Tapsters was a… rustic (see: disgusting) joint full of miscreants and loud-mouths and ne’er do wells—and the occasional dwarf just looking for a brief respite from the rigors of daily life. The floor was wet and sticky and the smells were worse—stale sweat and bad breath and sour yeast. The seats that weren’t in a state of complete disrepair were always taken and there was always some incessant racket courtesy of broken bottles, heated brawls, or some well-meaning but overly intoxicated patron trying to rouse the other patrons in a drinking song of old. And Seyrin was loving every miserable minute of it.

“Welp, this is it. I’ve found my calling. The Maker messed up. I was born to be a dwarf.” The elf curled his fingers around a flagon of bitter dwarven ale and knocked it back without so much as a grimace.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying this place.” Alistair briefly placed his hand on the bar only to visibly regret it a moment later, wiping his palm on his shirt to remove whatever lovely substance he’d happened upon.

A now slightly knackered Seyrin wrapped his arms around his Grey Warden companion and his Zevran, squeezed tight, and let out a contented sigh.

“What’s not to like? Strong ale. Lots of atmosphere. And my two favorite men on either side of me.”

That comment garnered a menacing growl from his dog, who had parked himself at the feet of their stools.

“Err… make that three favorite men. Happy, mutt?” Seyrin leaned down to pat Chou’s head, earning him an enthusiastic bark.

“Oh come now, Seyrin, do not be coy. It is well known by now that you favor me best.” Zevran grinned mischievously as he squeezed the other elf’s thigh. Seyrin reveled in the gesture and took it upon himself to up the ante, immersing his fingers in Zevran’s wheat-colored hair and pulling him close for a forceful, face-sucking kiss.

Alistair blushed and stared into the bottom of his stein, desperate not to pry but embarrassed by the display all the same.

“Ah, Alistair, my young friend, this shrinking violet act of yours grows stale. We have been in each other’s company for some time now. How is it, in all these months, you have not managed to successfully woo a partner?”

“Act? What act? What are you talking about?”

“He has a point, Al. I mean, you’re a good-looking guy. Strong jaw, nice body, know your way around a sword. Don’t you think it’s time you… ya know…” Seyrin intimated with a wiggle of his brows as Zevran whispered something exceedingly naughty into his ear between nibbles.

“...What?” The copper-haired warrior asked, completely bewildered.

“Sex, Alistair. It is high time we did something about that pesky V-card of yours, is it not?” Zevran posed. And Alistair somehow managed to grow even redder still.

“Andraste’s flaming sword.” Alistair groaned and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight the headache he felt beginning to take hold. “Remember that time we have a civil war to end, a tyrant to depose, and an archdemon to kill? Do we not have more important things to worry about?”

“Dude… this is important.” Seyrin insisted. “If this Maker-forsaken quest has taught me anything, it’s that life is short. We have to find whatever happiness we can while we’re still here.” The elf shot an affectionate glance at Zevran, who smiled warmly in return. “I mean, you might be king soon! How much can you really know about yourself if you’ve never even had a roll in the hay? Nope. I can’t allow this to stand. We’re going to get you laid before we leave Orzammar. Mark my words.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but short, stocky, and beardy aren’t really attributes I find particularly fetching, so…” Alistair brushed off the elf’s vow.

“You know, I think I sense an opportunity for a friendly wager.” Zevran grinned.

“Oh?” Seyrin took the bait, making no pains to hide his intrigue.

“Twenty sovereigns says I can get Alistair to take a woman of my choosing to his bed before you can.”

“WHAT?!” Alistair exclaimed, eyes wide and mouth agape at the affront on his purity.

“Oh ho ho that is despicable…” Seyrin replied with a slow grin. “Make it thirty and you’re on.”

The elves shook on it as their eyes began wandering the tavern, desperately searching for a good match.

“What about me?! Do I not get a say in this?!” Alistair shrieked.

With attentions falling back to their whiny young friend, both elves answered with a simple, abrupt, “No.”

…

“So, who are we seeing again? This whole situation is so convoluted I’m struggling to keep up.” Alistair inquired.

