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How many days would he be able to go without feasting? The question had stuck like a pest in his mind, even as he tucked the journal back into the secret compartment in his desk. No one had to know that he used it as often as he did. It was for scientific purposes — at least it had been at the start. He didn’t care to acknowledge the fact that he had started using it to write down thoughts that did not always pertain to the science. Tony didn’t have to know that. Wong didn’t even know that the journal existed, and even less did he know about their little secret.
Stephen cleared his throat before rising from his seat, stumbling slightly over the leg of his chair. He grabbed the stack of books from the side of the table and tucked them under his arm before heading out of the room. His office was located in the east wing in Kamar-Taj, adjacent to the medical section. There were more reasons than one that he’d chosen this one in particular, but his affliction was not one of them, despite what many of the other sorcerers believed. He knew that they were whispering about him — enhanced hearing was both a blessing and a curse. It was why he had talked to Stark about it, and by extension why he had been given that journal to write about his experiences. How many days could he go without feasting? So far, he’d managed three before his paranoia had driven him back to Metro General. Stephen wasn’t a monster. He didn’t want to be one. It was what he had used as a conversation starter when deciding to bring his issues up with Tony all that time ago.
“You’re not a monster, Stephen, and you know that,” was what Tony had told him then, and continuously told him every time the subject got brought up in conversation. Today would be no different. After Stephen had handed the books over to the librarian, he steered his steps into the circular room at the heart of the library. From there — right after tossing a glance at the Eye of Agamotto sitting on the center pedestal — he pushed open the doors that would lead him to the New York Sanctum. The shift in atmosphere was something he had gotten used to by now. The first few times had been disorienting, especially back when he still had so much to learn about the Mystic Arts. After all of his multidimensional traveling, however, changing atmospheres had become a regular Tuesday.
Stepping around the wooden panel that shielded the magical gateway from view, Stephen stilled. He looked toward the entrance door, then followed the railing of the staircase with his gaze. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scents around him. There was something special about New York’s Sanctum that stood out from the others. Something about the smell of it. Not necessarily the scent of old books and metallic ornaments on the walls, no, there was something … in the walls, perhaps. Something ingrained that made a kind of warmth spread in his chest. Or maybe it was the fact that he spent far less time in any of the other Sanctums.
After re-familiarizing himself with the hallway, Stephen headed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and made a right turn into the following hallway. Opening the second door on the right, he stepped in and closed the door. Tony would arrive at any minute, and after a full day of working, Stephen didn’t want to appear disheveled. Not that he was able to avoid certain aspects of his appearance looking a bit … irregular, but the least he could do was make sure that his hair and clothes were tucked in right. As he turned to face the large mirror above the marble counter with double sinks, a gaunt expression looked back at him.
“Fuck,” Stephen grumbled under his breath. He dragged both hands over his face and tapped his cheeks a few times. Yes, okay, maybe his work was tiring at times, but he had more energy to use than any other person in his line of work did, and he wasn’t that tired yet. Or so he had thought. How long was it since he had slept? Hours or days? Damn, that wasn’t a good sign. He would have noted in his journal the last time he rested, but he left that back in his office. What day had he recorded as free from feasting? He remembered making it to three, but that was before the last time he ate, and—
The sound of the entrance doors creaking open pulled him out of his thoughts. Tony was here. The joyous call that most surely echoed through the entire building pulled a smile to his face, and he sighed softly. There was no use pulling any magic tricks to conceal the physical signs of unrest. He’d tried that before, and Tony had seen right through him. It was something that was both annoying and terribly endearing. How much Tony cared for him, despite everything that they had been through. Stephen wouldn’t trade it for the world. He chanced another look at himself and arched a single eyebrow. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. The start of bags under his eyes was one thing, but the pale complexion and snatched cheekbones had other causes than sleep deprivation. It would do.
“Be right there,” Stephen called out as he left the bathroom, making sure to close the door properly after himself before heading down the stairs. The smile that he was greeted with warmed something deep inside his chest. He had thought many times that perhaps it shouldn’t be possible for him to feel his heart jolt, but it did nonetheless. Every time he saw those chocolate eyes looking at him like he was worth looking at. As if he was the only thing in the world that currently existed. That is how Tony Stark made Stephen feel. Worthy, seen, and unique. Like he was one in a million. And well. Maybe, just maybe, he was.
