A little shifting, a little adjusting was required before Zevran could press his forehead to the side of Michel's throat and sigh happily at the flush of warmth against his skin. Everywhere they touched was bliss- and not in the usual manner. His mind began to drift in time with the pass of Michel's fingers through his hair, he felt more than heard the man speak.

Ah, yes, they were still talking. "Mmhmm. Remind me later and I shall make a note of it."

A promise for a future encounter, one with plenty of forewarning.