“There is a shock.” Morrigan rolled her eyes. Alistair just shot her a nasty glare.

“The name’s Harrowmont. He says he promised Endrin on his deathbed that his son Bhelen wouldn’t succeed him, so he’s vying for the throne himself. Ya with me?” Seyrin asked, obviously very tired of explaining this very nearly hopeless situation over and over and over.

“Right. And we trust him because…” Alistair asked.

“Right now, we don’t. But that Vartag character left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe I’ll get a better feeling about this one.”

“If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that we will not survive if all we have to rely on are your feelings. ” Morrigan croaked in her usual disinterested, contralto voice.

Seyrin just shrugged her off. “Hey, when in doubt, go with your gut. You’d be surprised how effective that can be.”

“My sentiments exactly.” Zevran agreed before leaning in and speaking barely above a whisper. “So, regarding our little wager, how goes the search?”

“Why should I tell you?” Seyrin replied. Zevran just gave him a slow, knowing grin.

“Oh I’m merely trying to let you save face, is all. I have found the perfect petite beauty to light a fire in the young prince’s belly. Those thirty sovereigns are as good as mine.” The fair-haired elf gloated.

“Oh please. He won’t give her a second look. Alistair and I are Grey Wardens. That bond is sacred. I know how he thinks. Comes with the territory.” Seyrin countered.

“... Are you implying that Grey Wardens can read each other’s minds?” Zevran asked in all seriousness, the smile running away from his face and being replaced by a look of terrified curiosity.

“I don’t know. Am I?” It was Seyrin’s turn to grin before coming upon a ginger-haired dwarf with a braided beard, a very similar description to the man he was instructed to seek out about the matter. “You work for Harrowmont, right?”

“I heard there was a Grey Warden here. I am Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont, King Endrin’s own choice as successor.”

“So, can we see him, or…”

“I apologize, Warden, but he cannot afford to trust anyone of unproven loyalties.”

“Yeah,” Seyrin sighed. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately. What do I have to do?”

“That’s a generous offer. If you mean it, you might attend the Proving today. The Deshyrs take it very seriously, and unfortunately, Bhelen found some way to blackmail or intimidate House Harrowmont’s best fighters into stepping down.”

“…So I fight for Harrowmont and win the thing and bada bing bada boom I get my army?”

“Now now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Warden. It would certainly make your loyalties loud and clear, but the only thing I can guarantee should you fight in Harrowmont’s name is an audience with him.”

Zevran let out an indignant laugh as he came to stand shoulder to shoulder with his Warden.

“Hahaha and this is to be your king? One who cannot keep his own men from running like frightened children?”

“Lord Harrowmont does not use threats or intimidation to motivate his men. He leads by example.” Dulin explained.

“Ah, I see. So it’s his example they follow as they cower from this Prince Bhelen?” He asked.

“How dare you slander Lord Harrowmont!” the dwarf chided.

“Zev, enough.” Seyrin stepped in before the conflict worsened. “I’ll do it. Point me in the right direction and we’ll be on our way.”

The Antivan narrowed his eyes at his lover but kept his mouth shut as Dulin explained where the Proving Grounds could be found. Seyrin hadn’t meant to be so short with the other elf, but as much as he cared for him, that mouth of his could often get them into trouble, and despite the fun they always made a point to have, they did still have a job to do.

As they left to make their way to the arena, Seyrin couldn’t help but notice that the demeanor of his companion had grown mighty chilly.

“...Zev? Are you… mad at me?”

“Mad? Me? No no no. Why should I be mad? It is not as though I was just hushed as though I were a petulant child.” He rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms in a huff.

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. You just… weren’t helping. That dwarf was about two seconds away from getting physical.”

“Funny, the Seyrin I know would typically leap at the chance to get… physical… would he not?” The ex-crow gave his lover a playful smirk and a nudge with his elbow. The tension in Seyrin’s shoulders eased as he slowly realized there were no hard-feelings. Crisis averted.

“So, tell me. What does one do in these Provings anyway?” Zevran asked to anyone who was within earshot. No one, not even Seyrin, really knew what he’d just signed up for.

