where the price for our minds shall squeeze them tight like a fist and the walls shall have eyes and the doors shall have ears but we'll dance in their dark and they'll play with our lives
"This is the last time I'm coming to one of these stupid things," Stephen grumbles into his glass of champagne, and at his side, Christine just laughs.
"You always say that," she teases. They're not currently dating, but Stephen has to admit she looks radiant tonight -- she's always liked these fundraising events more than Stephen does. She's in her element here. "But they're giving you an award, and you just can't resist showing off, can you?"
She has a point.
"It doesn't mean anything," he scoffs. "It's just a way for the hospital to brag about having me on their staff, and people's wallets open easier when it happens." Christine just smiles smugly, her point having been made. Stephen scowls. "Ugh, I hate it when you make that face. Go away. Leave me to the agony of socializing alone."
Christine laughs, raising a hand to wave lazily at him as she moves away, happily entangling a friend in conversation. She knows he meant no real offense, that's just how they interact. It probably is why she broke up with him, though, a fact that Stephen is aware of and yet feels no need to change whatsoever.
After some painful small talk, and congratulations from everybody who recognizes him, Stephen winds up in a group of four. A billionaire, and two nearly-billionaires, all in tech, and Stephen spares a moment to stare at the ceiling, bored out of his skull, as the three of talk about fossil fuels versus clean energy. It takes him a long moment, then, to recognize that half of the talk has gone, the two nearly-billionaires splitting off to carry out their conversation near the bar, leaving him with--
"Mr. Stark," Stephen says, politely enough. Everybody in New York knows who Tony Stark is, though Stephen doesn't particularly keep up with the news. "The last time I saw your name mentioned, it was on the cover of a lurid tabloid magazine talking about your difficulties providing for your... what was it, approximately sixteen illegitimate children? How's that going for you?"
It's not too hard to get Tony to come to a fundraiser - just mention free booze, and he'll be there. (The likelihood of it being decent free booze is pretty low, but Tony gets past the point of caring about that remarkably quickly.) The eye candy doesn't hurt, either, even when it happens to be making cracks about illegitimate children.
"Sixteen? I thought they were up to twenty by now." Tony waves it off, orders another martini from the bar just for the olives. "I'll worry about it if any of 'em ever bring a paternity suit. They just milk the rags for money. I mean, do the math; twenty kids wouldn't put a dent in my cash. Except, wait, it's all going up my nose, right?" Another common tabloid rumor. It's not that Tony hasn't tried coke - god, he was in his late teens at the height of its popularity - but it's never been one of his vices of choice. Thankfully, Rhodey always managed to discourage trying the hard stuff more than once.
"I like my brain unscrambled too much for that." Tony grins at the man - Strange, was it? "Surely you can appreciate that in your line of work, hm?" Even however many drinks deep he is, he can still remember names and jobs, at least for people he deems interesting enough to bother with. And Strange happens to fill out that tuxedo in an absolutely fascinating way.
The funny thing is, even though Stephen's pretty sure Stark's joking, he can't quite be sure. He's so deadpan it's difficult to tell, and hey, it's not like it would be unusual for a billionaire playboy to have a ton of actual unclaimed children.
He's fairly sure he's joking about the coke, though. Stephen spends approximately half a second checking out his pupils and his nostrils, and rules out a cocaine habit.
"I don't know. Plenty of people in your position claim to be the brains behind their genius operations, but it eventually turns out they're just standing on top of the work of their engineers," he hums, taking a sip of his champagne. He can't lie; Tony Stark makes that suit work. He looks just the tiniest bit rumpled, but in the most artful of ways, and that suit probably costs more than what Stephen makes in a month, and he makes it all look really, really good. "For all I know, you're an idiot that's just really good at marketing."
Oh, how the director of his hospital is probably crying into his bourbon right now, muttering about the futility of trying to tame Stephen Strange long enough to play nice with the rich people.
Stephen's pale gaze comes to rest on Stark, thoughtful. "I'm open to being proved wrong, though."
Tony's probably fueled a lot of those rumors just by being able to toss off deadpan retorts like that to people who don't know any better. He's just eccentric enough that whatever he says might be true, no matter how outrageous - he inherited that much from his father, who had his own fair share of rumors about illegitimate children back in the day.
