"Quite a difference from a Chevalier's knowledge of the body...everything is about ascertaining pain. Breathing, keeping our muscles limber, strength in a wounded limb, fighting the effects of magic and drugs, identifying pain...the pain is separated from the aches, things that are largely ignored," his eyes had all but shuttered closed at this point, his neck stretched back as he feels the heat of the elf under his jaw. He figured if ever there was a time to practice those limbering exercises, now was very appropriate and easier under those hands that were meant to be soothing and relaxing. It was a different story while training, having another's hands to relax under would have been a luxury. It was a luxury that would take him a long time to learn, but a part of Michel wanted to return it in some way, another way. He couldn't return this level of skill with anything but gentle caresses and palms, roughened from the sword, smoothing over skin.

Then there was the visual, watching his companion move over his body, dip down and press his lips against his chest, wrung soft, pleased noises from him. If he were a cat he would purr vigorously under the attention, as it stood one might be able to say the sound of purring was equivalent to the soft noises those fingers, those lips, drew from him. Slowly, a pleasant heat began to creep through his veins and burn along his skin, following in the wake of every touch and every time that mouth pressed against his own. The kisses were brief, but he found himself leaning up into them, meeting Zevran half way, lips parting automatically to taste, to tangle his tongue with his bedmate's. He enjoyed this soft, raw bit of intimacy almost as much as he enjoyed being touched. Kissing was an act that could easily inflame, could make one want to wrap themselves around another in a slow, intimate dance.