He's easily coaxed, easily distracted when he wants to be, and he does. The hand on his arm knocks him off course, no more hasty disrobing, probably a good thing—he hasn't been touched in a while, not like this, so it gets all of his attention—and he slides a little closer on his knees, leans further in.
"Four," he says. "Four sounds, um. Within the realm of possibility." Zevran doesn't need to pose. If it were obvious Alistair would laugh. If it were subtle he might explode. And then Zevran would have to explain himself to everyone. "Would you round up from three and a half?" He should probably stop talking. He's probably losing points. But he can't help it. "I mean, you like me a lot."
It's mutual. Alistair's pupils can't get much wider, or his faint smile much more affectionate, and after a second he's brave enough to spread a hand on his chest and slide it thoughtfully down to his stomach.
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Date: 2016-01-26 04:20 am (UTC)"Four," he says. "Four sounds, um. Within the realm of possibility." Zevran doesn't need to pose. If it were obvious Alistair would laugh. If it were subtle he might explode. And then Zevran would have to explain himself to everyone. "Would you round up from three and a half?" He should probably stop talking. He's probably losing points. But he can't help it. "I mean, you like me a lot."
It's mutual. Alistair's pupils can't get much wider, or his faint smile much more affectionate, and after a second he's brave enough to spread a hand on his chest and slide it thoughtfully down to his stomach.