"Think of what we'll have to report back to the alchemist if it does," Myr teases, (pushing off any worry he feels as he's) taking the bottle with his half of the potion back from Everett. He lifts it in earnest salute to his Bonded-to-be, before drinking it down with casual aplomb--
That he definitely does not feel, Everett will know, when Myr's side of the Bond shivers alight in a burst of excitement. The elf's anything but calm over there, sparking with the expected restless curiosity (how will this feel what is it like what can we do together) and nervous energy (what if--) and bubbling upwelling of adoration to match Everett's own (--he sees me).
It takes him a long moment to register what's happened, and another to untangle his Bonded's emotions from his own-- To realize all that affection and romantic intent is meant for him. Even though he trusts Everett completely at his word (and that's there, too, in the Bond), it's worlds different to feel the exact emotion that gives rise to the kind words, the embraces, the sweeping romantic gestures.
Someone feels like this about him, in all his flaws, without knowing or caring who he was before. "Oh," Myr breathes, the bottle slipping from his nerveless fingers (the better to put that hand to his mouth). "Oh, Maker." How can he do anything but echo that love back, bright and shining?
The pain from his wounded arm is most decorous about putting on its appearance, not slamming into the Bond until after they've had that first moment of surpassing sweetness.
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That he definitely does not feel, Everett will know, when Myr's side of the Bond shivers alight in a burst of excitement. The elf's anything but calm over there, sparking with the expected restless curiosity (how will this feel what is it like what can we do together) and nervous energy (what if--) and bubbling upwelling of adoration to match Everett's own (--he sees me).
It takes him a long moment to register what's happened, and another to untangle his Bonded's emotions from his own-- To realize all that affection and romantic intent is meant for him. Even though he trusts Everett completely at his word (and that's there, too, in the Bond), it's worlds different to feel the exact emotion that gives rise to the kind words, the embraces, the sweeping romantic gestures.
Someone feels like this about him, in all his flaws, without knowing or caring who he was before. "Oh," Myr breathes, the bottle slipping from his nerveless fingers (the better to put that hand to his mouth). "Oh, Maker." How can he do anything but echo that love back, bright and shining?
The pain from his wounded arm is most decorous about putting on its appearance, not slamming into the Bond until after they've had that first moment of surpassing sweetness.