He makes a quiet noise as Zevran starts touching him, bending his head forward and beginning to relax. Having someone's hands on him in a gentle manner is something entirely unfamiliar after so many years.

"I'm, mm. Not feeling picky. Who could be, with this much promise?" Sure, plenty of people would probably be picky but Anders is so definitely a beggar in this situation, and a beggar being presented with the ultimate feast no less. "It's been longer than I'd care to admit." He hasn't even had coin for buying attention for the length of an evening, forget having the time for it. Being on the run is exhausting.

"I take it this is when I don't ask if you do this for all apostates who have, well." He's not going to list all of it. Especially when the true joke of the matter is that there's no one else quite like him - mass murderer and sane abomination both. For a relative value of sane. He reaches back, gently running his hand over one of Zevran's thighs as he had earlier.