“Well, best to ask a local, eh?” Seyrin reasoned as he approached a wide-eyed dwarf who was practically bristling with anticipation for the events to come.

“Ho, you there!” Seyrin puffed up his chest and strutted toward the onlooker, putting on his best, deathly serious Warden facade.

“...Me?” the dwarf asked.

“Yes, I am thinking about participating in these… lively proceedings. You seem a knowledgeable sort. What can you tell me about them?”

The dwarf, apparently of the miner caste and a rather impassioned fan of The Proving, went on to explain that this event was a means of settling disputes—winning meant you had garnered the Ancestors’ favor and no one could say otherwise. And although there were exceptions, fights were typically to the death to avoid any unnecessary… loose ends. And it didn’t take Seyrin long to notice that Zevran was less than thrilled with the idea.

“This is madness.” Zev groaned. “You are going to put your life on the line for a man who has not only lost two of his fighters already because of his weakness, but who also refuses to even have the courtesy to give you an audience?! No. I will not go along with this.”

“...Did you and I just hear the same conversation? I am going to be up against Orzammar’s best fighters while thousands of people watch and cheer me on. And, if I win—which we both know, I will—we’ll be one step closer to getting a king and getting out of here. If there’s a downside, I’m not seeing it.” Seyrin explained with a smug smile.

“Cocky. Always sooooo cocky. Take it from someone who learned the hard way, Seyrin. Pride always comes before a fall. Always.”

“Yes, yes, I may be a bit cocky. But you forget I’m also irresistibly handsome and fiendishly clever. Those other competitors don’t stand a chance.” The ginger elf gave his lover a wink and Zevran’s prickly demeanor did soften ever so slightly. “Come on, this will be fun! Where is my Zevran? The one who never shies away from a challenge? The one with an unparalleled lust for adventure?”

The blond elf was taken aback by the questions, as though he had been caught completely off guard and disarmed simultaneously. The look that befell his lover’s face confused Seyrin—he was merely making a joke. That was the rapport they shared; no matter how bad things seemed, no matter how dire or hopeless, he and his Zev could almost always find the funny side. So why did Zevran, typically his companion in all things lighthearted and frivolous, now have the look of a man who was scared to death?

“I… I am not sure. Perhaps you would be good enough not to get yourself killed while I go find him.”

And with that, the elf turned on his heels and left Seyrin to do… whatever it was he had to do. Alistair, seeing that the two had parted on less than amicable terms, cautiously approached his best friend to check on him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Alistair asked.

Seyrin let out an exaggerated sigh. “He thinks I’m going to get myself killed in this thing.”

Alistair chuckled. “I’ve seen the way you fight. Those dwarves don’t stand a bloody chance.”

“That’s what I said!” Seyrin gave his friend a bright smile. “I don’t know what he’s all worried for. We’ve faced way worse shit than this under waaaay worse circumstances. This is going to be a cake walk.”

“Why don’t you see if you can talk to Harrowmont’s fighters and get some backup… just in cake… er… case. Man, why did you have to mention cake? Now I’m starving. Anyway, you do that, and I’ll talk to Zev. See if I can’t patch things up a bit.”

“Thanks, buddy. Come on, Chou.” Seyrin called his dog to his side and went off to seek these yellow-bellied “fighters.” Must be nice to have the option of just backing out, Seyrin reasoned. He never had such a luxury.

…

“Uh, so…” Alistair approached Zevran and began the conversation with his usual deft brilliance. He and the elf got along well, but that was typically because they both had Seyrin there to cut through the awkwardness. One on one… well… Alistair was never quite sure of how to talk to Zevran. You could fit just about everything they had in common in something roughly the size of a thimble.

“So… what?” Zev asked.

“You’re really upset about this whole Proving business?”

“Yes. I am. Morrigan really does you no credit. You are not as nearly as thick-headed as she claims.”

“Gee, thanks.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t know what you’re worried about. There’s no one I’d rather have at my back than Seyrin in a fight. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. You of all people should know that. He almost killed you the day you first met.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Alas, my young friend, consolation is not your forte.”

Alistair let out a defeated sigh. “Look, this is happening, whether you want it to or not. It likely won’t be easy, despite what Seyrin says. I saw some of the fighters on our way in here. They’re not messing around.”

