In Sara's case, she's at least accustomed to the leather and lace numbers she can remove them, but she leaves the lace body suit on, more interested in her hands pushing down the jacket over Natasha's shoulders, baring them one at a time.

Her own outfit is barely there, black and shiny pieces held together by pink lace.

There's a short laugh from her, something bubbly, full of joy as Natasha tugs her.

"I love it when a woman knows what she wants. And you really know what you want, don't you?"