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[ 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.

[ Silco takes it, holds it in both hands and sips it. ]

It's worse than last time. My curiosity now duly punished.

[ Bitter, like he thinks that's what Stephen probably thinks. That he did this to himself. His stomach roils, and he pushes down the nausea, eyes falling closed, teeth gritted. Miserable. ]

Silco.

[ A mild scolding. He's not here to relish in the consequences of his actions, especially not when they're doing him harm. Stephen's watchful as he sips, taking in deterioration, making diagnostic note of the state of him. ]

Will you let me look at your face?

[ Look at here meaning examine, not just perceive. He can do that perfectly well from where he is, but it doesn't look as it always has, something alive and working to worsen it under the skin. He wants ideally to touch, check, follow the old trails of Shimmer as he unlocks a fresh concern of magics colliding, reacting adversely deep down in the tissues. ]

[ Dully: ]

Yes.

[ Though to say he's not happy about it is an understatement.

The skin that makes up Silco's wound is complicated: an injury that would have simply healed to a scar over his brow and cheekbone if it hadn't been exposed to toxic run-off, chemical infection eating through his face. Singed had saved his sight with an early prototype of shimmer that had mutated his eye; the original injury had healed to deep fistulas of scarring. His regular dose of the purple-pink substance keeps his eye working, but in re-aging and worsening after ReSculpt the old scars have started to come open like a scurvy patient, letting infection slide her claws back in, and shimmer's magic has leapt upon this fresh tissue. All that to say: there's a lot going on in there, black goo and old scar tissue swollen up with fresh pus from his desperate immune system.

Silco sits still, breath quick and pupils dilated, as Stephen touches him. Lets him do whatever he needs to take the measure of it, flinching and sucking his teeth in turn, occasionally making an aborted gesture to grab or smack Stephen before he returns his fingers to twist against each other in his lap. ]

[ It's bad. Gentleness will only prolong things, so he opts for efficiency, chin taken in firm but careful hand. Face tilted, skin pinched and drawn taut under fingers bathed in a sanitising sheen of golden light. He finds the traces of magical rot, tests the depth of split skin, notes the hues of the body's responses to infections within - working quickly, conscious of the twitch and restraint of hands below.

When he lets him go, it's with a sweep of the thumb over his undamaged cheek, a small apology for hurt and indignity. ]

I'm going to get supplies. This needs flushing and protection, and I want samples of your infection. You'll need antibiotics. [ Clarity feels only right, given he's stolen the same. Expression tense with concern. ] I won't be long, but sleep if you can. I'll wake you when I need to.

[ A glance toward the bedside has another glass of water full and waiting as Stephen makes to stand, ready to go in search of what he needs. ]

Bathroom's fresh if you need it.

[ Stephen is all calm practicality against the fevered flush of him; Silco crumples back down into the bed in a confusing stew of feelings. He isn't used to being cared for, and his heart is beating high in his throat. Can't bring himself to say thank you, just huddles miserably back under the covers and enjoys the brief respite from being seen. At least until his stomach turns and he has to drag himself to the bathroom once more.

He does fall asleep again despite himself, and he's vulnerable with it when Stephen returns, sleepy-pliant and feverish, batting uselessly at his hands even as he drapes into his space. Drinks another glass of water hungrily, takes the sour pills he's given with deep mistrust. Getting easier as a patient the worse he feels, as his paranoid defensive instincts fall to the simple desire to have companionship in his final moments.

(Okay, he's not dying. But it feels like it.) ]

[ He's almost glad to find Silco flagging as time stretches on, weakened by his state and all the easier for it. Pills taken, Stephen moves on to administering what treatment he needs to: makes careful collections of the gunk in his wounds before flushing out the rest, patching him together with butterfly stitches and large dressings.

None of it's pleasant, but it's all better than the alternative. He murmurs to hold still in place of a sorry, whether or not his patient's moving at all.

