[ It feels like there should be something else he should say to fill that surprisingly comfortable silence, and yet he finds himself lacking the script. Because there is something starkly, absolutely terrifying about actually caring for someone and then, more terrifyingly, having them care about him in return.
It’s so much easier to think of this as something frivolous — as the natural culmination of what they’ve been circling for literal months anyhow, eventually tumbling into bed with the attractive woman he’s been working so closely with, it was bound to happen — but the truth remains that it is more than that, more than just the breaking of a dry spell, and Stephen knows it. And that—
Well, that remains terrifying.
But for now, he just curls an arm over her shoulders. They’re sprawled over the covers, skin sticky with drying sweat, the warmth slowly evaporating from their bodies. The benefit of being within the Sanctum Sanctorum, however, is that the former Sorcerer Supreme has unprecedented control over the space — he gestures with a hand, a quick and precise flutter of his fingers worthy of any Brakebills instructor, and suddenly they’re beneath the covers instead of on top of them. The blankets pool at their hips, half slung over the arch of Julia’s thighs, but it saves them some jostling to get into the bed. ]
You are such a showoff. [ She murmurs the words with an affectionate shake of her head. ] Lucky for you, I find that incredibly endearing.
[ It's easy to openly share her affection with him now. Before, there had been an odd distance between them — less than professional colleagues but more than close friends. They'd spent months dancing around each other, finding where lines were drawn and then repositioning them time and again as their relationship changed. And while part of her is understandably a bit scared of what this latest change might mean, mostly she's just feeling... at home.
Julia Wicker knows how she feels about Stephen Strange. The question is if Stephen Strange feels the same way about Julia Wicker. But whether he does or not, she embraces her own emotions and lets them wash over her as she leans her head against him. ]
[ There’s a treacherous warmth in Stephen’s chest as she snuggles up against him. He’s too warm, too buoyantly content, too abundantly fond: he can feel that persistent flutter in his ribcage as the weight of her head tips against his shoulder, as he can still smell the faint scent of her perfume, almost burned off from the long evening at the bar and their exertions.
Julia’s a magician and she’s a goddess and she’s a survivor and she keeps him on his toes and tells him that he’s better than he is until he believes it, and all of the above is nervewracking to consider. He is so, so painfully fond of her. He can’t stand to think of when she’d come stumbling into the Sanctum, her mind burning up with an amnesia spell, and he’d almost lost her.
And so he’s starting to have to conclude that he loves her, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the hormones and inevitable endorphins, it’s biological, he tries to tell himself, clipped and scientific and explanatory—
(But it’s not. He knows it’s not.)
It hadn’t taken long for his brain to start overthinking things again, but he brushes his lips against the top of her head, trying to be content to simply be here, and reminding himself to be content with that. One second and one minute at a time. ]
I didn’t have any ulterior motives when I invited you out for drinks, but I’m glad. And I’m sober enough to say that I hope we wind up here again.
[ This evening has been too perfect to be real. At the back of her mind, she keeps expecting for some emergency to pop up, magical alarms blaring and pulling Stephen away from her just as they're settling into whatever this is. But seconds turn into minutes and he's still there beside her, steady and warm and wonderful.
Sighing softly in contentment, her happiness is evident in her voice when she replies with a hint of mischief. ]
I'm just tipsy enough to admit I had slightly ulterior motives when choosing my dress for tonight. [ She even giggles quietly while reaching up to press her open hand against his chest. ] So I'm fairly confident we can arrange a repeat performance soon. Maybe even two or three.
[ His jaw, almost literally, drops. Stephen cranes to look down at her, only faux affronted, as he gasps: ]
Oh my god. I knew it. I feel vindicated. There’s no possible way— Because part of me did think, at one point, that surely you must know the effect that dress could have on a man.
[ It’s an extremely good dress. And it’s also done its job extremely well since it’s currently lying in a puddle on his bedroom floor, so. ]
[ He's so adorable when he lets his playful side show. His goofy, silly side, rather than just the sarcastic comments and dry humor. Not everyone gets to see this Stephen Strange, and she's grateful to be counted among those few. ]
Oh, Stephen, women always know. [ Grinning, she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, before moving to sit up and leave the comfort of his bed. ] But we can continue this discussion of how I seduced you with my impeccable fashion sense when I get back from the bathroom.
Impeccable fashion sense, amongst other things. [ Stephen — regretfully — lets her scoot away, and then remembers that she hasn’t used his private bathroom yet. It’s one of the few in the townhouse, while almost everyone else has to share the common ones in the hallways. There are still some perks to having once been the Sorcerer Supreme, even if he’s passed the title on. ] It’s that door to the left.
