"You have," Alistair agrees, "snotty and splotchy and you're still willing to kiss me. That's how I know you mean it."
How he knows he means it is really that he's done it at all, that he'd risk it, that he reached back and destabilized ten years of friendship when Alistair is less fair than Michel de Chevin and less elegant than Dorian and much less familiar with the many uses of rope than the Iron Bull. And probably smells a little like dogs. Zevran's lips are on his neck anyway.
"It hasn't, uh." Maker. Alistair doesn't lift his head. He does abandon the search for clouds and shut his eyes. "It hasn't snowed in a while." Because he's not here for his body, see, he can keep talking—he tangles a hand in Zevran's hair, but he can keep talking. "Do you think it's done for the season?"
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Date: 2016-07-19 05:10 am (UTC)How he knows he means it is really that he's done it at all, that he'd risk it, that he reached back and destabilized ten years of friendship when Alistair is less fair than Michel de Chevin and less elegant than Dorian and much less familiar with the many uses of rope than the Iron Bull. And probably smells a little like dogs. Zevran's lips are on his neck anyway.
"It hasn't, uh." Maker. Alistair doesn't lift his head. He does abandon the search for clouds and shut his eyes. "It hasn't snowed in a while." Because he's not here for his body, see, he can keep talking—he tangles a hand in Zevran's hair, but he can keep talking. "Do you think it's done for the season?"