"This, like much everything else I know, is tied to murder. Where is a body it's most fragile, what vulnerabilities I might find." Offhand and idle, as though he did not have his hands resting at the base of Michel's throat, rolling away the tension. As if he did not have Michel splayed and slick and gasping, utterly at his mercy. Part of the danger was his appeal, or so he'd noticed during the last time they lay together. He was an assassin, he was dangerous, he was forbidden- it gave him the lingering excitement of many a lover. "But, on occasion, I enjoy performing a massage for the sake of pleasing a partner."

Such as now when he let himself be caught by Michel's lips, hands working between them to massage the taught knots in his pectorals, slippery thumbs flicking back and forth over his nipples mercilessly. For every new, engaging thing he found to make Michel writhe, he abused. How could he not when it made him kiss so sweetly, arch so beautifully?

Zevran slid back with one last nibbling kiss, slotting himself between Michel's thighs to work on his abdomen and hips, hands delving low along his pelvis without dragging anywhere obscene. Yet.