[ Speaking of the bathroom, he’s also a rumpled mess, so he wonders if a shower might be a good idea… but coming on the heels of drink after drink after enchanted drink in the Bar With No Doors, plus the late hour, and he’s frankly tired. The shower will have to be a problem for Tomorrow Stephen.
Maybe one for them to tackle together.
Sprawled comfortably back in the pillows, he admires the view while Julia slides out of bed and crosses the room; and he’s not shy about said admiration, watching her go. ]
[ Julia gasps with the same exaggerated effect as he'd used just a few moments ago, dropped jaw and all as she slides off the exceptionally comfortable mattress. ] A private bathroom? A girl could get used to this.
[ His admiration does not go unnoticed. She glances back once and rolls her eyes with a grin, but damn does it feel good to have someone look at her like that again. Someone she wants to look at her that way.
As she moves to the indicated door, she scoops up a discarded article of clothing from the floor, shaking the white dress shirt out a bit before slipping her arms through the sleeves. He doesn't get to see the full effect before she closes the bathroom door behind her, though — he'll have to wait a few minutes for the reveal.
After taking care of business, she spends a moment at the mirror trying to tame her own Thoroughly Debauched appearance. Fingers combed through wild curls helps a bit, and she cleans up her slightly smudged mascara, but the half-buttoned stolen shirt ensures that she still looks like she's had a very good time. He'll get to see for himself when she emerges from the bathroom, too-long sleeves hanging down to her fingertips and the hem falling low enough to be almost modest. ]
[ He’d meant to stay in bed, but he winds up sitting on the edge of the mattress, tugging on his briefs again for some shred of dignity; her mention of the bathroom led to the realisation that he really should relieve himself and brush his teeth before crashing for the night. Stephen Strange is a creature of routine and regimented order, so he can’t help wanting to tick those boxes before bed. But just as he hears the bathroom door open and he stands up, to trade spots with Julia—
Then he runs aground again, standing and staring at her. ]
Oh, [ he says, his words temporarily running dry. Because christ, she looks good half-naked in his clothes. He wants her puttering around his bedroom in his shirt all the time. He wants to get her out of it again. He wants everything at once. He just wants, period.
Stephen crosses the room, but instead of walking past her, he stops to kiss her again; hands sliding up Julia’s thighs and beneath the shirttails, palms settling on her hips. ]
Now it’s my turn to say, god, I like the look of you in that. A shame I can’t just have you in the kitchen like this all morning.
[ It's not just the private bathroom she could get used to. Being touched affectionately and looked at speechlessly, it's nothing short of addictive. And being able to slide her hands up his bare chest and lean up on her toes to return that kiss — yeah, this is really fucking nice.
Settling back on her heels, she grins up at him, tilting her head to the side so her long hair cascades in a shifting curtain over one shoulder. That teasing mischief emerges again as she pats his chest almost comfortingly. ]
Well, maybe one weekend you can send the novices off on some grueling training exercise and we can have the place to ourselves. Until then, we'll just have to make do.
Oh, don’t put ideas in my head. It’s happening. I’ll find a way.
[ It would be difficult, considering any sorcerer could portal in anytime — but he was choosing to see it as a challenge now, and there were few things Doctor Strange liked more than a challenge. He’s already thinking about enhanced privacy wards, about alarms and sensors to warn them if anyone’s approaching, about seeing if he can wall off part of the Sanctum so it’s inaccessible by magic, so anyone has to knock on the door the good old-fashioned way…
And, so. It turns out that apart from his self-consciousness about his hands, Stephen is pretty easygoing and comfortable with this: the flirtation, the easy affection, the sex. He kisses her again — he honestly can’t get enough of that, can’t stop relishing the fact that he is allowed to, now — and then it’s his turn to vanish to the restroom.
Once he returns, he slides back into bed with a contented sigh, rejoining her. ]
It’s probably too much to say you should keep the shirt on all day, isn’t it?
[ Julia has absolutely no doubt that he will, in fact, find a way to make this particular fantasy come true. Honestly, she's looking forward to it; she likes the sound of them having a semi-normal morning in the kitchen like any other couple. For maybe five seconds, she considers offering her apartment as an alternative since no one would bother them there— But then she firmly dismisses the thought, not willing to risk a PTSD episode just for some alone time.
No, he'll come up with something. He always does.
