Dormitory H
3rd of Loshis, 2719
"Imust admit that I am unfamiliar with the Anaxi and Bastian concepts of chivalrous behavior, so perhaps I have that as my only defense." Ezre smiled while Lilanee laughed and squealed. He hardly felt the chill of the rain or the force of it, but the weight of the Hessean's gaze while they stood on the sidewalk attempting to flag down transportation was so tangible that the dark-haired boy sincerely worried steam would curl from his soaked person and seep through drenched clothes because of the warmth that danced beneath his skin. He would have made further comment about the gender equality of Hoxian culture and how there was no such mythological creature as the fairer sex in his homeland, but instead, he'd managed to flag down the attention of a carriage and its moas.
Brown and clueless. The Hoxian might have stared at them for a few moments longer than necessary, thoughts drifting away from the cold bite of Loshis rain to the frigid temperatures of Bethas, to Tom Cooke and Clara, to the drowned ghost and its pocketwatch that was on his person even now in the rain. He blinked, Lilanee's voice, as always, dragging him away from his thoughts and back into the present like some anchor of sound to the world of the living,
"I was told that drakes had fur—" He murmured, smile returning slowly to his delicate features as he turned to the driver to make arrangements and then assisted the sodden young woman into the carriage. Did his dark-eyed gaze wander over the pleasing form that was so cleverly revealed by red fabric-wrought finery pressed against freckled skin? Was he aware of how her body moved against his hands while he offered his support? By Bash's eternal patience, yes, but—
"—but I was under the impression that they were also more a historically human endeavor than any use at all to galdorkind, even for war. Am I so uneducated about your Kingdom?" Tongue in cheek, the boy was both honest and teasing, sighing as they found their seats and she settled against him. Despite being drenched from such a short walk, there was a heat that radiated from the proximity of their bodies, pressed together just so, and he felt the fierce tempo of his heart thrum against his sternum.
She spoke of her pottery in shy response to his admittedly rather direct admission, and Ezre found himself staring at the way she blushed and faltered, at the way her lip curled beneath the pressure of her teeth, at the way her face was at an appropriate distance and angle for him to simply tilt his head slightly and bring his mouth to hers again—
Ah.
They were closer to campus than he'd remembered. Or than he wanted.
He blinked, expression waning sheepish, lithe body coiling against her own as he shifted to exit first, to offer an inked hand to the Hessean in the rain that continued to fall so merciless from above, and to pass a few coins to the driver with a nod of thanks. The human was, of course, unable to pass within Brunnhold proper's gates for good reason—an Anaxi problem in Ezre's opinion, having been raised in a Kingdom where humanity was not even welcome near Frecksat, having been raised in a Kingdom where segregation of galdori from humans was hardly as ambiguous as it was here.
Campus was quiet at this house—students and faculty both either still celebrating in the dining hall or crawling the Stacks—and the Hexxos acolyte allowed himself to be led through the sudden deluge toward the upper form women's dormitories as if it was the most appropriate thing to do with the rest of their evening.
It wasn't. At least not culturally. Thank the Circle he was Hoxian.
They avoided puddles and giggled in the shadows between phosphor lights and finally paused as the red brick buildings familiarly known to be student habitation loomed in the watery darkness. The boy's equally dark gaze wandered upward to study the decorative architecture and take note of the floral trelliswork that supported cheerful blooms in the summer months as well as the occasional weight of ambitious male galdori such as himself,
"I am, most definitely." Ezre agreed to Lilanee's observations, grinning at her instead of admitting that this was, in fact, the first time he'd ever needed to or attempted to sneak into the girl's dormitory ever in his entire life. They'd snuck into the Crypts together. They'd wandered forbidden halls before, haunted and abandoned. This was different. The thrill than trickled down his spine with the rain that soaked him to the bone was electric, and he nodded when the Hessean slipped from his arm and disappeared inside.
For a brief moment after the last lingering sensation of her field untangled itself from his own, Ezre was suddenly alone.
He knew what he was doing—didn't he?
Lilanee hadn't turned down the offer of dinner and innocuous conversation to show off her pottery collection, not intentionally. Lilanee hadn't invited him to climb up the wall of Dormitory H into her room to discuss archaeological history, not entirely. They'd kissed! She'd kissed him, and, without question, he'd kissed her back. Ezre was not the type of creature to do anything without careful consideration, but he was certainly not about to admit that he'd spent any time thinking about—
Hurry.
Dark eyes flicked upwards, rain on his face, putting out the flames that burned his cheeks. He smiled at the disheveled Hessean, adrenaline and anticipation filling him with a sensation not unlike the whirlies from some powerful spell. Pausing to glance around the empty campus, visibility limited by the darkness and the weather as it was already, Ezre cautiously set about climbing the trellis toward the second story. His first few attempts belied his enthusiasm, the Hoxian slipping and landing in the bushes once then slipping and scraping himself on stonework with a hiss of breath through grit teeth once he hit the ground again.
