"Oh, now I am for sure," Alistair says, contrary eyebrow raise and all, while he more cooperatively loosens the lacing at his collar. He reaches behind his neck to grab and shuck out of his shirt. It only gets caught on his chin for a moment. "Arfie—"

Disentangling.

"Arfie for short."

He drops the shirt aside and slides down against the couch beneath Zevran—not too far, only stretching his legs out and freeing his hips so he can try valiantly to squirm his feet out of his boots without untying them, but low enough to grin up at Zevran by an inch instead of down at him.

"Maybe just Archie." He lifts his chin up to kiss him again. "Archie isn't bad, right?"