"Please," he drawls around the swizzle stick in his mouth, "I'm a trust fund idiot with an excellent PR team. But one thing they don't have to exaggerate is my intellectual prowess." Tony waggles his eyebrows as if to imply that his sexual prowess isn't exaggerated, either. "The DoD falls all over themselves to buy the latest Starktech, all invented by yours truly."
Maybe it's a little over the top, but Tony's had too many drinks to be subtle at this point. "How many zeroes on the check to prove you wrong? Or do I have to play a game of chess with you?" He bites back another question, not quite sure yet if he's reading that look correctly. It would probably take a lot to get him on his knees, anyway.
Stark is, frankly, ridiculous. But in a way that Stephen finds kind of annoyingly charming. He also isn't even remotely insulted by Stephen's blatant shit-talking, and that's annoyingly charming too. He does love it when people can stand up to his brand of conversation.
"If you wrote a check to prove me wrong, I feel like that would just prove my point," Stephen says dryly. "Chess might be an interesting option. Watching you solve some complex calculus or build a robot would be even better."
He's almost starting to think that Stark might actually not be lying about being a genius. Or he's really lying, and just confident that he'll never be found out. One of those options is incredibly attractive; the other is boring but funny to poke mockery at.
"You do give far more to charity than pretty much every other rich person in this room, though, and that earns you some points," he continues, amused. "I'd avoid the hospital director for the evening, though. He has his heart set on a new MRI machine and the budget for five more specialist surgeons. He'll be an unbearable schmooze."
"Chess is the classic 'my kid is smarter than you' obnoxious show-off move." Howard Stark might not have gotten along with his son, but that never kept him from using Tony to lord it over anyone he needed to impress. Tony's not at the grandmaster level of chess, but he knows the most common strategies people who think they're good use, and he knows how to counter them. "'Course, I'm buzzed enough to count as a handicap, if that's what you want. Calc is still way too easy, honestly."
Truth is, Tony loves showing off just as much as you might imagine. If he had enough tools to build a robot here and now, he probably would, just to prove a point.
"A robot," he continues, wiggling his hand in the air, "eh. Not so much that I can't do it as much as it's just not feasible at a hospital fundraiser. But if you're ever in Malibu, I'll introduce you to the first one I ever built." God help him, he has a soft spot for his little inept robotic claw. "Or, a bit closer to home, I've got a natural learning AI implemented throughout my house." Well, penthouse, plus a few extra floors, if they're really being pedantic. (The mansion on Fifth Avenue is nice, but also a fucking mausoleum. Tony likes the places he's made his own.)
"Besides, it would give me a chance to get away from your director - god, five specialists? Has he even heard of a budget?" Judging by the watch Strange is wearing with his tux, they don't exactly stint the specialists they already have, and imaging machines don't come cheap, either. He'll take Strange, who at least isn't blatantly angling for a donation right now.
If Stark really was as smart as he claimed, then both chess and calculus would be far too easy a challenge. Besides, both are difficult to do at a hospital fundraiser, as are robotics. If only there were spare parts lying around; Stephen probably would challenge Stark to make something of them.
Stark's mention of a natural learning AI has Stephen's eyes narrowing in interest. He's no expert, but he keeps himself appraised of cutting edge technology in the medical field, and AI is of particular interest. There'd been a fascinating case recently where a bakery in Japan had built a very basic AI to differentiate between different pastries, and had accidentally stumbled into a way to identify cancer cells with 99% accuracy. Dedicated AI, built the right way, could shorten wait lists, speed up diagnoses, alert physicians to potential problems before the patient is even aware of them...
He glances at the stage, where people are setting up the podium and microphone for various boring speeches to occur.
"In about two minutes, we're going to have to sit through rambling speeches from the most yawn-worthy people you've ever met, and I'm going to have to go up there to get presented an award."
Stephen drains the rest of his champagne glass, the tiniest of amused little smiles curling at the corner of his mouth. His gaze, when it returns to Stark, is very interested. "After that, perhaps I could be convinced to leave early. All I'd be doing afterwards is suffering through small talk. There are far better things we could be doing, I think."
"Ah, award ceremonies at fundraisers. Another useless hunk of glass and/or metal to add to the collection." Tony tips his glass to Strange with a touch of irony. "Where would we be without them?"
