There's a fair bit of stubble rasping against Zevran's palm, more than Anders likes to have on his face. But it's one of the many things that have gotten away from him, like this. Like the feeling that he's more than the Chantry's destruction.

He leans into the touch, twisting around so he can meet Zevran's lips with his own. The first contact is a tentative, gentle touch of their lips together, but a moment later he kisses in truth, yearning, hungry, pressing his lips to Zevran's and opening his own.

Anders turns the rest of the way and presses the whole of himself against the Elf, drinking in the warmth and closeness he's had so little of for so long. He doesn't know how Zevran knew he'd needed this, and he's not going to bother asking.