The great Zevran Arainai, undone by- well. Not an innocent to be certain, Alistair has had his lovers. He knew the mechanics of this, what went where and how it was done and knew enough about Zevran's own minefield of issues with sex and men and human men and noble men to take care- even if Zevran hadn't at all considered that they might end up like this when he revealed every soft place on him, everywhere not covered by bone. Those same places Alistair is touching now and slowly using to drive him to distraction.

He is here. He is undone. He is afraid for how wrong this went before. How it broke him.

How it'll ruin him to lose this- and it may yet ruin him to keep it. That is his position, as the ruiner, the seducer. To have their positions swapped is as unnerving as it is amusing. He frowns at the murmur, as if 'only Alistair' makes this less. It makes this more to the point of too much and they have not yet removed their trousers. "You fell down the stairs thinking about me?"

Alistair what.

"Exactly what about me caused you to fall down the stairs?" Too worried to be amused and this? This is a poor sign, how his hands slide to lift Alistair's shirt not to tease or touch but to make sure he's unharmed.

Brasca. This is bad.