Andraste preserve him from the whims and wiles of a curious Chevalier. If anyone told him at the beginning he would have Michel like this- he'd have thought them mad. No noble bent to the task quite like this, disgraced or no. No human offered themselves and turned about to offer the same in turn to an elf. That Michel was elf blooded made this slightly less bizarre- no. It made it more bizarre. He'd made well despite his blood, kept it a secret, and dallied here with him all the same.

Eagerly. From the press of his mouth, the sounds in his throat- he relished this. Enjoyed not only the idea but the task. Maker's breath- he wasn't prepared for what he'd awaken in Michel when he first pulled on that glove.

Zevran curled his fingers in Michel's hair, teasing at his scalp with his nails, grip going tight when Michel began to unlace them. With his mouth. It was a practice he knew well, one he could pull off but this- that mouth, those eyes. He had to fight for some semblance of normalcy, of control even as he rolled as much as he could into that mouth. There were blue, silken smallclothes to be found, slick and straining against his cock. "You are taking your sweet- ha- time."