"What was that?" One of the shadows with the whip- a master, a Crow, an elven woman with red hair and blood at her throat, asked between one lash and the next. Those holding his arms shifted from face to face- Crows he knew, masters he served, nobles he'd killed.

The one constant was the man with the knife. Tanned skin, broad jaw, dark eyes and on his face a smile that was proud. Encouraging. "Almost done, Zev."

Murmured with affection. As though this was no torment, as though they were discussing the weather rather than lashing into his back. Zevran laughed, clearing his throat- never flinching. He could not afford to flinch. "I said he wanted to buy my hair. Can you imagine, Tali, me with a shaved head and a pocket full of sovereigns?"

Down snapped the whip and Zevran did not waver. "Of course I could not."

"You know why that is?" Taliesin's free hand slipped back to curl in the aforementioned hair, yanking Zevran's head up harshly, eyes glinting with something darker than pride, more vicious than the whip. Possession. "Let me hear you say why, Zev, and we'll be done. I promise."

"Because-" A lash too close to his spine, a stuttered breath Zevran twisted into a laugh, low and crackling. "Because I am yours. And you like it long, yes?"