“Your point?”

“My point is we should give Seyrin every possible advantage, right? Wouldn’t you rather cheer him on and give him confidence than have his attention divided when he needs to be focused?”

Then, a slow, sly grin graced Zevran’s lips as he had an epiphany. “You are right.”

“Of course I am. Had to happen sometime.” Alistair smirked. “...Wait, which part?”

“We should give Seyrin every possible advantage.” The grin widened and a gleam appeared in the elf’s eyes.

“That look… I know that look. That’s the look that says I’m not going to like whatever you say next.”

“Nonsense. Harrowmont needs a champion. We must do everything within our power to give him one… by any means necessary.” Zevran explained plainly.

Alistair looked around to make sure the coast was clear before whispering, “Are you seriously suggesting cheat—“

“Alistair! Really, you wound me.” Zev interrupted. “No no no. Not cheating. Merely… tipping the odds in our favor. Come. We have work to do.”

And with that, Zevran and Alistair, both driven by their affection (friendly or otherwise) for Seyrin, paid each and every Proving contender a little visit. Zevran, despite his rather slight appearance, had a knack for being larger than life whenever the situation called for it. With his barbed tongue and vacant, icy glare, he was a master at intimidation and coercion. Not to mention, the assassin had an exceptional knack for reading people. Upon meeting someone, within five minutes Zevran could sense someone’s weakest, most vulnerable spot… and then prey upon it. And Alistair? Well, Alistair did as he was told. He stood behind the elf and looked as menacing as he could while Zevran did all the talking. Zev was proud of his Grey Warden companion—keeping his mouth shut was never Alistair’s strong suit.

Many of the contenders did not take kindly to being threatened. Zevran knew, however, that mattered little. The seed of doubt had been planted. No one in their right mind, not even dwarven warriors of unparalleled renown, wanted to piss off an Antivan Crow or a Grey Warden. Those who had dared tended to have a rather short life expectancy.

It wasn’t long before it was time for the fight to begin. Seyrin returned to his companions with a bright smile on his face.

“I talked to them. They’ll fight for Harrowmont. I told you… piece of cake.”

Zevran crossed his arms in a huff. Although he did feel slightly better about Seyrin’s chances, he was still sore about his lover’s disregard for his concern… and he had an uneasy yet familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he had tried day after day to suppress to no avail.

“Break a leg, Seyrin. Break several, in fact. And maybe some arms, too. A few skulls… you know what I mean.” Alistair smiled before giving his best friend a quick hug.

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s breaking shit.” Seyrin smiled back as the embrace broke and he made his way toward Zevran.

“Kiss for luck?” Seyrin asked.

“Surely someone as handsome and clever as yourself doesn’t rely upon luck. Superstition is beneath you.” The blond elf turned his nose up in the air.

Seyrin drew closer, his smile fading a little around the edges. “You’re right, I’m not superstitious...” He explained before stealing a quick kiss from Zevran. “But I am a little stitious.” He gave the elf a final wink and went off to take his spot in the arena. Zevran felt a slight smile creep across his lips despite himself.

…

The Proving commenced and Seyrin was hitting every single curve they could throw at him. They’d attack left and he’d slide right. They’d go low and he’d go high. They’d lunge, he’d parry. And for his part, Zevran scored the most visible seat in the house, just as a gentle reminder to everyone that the Crow was watching. And that Crow couldn’t help but notice Seyrin’s opponents looking over their shoulders every once in awhile to make sure that Crow was not about to make them his next mark. And that was enough to throw each and every one of them off their game.

It got to the point where Seyrin was just showing off—toying with his opponents by faking them out, goading them to attack him with everything they had just so he could make them appear foolish for even making the attempt. It got them hopping mad. It made them lose even more of their focus. And Seyrin knew how to use such an opportunity to his advantage. They fell one by one. The elf won match after match. The crowd cheered louder and louder. And before long, the day was his.

…

“See? Like I said. Piece of cake.” Seyrin explained as he put his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath.

“I don’t know. Cake usually doesn’t leave me all bruised and gasping for air.” Alistair teased.