When it's finished, when Silco's lost all seeming desire to be rid of him, Stephen shifts him upright long enough to toe off his own shoes, settle up against the headboard. Make of himself a better nook to curl into. His hands he cools, bids the magic already working to soothe his own pain to bring his skin's temperature down by a few degrees so he can cradle a cooling hand loosely against Silco's neck, luring him back down to settle against him. Come here he thinks but doesn't say out loud, to avoid inspiring Silco's stubborn refusal on principle. ]

[ He doesn't need to say it aloud. Silco tucks into his robes with a humiliated sniff, eye closed against the loveliness of the cool hand on his flushed skin. His wild and mercurial emotions tip hard in the other direction and he feels a lurch of deep affection, some misty feelings of undeservingness, all of which have him clinging close. Embodying the sea creatures he's so fond of with an octopus embrace.

He passes out completely again, immune system working overtime, though he'll likely be disgustingly leaky given his scar's intersection with his sinuses and tear ducts as well as the regular nosebleeds. Enjoy being slightly damp, Stephen. ]

[ Happily for both of them, the bedside manner that struggles during waking hours doesn't have to put as much work in for the rest of them. It makes it easy to quietly repeat the motions of carefully dabbing and mopping him up right up until Stephen himself feels sleep on the way, after which any growing pool of bodily emissions will just have to make themselves at home.

Fingers card through his hair until unconsciousness robs them of motion. They'll see each other in the morning - or whenever Silco's next dragged from sleep to make a run for the bathroom. ]

[ There's no further bathroom runs; this is the worst he's been, the scar's infection a particularly awful new symptoms, but he was careful with his dosage and the effects of the ReSculpt leaving his system decrease overnight. Silco is still run down when he awakens, sleep trying to coax him back to her healing arms. He slowly eases back from where he has Stephen in his clutches to find the glass of water left on the bedside, and those cold gulps refresh him all the way to wakefulness. He leans against the headboard with his legs bent, blanket around his hips, gaze on Stephen, who is still in his bed.

He could joke about it, Stephen overextending the typical duties of a physician. Or about the shared bodily fluids more typical of dates. But he doesn't. Instead, he puts his glass back aside and, far more coherently, slides in closer again. Solemn little man, sliding his hand up Stephen's chest, his neck, his jaw, his absurd cheekbones. A fond and fragile touch. Beneath all the bandages his expression is like a man watching his first sunset.

A soft hum. ]

Go back to sleep. I'm just going to shower.

[ Being clean always calms his mind — and the warm water is a luxury that he can indulge in without any ill effects. ]

[ He blinks awake when Silco moves, body confused by company, unhappy with the peeling away. He finds Silco better than he saw him last. More alert in spite of sleep. Reaching for the water at his own behest, a clarity in his gaze when he turns it back on Stephen that he couldn't have hoped for the night prior.

Then he's close again. Deliberate. Stephen's eyes slip closed around a sigh when the hand that soothes over him finds his face. He coaxes them open again only to succumb to the look settled on him, striding through the flourish of dozy butterflies waking in the pit of his stomach and covering that hand with his own, pressing lips soft to his palm.

Then he relents. Loose with rest, he subsides against the headboard, mouth a soft curve and eyes already floating shut again. His voice is warm and dosed with sleep as he issues an answering instruction. ]

Wake me when you're done. I'll fix you fresh dressings.

[ His hand is the last thing to accept the parting. A circlet for Silco's wrist until he's far enough away that Stephen would have to move from his spot to give chase. It drops and lets him go. ]

[ Silco doesn't, or not in the way Stephen means; he crawls back into bed clean and sweet after having some time under the falling water to process the sheer overwhelm of feeling about whatever is happening between them, something tender grown and watered embarrassingly, terrifyingly out of his control.

So he starts again on the monumental task that he was forced to abandon last night; though rather than undressing Stephen fully he's just looking to strip him a little looser, since he didn't do much more than take off his shoes to sleep. Silco feels along his bodies for places the fabric pulls tight and then explores for where the ease is, finding buckles and buttons and zips and undoing them, until Stephen is a dishevelment and Silco feels less guilty for pulling him in to snooze tangled a little more.

