Chapter Summary:

You're not broken, Nyla. You're just hurt. Zevran has you.

I don't know how to tastefully say there is smut without ruining my serious summary.


Nyla was feeling so comfortable and warm after bathing; the clean smell of soap and Zevran's shirt on her, hair brushed and braided by his skilled fingers. The sun was setting, and she listened, watched everything with a sense of melancholic peace. Fish roasted on a spit, and Zevran took care of everything around her. She tried to help, but he reminded her that today was for relaxing, and to wait for her meal. Her response was to sob uncontrollably for an hour. Nice, Cousland. We'll just go to pieces whenever you fucking want.

Stunned by the abrupt wave of dread that consumed her in the lake mere hours ago, she was still feeling shaken. The message had never come through so clearly and strong, I just don't want to be alive anymore. I can't do this. Confusing; it wasn't really about anything specific. Not about her family, Alistair, or any of the numerous losses, intense battles, the deaths of thousands or the near total destruction of her homeland... no, it wasn't truly about any one of the horrifying things she had seen. She felt done. Tired. So old.

She wasn't in touch with the emptiness anymore, especially after purging about a year's worth of tears. Wailing, fists curled into her own hair as Zevran held her tightly. 'I have you, Nyla.' He whispered comforting words that made the ache bigger, yet somehow, easier to digest. I'm so sorry… why is this happening to me? I don't want to lose you. I will, but I can't. What am I even doing here? I just don't want to be alive anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Zevran, meanwhile, had begun the task of moving their horses to a greener area before nightfall. He hoped he was doing right by Nyla. Only wanting relaxation for her, the opposite happened; she broke down completely. Tears and mournful apologies flowed from her. 'I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…' He didn't get a sense of her apologies being directed at him, it seemed like something she needed to let out and let go of. Of what, he could only guess, and she had been too hysterical to talk about it. All he knew to do was hold her, so Nyla knew he had her. But he wanted to do more. Ached to do more.

He kept an eye and ear open for his Warden. One moment she was laughing, smiling at the sky and then very suddenly she looked so lost, so far away. Seeing her looking out at the lake left him unsettled. He could almost hear the gears turning in her troubled mind, he knew what it was like to want to die. And the way she shuddered in his arms, writhed, clung to him; he had never felt another's pain in his own heart so keenly. Was he helping? Did he help? She was suicidal when he found her, why was he so surprised it would linger? Drawing from his own experience, he understood she needed him right now more than ever. He needed to reach her before she did something drastic like he did; take on mission he knew to be suicide.

Years ago when she didn't kill him, in fact she welcomed him, he felt a renewed desire to live. But what was it though, that made life so appealing at that point? A heaving bosom and dark eyes, for one… that wasn't it, there are beautiful women everywhere. It wasn't the ragtag bunch she dragged along either, though it helped. The prospect of doing something unquestionably good for a change intrigued him. Or perhaps it was all of those things? She needs a purpose, perhaps? Can he give her purpose?

Zevran stood still for a few moments. Reins in his hand, lost in thought, he watched her, so still as she stared solemnly into the fire. His heart burned to have her smiling and laughing again. Maker's breath, he missed her. True, she will never be the same as she was before the Blight ended, but she is still there, and still perfect.

And now they were lovers. It somehow made him care about her even more. A lot more. He shivered, shook his head and tethered Nyla's horse to a strong branch. Is this feeling going to get bigger? How can it possibly get bigger? Big feelings like these, are they love? What does that even mean? If love isn't the word for this, then what is the word? Is it all just… words? He shook his head again, frustration bubbling under the surface in trying to understand the differences between what he was taught and what he felt.

As he turned back toward camp, Nyla was walking away, a gasp of air and a swipe at her cheek showed him she was crying again. He felt relieved; tears are better, healthier than being cold and hardened, shutting everyone out. He liked crying Nyla much more than cold Nyla. Crying Nyla was easier to understand, she just needed to be held.

Turning the fish, he grabbed his bottle of brandy and followed her. He didn't know if she wanted to be alone, or wanted company, or to toss herself into the lake. He would just follow and assess.

Standing on the edge of a lake watching the sunset colors and sobbing like a child, Nyla wasn't sure what was coming over her. She always had so much control over her emotions, could turn them off at will. This enabled her to drag her feet to Ostagar for the Joining to become a Grey Warden, lead her company during the Blight, and do her duty as Warden Commander. I shouldn't have even survived any of these things, she lamented the agony of her continued survival.

