"Ugh, Maker what is that smell?" Marian choked out, nose wrinkled against the stink.
Zevran quirked an eyebrow at her and grinned, drawing off his gloves one slow fingertip at a time while Isabela lounged back on the bed and chuckled.
"You just had to get him going, didn't you?"
"That was rather the idea, wasn't it?" Marian joked back, a hand on her friend's thigh, though her face was still scrunched up against the smell.
"That, my dear Champion," Zevran purred, tossing the glove in her lap, "is the fragrant aroma of my childhood, only the finest Antivan leather."