Xanadu Weyr - Residential Hallways
Wide hallways with arched ceilings tunnel deep into the rock. Many doors lead to the private quarters of various residents and crafters, each with a name plate, board, or card set on them. The halls are painted a soft ivory, one suitable for either natural light or the glow of the electrics, and they're decorated with framed paintings made by Xanadu harpers through the turns - or less expert hands, especially near the nursery where fingerpaintings and scrawled dragons brighten the walls.

The floors are carpeted with thick wool, soft underfoot and helping to keep things quiet so that the residents may rest, and where the halls make nooks and corners, various chairs and benches are scattered around. Some of them are even comfortable.

Tucked near the south end, two sets of double doors lead to the dormitories for residents, while at the north another set leads to the apprentice dormitories. In between is the tangle of corridors and passageways, lit by curtained windows when they're near the outside and electric lamps otherwise.

It happens that Stefyr and Khavro are moving through the same hallway. It could only be that it happens because if it didn't, they wouldn't be in the same hallway at all. That Stefyr is coming up from behind gives him the perfect option to vanish before he's even seen, but for one reason or another, the big blond's long legged stride is lengthening and he's aiming to catch up with the curly-haired candidate and fall into step with him. "I knew what I was feeling." The words are out before he can decide not to say them at all, not to open any doors, to claim his idiocy and run. "It doesn't make me less of an idiot. I'm sorry. For the idiot part."

Khavro shoots a glance Stefyr-wards, but otherwise keeps walking as though the other candidate isn't there. He might be trying to decide if he wants to engage at all, but it's not more than a few moments before he offers, "It's fine. Don't worry about it." Then after a moment, as though he realizes he could be more forthcoming, "It's not like I objected." At least not while Stefyr was there.

Stefyr's step doesn't falter when there's no immediate response; his pace continues to match and he waits, glancing sidelong at the other candidate. When Khavro answers, a flicker of a frown precedes the slight easing of his shoulders when more information is offered beyond the first. He should quit while he's ahead. He should nod and go on, and just take the small victory. But he's new at this. That might account for his awkward, "I just didn't know what I was doing," which may sound a little counter to what he just said.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone," as though that's all the big blond could possibly be worried about. "I've been an idiot, too. But it's all in the past now, yeah?" It's rhetorical, considering Khavro keeps going. "Thank Faranth Evangeline wanted to ride you like a bucking runner even more than I did." Look, he can even do the humor thing, no matter how dry.

One large, callused hand wraps around Khavro's nearest forearm pulling him to a stop and seeking to turn him so Stefyr can make eye contact. "No," it's bland, so bland. He says with care then, as if Khavro might be a slow student, "I mean, that was practically my first kiss. So I didn't know what I was doing. I knew what I was doing." It's totally different, see?

There's a reflexive indignance in Khavro's expression when Stefyr physically stops him, pale green eyes dropping to the hand on his arm before darting up to the other's face. Maybe he is a slow student, because he still doesn't seem to understand what Stefyr is getting at. "Okay." Then, "So you wanted to stick your tongue down my throat??"

"When you say it like that it sounds kind of gross," Stefyr observes and he should be laughing about it, but he looks a little adorably perplexed. "I guess that's what's next?" He swears softly, "I really do need to go talk to a healer." Even though he really, really doesn't want to. That much is completely plain in his slightly pained expression. He releases the other candidate and starts to walk again, and maybe that's all, but then he says, without looking back, "I wanted something more. Even though I'm not sure I like you at all." That last is a little bit more of a mutter but probably not quiet enough.

Khavro doesn't follow immediately, but, perhaps against his better judgment, he's moving after the blond in short order. "You just wanted to kiss a boy," offers the leaner candidate, a worthy excuse he can relate to. "Is that why you ran? Because you remembered you don't like me?"

The eyeroll is arguably unhelpful. "I wanted to kiss you. I mean, yes, you were there and yes, the flight…" He shakes his head minutely. "I don't understand why I wanted to kiss you when I'm not even sure I like you. You're kind of an ass." Stefyr shoots a sidelong glance toward the leaner candidate with his candid (too candid?) words.

Of all the things Stefyr has said, calling him an ass is what makes Khavro finally quirk something approximating a grin. "I know." Then, "I mean, you deserve some of it." But not all of it, maybe. "We could try it again, you know. Some time. If you wanted." He does his best to sound neutral but there's still something uncomfortably vulnerable about it. "Or we could never speak of it again, again, and you can pine after me for the rest of your days."

Silence that goes on too long is never a good thing, is it? Well, good thing that Stefyr's only last a moment (a long moment). "I could… do… that." PINE AFTER HIM FOR THE REST OF HIS DAYS, he must mean. "But maybe I'd like to be sure I don't want to punch you instead, first?" He considers this as he walks, not looking over at the other young man. "Or maybe just… know you a little better. I don't exactly want to be made fun of for being shitty at it." And let's face it, Khavro has painted himself the type.

"I haven't made fun of you for anything," that he can remember off hand. "I wasn't the one saying mean things about your balls." Khavro doesn't sound mad about, he's secure in his balls, just pointing out facts as he remembers them. "But I don't really want to get punched, either." So sure, maybe they can get to know each other better or whatever.

"Look, can't you just be happy that I was talking about your balls at all?" It's a joke. Sort of. Stefyr tries for a lop-sided smile. It's weak, but there. "And I was serious about that. I mean, you should be sure you'd be okay ended up with a dragon and all, but I dunno. I like this place. It's kind of crazy here, but that's half the fun." His teeth graze his lower lip in a brief show of nerves. "Don't… leave. Or whatever." It's not awkward trying to talk about feelings. "I mean, don't stand if you really can't do it. But. Don't leave because you're scared. Don't leave at all." It's request, not command, and all so quiet and a little strained. Some thing are hard to say, or find the right words for. Sometimes the right words don't exist.

Khavro doesn't seem sure how to respond to that. That or he's just trying very hard not to dismiss it out of hand because that's what he always does. Either way, it takes him a moment to come up with, "I won't." Pause. "Leave. I mean." Not before the hatching, anyway. "I don't know. I'll be there, I think." Well, that's clearly decided, then.

The next moment is fuelled solely by impulse. As they pass a cross corridor less populated than the thoroughfare they now traverse, Stefyr's hand snaps out, grasps the front of Khavro's shirt (always with the shirt grabbing), and yanks him into the offshoot. His big bulk twists fast to face the leaner man, his other hand reaching to steady him and draw him even closer. Then, for all his inexperience, lips are seeking lips for a breathless kiss that starts ferocious, determined and then softens in repeatedly, smaller brushes of lips to lips. Then he draws back, looking one part bewildered, one part wary and two parts exhilarated.

From Khavro there's a super masculine yelp when Stefyr pulls him into the other corridor. The only hesitation he has for responding to that kiss is out of surprise. But once that's passed, he's matching Stefyr's heat with his own, earnest in a way he just usually isn't. "Wow," is a murmur when the bigger candidate draws back and Khavro is left searching that expression with a strange mirror of similar emotions.

Stefyr's wry murmur, "Consider it motivation for good behavior," isn't any more planned than that kiss was, and so he reacts to his own words in time with Khavro. A chuckle escapes him, then a laugh, then suddenly, again, as before, that kissing. It's brief this time. Too brief? "We can try again later," he murmurs. Promise? Put off? His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright, but there's no knowing with innocent idiots like Stefyr. "See you," is all the farewell the other candidate gets before the big blond is stepping past him and moving along the main hallway once more and vanishing into the regular ebb and flow of people in the passage.

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