But oh, he catches that interest in Stephen's eye - he's still not sure if it's intellectual or sexual or if the difference really matters (it doesn't).
"Well, I also could be persuaded to offer a nightcap of substantially higher quality than you'd get here." There's a slight arch to his eyebrow that implies that a very different nightcap is also an option. "Never let it be said I'm a poor host, after all." Heaven forbid.
As the lights begin to dim for the speeches, Tony flags down a server for another champagne flute in the nick of time. If he has to listen to doctors talking about things he doesn't care about, he's not going to do it without a drink.
"You'd think that they'd at least splurge for the good alcohol, but no, I guess we can't encourage everyone to get absolutely blasted," Stephen says drolly. He's sure Stark does have far better quality alcohol back at his place, as well as sorts of potentially intellectually fascinating things, and the ability to see what he looks like under that suit.
Never let it be said that Stephen has a type, but Stark does, in fact, fall directly within that type.
The speeches start, and Stephen is at least polite enough to stop talking during them, however boring they are. Under the cover of dimmed lights, he shoots the occasional amused eyeroll toward Stark whenever something particularly monotonous or stupid is said. The director of the health board for New York speaks first, and then the director of the hospital, and when he starts looking into the audience, Stephen figures that's his cue to get ready. He dutifully accepts the award for the new non-invasive technique he'd invented to help with essential tremor -- and when he gives a speech about high-frequency sonic beams guided by magnetic resonance to ablate the focal point in the brain causing tremors in Parkinson's patients, most of the room just politely claps, because Stephen Strange is many things but he's not especially gifted at audience engagement -- and by the time he returns to his spot in the crowd, he's got a little piece of glass and steel with his name on it. Good for him.
It's another few minutes before the speeches end, and the fundraising portion of the evening begins, with people starting to line up to write down their pledges.
"Honestly, you'd think half of the people in here had never even heard of an MRI," Stephen sniffs, snagging a new glass of champagne.
Depending on the ceremony, Tony's been known to offer pithy commentary on the speakers - whispered, of course, because he's not that rude - but he doesn't have much to say about anything related to medicine. Even he can tell how dull the speakers are, though, and he responds to Strange's eyerolls with a sardonic quirk of his lips.
The problem is that Stephen himself gets far too technical in his speech - something Tony normally only does to annoy people - and loses his audience. Tony could probably give him a few pointers on public speaking (it's second nature to him by now), but he isn't sure how well Stephen would take the critique coming from someone as...erratic in his speeches as Tony (a polite way of saying he's been known to get shitfaced and entirely off-topic). Anyway, the man's a neurosurgeon; he doesn't have to get up in front of crowds that much.
"I'm sure they only think of them as useful for imaging." Tony shrugs. Again, not his area of interest; he doesn't deal with biology, and anatomy largely only interests him when it comes to hands-on study. The concept of Strange's innovation is fascinating, but he's lost in the execution of it. "But, hey, at least you don't have to know what one is to contribute money for one." He snorts and finishes off his own glass.
"So, are we going to excuse ourselves now? Because I've about reached my limit for polite mingling here, I'm afraid." Not with Stephen, obviously, but the rest of the crowd.
"True," Stephen snorts. "All they have to know is that they look good for donating money. And they get a nice tax break."
His own use of they -- mentioning the rich people as a group, but excluding Stark from the insult -- interests him even as it comes out of his own mouth. Oh, he's sure he'll insult the man again soon enough, but for now he's apparently feeling reasonably friendly, and interested enough to forgo the more obvious offenses. That rarely happens this quickly.
He finishes his own glass, and smiles, a sly little curl at the corner of his lips.
"I think I've about reached my limit for standing around and being used like a show pony," he agrees. It's actually a miracle they haven't been interrupted. He usually spends these things having to talk a new person every minute because everybody wants to talk to the world renowned neurosurgeon. It's flattering, but... annoying. "I'm not sure I'm quite sober enough to drive, though. I assume you have a driver?"
The question comes with some amusement, not pointed at Tony, but somewhat barbed nonetheless. Not a true insult, though, because Stark does have a reputation for getting drunk at these things: having a driver is just smart.
Another couple drinks might have Tony making a crack about ponies and riding, but for now, Stephen is relatively safe from the font of innuendo that is Tony Stark. It doesn't stop Tony from thinking it and letting his gaze linger on Strange's body a moment longer than necessary.