“Clearly you haven’t tried your own cooking.” Seyrin grinned.

“Hey!” Alistair whined as Seyrin made his way back over to Zevran, who was still sulking.

“Come on, Zev. It’s over. You were worried for nothing. I won. Why don’t we get cleaned up, head back to Tapsters, and see how sturdy the furniture in there really is…” Seyrin flirted.

“No, I… no. I mean, no offense. I simply… no.” Zevran shot him down.

“...Come on, Zev. What’s really bothering you?” The other elf asked, his eyes beginning to fill with confusion and worry.

“I do not wish to talk about it.”

“...Are you sure? You kind of look like you want to talk about it.”

“Enough!” Zevran snapped. “I said I am not interested. Can you not understand that? There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am certain. Do those.” And with that, Zevran stormed off.

...

It was days before they spoke again. Seyrin had met with Harrowmont and received his next task to prove his loyalty. Zevran remained in Tapsters the whole time. His absence was definitely felt, and the bleak atmosphere in Dust Town did nothing for Seyrin’s already foul mood. Killing an ancient criminal syndicate should have felt good. It should have been thrilling and fun and suspenseful. Instead, the victory just felt… empty, without Zevran fighting at his side.

As Seyrin made his way back to Orzammar proper, Alistair tried to console his friend.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” He asked.

“Talk… to… him? By the Maker, Alistair, does your brilliance know no bounds?! That absolutely had not occurred to me before this very moment. Thank you ever so much for your genius suggestion. I will simply march right in there and talk to him, and I’m sure this time will play out much differently than the other 49 times I’ve made the attempt.” Seyrin rolled his eyes.

“Hey, no need to get nasty. I was only trying to help.”

The elf let out a heavy sigh. “I know. I’m sorry. That was unworthy of me. I just… I don’t know what to do. I have no idea how to get through to him.”

“Well, as you know, I’m certainly not well-versed in this whole romance business,” Alistair began and continued droning on and on with useless platitudes and well-meaning but ultimately empty words of advice. Seyrin had stopped paying attention. His thoughts fell to Alistair… his… inexperience… the bet. EUREKA! If Zevran wouldn’t talk to him about what was really wrong, he would certainly talk to him about making good on their wager. No way would Zevran welch on a bet—his pride would never allow it.

“Alistair, you big, beautiful snowflake. That’s it! Thanks!” Seyrin punched him lovingly in the shoulder.

“Er… what?” Alistair asked, the bewilderment plain on his face.

“Never you mind. Meet me outside of Tapsters in one hour.”

...

Tapsters was as full and foul as ever. Zevran was perched on a stool and remarkably, there was a vacant one beside him. Kismet, some would say. Not Seyrin. He’d chalk it up to blind luck or coincidence.

“One of your finest, please.” Seyrin ordered as he slammed a copper down on the bar. He heard Zevran let out a groan.

“I still do not wish to talk about it.”

“As it happens, I am not here for you. I am here for her.” Seyrin gestured toward an attractive female dwarf he’d met only moments earlier in that very bar. “Or have you forgotten about our bet?”

As soon as the shock wore off, Zevran grew almost immediately indignant. “How dare you?! Of course I have not forgotten! But the terms were before we leave Orzammar, and we are not yet leaving, yes?”

“Actually, Harrowmont has just tasked me with going into the Deep Roads to retrieve some Paragon who went missing years ago, so yes, we are leaving. I suggest you fetch your… er… specimen and meet me out front in 15 minutes. Unless, of course, you wish to forfeit.”

“I wish for no such thing! I will see you there.”

…

Alistair was standing outside, as Seyrin had requested. As soon as he saw the two elves leave Tapsters with two, rather attractive, young, doe-eyed female dwarves on their arms, however, he turned beet red and tried to leave as quickly as his feet would carry him, muttering “no no no no” more and more fervently with each step he took.

Seyrin left his chosen girl to grab Alistair’s arm, pulling him back to where he was formerly standing.

“Alistair, please. This is important. It’s the only way I could get him to talk to me. Please play along. For me.” Seyrin pleaded. And though the redness did not dissipate in the slightest, Alistair gave the elf a nod and begrudgingly walked back with him.

