[ Astarion allows the link, and Iorveth, in turn, offers a bit of himself for Astarion's scrutiny: a memory from decades ago, slightly foggy with age, of sitting in front of a wall-length mirror in a sun-lit room. The polished glass shows the reflection of a young elf braiding the sides of his long black hair, a hairtie held between his intact lips as he swiftly winds strands together.
Two eyes, no scar, expression still a little sharper than it should be on youthful features. "Iorveth!", someone calls from outside, and the elf turns in his seat, his profile smooth and unmarred as he looks towards the window.
The memory ends there; just a sliver of Iorveth's past for Astarion's scrutiny. The psychic link lingers, the tadpole feeding off of its host's willingness to connect: it pulses willfully in Iorveth's skull, and sends a flood of other, more recent musings related to hair, most of it sense-memory about touching Astarion's. A psychic collage of all the times Iorveth'd run his fingers through Astarion's curls, accompanied by the rush of serotonin that'd accompanied the gesture. All the casual "I like you"-s Iorveth'd kept inside his head, drip-fed through the tadpole connection.
It's a bleedover he wasn't expecting; his attempt to sever the link stutters a few times before it finally succeeds, almost with a grumble from his parasite. ]
no subject
Two eyes, no scar, expression still a little sharper than it should be on youthful features. "Iorveth!", someone calls from outside, and the elf turns in his seat, his profile smooth and unmarred as he looks towards the window.
The memory ends there; just a sliver of Iorveth's past for Astarion's scrutiny. The psychic link lingers, the tadpole feeding off of its host's willingness to connect: it pulses willfully in Iorveth's skull, and sends a flood of other, more recent musings related to hair, most of it sense-memory about touching Astarion's. A psychic collage of all the times Iorveth'd run his fingers through Astarion's curls, accompanied by the rush of serotonin that'd accompanied the gesture. All the casual "I like you"-s Iorveth'd kept inside his head, drip-fed through the tadpole connection.
It's a bleedover he wasn't expecting; his attempt to sever the link stutters a few times before it finally succeeds, almost with a grumble from his parasite. ]