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A soft hand on his cheek and gentle Orlesian in his ear, the taste of a recent kiss still on his lips. It's all very distant, though, somehow, as she says something into the assassin's ear that makes him smile, that sleazy glint in his eye...
"Alistair." The Orlesian accent has hardened now, and when his eyes finally move from Elissa, just a fraction of a second too late, Leliana is glaring at him, hands on her hips, pretty blue eyes narrowed. "Would it help if I made myself sound Fereldan and dyed my hair brown?"
He swallows. "I... huh? I wasn't..."
Leliana shakes her head, sighing. "You honestly have no idea, do you?" Her eyes soften, and they're sad as she leans in and whispers into his ear, "You are chasing the wrong woman." She sits back on her haunches, still giving him that brittle smile, and stands, walking away from him.
He watches her go, knowing he should defend himself, try and salvage this...
But he stays silent, still, and his gaze strays once again across the fire, to Elissa.
She's far too aware of her sarcastic, over-defensive fellow Warden just across the fire as Zevran lays a kiss on her neck, nibbles at her earlobe. She tries to respond in kind, but finds herself pausing, craning her neck to see...
"Cara?"
Zevran has drawn back, is looking into her eyes, and she refuses to let her cheeks colour as she realises that he knows something is wrong. She gives him a weak smile, maintaining eye contact as much as possible, trying to radiate truthfulness, and shakes her head. "Nothing, Zev." She crushes her lips to his, far too enthusiastically, feeling him raise an eyebrow as he, too, notices her overeagerness. Then he seems to dismiss it, returning the favour with a little more restraint.
As he draws back, presses another soft kiss under her ear, muttering something in Antivan, she suddenly wonders what it would be like if the voice were Fereldan...
She raises her eyes, looks over the assassin's shoulder, and catches Alistair's eyes upon her. It's only a glimpse, the smallest moment in time. The look in his eyes is burning, resentful, hurt, longing. They stare at each other, realising that they've been caught, and then his eyes slide from hers as he pretends to be interested in the flames.
She still stands unmoving, a hand on Zev's shoulder, as the assassin lavishes affection on her, able to feel his smile, his chin smooth as it bumps her collarbone.
Stubble and the heat of a blush against her neck...
She tries to shake the fantasy from her head, gripping Zevran's shoulder more tightly and raising his head to kiss him again, but she knows. A glimpse is enough.