"Drive myself in New York?" Tony quips. "What kind of rich person do you take me for?" Absolutely not a sober one, and Tony is well aware of his own reputation. Talking to Stephen has kept him from having quite as many drinks as he might have had otherwise, but he's still not willing to risk driving.
A word to one of the coordinators has them heading to the exit, where Tony's car and driver are already waiting. Tony gestures for Stephen to get in when the driver opens the door, and he walks around to the other side to settle in. He'll make sure the appropriate donation gets to the hospital sometime soon - enough to make the director rethink his opinion of allowing Stephen Strange to hobnob with the crowd, though maybe not enough to fund any of his goals.
As he leans back against the seat, Tony's already pulling the knot of his tie loose. "So, what kind of demonstration are we looking at here?"
"Nothing less than a complete showing of all of your college transcripts, thesis summaries, and Stark Industries research grants," Stephen replies.
A beat, and then:
"I'm kidding." Stephen angles a slyly amused look at Stark. "I'm already 90% convinced you are the genius you say you are. The final 10% can probably be achieved with a demonstration of that AI you promised, a better quality of drink, and," he pauses thoughtfully, "a good engineering joke."
He's joking about that, too. Mostly.
The car they're in certainly proves that Stark has money, if nothing else, but that was never in question. It's even nicer than Stephen's car, which he might be a little miffed about if he wasn't pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the company -- and also spending about 50% of his brainpower on wondering what Stark looks like out of that tux.
"The loss of a few items of clothing would also be highly convincing," he adds, smirking.
The first engineering joke that comes to his tipsy mind is one that Stephen won't appreciate in the slightest, but given Tony's sense of humor, he thinks it's hilarious. "What's the difference between a doctor and an engineer? A doctor kills people one at a time."
Ha, ha. Listen, Tony might be known for seducing people, but he can also be pretty damn good at shooting himself in the foot sometimes, too. That doesn't keep him from pulling his jacket off while he's at it, just to prove his dedication to Strange's requests.
Of course he's gotten naked in several of his cars before - including fancier ones than this - but the travel time is too short for most hijinks. Besides, the jet is much better for fucking.
"Present company excepted, obviously," he adds once he's free of the jacket, showing at least a modicum of self-awareness. Tony decides to tack on a second joke: "How do you know God's a civil engineer? Nobody else would put a sewer system in the middle of the recreational area."
Fortunately for Tony, working in the medical field necessitates forming a dark sense of humor -- and honestly, Stephen's own sense of humor isn't nearly as dark as some nurses and paramedics he's met -- so the first joke just has him snorting. "I don't kill people," he drawls. "Try again."
And oh, hello, Stark's already taking off his jacket. He's awfully eager to cater to Stephen's whims, which is just delightful. Underneath the jacket he's got a very nice set of shoulders, and a leanly muscled torso Stephen wouldn't mind exploring further, if not for the shirt in the way.
The second joke actually hits; Stephen laughs, a baritone sound in the confines of the car.
"It is terrible design, isn't it?" he chuckles. "Certainly a mechanical engineer would have the good sense to separate the two areas, I'm guessing that's your implication here. Do certain types of engineers have superiority complexes over others? It happens enough in the medical field, it wouldn't surprise me if it happened in yours, too."
Tony might be obstinate for the sake of appearances - and due to a long life of pushing back against his father and the board of directors - but when it comes to sex, he's overly eager to please people. And he's willing to do all kinds of wicked things to make Stephen laugh like that again.
"Anything complex - mechanical, chemical, the like. Civil engineers are practically architects, so they're at the bottom of the pyramid. And I'm at the top, of course." He smirks at Stephen as the car stops smoothly. Even though he's already taken his jacket off, he doesn't want to appear too eager by leaping out of the car like he's about to fuck in the elevator. (This probably isn't one of those nights; Stephen at least deserves a good drink first.)
Tony leads Stephen through a quiet and elegant lobby to the elevator, hitting the button for the penthouse before leaning oh-so-casually against the wall. "Are you waiting for me to undress you?" he teases Stephen. "Because I feel like things are a little unbalanced right now." Just to toy with him a little more, he pops the first two buttons of his shirt open.
"Of course," Stephen repeats, amused. "You wouldn't possibly sully your hands with something so common as architecture."