Stephen is in the bathroom just long enough for Julia to pluck a book from the stash he'd kept hidden in his private space and slip back under the blankets. The pages are crisp with age and crinkle slightly as she turns them, trying to parse what she can from the illustrated diagrams and what little she knows of Turkish. It's only when he slides back into bed beside her that she looks away from the book in her hands, the absolute picture of innocence. ]
It's not too much. I wasn't planning on giving it back, anyway.
Good. [ Now ensconced in the blankets beside her, Stephen cranes his head to look over her shoulder and see which book Julia happened to pluck out of the stack. ]
It’s a grimoire with a few different spells; my Turkish isn’t the best, so I haven’t be able to get any of them working just yet.
[ One of the bookmarked pages beneath her finger is about ways to forego rest using magic. He’s chronically terrible with sleep, tends to struggle with it, and the insomnia’s only gotten exponentially worse since the accident and becoming a sorcerer. Thus: perpetually seeking out coffee, and then when coffee doesn’t work, magical stimulants and ways to keep his mind sharp and alert even without a full night’s sleep. ]
[ Knowing he hasn't been able to crack the spells in the grimoire just makes her even more interested. She flips back to the first bookmarked page, scanning the calligraphy and wishing Turks had adopted a Roman alphabet much sooner. Which is very White Colonial of her, she acknowledges, but Arabic script had never been a perfect match for the more vowel-heavy Turkish. When she can't discern the context of the first spell, she flips forward to another, this one much easier to understand. ]
This has to do with sleep. [ Her fingertips ghost over the curling calligraphy before she turns her head to look at him with more curiosity than concern. For now. ] Not sleeping well?
Nope, [ Stephen says, popping the p much like Julia does; a little verbal tic he’s picked up from her after all their months together. ] See enough unspeakable horrors, the subconscious gets quite a bit of fodder to work with.
[ He says it lightly, though, with that trademark flippancy as if it’s no big deal. It’s gone on for so long now that he’s grown used to it: waking in sweat-tangled sheets, clutching his face, dreaming of his own death across the multiverse. It’s even worse, too, after meeting that haunted, haggard version of himself and knowing the other Strange was literally hunting himself across his dreams. Cheerful stuff. ]
Chamomile tea, I am regretful to announce, doesn’t do shit.
[ She loves that he's picked that up from her; every time she hears it, something in her warms and feels a little more right. Along with all the little things they do for each other, and all the things they share, it makes her feel like she's home. He is home as much as the Sanctum is.
Which is why it hurts to hear that they share this form of suffering too. Her tone is more serious than his, actually acknowledging the problem instead of pretending it's not much of one at all. ]
No, it really doesn't.
[ Unspeakable horrors are something she's unfortunately gained a great deal of experience with over the past few years. Witnessing her own death isn't among them, thankfully, but she's seen enough friends die in various ways and timelines to provide plenty of ammunition for her nightmares. Add in a few vengeful asshole gods and you've got the Julia Wicker Nightmare Cocktail.
Closing the book, she offers it to him to do with as he pleases — she's certainly not getting up again. ]
Not that I’ve found yet. [ A plain answer, brief yet honest, as Stephen accepts the book and then magically floats it over to another precarious pile on an overstuffed armchair on his side of the room. But then there’s a smile coiling at the corner of his mouth as he continues, ]
I hadn’t yet tried riotous amounts of sex, though, so there might be a cure for insomnia hidden in there somewhere. Which we should investigate, going forward. You know. For science.
[ Honestly, she should have expected that would be his answer. It catches her off-guard, though, and she can't stop the amused grin that tugs at her lips. Something warm blooms in her chest as she shakes her head and nestles further down in the blankets, turning on her side to face him. ]
For science, huh? I do enjoy research. [ Especially the positively exhausting kind. ]
[ Of course Stephen Strange would find ways to turn scientific vocabulary into dirty talk. But his grin is matching hers, warm and teasing and playful. They have fun with each other, is the thing, and is the thing that matters.
And the night — and morning — passes like that. Some other evening, they might sit awake poring over more of those books and untangling some particularly gnarly piece of Turkish grammar and its arcane implications together, but for now, they’re too distracted by the fresh new appeal of intimacy: hands on each other, mouths meeting, eventually falling asleep content and exhausted. When they eventually wake up in the morning with sunlight drifting through the curtains, they inevitably wind up drawn to each other to explore that territory all over again in the cold light of day, dead-sober and yet still eager.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ourladytrees) wrote2022-06-18 12:21 am
no subject
It’s so much easier to think of this as something frivolous — as the natural culmination of what they’ve been circling for literal months anyhow, eventually tumbling into bed with the attractive woman he’s been working so closely with, it was bound to happen — but the truth remains that it is more than that, more than just the breaking of a dry spell, and Stephen knows it. And that—
Well, that remains terrifying.