She missed everyone deeply, with no chance of seeing them again. Except Fergus. What she wouldn't give to see Fergus in that moment. To apologize for disappearing, for not being there for him when he lost as much, if not more, than she did. Little Oren… she shook her head; to shake away the last gruesome memory of the sweet boy haunting her mind's eye.

And of course, Alistair. Since his death, Nyla still had no fucking idea what to do with herself. And to see him die just like everyone else, so violently, and so completely, soul and all… she hugged herself and sunk to her knees, shoulders shaking.

Years of unspent tears is all she saw on her horizon; as a great elf once said, life is a fickle whore. At just the thought of Zevran, she missed him. Likely he was wondering where she had gone, but he was probably tired of her tears, her blubbering and back and forth between hot and cold. She can't put him through this. Through her. It simply wasn't fair.

"Nyla?" His gentle voice brought her pause and she gasped, looking up at him from behind her palms. "I did not like to see you cry alone... do you wish to be alone?"

"I imagine you're tired of my shit by now." She tried smiling through the tears and felt like collapsing in on herself. She couldn't fake a smile for him, it didn't feel right.

"No, Nyla." He sighed noisily and sat by her, his relaxed mannerism contagious. Soft, smiling eyes soothed her and wisps of golden hair against his cheek beckoned her touch. From this angle, she could see his elegant elf ears, so different from her own and it clicked for her; this man, this whole other person, is beautiful, and exactly what she needs right now.

The way he smiled and shook his head, her chest quivered and she received, quite fully, Zevran had no qualms with her shit at all.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered, wiping her cheeks with the hem of his shirt, very present to that she was clothed in only his shirt. Again.

"Bullshit." He enunciated with the clunk of placing a glass bottle down in the grass. "The noble-born Hero of Ferelden tells the whore-raised assassin that she is not worthy of his affections. This does not strike you as bullshit?"

She snorted, laughed hard, tossing her head back and leaning back to sit on her backside. He uncorked the bottle and took a long draw.

"Your laugh brings me joy, you know. Especially the snorty parts." He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, delighted to see her smile and blush at his gesture. "Tell me, what do you deserve, then?"

"I don't know." She sighed, relaxing at the closeness of his face to hers. "Not someone so good as you."

"Stop saying that. That is bullshit." His brow furrowed, and he wanted to hold her until she was convinced. It befuddled, frustrated, confused the fuck out of him somehow. The confusion was slippery and annoying, he couldn't quite decipher it. If I am too good, then what is the perfect amount of good? Why would she want less good?

"You're taking it too literally." She chuckled and smiled, but sadness showed in her gaze. "It was a kind of compliment."

"It's not flattering, it's not funny." He spoke softly, sadly, and stroked her braided hair; it suited her. She was beautiful. "You deserve good things. You are too hard on yourself." He handed the bottle to her. "Drink this, it will help you relax."

"Do you want to drink because you need to relax?" She tipped the bottle back; smooth heat on her tongue, warmth filling her chest.

"Yes." He sighed. Her expectant look encouraged him to continue as she took a second sip and nodded. "The whore-raised assassin feels affection for the noble-born Hero of Ferelden. Zevran is surprised to find his affections are returned."

"And you need to relax from this?" She sniffled deeply to clear her nose, dried her eyes with his shirt and turned to face him. There was an innocence to his confusion. So endearing and so uniquely Zevran, and it made sense, given what she knew about him. She smirked and leaned in closer to him, "I want to hear the rest of this story."

"She is beautiful, with a refined sense of humor if not a little vague sometimes, fiercely intelligent, strong enough to lead with her heart. Also, the sanest person I know." He took another drink. She was so near he could detect the subtle scent of her, like raspberry leaves and pepper, and he was already imagining her naked. He licked his lips at beholding her exposed shoulder, the swell of her breasts... Eyes on Warden's face, Zevran. Talk now, ravish later.

"Oh, really." She chuckled happily. "All of those things are completely true but… sane, you say?" She took another swig and cleared her tickling throat. He had stopped telling the story she probed for. Those were the qualities he enjoyed in her, not his feelings for her. Perhaps he didn't know the difference? Regardless, she was genuinely interested in hearing more about this so-called sanity.