Despite his fairly high standards -- born not of his very middle-class upbringing, but his fantastic specialist surgeon's salary -- the lobby he's led through is impressive. There's two types of rich people: those who flaunt their money at every opportunity and make for extremely gaudy surroundings, and those that keep things tasteful, and Stark's the latter. Oh, Stephen's sure he probably has a whole armada of expensive cars and technology, but the lobby, at least, is classy.
The question once they're in the elevator prompts a thoughtful hum, and Stephen reaches up to hook a finger in his bowtie. Slowly, he tugs it loose, and then tosses it at Stark, the material draping over his shoulder. "There, now I'm catching up," he drawls, and reaches over, popping the third button of Stark's shirt.
Ooh, like unwrapping a present. He does like this slow reveal.
"Maybe I'm just keeping you on your toes," he says, playfulness sparking in pale eyes. "I'm not one of your fangirls, Stark. I'm not going to tear my dress off as soon as we're in private. I save that for the second date."
"Well, I did design my house in Malibu," Tony points out, "but a house perched on a cliff is an exception that proves the rule, I think." Not many people would be reckless enough to attempt to defy physics like that, but Tony isn't just anyone, and his house isn't just any mansion. Maybe Stephen'll get to see that for himself someday.
Even though Stephen barely touches Tony when he unbuttons his shirt, Tony hums with contentment. "A good start," he agrees, trying to play it cool. The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors slide open on the first floor of a split-level penthouse. An impressive bar stretches nearly the length of one wall, facing an equally impressive view of the skyline.
"Does this count as the first date?" Tony asks as he steps behind the bar. "Just so I can keep track." He rummages through the bottles for a moment before taking out one bottle full of amber liquid and two glasses. "And if it doesn't, I might bump you down from preposterously expensive scotch to just really good, so no pressure."
Stephen has a fairly nice apartment of his own; central city, ten minutes walk from the hospital, nice view over Central Park. But this is something altogether different. He has a bar the size of one of the rooms in Stephen's apartment, and a view of the city that photographers would kill for.
He follows Tony to the bar, and puts on air of resigned neglect. "No, this still very much counts as a first date, so I guess I can deal with the 'really good' stuff," he says, though there's amusement in his tone. Stephen leans an elbow against the counter, and allows himself to look openly impressed. Very few people in his life have seen that expression.
Still. This is only a penthouse bar, and not a sign of real genius. He'll save being truly impressed until later.
"So why do you attend charity galas?" he asks, idly interested. "A man like you doesn't need to rub shoulders with the other wealthy assholes of New York." Stephen narrows his eyes, curious. "Is it about fostering good will? Weapons manufacturers need all of that that they can get, these days."
Tony leans in as if confiding a secret. "Hey. You're cute, so I'll bump you up to preposterously expensive, just this once." Maybe 'cute' isn't the right word to describe Stephen, but humor sparkles in Tony's eyes as he pours them both glasses of scotch. "Don't tell anyone else, though, or they'll all insist on the same treatment."
He slides one glass across the bar to Stephen and picks up his own, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the aroma of the booze.
"Honestly? Part of it's just killing time with something to do. You're right, though, it is good PR to be seen at charity galas - the reporters get a picture or two, my image as a philanthropist is maintained, stockholders are happy." And he's used to it by now; he's been going to these things since he was a teenager and able to be trusted to behave himself in public (mostly). Some people get to spend their weekends going on dates or watching movies at home, and Tony Stark goes to charity galas. "My dad had to do it because he was new money and it was important to establish himself with the rest of the rich assholes, and I guess he impressed that on me. Or he passed on a tendency to find one-night stands at benefits, but the first one sounds marginally better and doesn't make me think about my dad sleeping with half of New York before he met my mom." Tony makes a face and takes a sip of his scotch like it'll clear his mind.
"And sometimes you do meet interesting people. Case in point." He gestures to Stephen with the hand holding the glass. "But I believe you wanted to meet JARVIS. You up, buddy?" That last is directed towards the ceiling, although Tony doesn't really need to look up.
"For you, sir? Anytime." A disembodied voice with a crisp British accent seems to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"This is Doctor Stephen Strange. Strange, this is JARVIS, my NLUI. He runs my houses, juggles my schedule, helps with schematics, and probably a half-dozen other things I'm forgetting."
