[ 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. ]

[ 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.) ]

[ 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?

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

[ The bathroom is clean and its nest's sheets set outside the bedroom door for the staff to collect, Stephen caught on the walk back with a new batch ready to create some safe new fortress around the toilet when the hushed mutters of sleep stop. He doesn't notice. Not until the frantic shifting of sheets and mattress preclude a fully conscious voice and he stops in his tracks, caught.

The shout doesn't seem to put even a dent in his confidence. He doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he sets the sheets down on the edge of Silco's busy desk and crosses toward him, unperturbed by his obvious unwelcome. ]

Here.

[ He's pouring water from a full jug stationed at Silco's bedside. There's a bowl down there too, some clean glasses for if something goes awry when trying to take in fluids. He holds one out, half-filled, as if this were a morning after a night before and not - what it is. ]

[ A twitch of his hand swats the glass from mid-air before it can hit home, everything costing enough here that it hits the ground with a dull thud and does not break. It doesn't spare him getting mildly drenched, but what was he really expecting?

He gets it. Were their roles reversed, he's not sure he'd appreciate the uninvited interruption of his private suffering either. But he's read the notes now. He's not going to leave him to rot through it by himself. ]

In a minute.

[ Maybe. Possibly not. Great wet stain over his chest and arm, hand lifting to wipe splattered water off of his face, he bends for a second attempt. This time doesn't bother with the jug, just lets water fill the glass from base to another half way. Doesn't offer it out quite far enough to snatch. Quick learner. ]

Drink.

[ This time the distance is too great and the man himself too weakened and too angry for his aim to stand a chance. It makes it most of the way, but Stephen need do nothing but let it thump to the floor, where this time thick crystal of the glass cracks but does not shatter. ]

You need that.

[ Speaking of his pillow, but if he throws it Stephen catches it on his walk further into the room, stopping far enough from the bed to not impose any further on the cornered man's territory than he already has. Holds onto it for now, for the same reason he hadn't made easy pickings of the glass a second time. ]

You were the one who wanted to make sure we were ready with treatment.

[ So here he is, resident physician, at your service. And maybe that's a slight twist of Silco's fierce run of suggestions for the clinic's preparations, but it's the best argument for his presence he has in a pinch. ]

[ It's one of few situations they've found themselves in so far where it doesn't necessarily gratify him to win. Silco isn't protesting solely out of stubbornness: he's distressed. There's no revelling in that. ]

Thank you.

[ Something to offset the surrender - make it a favor, or acknowledge the cost. No matter what it is, he does need his help, and now Silco's relented to accept it Stephen backs down on the attitude too, moving back across the room to him. Knee on the bed so he can settle the caught pillow behind him while he's hunched up in his frustration. When he next deigns to look at him, he'll find Stephen with another glass, more water.

There's no hesitation in offering it this time. ]

Go easy.