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[ Silco rolls his eyes so hard his neck actually moves. ]

Barely.

[ And, with insidious honesty: ]

If you won't give me specifics I'll go asking for them.

[ Network post: raise your hand if you or someone you know has fucked Stephen Strange. Silco's eyes flicker wide, innocent. ]

Was it men and women? Were any serious? Platonic? For a long time? Are you married?

[ Chin still in hand, rapid-fire questions accompanied with a stab of his other finger in the air like he's listing them off. It's important to know his competition. ]

[ Well, that's any fear of an overshare dead, but it does also very rapidly pose a new problem: where to start. It's an obvious shift from caution to bemusement, brow tweaking uncomfortably, mouth pulling down, interrogation a not entirely unwelcome surprise. Still a little on edge, maybe, but less because of his own uncertainty than the fact of how many of those questions hit nails on heads.

And yet he started this, no matter how much he'd like the ground to swallow him. ]

Yes, yes, uhh... eh [ undecided on the platonic point, apparently, if only because he hadn't been thinking about it at all ], yes, and— no. Technically. But also yes, twice.

[ That's one way to get started, anyway. ]

[ Strange rattles off answers that really only lead to more questions and Silco gives him a flat look. The tip of his shoe taps Stephen's ankle beneath the table. ]

You're being infuriating again.

[ Though that doesn't usually result in a whole lot of talking, so perhaps it's a strategy. ]

Mm, well, I do that.

[ As they're both well aware. ]

You did ask a question.

[ Several, in fact. But he relents, the brief safety of play not meant to last. A drifting off of his gaze as he tries to decide where to start. ]

I haven't been - great, historically, at casual. Most of the people I slept with were people I'd either already invested in or ended up invested in after the fact. There are a fair few to work through if you want them all.

[ Silco sips his wine. ]

I do.

[ Voracious and unashamed about it. But then he relents incrementally. ]

Only if you're comfortable.

[ With the telling, yes, but with the choice of time and place to tell, too. He can be patient. Neither of them are going to finish this food. ]

[ A pinch of a smile melts some of the hesitance. ]

Let's do it in instalments. It's going to take a decent amount of exposition. A couple of intermissions and a scene change won't do us any harm.

[ Pause. This time it's his turn to stab the air, fingers raised per point and dropped once he's used them all up to start over again. Making a list. ]

Almost casual, unofficial spouses, bound by cult following, live-in student, it's complicated, friends with detriments, ships in the night, the ghost of Christmas past, or unlabelled cohabitant?

[ This isn't all of them, and some of those categories contain more than one person, but the point's clear enough: it's going to take them a while. ]

Edited (is this american, i think so) 2025-01-28 16:12 (UTC)

[ Silco commits this strange and all together too long list to memory, head tipping as he makes a mental schedule of instalments. It's a pleasing idea. He may be talking about other people, after all, but he's going to be talking about them with Silco. ]

The Christmas ghost.

[ Missing the Scrooge reference entirely, of course; his first exposure to Christmas has been this month past, enjoying the excuse to spoil Jinx. ]

But not here.

[ He pushes his chair back, gets up. Moves around the table to bend and take the kiss he's been thinking about for a while now. Long fingers curling into Stephen's tie, tugging. If they're going to talk about past lovers they're going to do it somewhere more comfortably entwined. ]

[ A hum of satisfaction, gratitude, leaning up into the kiss until that tug lures him up out of his seat. One hand reaching to tease fingertips into the hair at Silco's temple as his other almost topples his wine glass.

Table abandoned, flooded with warmth, it's easy to forget to be daunted by the prospect of explaining Tony Stark, the man just a wall, a world and a death away depending on your perspective. Really he shouldn't have included him in the list at all, but that's a problem for him in a few minutes time. For now he goes where Silco draws him until he recovers enough of his senses to realise what he's after, then it's: ]

Shall I magic up a couch?

[ Mostly an inside joke, throwback to some armchairs, but aside from the bed their only real option is an antique chaise lounge of untested two-person comfort. He can get that couch if they need it. ]

[ A little huff of amusement as Silco also remembers the armchairs, his sharp nose still right in close. ]

I think we can make do.

[ He picks the chaise solely because the bed feels like a step too far. It's still a pleasant little dinner date, low light, conversation — but, heady with wine and wanting, Silco nudges Stephen bodily into a chair more suitable for sprawling and climbs into his lap, drapes shamelessly over his chest and shoulders. ]

Better.

[ Low enough it's all rasp. He toys with the tie wound around his fingers, fidgeting, tucked too close for eye contact. Calm certainty betrayed by the rapid thrum of his pulse. ]

Go on.

[ A little flourish of thrill, delighted by the easy way Silco fills his space, claims his chest, nestles in. It distracts him for a moment, winewarm, tucking his head to burrow his nose into his hair, fond and unafraid of it in their shared new context.

Hand at his waist, stroking the backs of his fingers idly up over the shape of Silco's ribcage and back again, Stephen fortifies himself with closeness and draws in a deep breath.

