He can feel Zevran growing to hardness behind him, and Anders leans his head back a little, almost letting it fall back against the elf. Anders licks his lips as if he can taste the kiss, hips stilling as he tries to behave as he's supposed to.

"You taste like brandy and salt, such a combination, and your leg is nearly perfection itself. I groan and curl my hands into fists, holding myself still until I can take it no longer and I beg you, plead with you for permission to tangle my hands in your hair and grind up against you, anything. I need this. I need you. Please..." He's so hard, but he doesn't know if he can come from it and he wants to. The scene begging and real begging begin to blur together just a little. "I don't... Zevran..."