"Tsuuuuh."
Well, that had hurt—both his bravado-gilded ego and his body. He'd probably even torn the crimson silk of his shirt, but at least it was so soaked and so dark that it graciously hid any blood for the moment.
Shaking it all off with a laugh in the dark, the dark-haired boy gave it a third try, clambering quickly up the slippery decor, this time smarter with his foot holds and keener with where he found grips for his tattooed fingers. Tossing himself without a hint of grace over the windowsill, he stood between the curtains, dribbling a puddle there on floor of Lilanee Kuleda's dorm room. His heart raced, breath ragged with more nervousness than pain, and meeting the Hessean's blue-eyed gaze, he grinned awkwardly before he reached up and tossed a handful of soaked, dark hair from his face, inked hands curling into his half-undone mess to unravel it all and wring it out.
"I can—" She moved to light the flames with magic and the stirring of mona in the small room stole his words instead, eyes drawn from the sudden glow of bright fire to the way she held her hands out toward the warmth. She was shivering, but whether it was from nervousness or actual chill, Ezre couldn't tell. He wasn't cold at all, but he felt the weight of his wet clothing the minute the words left her mouth—
"—dru. No. I would not want to risk damaging—not that I believe we are at risk for—I—well—oh, towels. Zjai. Please. I seem to have made quite a fool of myself with that climb." He was slipping out of his shoes while he spoke, bending to pick them up and bring them closer to the small dorm-standard hearth, noting that a thin trickle of red traced its way from beneath his shirt, traveling with the rivulets of water from his sodden shirt to swirl and pool on the floor. Distracted for a moment, the Clairvoyant gathered his field almost instinctually, but the sharp sting of his elbow startled him into focus again and he moved closer to the hearth with an awkward sort of smile.
He didn't argue about clothing, though perhaps for Lilanee's sake he should have appeared more awkward about it. The Hoxian hardly had any shame about the body he'd been given and he'd seen too many other bodies to immediately make the connection between their no longer entirely platonic admissions and this moment that he'd been invited to participate in. He made motions to begin undressing, wincing as his tailbone objected to the shifting of his hips while he untucked his shirt from the wide swash of fabric and cord that made his belt. His wrist and elbow stung beneath the clinging crimson of his sleeve, and it was when he moved to begin untying the formal knotwork of said belt that he realized what he was doing, what they were doing, what they could be doing.
There was something in the young woman's lingering glance that finally caught his attention, that stilled the nervous butterflies of his thoughts, that caused the back of his neck to crawl with more than just the heat of the fire, lighting up his thoughts like a brand in the dark.
"Lilanee, I—we—am I really here for—pottery?"
Ezre stared at her in his coat, no dryer than himself, eyes wide. He cleared his throat, curling fingers into his half-open shirt, the linework that traced its way over his chest and under so much of his skin totally visible. There was a symmetry to it, that much was obvious, but how far the intricate framework for further decoration had been inked across his flesh was hidden by wet fabric. The dark-haired boy sighed, mingling his field with hers with an unspoken but needful curiosity. His tongue felt slower, his mind sharper with the swift rhythm of his pulse, and the Hoxian spoke quietly, voice wavering
"If you are concerned for the condition of your historical artifacts given our current state, perhaps tomorrow, after lunch, you can share with me your small gathering of pottery instead? Perhaps tonight, we can explore more of the presently clandestine and admittedly exciting interest between us? Not to say—I do not know what that is supposed to mean—or have any expectations. I just—I do not think I can—"
Ezre laughed, grinning stupidly, shoulders sagging for a moment as if he'd just sloughed off something far heavier than the wet clothing that clung to his lithe frame. He shook his head, blushing furiously, stepping outside of the well-formed mask he wore in a moment of vulnerable desire, the allure of intimacy undeniably bright. Tattooed hands reached up to wipe his face, scraped palm inadvertently leaving a smear of red over a delicate red-flushed cheek, too distracted to be entirely aware of the full extent of his injuries from falling,
"—I do not think I can at all think straight right now, here, with you. I am mildly intoxicated and admit my thoughts are still very much returning to how it felt to kiss you, to how I would very much like to do that again. It is strange. I am sorry—I—uh, well, let us dry off. Warm up. Have some tea. A robe would be appropriate, unless you—uh—I can let you dry off and change first—here, just ignore my rambling. I will give you privacy." He turned toward the fire, full of chagrin, wanting to hide as so many emotions rose to the surface of his thoughts all at once, willingly set free from his usual control.