He pulls on a clean shirt with a minimum of noise, the faint rustling not likely to wake even the lightest of sleepers. He carefully smoothes the linen into his breeches before pulling on his waistcoat and buttoning it slowly. Bush doesn't move, barely breathes in his cot as his eyes move up the muscled thighs and the slim hips that curve into a slim waist and broad chest, shoulders now covered with the royal blue of his lieutenant's jacket.

Bush lifts his eyes, his surprise evident as he finds Kennedy watching him. Heat suffuses his skin and he manages a nod. Kennedy's mouth quirks into a smile and he lifts his chin. "If you wish to watch, Mr. Bush," his voice is droll and dry though his eyes are bright with laughter or mischief or something else Bush is unsure he wishes to define, "You'd probably see more to your liking as I was preparing for bed, not rising from it."