Alistair and Zevran had just finished killing a small group of Darkspawn when they noticed a party of Loghain's men heading in their direction.
They were too far from the tree line to escape unseen, and would be outnumbered if it came to a fight. Zevran took what he felt was the only logical choice and tackled Alistair down into the darkspawn corpses so that Alistair lay on the ground with the assassin on top of him, face to face.
"Shhhh! Be quiet, and be still." He hissed as he tugged one of the corpses atop them. The two hardly dared to breathe for what felt an eternity as they listened to the group make their way down the road.
Zevran tensed when the men stopped just a few feet from the pile of corpses that they laid in, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of the dagger that was pressed between his and Alistair's bodies.
"Ugh, they smell horrible. I'm not sticking my hand in that mess, I doubt there will be anything of value on them anyways." When none of the men seemed willing to dig through the rancid smelling darkspawn they began down the road again, slowly disappearing from sight.
It wasn't until their voices had finally drifted away that Alistair spoke, his voice muffled from where his nose and mouth were pressed into Zevran's neck. "Well this is awkward."
Zevran pulled his arm out from between them before pushing himself up just enough to look down as the warrior, winking. "Oh, I must disagree my dear Warden, I find this quite enjoyable. Only next time, let us do this somewhere more comfortable, no?" It was only when Alistair's blush traveled down his neck and into his armor that Zevran stood, offering a hand.
"Come my blushing beauty, let us return to camp. I'll wash the darkspawn ichor from you if you wash it from me?" He chuckled at Alistair's muttered curse. This wouldn't get old for quite some time.