"I said the sanest person I know. Therein lies a distinction." He followed up a deep draw of brandy with a satisfied sigh.

"Elaborate for me, please. Even I can tell I had completely lost it years ago." Wow my jokes are a bit vague.

"Think, for a moment, about the beautiful Nyla Cousland's history. Noble-born, as I said, and living her life safe with a loving family, raised to be Teyrna of Highever."

"I was a rich brat," she sighed. "You would have hated me."

"Be hard on yourself later, Nyla. Zevran is telling a story," he chuckled and dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "Now, to be blunt, within one year she had lost everything several times over. Home, loving family, future as Teyrna of Highever, gone. Then mere days later, she becomes a Warden. All I know about this, it had been a mysterious and terrifying feat which involved darkspawn taints and such. Stop giggling I'm being serious. Thank you. This is twice now she evaded death. A single day after becoming a Grey Warden she defies death again at Ostagar, becoming one of the last of her kind. Bravely, she continues her duty as Warden. Even more bravely, she falls in love. Braver still, she survives the Archdemon and the loss of her partner, and survived the heartbreak. After that.. what have you been doing the past three years?"

"My duty. Grey Warden shit," she shrugged, taking another drink. "What about you?"

"Assassin shit," he shrugged. "Killing Crows, chasing you. I find working independently is quite profitable."

"Killing Crows? And you were chasing me?" She needed to hear both of those stories immediately. She was reeling with excitement. "Zev, wait, wait... wait." She paused, her finger in mid-air. "Killing Crows. And chasing me. How-"

"I was multitasking." He smiled and stretched out his legs. "I am telling a different story right now, remember? About my sane Warden."

"Go on! Then tell me the thing after." She chuckled with a sudden, giddy urge to pounce on and bite the stunning man next to her. It had been years since she she had a drink, and she was feeling it.

"The Warden spends three years doing Grey Warden shit, very important, I'm sure. Stop smirking like that." Mmm... Warden's mouth... He had to look away from her. "I'm trying to concentrate. During all of this, she has no time to grieve. She had the immense strength required to carry the burden of all she had been through, and perform admirably. Now, I witness her grief and it makes so much sense. It is smart, sane. She has put down her Grey Warden life for a breath and what comes alive within her is every hurt she held at bay while she did her duty."

"It's a sad story." She drank deeply from the bottle and it was hard not to cry.

"But it is a beautiful story! The Hero is strong and brave," he insisted, his voice soft and joyful. With a tender stroke of her arm he took the bottle from her hands. "Not so much at once, darling, you will get sick."

"You left yourself out of the story." She shook her head, shaking off the dulled pain of hearing it all spoken aloud. "I want to hear the part where Zevran finds his Warden in Orlais. Then the story will be beautiful."

"I don't want to tell stories anymore." He smiled, his heart quivering. He didn't want to tell her how hard he searched, how far he traveled, the trail of death he left behind. The trail they're still following. His guess, the Crows lost him right before he found Nyla. It won't be long before they find him again. One would think they would learn… he abandoned the thought and placed his attention back on her.

"Oooh. Alright. Have your secrets." She pulled her eyes from his pensive face, breathed deeply, relaxed. "No, I want to continue the other story. Tell me more about the whore-raised assassin having to relax from returned affections of the noble-born Hero of Ferelden."

"Well." He leaned in and smiled at her playfully and purred, "It turns out, among other virtues, she is a fantastic lover."

"Flirting! Oh... fantastic?" She was feeling good now, more animated, playful, tipsy. "From you, that seems like quite the compliment. I hear you have a lot of... erm… experience on the matter. Plenty of… points of reference."

"Yes, I have been quite promiscuous in the past," He let out a delighted chuckled. "This fantastic lover sets herself apart by, hmm..." That wasn't quite it. That wasn't it at all. There was no comparison. He sighed, drank a little more, and willed himself to feel more emboldened. "Making love to..." Maker's breath... the more he tried to explain it, the more complicated it became.

"Mmmhmm." Captivated, she nuzzled affectionately into his neck, completely unaware of his aversion to these words. Lover. Making love. These words are completely acceptable to Nyla. This did not sound out of place to her. They are lovers. They did make love.

