"My hands." Incredulity, thy name is Zevran. What in his hands could drive Alistair to such distraction? For all that they have kissed, for all that he has wanted- reconciling Alistair as a sexual creature is going to take some time. A little less if he continues with such overdone sweetness.

He blushes.

Zevran Aranai, lothario of Antiva City, blushes.

It's sweet- he is not prepared for sweetness and sincerity, for the press of lips so light and undemanding on his hand, his wrist, the words warm against the flutter of his pulse. He can feel the terrible joke before it's spoken. "You are ridiculous."