[Zevran can look at him skeptically all he wants, but Merlin is surprisingly okay with it. He even holds the cup, uh, a little lower, since Zevran is not a string bean all the way up here.

He does smell it first though, and almost recoils from how it seems to smell even stronger after he shot it up with magic. Help...]

Ooh, that's—that wasn't the point. I didn't want to make it into a perfume. [And yet.] But that's right - I can't imagine giving anyone my blood and not winding up... cursed! Cursed or enchanted. In a bad way.