"Nyla?" he spoke in earnest.

This caught her tipsy attention and she sat up with a questioning hum.

"I can fuck anyone, but I can't do what we did with just anyone." He took a deep breath, struggling to get it all out before it was lost, or he lost his nerve. "You are so responsive and I could feel you… enjoying me, I suppose? So much kissing and… your hand on my cheek… as I try to compare to others... It felt like more than simply a pleasant diversion." He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and took a drink. "I did not say it right. This is hard."

"Ohhh. Affection, intimacy… These are new experiences to you?" She smiled a relaxed and gentle smile, heart soft with a desire to show him as much affection and intimacy as he could tolerate. She laced her fingers with his.

"Until now, I thought I had experienced them." He floundered, grappling with the thought. He knew those words, he knew their meaning, but he didn't know they meant… that. "I think... these words have new meaning."

"I never imagined…" Nyla began sadly, realizing how cut off he had been, how far he had come and how much he had grown. It made her heart swell and ache. A man so brilliant and bright, a lifetime with the Antivan Crows could not break him. "You're amazing to me."

Watching his face closely, it was almost too dark to see him. He was looking pensive again, and sad. Zevran was overwhelmed, and she adored him for it. How beautiful and heart wrenching it was to watch him grow and unfold before her.

"Zev? Come back to camp with me. I can't see you so well right now." She reached and caressed his cheek with gentle fingertips, tucked a wisp of hair behind his ear and brushed the length of it with the backs of her knuckles. "And I want to see you, perfect ears."

He stood up with her, body buzzing from alcohol and a feeling of giddiness. He felt nourished by the affection and care she was showing him. It reaffirmed his belief he could trust her with anything. She held his hand, the bottle of brandy swinging in the other. Her excitement was contagious, and it was easy to put distance between himself and the overwhelmingly sweet words she had spoken.

"We made love, Zevran. It was beautiful," she spoke softly. "And Maker's breath, I have never come so hard in my entire life. It could be that I hadn't in several years-"

"Several years? Not even by your own hand?" He tilted his head at her, he couldn't imagine it.

"Well, I did once shortly after Alistair died, but all it did was make me feel lonely and I cried myself to sleep." Her smile was fake, and Zevran could feel the difference.

"That…" he sighed, holding her hand tighter and stroking with his thumb, "would definitely put me off of self pleasure as well. So… you were saying. Never come so hard in your life?" He felt sad for her, but she seemed so happy right now. Changing the subject back to something less heavy seemed just right, and Zevran was always happy to hear how amazing Zevran is.

"Truly! And never without my own hand involved in some way. Or a mouth. Not to say Alistair was a bad lover by any means. He was passionate, and he had a huge- I mean, Alistair and I… well, we were virginal, and explored together. Learned. With that kind of learning, add a Blight and lack of privacy, we were limited. And as quiet as we could be. Now, when we were staying at an inn... I don't really want to talk about this… I'm really feeling that brandy. Anyway. You, however, already have a wealth of experience. I get the benefit of that."

"A woman's body is fickle, I'm glad I could so easily bring you so much pleasure." Stated simply, his words did not express the pride and elation he felt. And he was only her second lover? He found it endearing, felt a spark of something in his chest imagining what her criteria might be for selecting lovers. Surely she had more than two offers in her twenty-five years.

"Easy for you, maybe. I was spent after the second orgasm." She grew quiet, examining her sense of relief at getting to simply talk about Alistair. Her memories made her smile, a sweet ache rested in the center of her chest, but didn't consume her.

She sat on her bedroll, sitting with her side facing the fire. She felt amazing. She patted the space in front of her. He smiled with a chuckle as he sat, glad she desired something, glad to give it to her.

"I owe you one, by the way." He spoke playfully, adding when she looked so puzzled, "One completion."

"An orgasm?" She laugh-snorted gleefully, "No, Zevran, that's not how it works."

"It is. The things you did to me in the lake today, I couldn't dream of not returning the favor," he purred. Sitting up on his heels, he gave her a predatory look that made her want to agree with anything he said. "Lie back. Zevran is going to make his Warden's toes curl."

"Sweet Maker, I like where this is going," she managed to say before he pulled on her legs and drug her lower on the bedroll with a playful growl.

