never-ending journey of discovery and exploration.  He caressed their legs, their arms; he tickled the dark fuzz on Jules' mons while spidering his fingers up Kenzie's belly.   He removed Kenzie's shoes with haste, and plucked at her tight shorts, not stopping until he had tugged them off her legs.<br/><br/>The galley table was going to need to be cleaned after this, he suspected.