"Oh sure. In the bath, in a secret corner up a tower, down in the armory when everyone's distracted," Each suggestion was a kiss, a bite, a fresh bruise sucked against willing skin. Theron's attention traveling now across Zev's jaw and throat as he chases sulpherous drops of water and bites at his collarbone, "I've had plenty of thoughts on the matter. It's lonely work, being Warden-Commander."

Not that he ever got any time actually alone. No sooner was he in quarters than he was asleep, and no sooner was he awake than that damn seneschal he'd been given was at him about some duty or another. And being on the road didn't make it better; the difference between alone and lonely was significant. No, of course this was better than any idle daydream or nightly fantasy. Desire demons in the fade don't compare to the real thing.

Zev's hands are on him, pulling him close, and Theron gives up on bracing himself up and simply lets Zevran take his weight, instead.

"I'm not going to complain if it turns out better in the end."