But for now, he just curls an arm over her shoulders. They’re sprawled over the covers, skin sticky with drying sweat, the warmth slowly evaporating from their bodies. The benefit of being within the Sanctum Sanctorum, however, is that the former Sorcerer Supreme has unprecedented control over the space — he gestures with a hand, a quick and precise flutter of his fingers worthy of any Brakebills instructor, and suddenly they’re beneath the covers instead of on top of them. The blankets pool at their hips, half slung over the arch of Julia’s thighs, but it saves them some jostling to get into the bed. ]
Party tricks, [ he says, amiably. ]
no subject
[ It's easy to openly share her affection with him now. Before, there had been an odd distance between them — less than professional colleagues but more than close friends. They'd spent months dancing around each other, finding where lines were drawn and then repositioning them time and again as their relationship changed. And while part of her is understandably a bit scared of what this latest change might mean, mostly she's just feeling... at home.
Julia Wicker knows how she feels about Stephen Strange. The question is if Stephen Strange feels the same way about Julia Wicker. But whether he does or not, she embraces her own emotions and lets them wash over her as she leans her head against him. ]
no subject
Julia’s a magician and she’s a goddess and she’s a survivor and she keeps him on his toes and tells him that he’s better than he is until he believes it, and all of the above is nervewracking to consider. He is so, so painfully fond of her. He can’t stand to think of when she’d come stumbling into the Sanctum, her mind burning up with an amnesia spell, and he’d almost lost her.
And so he’s starting to have to conclude that he loves her, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the hormones and inevitable endorphins, it’s biological, he tries to tell himself, clipped and scientific and explanatory—
(But it’s not. He knows it’s not.)
It hadn’t taken long for his brain to start overthinking things again, but he brushes his lips against the top of her head, trying to be content to simply be here, and reminding himself to be content with that. One second and one minute at a time. ]
I didn’t have any ulterior motives when I invited you out for drinks, but I’m glad. And I’m sober enough to say that I hope we wind up here again.
[ In the morning, for example. ]
no subject
Sighing softly in contentment, her happiness is evident in her voice when she replies with a hint of mischief. ]
I'm just tipsy enough to admit I had slightly ulterior motives when choosing my dress for tonight. [ She even giggles quietly while reaching up to press her open hand against his chest. ] So I'm fairly confident we can arrange a repeat performance soon. Maybe even two or three.
no subject
Oh my god. I knew it. I feel vindicated. There’s no possible way— Because part of me did think, at one point, that surely you must know the effect that dress could have on a man.
[ It’s an extremely good dress. And it’s also done its job extremely well since it’s currently lying in a puddle on his bedroom floor, so. ]
no subject
Oh, Stephen, women always know. [ Grinning, she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, before moving to sit up and leave the comfort of his bed. ] But we can continue this discussion of how I seduced you with my impeccable fashion sense when I get back from the bathroom.
no subject
[ Speaking of the bathroom, he’s also a rumpled mess, so he wonders if a shower might be a good idea… but coming on the heels of drink after drink after enchanted drink in the Bar With No Doors, plus the late hour, and he’s frankly tired. The shower will have to be a problem for Tomorrow Stephen.
Maybe one for them to tackle together.
Sprawled comfortably back in the pillows, he admires the view while Julia slides out of bed and crosses the room; and he’s not shy about said admiration, watching her go. ]
no subject
[ His admiration does not go unnoticed. She glances back once and rolls her eyes with a grin, but damn does it feel good to have someone look at her like that again. Someone she wants to look at her that way.
As she moves to the indicated door, she scoops up a discarded article of clothing from the floor, shaking the white dress shirt out a bit before slipping her arms through the sleeves. He doesn't get to see the full effect before she closes the bathroom door behind her, though — he'll have to wait a few minutes for the reveal.
After taking care of business, she spends a moment at the mirror trying to tame her own Thoroughly Debauched appearance. Fingers combed through wild curls helps a bit, and she cleans up her slightly smudged mascara, but the half-buttoned stolen shirt ensures that she still looks like she's had a very good time. He'll get to see for himself when she emerges from the bathroom, too-long sleeves hanging down to her fingertips and the hem falling low enough to be almost modest. ]
no subject
Then he runs aground again, standing and staring at her. ]
Oh, [ he says, his words temporarily running dry. Because christ, she looks good half-naked in his clothes. He wants her puttering around his bedroom in his shirt all the time. He wants to get her out of it again. He wants everything at once. He just wants, period.
