Na'Toth dresses first, tugging down her vambraces while Vir has barely managed to pull a blanket over his chest; but then, Vir thinks, she never really got undressed.
Lennier's shirt settles across his shoulders, the high collar crisp and neat, covering ivory-pale and sky-blue skin so strange and beautiful that Vir's hands itch to touch it anew before it disappears. The white crest bows as Lennier fixes his eyes on his fastenings, hands no doubt performing some private ritual no Narn or Centauri would understand.
They had all been high on adrenaline when they had fetched up in Vir's quarters after everything: ambassadors rescued, honour saved, sternly-worded letters avoided, alive. Na'Toth victorious, Vir terrified, Lennier fiercely relieved that his world continued to spin on its axis, because she yet lived.
Vir shivers—a good shiver, a bad one, he's not sure—remembering the snap of Na'Toth's voice, "Come over here, Lennier," at that moment when things could have gone either way. Lennier had gone down without a murmur, dropped like a stone through cool water, like he had been waiting for it. Vir can't say he's ever understood what anyone sees in a Narn, but maybe there's something about that terrible strength; in any case, it's not like Na'Toth would ever let a Centauri touch her, he's sure.
But Lennier—it makes Vir's brachiarti twine around one another even now—looked up at him from where he knelt between Na'Toth's knees, murmured "Please, Vir," and he thinks he'll dream unsettling dreams about eyes that show too much of the soul.
Who knew that crystal-born Minbari burned so hot to the touch? That one could take three, five, six, and still pant for more, even while his focus on Na'Toth never slipped? A hand on the back of his crest, a short word here or there, and he moved: attentive, careful, harder and faster until she growled her pleasure and he went so very tight around the brach, trembling between her terra-cotta skin and Vir's uncertain fingers on the blue-painted arch of his spine.
Vir draws the blanket closer about him. "We did it," he says to the room at large, still a little surprised. "We saved everybody, and we lived to tell the tale, and then we—" Hands flutter. "—this." He gulps, drops his eyes from Na'Toth's. "I wouldn't—it's not like I'd kiss and tell," he says.
Lennier glances up, straightens to look inquiringly at them both. Vir has no fear for his discretion, though he wishes someone else in this room would seem just a little stunned, just for a couple of minutes. Lennier smiles.
"Don't worry," Na'Toth says, teeth making her smile sharp. Vir is good at gleaning fondness where it is thin on the ground—one has to be, with Londo—but he's still not sure he isn't imagining it. "Don't worry," Na'Toth says, "No one would believe you."