[ He pulls on the shirt Iorveth picked out for him with a grin, pleased. Iorveth would bite the head off of anyone who got too close to him with a sharp object, but he likes Astarion enough to let him. It's a bit ridiculous; the idea of holding a blade near Iorveth's most vulnerable parts shouldn't make him feel warm and affectionate — and yet. Smile spreading, he flattens a palm against his torso to smooth out any wayward wrinkles in the shirt, running his hand over the delicate embroidery.
The nudge of Iorveth's tadpole against his own is unexpected, but not unpleasant. It should be, reminder of their precarious predicament that it is, but it isn't. He wants to make his mark all over every part of Iorveth, his mind included.
In the past, his mind had felt like a vault. Endless locks, a cadre of guards standing watch to keep out intruders. Now, it's more like a chest, willing to open for whoever might have the key. His tadpole reaches out in turn, psychically coiling around its kin. ]
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The nudge of Iorveth's tadpole against his own is unexpected, but not unpleasant. It should be, reminder of their precarious predicament that it is, but it isn't. He wants to make his mark all over every part of Iorveth, his mind included.
In the past, his mind had felt like a vault. Endless locks, a cadre of guards standing watch to keep out intruders. Now, it's more like a chest, willing to open for whoever might have the key. His tadpole reaches out in turn, psychically coiling around its kin. ]