They'll probably be caught by Jinx at this rate, who has only been scarce because she saw the earlier withdrawals up close, who treats a locked door between them as simply a request for her to be sneaky in checking in. Silco doesn't let it bother him. If things keep going like they're going, it's something he'll have to start really considering. ]

[ He should protest. Fresh dressings are important, he's a doctor, it needs to get done... but he's languid with rest and with company, and Silco needs sleep too if he's to recover. Call it medicinal.

So he doesn't protest. Doesn't help a huge amount either beyond lifting an arm here, hitching his hips to make room for shifting fabric there. Lets Silco figure it out until everything's loose and he's drawn into a bundle of warm limbs, where he huffs out a breath and settles down, adjusts for comfort, turns his face against the threat of any later morning light. ]

Just five more minutes.

[ He murmurs, a joke, sleeprich and blurry around its edges. Content to indulge them both for much longer than that. ]

[ Silco smiles to himself, presses a kiss to whatever part of Stephen is nearest, and settles. Tells himself it's easier for him to sleep like this, protected by someone whose power he trusts. Who he, astonishingly, trusts.

When they wake again it's been far longer than five minutes. Silco yawns and grins, rolling so that he's supported almost entirely by Stephen rather than the mattress. Making a nuisance of himself. ]

Bandages.

[ A reminder because it's much more palatable as a torment that he's inflicting on his long-suffering doctor/lover. He's probably still in no state to do more than flirt, but Silco's always had ambition in spades, and he pairs this reminder with soft kisses to Stephen's neck, fingers wandering to play in the gaps of loose clothing. ]

[ A laugh coughs its way into a hum as Silco's weight becomes mostly his to bear, more than happy to worm a hand out from the sprawl of them to sink fingers into sleep mussed hair, make a bigger mess of what's usually kept so carefully controlled. ]

You know, I would, but I seem to be a little impeded at the moment.

[ An exaggeration. The difference in stature is enough that he could have them both up - or at least his own way cleared - in a moment were Silco not to provide any active resistance. But if he's going to play it this way, Stephen's more than happy to take full advantage. Stay a few more moments to appreciate those wandering ministrations, tilting his head back just so to display the stretch of his throat, make way for his mouth. ]

[ Silco slowly begins to map the skin from jaw to clavicle with his mouth, pausing only to suck a sharp bruise just high enough it'll take a scarf to hide. His tongue plays over broken capillaries with deep, possessive satisfaction before he continues to kiss, and occasionally lightly sink his crooked teeth into, the column of Stephen's throat, focused. Nuzzles his nose back up the sensitised skin, dressing crinkling like a reminder. A fond single kiss to Stephen's Adam's apple, the low-crackling vocal fry he's so fond of at this hour.

Not that his own voice is much better. ]

I think my fever broke. If you'd like to take my temperature.

[ It's a mistake, perhaps, he realises a little later than is useful. Silco makes a meal of him and Stephen's rapidly wide awake, pulse kicking, fingers curling loose into sheets. A hum of satisfaction cuts abruptly with a gasp, and after the hand in Silco's hair tightens its grip so he can hold him in place as he all but surges up and in for a kiss that threatens passion— but pulls back, sweet at the last second. Less caution than care. ]

Oh? Okay.

[ Stephen settles back into the pillow, glowingly satisfied with the smarting skin at his throat, and lets his hand slip from Silco's hair to trail fingertips down the length of his spine, palm going flat so he can grab a handful of his ass, squeeze, flirt fingers down toward the cleft.

And then he's heaving himself out from under Silco's drape in one determined rush and padding off in all his unkempt layers in search of the spare medical supplies he'd set aside the night before. He sheds as he goes, draping pieces of clothing over the back of Silco's single chair. Acquires a new one from nowhere along the way, returning to him clad only in boxer briefs and a light robe. ]

Say ah.