“Hi gorgeous,” Tony greeted as Stephen stepped onto the hallway floor. He stopped there, unsure about his own capacity to control himself. Tony was not so shy, however, walking right up to him to put a hand on his shoulder and deliver a smooch. He should have been weary — they both should. Stephen for not knowing how far his boundaries ran, and Tony for knowing the risk of the action. Far too many times had there been an overstep, and it had resulted in Tony’s neck paying the price.
For Stephen Strange bore the terrible curse of being a vampire. Not the storytale type with glowing skin or aversions to yadda yadda. Most of the time, he functioned like any other human, and was therefore able to blend in with the crowd so long as he kept his thirst in check. It’s when he didn’t keep it in check that the symptoms worsened. Accidents had happened in their shared past, and though it had never been disastrous, Stephen’s paranoia had rapidly increased. The experiment they were undergoing had been carefully planned before any decisions had been made, and even then he hadn’t been comfortable. Indeed, he adored Tony, and he trusted him, but after enough close calls, anyone would take the same precautions. That’s what he had told Tony, and still told himself every time he woke up from a rest.
“You should stop doing that,” Stephen grumbled, not being able to help bending down to nuzzle his nose into Tony’s hair, just above his ear. His hands found themselves on Tony’s waist, and his eyes fell close as he inhaled deeply. Mmmh, human. Sweet, wonderful—
A deep, rumbling purr reverberated deep in Stephen’s throat, and Tony hummed along with the sound. Stephen heard it, and he detested it. Pressing his lips tightly together, he lifted his head and stretched his back, gently pushing Tony away from himself. As their eyes interlocked, Stephen noticed the hurt look hidden in that endless brown. “You need to stop doing that, Tony,” he repeated, voice soft through the rasp that had started a few days prior. Yet another symptom of going too long without a sip. “I’ve told you that—”.
Tony interrupted Stephen with a sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And I still say that I should,” he argued, his eyebrows pulling together to cause a crease at the top of his nosebridge. “The whole point of this is to see how much or how little you have to sustain yourself”. Tony paused only briefly enough for Stephen to register the words. “And the point, frankly, is lost to me if the result is based on whether or not you can live and act as any other person would. Wasn’t that the point? Or what am I missing here that you forgot to fill me in on?”
Stephen closed his eyes again and exhaled a breath. He moved his hands up to Tony’s shoulders before looking at him. Tony was clearly upset, and Stephen could see his point but … did not quite want to admit it. “There’s nothing you’re missing,” he assured, moving his hands down Tony’s arms to offer an affectionate squeeze of his biceps. “I remember the terms, loud and clear. I wrote them up in my journal the very same day you gave it to me”.
“So?” Tony was annoyed now. Stephen could hear it in his tone, but what was worse was the change in his smell. Stephen could sense mood changes in people based on so many little details, but when it came ot Tony, the change in his smell was the worse of it all. Like whipped cream gone sour, or far too bitter coffee that cooled. Yes, Tony smelled like coffee, but it was the underlying tones of him that changed. And Stephen hated it.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Tony,” he said slowly. It was the most honesty he could give. The raw and rough fear that he felt every time he thought he might lose it was unbearable, and he blankly refused to let that happen again. But the last thing he wanted was for Tony to be upset with him for having that fear.
Tony sighed, moving his hands up to cup Stephen’s cheeks. “You won’t hurt me,” he said, as if the was the surest fact he knew. “I know you won’t, because you haven’t. The last time you bit me was weeks ago. And besides, you’re too soft for it”.
Stephen could impossibly fight the upward pull at the corners of his lips. His hands landed on top of Tony’s, and he sighed. Not with defeat. He did not consider himself defeated yet. He would fight on for as long as he could about this particular topic. At least until his willpower would undoubtedly crumble from the efficiency of Tony’s pleading gaze. Which it did not do yet, and would not do yet. “At least do me the favor of keeping yourself safe,” he said.
Tony’s head tilted slightly. “From what exactly, mister blood wizard?”
The nickname made Stephen roll his eyes with a scoff. At least the little fucker was endearing to no end. He was testing now. Not Stephen’s patience — he had far too much of that. Tony’s own patience would run out two times over before Stephen’s would be depleted. Tony was testing boundaries, which were far smaller. “From threading on far too thin ice above waters that you do not know the depths of”. Stephen curled his fingers around Tony’s wrists to pry his hands away from his face, then turned his head slightly to press his lips against the skin just below his own fingers. Keeping his gaze fixed on Tony’s, he carefully watched for a reaction. Slowly, he parted his lips, baring sharp fangs that he dragged over the steady pulse he could sense below the layer of softly tanned skin.