Right. Going on. ]

Ghost of Christmas past. Tony Stark.

[ A name seems like a good place to start. But how to go on? When so much of it he's barely figured out himself. ]

He's a colleague, from home. Billionaire asshole turned billionaire hero type, habit of saving the world.

[ A beat, and he tucks his chin again, voice low as he enquires: ] —This one's kind of a downer. War stories. You want something cosier?

[ There may not actually be anything cosier, but he can offer. ]

Edited 2025-01-28 20:43 (UTC)

He's not a ghost?

[ Disappointing. Obdurate as he is — as interested in all of this unequivocally as he is — Silco takes that hesitance as a cue. ]

Start with whoever's already here, then.

[ His words a buzz against skin, breath whispering along the collar. ]

[ Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Stephen takes the out. It's not that he won't tell him, it's just - to tell it now would either require a lot of glazing over, or the total destruction of the mood. He doesn't particularly want to lie to him, or obscure any truths, and Stark's an edge case regardless. Less likely to throw this off course than him, specifically.

So he hums. Humor in it as he lets that one go, turns his thoughts to the ones here who don't remember. Who may never have been there. Marginally less alarming to explain, at least, if not really any less revealing. A deep breath moves Silco with it, released in a slow plume. ]

Eddie Munson, Takeshi Kovacs, Nami, Alicent Hightower and, uh. Aegon Targaryen. That one's platonic.

[ Mostly. Names first, because Silco could know any one of them. And because if he does, it's a fairly clear example of a possibly bewildering breadth of tastes. (Nevermind the people here who do remember. He's spoken to one of them already, and the other is... well. He'll get to Daniel Johnson another time. Or Maybe never.) ]

Edited 2025-01-29 10:08 (UTC)

The queen.

[ Oh, so he does know one - two, perhaps, Aegon only by his network appearance following his mother's death. Neither well. Aemond Targaryen is the closest he's gotten to that family, because Aemond is the one who's taken an interest in Jinx and is therefore surveilled.

Even that is enough to leave him a little bemused, though perhaps he shouldn't be. Of course Stephen would rub elbows with powerful Houses, he's exactly that sort. ]

[ A huff gives away a smile. The queen, yes. ]

Bound by cult following.

[ Category next, because it's only fair he join those dots. Except he hasn't given Silco any context at all, and that part's quite important to making sense of exact cause of their initial bond. ]

Did Jem tell you anything about the curse marks? Or was the conversation more focused on who I was fucking in her house?

She told me exceedingly little. I suspect she may have been trying to protect your privacy.

[ Despite requesting Silco blackmail Stephen with it; despite Stephen saying she hated him. Though with Vander here he understands a little better; sharing a history outside this place can make you protective of each other, of the secrets shared. ]

So. Curses and cults.

[ A second to think on that. It's possible. Just as possible she was protecting herself, and Danny. Ultimately, right now, it doesn't matter either way. ]

Curses and cults.

[ Here we go, then. ]

When we arrived there, we each found ourselves marked. The marks connected our minds, we were all - telepathically linked. But they also symbolised the presence of what they called our duchozwierz.

[ There's no way to say this that doesn't sound unbelievable outside of the context of truth, so he's just going to have to say it how it was. A hand drifts up to Silco's nape, finds comfort stroking over the skin there, edging fingertips up into his hair. When he speaks, it's calm - maybe a little too calm.

His most recent run-in with the thing inside him wasn't long enough ago for this to feel quite like the rote recollection of distant, immutable facts it sometimes could. ]

If we didn't sate sexual or violent urges, we'd begin to change. Left unchecked, the transformation would be total, and monstrous. We'd lose all control of ourselves and our instincts until the creature we became had done enough to satisfy. Or until it was killed. So that's curses.

[ Interesting. Silco stays tucked where he is, as though by drifting his nose over Stephen's pulse he can offer him some privacy from his own story. Though it leaves him equally unreadable, bar the flex of his fingers, the subvocal rumble of a hum that expresses acknowledgement. ]

And it's left you in the habit of deliberate indulgence.

[ All but calling him a slut, though at least he sounds fond. He does now understand far better how Stephen comes to have a handful of intimate partners: a man who prefers a connection with someone he's fucking, in a world where fucking is a regular requirement. ]

[ A jolt of his chest, one sharp cough of laughter. But if he's right, he's right. ]

When the fit's right.

[ A reminder of where they find themselves as a consequence of his deliberate indulgence, thank you. A little hint that he hasn't been quite so prolific since arriving here. ]

Cults was a consequence of a monster set loose. Somebody turned, and in turning gained the ability to bend wills. He caught me out in the woods. I fought it, but three days later I came out changed too. Me and a handful of others - including Alicent, Aegon and Eddie. We all did things we never would've otherwise, but the bond itself was intense. It wasn't something we made much effort to shake when it was over.

