"Oh, so now I'm hearing critique from the man who wanted to soak in the traumatic memory bath," he growls, and bites him again, harder than before. You'll feel this one in the morning, Zev, and press your fingers to feel the bruising soreness linger, "I really thought I might die that time, you ass."

Unlike all the other times he thought he might die. Naturally.

Equally natural is the urge to keep going, a little slower this time, but no less vicious, turning his head to better access Zev's neck, a kiss pressed at the soft pulse-point just under one ear, a sharp bite to follow it. His hair trails in heavy, waterlogged curls across Zevran's bare shoulder as Theron moves higher, carding fingers through blond hair, to resettle his lover back where he had been.

A sensible man would probably try to move this somewhere more private, or at least out of the water lest another memory overtake them both. But, Mahariel can feel that he isn't the only one still eager for this little reunion, not with Zevran's cock still pressing against his thigh.

"Yeah, maybe I do think about it a lot. Maybe I don't want to lose you. Ever consider that, Zev?"

And when has anyone ever accused him of being sensible?