He knows that look well enough. Admiration, attraction- tinged with affection and that is somewhat new. It is less strange to see it on Alistair's face than it probably should. A natural extension of every other look he's ever been given from frustrated to amused to manly feelings. Zevran does pose a little, now, out of habit and a desire to preen. He knows he's pretty.

Even now he's taken pains to ensure he is presentable at the very least- one cannot save the world and be anything less than dashing after all. His hands slip from Alistair's shoulders to link behind his own head, tangling in his hair as he arches his back and stretches. All the better to show off the lean line of his body, the curl of his tattoos, the flex and arc of his muscles-

Not that he needs to. Alistair is thoroughly enamored already.

There's a little hitch at the swipe of his thumb, a drag of his teeth over his own bottom lip as habit comes knocking at the door enough to demand he level Alistair with the smoldering bedroom eyes he gives most lovers. "You are no slouch yourself, Bello."