It was love indeed, especially to an emotionally fucked up assassin with only the vaguest notion of what love truly felt like. He would have let Theron tear his throat out with glee; adored every moment of it like a passionate kiss.

Zevran was hardly paying attention to the world around them with his head tilted back and amber eyes aimed high to the sky. The sounds of battle were an odd addition to the otherwise quiet area of the pool they occupied, the sloshing of water around them and the soft groans and grunts they exhaled the only accompaniment before... all of that.

It was odd, seeing himself through the eyes of another. He had looked so fearful, then, and he had been, if he was honest. Terrified he was about to lose the man who, in all his life, tried to understand him. Zevran's arms reflexively wrapped around the other elf in his lap, held him close as he slumped.

He was, for the record, still half hard. Clearly recalling the memory of that final battle did nothing to quell his aching arousal. Hurray?

"So it was. This is what you think of when we are together."