"Only a half-dozen?"
"And he learned sarcasm from me, which is why you should never invent something smarter than you are." Tony shrugs. "You want genius? There it is. Ask him whatever you want."
just wait until stephen sees the holograms, then he'll REALLY be impressed lmao
It's been a while since he was called cute, and it prompts an amused noise deep in the back of his throat as Stark gets out the preposterously expensive stuff.
Tony Fucking Stark is more charming than he has any right to be. It's kind of annoying, in an endearing way. It helps hat Stephen is ridiculously attracted to him, from his slightly rumpled hair to his dark, dark eyes and even his stupid facial hair.
He listens with interest as Stark details why he attends events like those. There's some unresolved issues with his dad, there -- Stephen largely has no idea about his father, the name Howard vaguely rings a bell, and something about World War II, but other than that he's ignorant -- and he's just revealed a rather human side of himself that Stephen finds altogether intriguing. And that's when he addresses someone named JARVIS, and-- ah, that must be the learning AI that he mentioned.
Stephen frowns, thoughtful, looking for the source of the voice and finding none. There must be speakers somewhere. It must be a very well-learned AI if it's able to manage all of that, and its voice is curiously human sounding. There's no stilted words or strange enunciation like with other mechanized voices. There's even something he almost might define as dry humor.
He slants a glance at Stark, intrigued.
"Good evening," Stephen greets JARVIS. "Stark described you as a learning AI. I assume you learn much the same way as any other computer program; by compiling and analyzing data. But how would you define learning? Does it make you feel anything?"
"I learn, as you put it, primarily by assimilating data into an interconnected series of neural networks. Some data is automatically collected, such as speech, while some of it involves algorithms and programming written by Mr Stark. For broader informational purposes, I am capable of searching the Internet and acquiring a knowledge base from the results, although that does introduce the potential for human error into the process. Depending on the area, there may or may not be a trial and error process in learning - in modelling parts for engineering, for example, where the goal is to produce something within a narrow range of results. I imagine it would be much like assigning an engineering student homework, except that I am capable of running calculations faster and far more accurately than any human being."
"I've been cobbling AIs together for years," Tony offers, leaning forward to watch Stephen interact with JARVIS. "JARVIS is the end result, and the one I actively work on improving, but I have the framework for a few others started. Nothing quite so extensive, though. He's probably accessing your ACT scores as we speak."
If he is, he doesn't offer them up, but Tony's sure he'll find a compiled dossier on Stephen Strange waiting for him tomorrow morning.
"Learning simply...is, to answer your question. A human absorbs knowledge constantly without knowing it. My algorithms analyse data in the background while I perform other tasks. Is there such a difference between the two?"
The revelation that he's being looked up right now is just greeted with a roll of his eyes. He probably should feel insulted, but if JARVIS helps Stark with so many aspects of his life and business, security is probably one of those aspects -- and any human security guard would no doubt be running a background check on him right now, so what's the difference?
"I'm no expert in AI, JARVIS, but I'm lead to believe that the difference between human learning and machine learning is that machines are fed data to analyze, while humans are capable of identifying a hole in their knowledge and seeking to learn to fill that hole."
He takes the offered drink -- the ridiculously expensive stuff on offer -- and takes a sip. Oh yeah. That is the good stuff. It's smooth and complex, and doesn't burn all the way down like most alcohol does.
"But you're advanced enough to be in charge of your own learning, which puts you squarely above every other AI I've heard of," he says. "You're also capable of making decisions, and you're obviously intelligent enough that Stark trusts your decisions."
JARVIS also sounds altogether more human than any other mechanized voice he's heard. It's fascinating.
He turns to Tony, eyes alight with curiosity. "You obviously haven't released that technology to the market-- probably a good thing, honestly, I'm not sure humanity as a whole would use it for the best purposes. I'm reminded of the old adage about never letting a machine make managerial decisions, because machines can never be held accountable."
