It will be the first of many, Zevran intends to leave quite the mark on Cyril. Something about skin so fair begs to be bruised and with how he arches into every touch? Zevran is fairly certain he could have Cyril begging for more soon enough.

Throat to chest and he's biting his way lower, pausing to lave his tongue over bruised or reddened skin to soothe the sting. "How may I have you, Tesoro? Like this, spread beneath me as you attempt to muffle your cries? Perhaps against the wall, pinned between me and the unyielding stone?"