"You have been slacking." Zevran murmurs and it's as close to a playful grumble as he can manage. His usual protestations. His usual complaints. But with that smile and those eyes he knows more than anything that shaking apart here and now? Cracking in front of Alistair? Is not something he can do.

It'll become Alistair's fault, somewhere, he'll fell guilty, he'll take it personally and Zevran knows himself well enough to see that he would make it personal.

Cut to bleed, aim to wound.

It'd make the rest of the ride unbearable. He swallows it down and shifts, moving to resume his earlier posture of curled in as small a ball as possible against Alistair side. "You had better. I will not always be there to divert the blow."

Too soon?