"Put something on," he breathes, pushing Jiang away from him. He'd have to turn away, a little, to work the laptop and everything. "Go go."

Prokopenko waits, and as Jiang's turned around he nudges his shoes off, and his socks. He shoves his pants off, his shirt, until he's standing there in just his jock and his binder, and he feels like his heart is in his throat again.