Eager. Ever and always eager, ever firm, ever primed for the proper direction; as wound as any of the traps they had assembled and any Crow braced for the kill. Zevran sighed into Michel's mouth, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck to tangle and hold him there for a little longer. Just enough for another slick taste, another flick ad curl of the tongue that was as sultry as it was practiced. His education in the Crows had been quite thorough. Mastery came from a genuine enjoyment of the art.

"I think, perhaps, you are misinterpreting what it is we share." He smoothed his hand along Michel's jaw again, eyes warm and not entirely unkind- but in the back there was that wary calculation. That knowledge that it would take little for any man to attempt more than they are due. "I have no claim to you- nor do you have one on me aside from the time we share with one another. Something such as this requires no defense. Everyone knows what it is one finds in my company."

The lift and fall of his shoulders was a graceful, nonchalant thing. He was known for his lovers, for his deviances. "A life spent in service with no room to simply take your own pleasures when they are offered? Nowhere to set the weight aside and be something other than the tool you were trained to be? Is no life at all. While you are with me? Be selfish. When you are elsewhere? be noble."