"Considering how much my time is worth and the fact that I'd have to build each AI from the ground up, I'd say only a select few people - half of whom I don't like - could afford it. JARVIS as you see him right now is the cumulative work of over a decade, and I don't think I would ever call him finished. I've been working on interactive hard light holograms for, oh, a few years now, and I still don't have the tech working yet. Hell, just that would be worth a ludicrous amount of money. But you're right about the ethics of it; I might be a weapons dealer, but I still wouldn't trust, say, the Pentagon with an AI, no matter how much they offered me for it." Tony takes a drink, savoring the flavor. He's not going to go in depth explaining that JARVIS wasn't just developed as a digital assistant, but as something of a friend for him, because that sounds silly and pathetic. But he likes to think that overall, the original Jarvis would approve of what he's done, and that approval is worth more to him than any amount of money.
"So, have I sufficiently impressed you with my genius yet?" Tony sets the glass down and spreads his arms wide, like he's showing off to a meeting of shareholders. At least Stephen, unlike the average investor, is capable of holding an intelligent conversation. But right now, Tony's more interested in seeing how long that conversation stays intelligent once he gets Strange's clothes off.
Stark's not wrong; Stephen hasn't seen the full breadth of what JARVIS is capable of, but if he truly can do everything he says, then that technology's worth is... more than just about anybody could afford. It-- no, he is almost human in his capabilities, and the thought of the Pentagon having such technology is frankly alarming.
And then Tony has to go and mention hard light holograms.
Stephen sets his own drink down, and all but stalks closer, until they're sharing the same air. The slow-burn sexual tension he's been feeling since they started trading barbs all of a sudden feels considerably more urgent, more present. Because yes, Stark has impressed him, and that makes him a hundred times sexier than before. His physical form is attractive, yes, but his mind-- well, Stephen has always gone after smart people.
"Do you have any idea how far medical imaging technology could be advanced with the use of interactive holograms?" he breathes, leaning in, their lips mere inches apart.
Ah, Tony thinks, self-satisfied. Plenty of people throw themselves at him, but he always likes a good challenge, working to win someone over till they make the first move of their own volition. It's like chess, but more interesting, especially with someone as intelligent as Stephen Strange on the other side. He bites the inside of his cheek for a moment to hold back a grin (or maybe a smirk) as Strange draws closer.
"Mm." Tony leans in and nibbles Stephen's lower lip. "Imagine if you could get a 3-D wireframe model, too. Get in there and see the problem from all angles without all that pesky brain tissue in the way." No hospital could ever afford anything like that, but he's not going to burst Stephen's sexy little bubble. "Figure out just how you need to perform surgery before you make a single incision. It'd be revolutionary."
"If you could take it one step further and make a working model of the brain's neuron connections available in interactive holograms, you'd win a Nobel prize."
This is probably the hottest foreplay-talk Stephen's ever heard. Interactive 3D models in imaging, being able to examine the problem from all angles before surgery-- revolutionary wouldn't begin to cover it. Exploratory surgery is an unfortunate necessity at times, and what Tony's talking about would do away with that entirely. Patient recovery rates, surgical duration, wasted equipment, medical research, and dozens more aspects would be impacted.
He can't help himself. He swoops in for a kiss; Tony's lips are soft, and warm, and Stephen makes a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat.
"Of course," he breaks away to continue, "you'd have to invent a whole new kind of supercomputer capable of trillions of calculations a second." His hands come up, smoothing over Tony's chest, flipping another button undone. "But I assume that was probably on your agenda anyway."
"Pretty sure I'd also have to become a neurologist, too," Tony quips, though it takes a moment for his neurons to start firing again after that kiss. Despite the name, a neural network isn't quite the same thing as an actual working model of a human brain; it's just borrowed terminology. "But, you know, what's one more discipline to learn in my free time?"
He runs his hands flat over the lapels of Stephen's jacket before he grasps them firmly and moves to push the jacket back off over his shoulders. "The supercomputer would be the easy part of it, to be honest." Biology isn't his best area, but he's learned a thing or two about different sciences - and, since he's Tony Stark, "not his best area" qualifies as "above most people with degrees in the field".
The real problem with what Stephen's envisioned is time - the kind of project he's envisioned is something that would take a full team of scientists a solid decade to complete. Like Tony said, JARVIS is something he's mainly put together in his spare time; he still has to pay the rent, so to speak, by inventing new toys for the DoD. Fancy science shows might be Nobel Prize-worthy, but the likelihood of most hospitals being able to afford something like that is incredibly low.
Which doesn't stop Tony from leaning in and mouthing a line of kisses down that long neck of Stephen's. It's a very attractive neck; he'd noticed that earlier.