“This is Kessha.” Zevran introduced his female contender for Alistair’s affection with an exaggerated flourish of his arm. “We met in Dust Town. She is casteless and has always had a rather, shall we say, adventurous streak in the bedroom. The idea of being with a human, nay, a human Grey Warden, is a thrill she simply cannot resist. Isn’t that right, my dear?” Zevran grinned as he let her go to walk toward Alistair. Kessha approached the Grey Warden and circled him like a vulture, eyeing up his every feature with a curious voracity. She licked her lips and gave Zevran a slow nod before pinching Alistair’s bottom.

“Ooh!” He shrieked as he shot Seyrin a glare so deadly the elf wasn’t sure how he was not yet made of stone. Seyrin made a mental note to make this up to him in the very near future.

“And this is Yurvae. She works in the Shaperate and is a bit shy, but very sweet. She—” Seyrin began but Alistair raised his hand and interrupted as soon as he felt Kessha’s small hand creeping up his thigh.

“I’m sorry, Seyrin, but I can’t keep doing this.” He took a step back so he was no longer within touching distance of the lascivious dwarf. “Look, ladies, I appreciate you agreeing to play a part in this ridiculous farce, and you’re both lovely and I’m sure many a man would consider himself lucky to be with either of you. And I appreciate what you and Zev are trying to do, I guess. But I was raised not to take this sort of thing lightly. I’m sorry.”

“Oh Alistair, do loosen up. It’s only sex. It’s just—” Zev began but was again interrupted.

“I know this might be a foreign concept to you two, but it’s not ‘only sex’ for me. I’m waiting for love—beautiful, maddening, nausea-inducing, head-over-heels love. And that is something neither of you or these women can give me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go find the nearest corner and hide until the blushing stops.”

Alistair and the ladies went their separate ways, leaving only the deafening silence and thick tension between the two elves hanging in their wake.

“A draw, then.” Zevran offered to finally break the silence.

Seyrin nodded. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have pressured him. He’ll do it, when he’s ready. There is no shame in wanting to love and be loved in return.”

Zevran turned to face the other elf, the look on his face solemn but soft.

“Seyrin… I was acting like a child, I realize. And I apologize. Let me try to explain.”

“I’m all ears.” Seyrin grinned. “A little elf humor there.”

Zevran let out a nervous laugh. “It was not lost on me. How can I say this… an assassin must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I thought it was the same between us—something to enjoy. A pleasant diversion, and little more. And yet…”

“... Zev? Are you… Are you saying you’re in love with me?” Seyrin asked, a soft blush connecting his freckles.

“I don’t know. How do you know such a thing? I grew up amongst those who sought the illusion of love, like what we were attempting to give our young friend Alistair. And then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong. Yet I cannot help it. Since you agreed to participate in that ridiculous Proving, I have been nothing but confused. I was worried about you, beyond all rationality. And that worry made me realize the gravity of my feelings for you. Do you understand me at all?”

“Yes, I… I’m beginning to think I do.” Seyrin nodded.

“All I need to know is if there might be some future for us. Some possibility of… I do not know what.”

Seyrin paused a moment, trying to get a handle on the bevy of thoughts swirling around in his brain. Should he lie and say there would be a happily ever after, knowing full well that was likely not how things would end? No, that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He opted to go the honest route.

“I don’t know, Zev. But I know how I feel about you.”

Zevran smiled softly and rummaged around in his pack, pulling out a small earring, extending it in his palm to the other elf.

“For me? Does this mean we’re married now?” Seyrin joked. Zevran laughed and it was a genuine one. And boy was that a nice change of pace.

“Let’s hope not. I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince who was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him. In fact, that’s about all he was wearing. I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since, and I’d like you to have it. As a token of my affection. Will you take it?”

Seyrin took the earring and gave Zevran a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. The kind of kiss they had not shared before. The kind of kiss filled not just with passion, but this time, with affection. With adoration. With love.

“I’m sorry for acting so strangely. I—”

“Zev, just shut up and kiss me.”

The elf grinned against Seyrin’s lips.

“As you wish.”