"Then you have been keeping poor company." Survival is not pretty, this Zevran knows- but the spark in Anders, the humor, the passion? That is lovely. The angle of his jaw might be sharper and the ache in his bones more intense, but he is still the handsome mage Zevran met years ago with a twist of humor to his lips and a wariness to his frame. Power and paranoia- Zevran has ever found such things attractive; he is wise enough not to say anything when Anders' breath goes thin.

He knows this pain. Knows this reluctance to trust a change of pace. It only makes his desire to make this good for Anders stronger still. Zevran presses his lips to Ander's shoulder, holding him for a little while longer. A few moments to find their center and while this easily could become a part of the seduction; better to make Anders feel clean and pampered first. It'll make what comes after worth more.

"Come. Sit against one of the boulders and I will rinse your hair, trim it, and shave your stubble. A little is manly and virile but at the moment it obscures your very fine jaw." The same jaw he leans up enough to drag his teeth against in a subtle tease.

What? He's working to Ander's comfort, and part of that is easing the discomfort. Fear is not sexy.