I have a very persistent mental image. I want to draw it, but I know I'll only walk away from my sketchbook in disgust. So I'm going to write it. It's not the same, but maybe it will help. This is post Nations and Ages, but shouldn't contain any real spoilers.
Zevran caught up to Cadryn walking down one of the Keep's second story halls, a creased note in his hands, the mage seemingly lost in though, and Zevran had to quicken his step to keep up with those long strides. He thought about walking silently at Cadryn's side until the man noticed him, but it didn't take long, Cadryn's resonant voice welling up unexpected from relative silence. "Leliana is finally coming to visit.
"Oh?" Cadryn handed him the letter as they began to descend a set of stairs, and Zevran skimmed it quickly, Leliana's florid script easy on the eyes, and amusingly enough the letter even smelled of her. "I find it hard to believe she has not been to visit already in the past three years."
"She had her own problems to deal with, as we did." Cadryn took the letter back, and stopped mid-stride on the landing with a dramatic groan, leaning against the railing overlooking the entry hall. Zevran waited patiently, know he would explain without prodding. "Before she left Denerim, she made me promise to throw a part of sorts for her. A ball, so she would have an excuse to dress finely and to dance with us. She said she would give me enough notice to prepare, and I imagine she's halfway here by now." The hand holding the letter remained on the banister, gripping it tightly, but the other covered his face for another wordless protest. "I don't know the first thing about organizing this sort of-"
Zevran stepped up to the banister, gripped Cadryn's shoulder to gain his attention, and then the mage's hand fell away from his face and he turned to look at Zevran. Zevran's hand snaked up from his shoulder to twine in his hair, which was finally long enough again for a good hold, turned the taller man more fully towards him and pulled him down for a kiss, Zevran's other hand sliding down to grip Cadryn's hip and pull him close.
For a moment Cadryn acted as if he had no idea what was going on, standing there with his now empty hands hovering over Zevran's shoulders, too stunned to really do anything but submit quietly to the random outburst of passion, parting his lips but otherwise failing to participate. Inwardly, Zevran smirked: this wasn't the reaction he wanted, but it was the reaction he expected. So he set about claiming the mage's mouth, pouring as much emotion into what should have been a duel of tongues as he could, then sucking at Cadryn's bottom lip until it increased in sensitivity and then teasing it with his tongue, trying to get a reaction.
It was noise from the entry hall that finally startled Cadryn into motion: Anders giving a ribald whistle, and Sigrun catcalling at them. Zevran allowed himself a little glance, and with one hand Cadryn made a rude gesture at their small audience, making them laugh in surprise, the other wrapping around and one large hand settling at the small of Zevran's back, pressing him closer, as Cadryn became an active participant in the kiss instead of basking dumbly in Zevran's unabashed passion.
When they finally drew apart, breathless, Sigrun and Anders were still laughing down in the entry hall, but it seemed distant, Cadryn looking down at him, green eyes hooded, face flushed beneath his dark tattoos, a little smile curling the edges of his lips. "You're right," Cadryn whispered. "It's insignificant. Things will work out."