So... up the stairs they go, mostly side by side. Mark lags by a step or two.
There is a persistent silence.
"I... didn't think you'd react the way you did," he says finally. "I mean, I thought you might—that there might be something there, but not that you'd actually."
"No, but really," says Stalas. "I kind of want to hurt you but I don't want to hurt you. It's a conundrum."
"...I like that I can say things to you and you can tell what I mean," says Stalas. "The benefits are starting to seriously outweigh the drawbacks."
After a medium-sized silence, he declares cheerfully, "You're thinking about hurting me again."
"I'm wondering... how fragile humans actually are," Stalas admits. "No Stone in you. I'm used to fighting dwarves; I know how to win without killing anybody. I don't know if the same knowledge applies to you... you don't bruise as easily as I do, but that's not saying much. You're probably still easier to injure."
He's more amused than annoyed about it, this time around.
"A little. Mostly just how into it you are. How you're thinking about finding out, and it gets you going even though you don't want to injure me. You could try it," he says. "If you wanted. I won't mess around, promise. And it's okay if you get it wrong. I've had worse, and modern medicine can fix a lot of shit."
"See," says Stalas, "when you say you've had worse, it doesn't make me want to hurt you. It makes me want to cuddle you and give you neck rubs and maybe kiss you a little."
"You... you," he says; it's as much as he can manage between helpless snickers.
Mark contemplates this delightful occurrence for a few seconds, and then wriggles closer and kisses him.
Stalas is hampered in his ability to kiss back by the fact that he's still laughing, but he does put forth a noticeable effort in that direction.