As she laid on her back, she smiled at the sky for a moment before stuffing her pillow beneath her head to have a better view of the beautiful man settling between her thighs. She yelped, feeling his teeth pinch the sensitive skin on the back of her knee.

"Infernal biter!" She laughed and his eyes smiled mischievously as he nipped at her several more times, leaving a trail of bites and kisses up to her inner thigh. The brief twinges of pain, making her chuckle at first, made her whimper, heated her blood and thrilled her.

"Lovely woman." He worshiped her, sliding her shirt up to her waist with slow dragging fingertips, feather-light touches. "And your aversion to smallclothes delights me."

"I'm not averse-" She whimpered, feeling soft lips on her thigh, so near to her heat it was delightfully teasing.

"Mmm." He lifted his head and smirked at her. "Less thinking, more pleasure."

It had been far too long since Zevran had the chance to indulge in a woman in this way. His first taste of her shuddered through his body, and he sighed deeply, indulging in soft skin, the scent of her. He teased her, touching her softly, the way she loved to be touched. Fingertips brushed along places Nyla never imagined could create such divine sensations. Her wrists, the palms of her hands, her hips, the soft skin of her sides… she moaned for him as his hands whispered over the backs of her knees. It was blissful. Kisses and gentle nips punctuated by the occasional bite traveled in the wake of his hands. He hummed and growled his enjoyment, delighted in the needy roll of her hips and the way her cheeks flushed.

"Are you going to use that tongue or just tease me all night?" She panted with a chuckle, reaching a hand down to brush delicately along his ear.

"Both." He spoke playfully with a smirk, delighting in her mask of humor as she pleaded for release. He rested a palm firmly on her belly to hold her still. Oh, he would give her exactly what she wanted.

"Uh oh." she smiled and then gasped as he slipped a finger into her. The moment his tongue brushed her folds she hissed, her hands grabbed his head reflexively. "Oh. Fuck." Her head fell back and hips rolled of their own accord, feeling so needy, teased to the point of frustration and he was looking so pleased with himself. "Fuck."

"Mmm." He hummed, satisfied, his mouth on her, tongue wide and rolling flat against her heat, making her pull gently at his hair. Her head always falls back like that when she's close, he chuckled delightedly, growled and slipped another finger into her. He began wiggling his fingers only a little, and her silent squeals made him painfully hard.

"Oh fuck. " The combination of sensations was almost too much. "Oh shit," she was so close, on the cusp of her peak and it was driving her crazy. "Sweet fucking Maker."

He slipped a third finger inside of her and she whined 'ohhhh!' Curling his fingers inward he let her writhing hips take what she needed, humming his desire, approval, his seemingly infinite hunger for her. Tongue circling her pearl, he felt her body tighten. Her back arched, her hands were stiff on the back of his head clinging to him and her thighs pressed firm against his cheeks. Hips thrusting and rolling, she felt so perfect, as always, stoking his desire to an unreasonable degree. Zevran reveled in her warmth, the scent of her, the way she shouted his name. The sounds she made sent chills along his neck and back. Maker, he ached, throbbed for her, and he already had her twice within the past day.

"Oh fuck. Kiss me, Zev." She whispered desperately as her body writhed and trembled in the throes of her tapering peak, "I need you to kiss me."

So he did, damp faced, he leaped at her with a growl, lips meeting hers, hands already working the laces of his breeches. He needed her soaking heat around him again, hands on his back, legs around him, breasts pressed against his chest.

It surprised her, feeling his impossibly hard length suddenly thrust into her with so much force, and she let out a guttural groan into his mouth. His arms wrapped beneath hers, gripping her shoulders, using the strength of his arms to pull her to meet his thrusts, to take her harder, faster. The force of his thrusts broke their kiss. Despite his exceptional control and the inebriation that enhances it, he felt himself close to his peak.

Sitting up, he rapidly pulled off his shirt and threw her legs over his shoulders and rested his palms on the ground on either side of her. She moaned wantonly at slow strokes, reached a hand up to caress his cheek. Closing his eyes, he affectionately leaned into her touch. His hips rolled generously, hitting places deep within her, making her whimper and hair stand on end.

"Like that?" he panted, smiled a sultry smile at her.

"Yes. Like that," Nyla rasped, her head tilting back, eyes half open. "Come with me, Zevran. Ohh, Maker!"

