"Ugh." Zevran scraped a hand over his face, frowning at the feeling of his skin. He'd been- walking down to bathe. As though sweating through his clothing would cause him to desire anything else. He did not become ill quite like this easily but when he did? He felt fit to die. or at least drown. More often than not he spent the entire time bundled around a bottle of wine and waited for it to either kill him or blow over.

"I feel like I am going to die." He mumbled, tugging the blankets away from his body- he's shifted from freezing to burning, throat dry and lips chapped. The least sensual he's ever been around Michel- and Michel was in bed with him. Marvelous.