[ Inducted into a monster's cult. Silco doesn't know what to say to that, the horror of it. But they both tend to be proud of their triumph over adversity — it's just that Stephen's adversity is this ludicrous, multiversal story that seems to unfurl infinitely, more every time they talk. ]

I see.

[ His fingers creep up to the knot of Stephen's tie and hook in, loosening it one-handed. ]

What was your monster like?

[ A stillness here. Held breath. Has he ever been asked to describe it before? ]

... Like tar, to start.

[ Like tar. And with the first hurdle leapt, the rest runs free. Momentum building, carrying him with it. ]

I'd leak this black, viscous fluid. Inconvenient, but fine - until figuring out that it could interfere with sensory input, muddle up nervous responses. Further along I'd start to feel it trying to get out. Fingers squeezing between my organs, stroking up along my spine. Later stages, the fluid that had made its way out would start to form into forearms. Hands. [ A wet cough of a laugh here, aware of how on the nose that is, aware that it likely says something he's never taken the time to examine. He doesn't really want to know. ] When the ones still inside crawled up my throat, I blacked out.

[ So he doesn't have the rest. It only really got that far the once, and while he knows he must've sated it somehow, the people who suffered it either didn't see it, didn't know who it was, or didn't care to tell. So that's all he's got.

And so much for keeping the mood intact. In a bid not to linger, a lacklustre joke: ]

I don't particularly recommend making the trip.

[ A nip of teeth, suddenly, to the side of his neck, Silco's hot breath against the skin. An apologetic kiss afterwards, mouth curving crooked. Probably not the correct response to the idea of Stephen oozing tar-like black fluid and manifesting it into hands, but he's a weird little guy. ]

There's an honesty to it.

[ Thumbing open the top button of Stephen's shirt. ]

Feed your monster or it feeds without you. This place is subtler. Crueller.

[ As if to underscore that, he pauses from murmuring a prickle of words against Stephen's neck because he realizes suddenly there's blood there. Draws back, blinking, lifts a hand from its tectonic undressing to touch the sticky smear of red on his face: a sudden, sluggish nosebleed. His expression is tinted with betrayal at his own body. ]

Apologies. It seems our time might be up for this evening.

[ It startles him right out of the pleased lull that nip and the chasing kiss, the gradual undoing, had settled him into. Red, stark against pale skin— it takes Stephen a moment to remember that Silco's anticipating a reckoning.

So after a couple of wide-eyed seconds, he gets his wits back about him. Nods, gets an arm underneath himself to push up into something less comfortably sprawled so he can snatch a handkerchief from the air like a regular street magician, offering it to Silco without much thought for the image. ]

Okay.

[ He skips over disappointment altogether in the shift to care, pragmatism an easy switch to flick. The hand still at Silco's nape curls, silent comfort, thumb brushing the skin beneath his ear as Stephen's attention goes over to the table and its plates of cooling food. Later, he decides. Easy enough to deliver some leftovers to be tested by the suite's fellow inhabitant after Silco's as comfortable as it's going to be possible to be for the next while. ]

Let's get you back.

[ Silco sniffs sharply, presses this magical gift to his nose, annoyed by the betrayal of his body, eager to go lick his wounds in private. He climbs up out of Stephen's space with a lingering reluctance, and stands.

At the very least this does prove he's stopped, didn't use the cream before coming here even to give them just a little more time before this happened. ]

I'd like to see you again once I'm through this.

[ Almost businesslike, even if that isn't what he intends at all. ]

[ A blink - then a catch of air between teeth as he huffs a laugh. He's grateful for the clarity, for the confirmation of interest, but it only really helps to fuel his instincts. Even under current circumstances. ]

And here I thought this was going well.

[ Well enough to make that obvious. It's just a tease, prizing himself up from the chaise to join Silco, crowding in after him in spite of the blood and the man's pending descent into his own little hell to nudge his nose to his temple, press a kiss to the hill of a cheekbone where the skin will soon enough be more ravaged than it is now. ]

I look forward to it. [ Murmured while still close. ] Come on.

[ And he peels away, fingers already slipped into his sling ring, tearing a throughway to Silco's room out of his own. ]

[ It was as much a confirmation as it was a firm goodbye. Silco steps through into his room and turns: ]

Thank you for the evening.

[ Doesn't move until the portal is closed again. He'll keep the handkerchief, but a bloody nose is about the extent of what he wants Stephen to see. He can read the notes he left behind if he wants all the gory details.

Silco sets himself up a nest in the bathroom, and another on the bed, and moves between the two based on how many fluids are involved. The whole lovely dinner comes back up again, along with an inordinate amount of blood. He discards his nice clothes haphazardly, sweats and shivers in a cocoon of blankets. Weeps and laughs to himself until unconsciousness reaches up and draws him violently, deeply down, and then he talks in his sleep, writhing and whispering.

When he wakes, and sees Stephen, he's comforted for only a few seconds before he's seething: ]

Out!

[ Ragged, pulling sweat-soaked sheets around himself like a cocoon. ]

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cw: emeto