"Yesss," he hissed feeling her grow tighter around him. "I'm going to..."

With her mewling and crooning his name, he growled with the intensity of his impending completion. He rested his full weight upon her to lean on his forearms. Allowing himself to follow her, he took her harder, sharp slapping sounds of flesh against flesh as his teeth firmly pressed into the soft skin of her shoulder. Hips writhing and pressing hard, he moaned and growled through these dire moments of passion.

Striking to him, was his desire to cling to her when normally he would pull away. They kissed, whimpering and sighing together and Zevran didn't want to let her go, but her labored breathing told him he was too heavy on her.

"Ahh. You've killed me, Zev. So dead. Took you long enough." she panted, cackling with a loud snort at her own jest, limbs falling limp as he curled up next to her. She sounded joyful, and he kissed her shoulder several times, his hand running along her abdomen.

"I am owed a great deal of coin then," he panted, cock throbbing and body relaxed. "But I believe you are lying."

"Silly." she snorted a few times in a bout of laughter. She groaned as she sat up. "Let's get another bath. Zev, please don't sleep yet. The thought of being alone makes me sad and I'm too inebriated for sleep. I'll drink the rest of this by myself and you'll find me dead somewhere, or something equally as weird."

He laughed hard. "Mmm. Not sleeping, darling. I am after-glowing." He sighed contentedly, stretched and sat up with her. His pants were still around his ankles and he stood, pulling them off. He waited for her to finish a long swig of brandy before lifting her in his arms, stumbling a little at first, and righting himself. "What could possibly be as weird as death?"

"I can't think of anything right now, but rest assured, there is something and I have seen it. Haven't you carried me around enough?" She chuckled, holding the bottle to his lips so he could drink. He stopped, she tilted, and there was a striking joy in his heart, the way she slung both arms around his neck to kiss him deeply, afterward.

"You are naked. I want to carry you. You're really going to get into a scary lake in the darkness?"

"Why feel troubled with you by my side?" she crooned, and Zevran could have melted away into a puddle of blissful wonderment. "That, and I'm drunk enough to numb out most unpleasant feelings, and I find myself fixating on the things that excite me or make me happy."

"Such as?" He asked as he lowered his head to playfully bite her arm.

"I feel happy with you. I see… what is it... hope? It's good. A shift in perspective."

"I had hoped for that." He strode into the lake and walked out far enough to sit comfortably, slipping and sending them both into the water with a splash. Her squeals and snorty laughter echoed around him and he felt happier than he had in a very long time. She settled in front of him and he wrapped his arms around her stomach, indulging in the softness of her skin and peppering her shoulders with kisses and humming contentedly.

"I wasted so much time detached from myself." Nyla leaned her head back on his shoulder to gaze at the stars. "And now it feels like everything is... relentless. It's too much. You say it's sane, but it certainly doesn't feel that way. It feels crazy. Chaotic. Sometimes I surprise myself with my own behavior. I'm unpredictable even to myself. I just don't know how you tolerate me- something is touching my leg! " she squealed and squirmed.

"It's my leg." he chuckled, enunciating with movement to show her. "See? Do not fear. Zevran will not let you get eaten by fish. Ah, the fish." He remembered what was likely just charred remains over their fire pit.

"Shit. It'll be okay. Thank you for trying, though. Catching fish. How did you catch a fish? What with?" She chuckled, leaning her head back on his shoulder. "Oh, you know what surprised the shit out of me? Discovering that you're not completely hairless apart from what's on your head. Not that I was... wondering... at... great... length... Stop talking, Cousland." She cleared her throat and turned her head to nip his jawline. "I love how not tall you are. When I'm close to you, your face is always near my face, right where I need it." She nibbled his jaw again as he drank.

"Mmm… Zevran is not tall or completely without body hair. So sweet of you to say!" He laughed, smiled, and their lips met for a slow kiss that made toes curl. Talking without pause for intake of air and full of play and good humor; this was more like the Warden he remembered. "So. Dearest Warden, you insisted we should talk about where we are headed. Zevran is curious now, where are we headed?"

"You do the third person thing even more when you're inebriated. It's... adorable." Nyla uncorked the bottle and took a long draw. "Let's not talk about it now, perfect ears." she brushed the tip of her nose against his cheek. "We're relaxing."