"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.
It's a great comfort to be held. That Zevran allows him this means even more than the drag of the elf's teeth along his jaw or the promise of being clean again, and it's all too tempting to think that maybe he can have touch again. The last person... Ages and ages ago. A lifetime, really, before Justice, before Kirkwall. He'd gone so long without anything intimate, and even years without a friendly embrace.
He'll be dead soon enough. Surely it's not too bad to have a few moments while he's indulged. It's with this thought that he obeys Zevran's suggestion, sitting, leaning back, and breathing out.
"If a little bit is virile and manly, perhaps you should take some of the shavings and glue them on. They'd be close enough to the right color." If he can get a laugh, a chuckle, then at least he can feel like he's done something right for once rather than wounding. It won't last. He doesn't know if the certainty is his or Justice's or both, but he leans toward both. Nice things have never lasted for him. "Though I'm not sure you need it, with your reputation."
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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.
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He'll be dead soon enough. Surely it's not too bad to have a few moments while he's indulged. It's with this thought that he obeys Zevran's suggestion, sitting, leaning back, and breathing out.
"If a little bit is virile and manly, perhaps you should take some of the shavings and glue them on. They'd be close enough to the right color." If he can get a laugh, a chuckle, then at least he can feel like he's done something right for once rather than wounding. It won't last. He doesn't know if the certainty is his or Justice's or both, but he leans toward both. Nice things have never lasted for him. "Though I'm not sure you need it, with your reputation."