Stephen crosses the room, but instead of walking past her, he stops to kiss her again; hands sliding up Julia’s thighs and beneath the shirttails, palms settling on her hips. ]
Now it’s my turn to say, god, I like the look of you in that. A shame I can’t just have you in the kitchen like this all morning.
no subject
Settling back on her heels, she grins up at him, tilting her head to the side so her long hair cascades in a shifting curtain over one shoulder. That teasing mischief emerges again as she pats his chest almost comfortingly. ]
Well, maybe one weekend you can send the novices off on some grueling training exercise and we can have the place to ourselves. Until then, we'll just have to make do.
no subject
[ It would be difficult, considering any sorcerer could portal in anytime — but he was choosing to see it as a challenge now, and there were few things Doctor Strange liked more than a challenge. He’s already thinking about enhanced privacy wards, about alarms and sensors to warn them if anyone’s approaching, about seeing if he can wall off part of the Sanctum so it’s inaccessible by magic, so anyone has to knock on the door the good old-fashioned way…
And, so. It turns out that apart from his self-consciousness about his hands, Stephen is pretty easygoing and comfortable with this: the flirtation, the easy affection, the sex. He kisses her again — he honestly can’t get enough of that, can’t stop relishing the fact that he is allowed to, now — and then it’s his turn to vanish to the restroom.
Once he returns, he slides back into bed with a contented sigh, rejoining her. ]
It’s probably too much to say you should keep the shirt on all day, isn’t it?
no subject
No, he'll come up with something. He always does.
Stephen is in the bathroom just long enough for Julia to pluck a book from the stash he'd kept hidden in his private space and slip back under the blankets. The pages are crisp with age and crinkle slightly as she turns them, trying to parse what she can from the illustrated diagrams and what little she knows of Turkish. It's only when he slides back into bed beside her that she looks away from the book in her hands, the absolute picture of innocence. ]
It's not too much. I wasn't planning on giving it back, anyway.
no subject
It’s a grimoire with a few different spells; my Turkish isn’t the best, so I haven’t be able to get any of them working just yet.
[ One of the bookmarked pages beneath her finger is about ways to forego rest using magic. He’s chronically terrible with sleep, tends to struggle with it, and the insomnia’s only gotten exponentially worse since the accident and becoming a sorcerer. Thus: perpetually seeking out coffee, and then when coffee doesn’t work, magical stimulants and ways to keep his mind sharp and alert even without a full night’s sleep. ]
no subject
This has to do with sleep. [ Her fingertips ghost over the curling calligraphy before she turns her head to look at him with more curiosity than concern. For now. ] Not sleeping well?
no subject
[ He says it lightly, though, with that trademark flippancy as if it’s no big deal. It’s gone on for so long now that he’s grown used to it: waking in sweat-tangled sheets, clutching his face, dreaming of his own death across the multiverse. It’s even worse, too, after meeting that haunted, haggard version of himself and knowing the other Strange was literally hunting himself across his dreams. Cheerful stuff. ]
Chamomile tea, I am regretful to announce, doesn’t do shit.
no subject
Which is why it hurts to hear that they share this form of suffering too. Her tone is more serious than his, actually acknowledging the problem instead of pretending it's not much of one at all. ]
No, it really doesn't.
[ Unspeakable horrors are something she's unfortunately gained a great deal of experience with over the past few years. Witnessing her own death isn't among them, thankfully, but she's seen enough friends die in various ways and timelines to provide plenty of ammunition for her nightmares. Add in a few vengeful asshole gods and you've got the Julia Wicker Nightmare Cocktail.
Closing the book, she offers it to him to do with as he pleases — she's certainly not getting up again. ]
Is there anything that does help?
no subject
I hadn’t yet tried riotous amounts of sex, though, so there might be a cure for insomnia hidden in there somewhere. Which we should investigate, going forward. You know. For science.
no subject
For science, huh? I do enjoy research. [ Especially the positively exhausting kind. ]
wrap ♥
[ Of course Stephen Strange would find ways to turn scientific vocabulary into dirty talk. But his grin is matching hers, warm and teasing and playful. They have fun with each other, is the thing, and is the thing that matters.
And the night — and morning — passes like that. Some other evening, they might sit awake poring over more of those books and untangling some particularly gnarly piece of Turkish grammar and its arcane implications together, but for now, they’re too distracted by the fresh new appeal of intimacy: hands on each other, mouths meeting, eventually falling asleep content and exhausted. When they eventually wake up in the morning with sunlight drifting through the curtains, they inevitably wind up drawn to each other to explore that territory all over again in the cold light of day, dead-sober and yet still eager.
And that night, there weren’t any nightmares. ]