It's true, being attractive is generally the least of Cade's concerns, though he does at least try to present himself well for the most part. He almost protests when Zevran continues, but bites his tongue; the emotions bubbling up inside him are the sort that make him say and do stupid things, and he has no room left for those. He does, however, crack a bit when Zevran implies he might want more out of it than punishment. "I don't," he snaps, but his demeanor is more desperate than angry. Perhaps it's better to call this off now, before it can get out of hand. Before he can be any further corrupted. He regrets thinking this as soon as Zevran offers him the potion-- Zevran, the person who has been helping him-- or has he? Maybe this is just some sick stunt. Maybe he was sent by the Dalish.
Cade accepts the flask, but only long enough to take one sip that might be the duration of two. Then he hands it back, quite forcefully, and gets to his feet with a hiss. Oh right, that. Hastily bailing out will be hindered a bit by the fact that putting his shirt back on will be slow murder.
"Cade." As warm and patient as his voice had been, as kind as he's made himself since Cade started drifting down? Zevran's voice is a sharp authoritarian crack. "Sit down."
There is no room for argument, no real shift in his posture- just his voice and the weight of his eyes, cold and hard against the scrambling man. He expected degrees of this to be true, but he did not expect it to be half so frantic.
Skittish. He'll need to remember that for the future. Skittish and anxious and self loathing- things he remembers well but what worked for him hadn't actually worked and are not things he'd visit upon Cade. Ever.
Even in his frazzled state, Cade can't resist a direct order, least of all one from someone who has at least temporary authority over him. He stops quickly, but is slower to sit back down, looking every bit as sick and weary as he did before they began. He drops his face into his hands, knotting his fingers in his hair, knowing he's ruined it. Whatever 'it' is, whether it's a thing he thought might work or... whatever comes after this. Ruined.
Were it anyone else knotting themselves up so tight, leaving themselves so tense and uncertain- Zevran would reach out and stroke their hair, hold a hand, do something to ground them. But he gave his word and Cade made so few requests that he will abide by them. There is no brush of skin, merely the hard bump of the flask against Cade's fingertips. "Four sips, you said. This or the salve. You have taken one."
That is all. No chiding for the panic, no condemnation for attempting to leave at all- merely for attempting to leave before the agreed upon amount of potion was taken. "Three more."
Too embarrassed-- and still too confused-- to look Zevran in the eye, Cade lifts his head just enough to gingerly take the flask, and takes three distinctive sips. Then, looking at the floor again, he holds it back out to Zevran.
Zevran waits silently until Cade has finished, taking back the flask with a murmur of approval, all the former warmth and pride slipping back into his voice easily. "Very good. I'll want to check your back tomorrow during our first debrief."
Because that? Is still a thing. And so too will be looking over the welts and bruises to see how they've settled.
Another downcast nod follows. Cade finds all he truly wants to do now is go to sleep and pretend none of this happened, but he remembers that there is a Tranquil waiting outside-- who has been waiting outside this entire time-- who will bring him back to his quarters. And probably know everything, and probably report it to Nerva or Alayre in their offputting, monotone way that is somehow still so incriminating. He sits there, head down, hands folded, and waits to be dismissed. He'll have to face it eventually, he always does.
"If you wish to spend more time here and rest, relax, you may. If you wish to leave? You may." There is little more Zevran can offer Cade in this; the man is so far in his own mind that nothing he could say or offer might help him back out again. The ball is in his court.
Predictably, Cade decides to take it and go home. For now, at least. Zevran has made it clear that he will be expected back tomorrow, and he is not so bold as to directly ignore that, Especially not after what has transpired tonight. There's... leverage now.
He nods and rises slowly to his feet, wincing in pain as the skin on his back protests once more. Then, in spite of it-- ever the soldier-- he slips his shirt on, his face screwing up in repressed anguish as he allows it to settle. Then, of course, he shrugs on his doublet and begins to lace it up, eyes swimming with tears. Even with the healing potion, this is pretty intense.
Finally, he decides he's embarrassed himself enough. "...goodnight," he says quietly as he turns to go, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. Zevran might be angry. Cade's not sure whether he should care or not, but when in doubt, he always does.
All the more reason to check in with him tomorrow. The aftermath hadn't lasted near as long as Zevran might have wished before Cade wound himself so tight as to undo all the good they'd managed- but tomorrow was a new day. Perhaps he'd be more settled.
And perhaps Nugs would fly over Skyhold. Actual nugs, not stuffed ones.
Zevran sat back in his chair, still cutting wedges of what was left of the apple for himself, neither angry nor concerned. He was, as ever, visibly relaxed no matter what had occurred. "Sleep well, Cade."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 03:27 am (UTC)He does, however, crack a bit when Zevran implies he might want more out of it than punishment. "I don't," he snaps, but his demeanor is more desperate than angry. Perhaps it's better to call this off now, before it can get out of hand. Before he can be any further corrupted.
He regrets thinking this as soon as Zevran offers him the potion-- Zevran, the person who has been helping him-- or has he? Maybe this is just some sick stunt. Maybe he was sent by the Dalish.
Cade accepts the flask, but only long enough to take one sip that might be the duration of two. Then he hands it back, quite forcefully, and gets to his feet with a hiss. Oh right, that. Hastily bailing out will be hindered a bit by the fact that putting his shirt back on will be slow murder.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 03:46 am (UTC)There is no room for argument, no real shift in his posture- just his voice and the weight of his eyes, cold and hard against the scrambling man. He expected degrees of this to be true, but he did not expect it to be half so frantic.
Skittish. He'll need to remember that for the future. Skittish and anxious and self loathing- things he remembers well but what worked for him hadn't actually worked and are not things he'd visit upon Cade. Ever.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 03:54 am (UTC)He stops quickly, but is slower to sit back down, looking every bit as sick and weary as he did before they began. He drops his face into his hands, knotting his fingers in his hair, knowing he's ruined it. Whatever 'it' is, whether it's a thing he thought might work or... whatever comes after this. Ruined.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 03:57 am (UTC)That is all. No chiding for the panic, no condemnation for attempting to leave at all- merely for attempting to leave before the agreed upon amount of potion was taken. "Three more."
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 04:04 am (UTC)Because that? Is still a thing. And so too will be looking over the welts and bruises to see how they've settled.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 04:15 am (UTC)He sits there, head down, hands folded, and waits to be dismissed. He'll have to face it eventually, he always does.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-16 05:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-17 01:26 am (UTC)He nods and rises slowly to his feet, wincing in pain as the skin on his back protests once more. Then, in spite of it-- ever the soldier-- he slips his shirt on, his face screwing up in repressed anguish as he allows it to settle. Then, of course, he shrugs on his doublet and begins to lace it up, eyes swimming with tears. Even with the healing potion, this is pretty intense.
Finally, he decides he's embarrassed himself enough. "...goodnight," he says quietly as he turns to go, casting a wary glance over his shoulder. Zevran might be angry. Cade's not sure whether he should care or not, but when in doubt, he always does.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-17 01:36 am (UTC)And perhaps Nugs would fly over Skyhold. Actual nugs, not stuffed ones.
Zevran sat back in his chair, still cutting wedges of what was left of the apple for himself, neither angry nor concerned. He was, as ever, visibly relaxed no matter what had occurred. "Sleep well, Cade."