Tony promply pulled his hands away before Stephen could do anything further. “Alright, fine, point taken,” he said with an air of urgency. He then exhaled a breath and smoothed his hands over the front of his suit jacket. Stephen found a sort of amusement in the reaction, but didn’t let it show in his expression. “You’re kind of an ass when you get hungry, you know,” Tony said, obviously trying to keep his tone lighthearted thought the veil of fear that Stephen could see in those eyes. He knew it far too well by now.
“I know,” Stephen assured, running the backs of his fingers along Tony’s jawline. The half-lidding of those eyes made the warmth in his chest spread further. How many times had he wished that this could be their normal? How many times had he studied those lips with a sense of longing filling his core? How often had he caught himself daydreaming about a simpler life? Not away from his sorcery, but away from his blood lust. How many times had he shaken his head due to losing his focus while sitting in his office? Too many. And yet there was no denying that there were many more to come. “It’s what today’s journal entry consisted of,” he spoke quietly, the rasp at the back of his throat more prominent.
“Yeah?” Tony responded idly, cupping his hand over Stephen’s to lean his cheek into his palm. He blinked, and those eyes refocused. “And tomorrow? What will tomorrow’s entry be?”
Stephen hummed, his eyebrows arching before falling back into their neutral position. He tilted his head, gaze dropping down to Tony’s lips, then running back up over his face until settling on those eyes. Those deep, wonderful, beautiful eyes. Those eyes haunted him in the absolute best of ways. “Another day of not drinking human blood, notes on today’s tome study, a list of students that are misbehaving and my thoughts about said behaviors, and maybe a daydream or two about your t—”
“Oh, shut up”. Tony slapped Stephen’s hand away, but the grin on his face was unmistakable. Even more so was the laugh rolling up through his throat. It was pure music that reached Stephen’s ears. That is what he would write in tonight’s entry before covering himself with a blanket. About the way Tony took a step backward and turned away from him to look at the wall as he tried to stifle his laugh. Or maybe about the crinkles that appeared in the corners of his eyes as he did so. Or the way his tongue glided along his bottom lip before he closed his mouth to sigh through his nose. Maybe the way those eyes turned back to look at him while he still smiled.
“You’re the worst,” Tony said, dipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. Stephen chortled before hearing his own laugh rumble through his chest. He grinned, and Tony mirrored it. He mirrored it beautifully.
“I could literally impossibly be any worse than you are, mister menace,” Stephen shot back, the smile not leaving his face. He would likely be smiling all the way back to his office.
Tony faked a hurt expression and slapped both hands over his chest. “That’s mister menace sir to you, bloodsucker,” he said, extending his index finger to point at Stephen. He couldn’t hold his expression for long, and they both chuffered at each other where they stood.
“Alright, mister menace sir,” Stephen teased, his left hand finding Tony’s shoulder and sqeezing affectionately.
They remained like that for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Tony’s hand soon found Stephen’s waist, and he sighed softly through his nose. “Try for a few more days, Stephen. For me”.
The plea in his gaze was unmistakable. That very plea that effectively caused Stephen’s walls to crumble. There it was, and he could sense himself losing the fight in live time. This is how weak he was — how soft he was, as Tony had put it. For this man, he was oh so weak and puny, and no other person in the world had the same effect on him. He parted his lips and sighed, now having no choice but to admit himself defeated. “For you?” he asked quietly. Tony nodded, and Stephen noticed his jaw working. Hope, maybe. Did he not know that he had already won? “Anything,” he stated. Matter of fact.
If Tony’s smile could widen any further. It shone up the entire entrance hall, making the lights seem pale in comparison. “Keep writing, and keep me updated. I want to know every little detail,” he said, turning to face Stephen fully and moving both hands up to cup his cheeks. Stephen melted into his touch. “For science, of course”.
Bullshit, Stark, Stephen mused, but didn’t say the words out loud. He was far too busy enjoying the touch he received, the smell of Tony’s happiness, and most importantly Tony’s taste as he reached up on his toes to offer a very pleasant, and very appreciated kiss. In place of the constant fear, constraint, and insecurity, Stephen’s heart soared. If that heart was literal or a strictly metaphorical one, well. That was a question he could consider later.