[ Flat, with a suitably obnoxious mostly-straight face even as his eyes all but sparkle with fun, offering the tip of the thermometer out when he perches back on the bed edge. It's relatively clear his motivation is at least 60% to be annoying. ]

Edited 2025-02-08 09:58 (UTC)

[ Silco flops an arm out melodramatically as he's cast cruelly aside, watching Stephen leave with a burning gaze. He doesn't really mind, but in the spirit of playfulness he arranges himself all pitiful. Someone's poor little meow meow, so recently on his deathbed, how could Stephen tease him like this. ]

Bastard.

[ Fonder than the epithet implies. So a win on all counts for Stephen. Silco's attempt at evening the score, of course, is to slide closer and actually stick his tongue out. ]

Aah.

[ It breaks his expression at the very least, smirk creeping in (nice parry), but he goes ahead and sticks the thermometer right in there anyway. Chucks Silco's chin to encourage his mouth closed with a wry little twist of that smirk before he angles away to fuss with dressings and wipes, hiding a more earnest smile. ]

Under the tongue.

[ A long-suffering sigh through the nose, and he does, with that stem-tying tongue, adjust the thermometre into uncomfortable place and arrange himself duly to have his bandages changed. At least he's calmed down enough to see this as sweet rather than an overreach, and kissing has mollified him into a well-behaved, albeit clearly annoyed, patient. Willing to get his claws trimmed in the hopes of getting more pets.

Not that he's fully domesticated; he keeps his own count, pulls the little glass stick out before Stephen gets to it and squints at the mercury level. ]

Seems I'll live. As expected.

As expected, huh?

[ A mild tease. He saw the state of him when he first arrived, spent enough time with him after to know there's a non-zero chance he'd anticipated the sweet embrace of death at some point in the hours before, if not the hours after. Stephen's anticipated it for less: even a bad hangover can be enough to signal the end while you're in it, and this was no hangover.

Peeling the existing bandage back, Stephen seems - if not pleased, then certainly not displeased by what he finds underneath. It's easier today to handle the open wounds, the fresh vile mess of it seeming mollified a little by his early hours efforts. He draws antiseptic around the edges, over unbroken skin, with the same old pragmatic focus. ]

Yeah. Seems you'll live.

[ Sets his work into place with fresh bandages, letting the old go swallowed up in airborne in a little magician's flourish. It dies before sparks can drop and catch. Not quite a lollipop at the end of the appointment, but something close.

The catch of his chin and swift inward lean to land a peck on his well-behaved forehead before he can protest it maybe something closer still. ]

How's your stomach? Try something plain?

Edited 2025-02-08 10:44 (UTC)

[ Silco clicks his tongue at that sentimental little kiss, even if it does effectively ease a scratchy restlessness at all the probing of his sore face, the innate flinch at being seen as disfigured and disgusting. ]

Don't mother me, now.

[ That's a no. Doctor's fuss he'll accept, but feeding him might be a step too far. That or he doesn't want to risk it and doesn't want to say so. ]

[ A huff of a laugh. Fine. He's been allowed more leeway than he expected, he won't push for more and risk shutting down the entire operation. ]

I'm gonna eat. Want me to leave you for a while?

[ For a while, an offer not a threat. He'll be back sooner or later whether Silco takes the respite of his parting for breakfast or not, but he's willing to give him some of the space he'd so adamantly craved when Stephen first showed up invited now he's not so deep in the pit of it. ]

[ Yes. Of course he wants his space back, wants to wallow — but in what misery? For what purpose? The easy dismissal catches in his throat. ]

I wouldn't begrudge you some breakfast, if you wanted to eat here.

[ Stepping carefully around the possibility that the good doctor might actually want a break from him, given givens. But definitely assenting to a little more company. ]

Yeah? Think you could stomach food in the room?

[ He was willing to let it go, but if Silco will create a self-inflicted opening in the conversation, he's not not going to take advantage of it. There's a knowing little look that says he doesn't actually have to answer.

In real response to the offer, he abandons the bed again to wander to the door, sticks his head out. True to form, a staff member is exactly where he needs them to be, and he makes his (very specific this time, fool him once) breakfast request, playfully citing the need to tend a patient to excuse them both from going down. Returns to this time climb back in properly, shedding his robe and shooing Silco out of the way to make space for himself to tuck in under the covers. ]

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