Anders's grip on the arms of his chair is crushing, he has to channel the pressure building inside him somewhere that is not the slender body on his lap, for all his reassurances that 'my dear mage, I am not made of glass - I am an assassin after all', Zevran is an elf and a whole lot smaller than Anders.
Zevran's kisses are wet and hot and so good against Anders's throat and Maker how does he do that thing with his hips - Anders opens his eyes to see the elf looking at him, eyes burning with something wild and untamed and his breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts, much like Anders's own.
Zevran reaches with a slender hand to caress the shell of Anders's ear, the gesture by now familiar but no less enticing, "Caro, you are holding back, let it go for me, show me how you are feeling," the words are barely a whisper but their effect on Anders is electrifying, he leans up to catch his lover in a heated kiss before surrendering to the inevitable, it was a losing battle from the start and they both know it but there is pleasure in delaying the end as long as possible.
Afterwards, as they retreat to the bed and Zevran is draped over him, languid and content like an oversized cat, Anders leans his chin on the elf's shoulder and marvels - not for the first time - his luck at finding a mate like Zevran.
"I love you," he whispers into the golden hair, so quiet he wonders for a moment whether he spoke aloud at all, but Zevran smiles against the crook of Anders's neck and replies, his voice laced with mischief. "And just why do you love me, pray tell?" Anders just smiles in reply, this is a game they have played a hundred times before and before the night was over they would surely find all the reasons a mage would love an assassin many times over.