The fascinating thing is, Stephen actually believes that Tony could pick up neurology in his spare time. He could, at the very least, certainly get the basics down, enough to model a working brain.
He really is a genius, he's not just faking. He'd already been attractive in Stephen's eyes, but the certainty of his intellect pushes him from somewhat physically attractive to holy shit I need to make out with him right now.
So that's exactly what Stephen does. Once his jacket is pushed off his shoulders to land in a messy pile on the floor -- black jacket, black shirt, black bowtie, Stephen had been feeling very monochrome earlier when he'd gotten dressed -- and once Tony has a good go at his neck, Stephen tugs him up again for another kiss, heated and slow, exploring Tony's mouth. His hands land on Tony's hips, curling over the jut of bone there, and as they make out exactly the way Stephen wanted to, he slowly backs Tony up until his back against one of the massive glass windows that overlooks the city.
"'The supercomputer would be the easy part'," he repeats, a laugh rumbling underneath his voice. "I'll take Things I Never Expected To Be Effective Pick-Up Lines for two hundred, Alex."
Something about the way Stephen pushes him up against the window while kissing him flips a switch in Tony's brain - yes, he does very much like being manhandled, at least by Stephen Strange - and he gives as good as he gets as he reaches up to twine his arms around Stephen's neck.
"JARVIS, privacy mode," he pants in a seeming non sequitur. He needs to turn the video cameras off before he finds himself getting fucked up against those windows - not that he doesn't like a little exhibitionism, but it's just weird when it comes to JARVIS, and Strange hasn't consented to being recorded. "And you would be amazed at what works sometimes. This lady in Bern had a plant once- anyway. Not the point."
The point is revealing more of Stephen's chest as he pops the buttons one by one and pulls the ends of his shirt free from his pants, and Tony pauses once he's done to lose his own jacket, just to even things out. "Would you like to take this conversation to the bedroom?" he asks with a curl of his lips. He doesn't bed men often enough that he keeps a stash of lube in every room, no matter what anyone might claim. It might be a little optimistic to assume that's the way things are going, but he is Tony Stark.
The privacy mode is a nice touch -- Stephen got just riled up enough that he'd forgotten about JARVIS and his no-doubt myriad of cameras, and he really doesn't need a sex tape circulating the internet.
His laugh is a low rumble, muffled against where he's ducked down to kiss Tony's throat. "A plant," he repeats, amused. "Don't tell me you defiled the poor thing."
He does hear the suggestion to take it to the bedroom, but in this very moment, Stephen doesn't want to move. He's got a nice grip on Tony's hips, and his throat is a marvel of smooth skin and expensive aftershave. Stephen works his way from there back to Tony's lips, catching him in a luxurious kiss like they've got all the time in the world. As far as Stephen is concerned, they do.
"Yes. Bedroom. Good idea," he agrees in a hum, and then proceeds to make absolutely no move to get there, too busy tugging Tony into another kiss.
"I did not defile the plant." Tony's voice is a little too breathy to pull off an indignant huff right now, but he gives it a good try before Stephen captures his lips again. He can't quite remember the rest of the story about the plant right now, but it obviously doesn't matter when there are so many other things he could be doing with his mouth, like exploring Stephen's mouth with his tongue.
For the moment, Tony is happy to let Stephen keep kissing him; there are other potentials bubbling to the top of his brain, other suggestions from his libido, but they can wait for a few minutes, at least. Much longer than that, and he'll start to take matters into his own hands, but he's still interested enough to see where Stephen decides to go. He gives a little shimmy with his hips to encourage him, maybe to see what those hands he's been sneaking glances at all night can do.
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piscesnebula2024-01-21 10:34 am
no subject
"You always say that," she teases. They're not currently dating, but Stephen has to admit she looks radiant tonight -- she's always liked these fundraising events more than Stephen does. She's in her element here. "But they're giving you an award, and you just can't resist showing off, can you?"
She has a point.
"It doesn't mean anything," he scoffs. "It's just a way for the hospital to brag about having me on their staff, and people's wallets open easier when it happens." Christine just smiles smugly, her point having been made. Stephen scowls. "Ugh, I hate it when you make that face. Go away. Leave me to the agony of socializing alone."
Christine laughs, raising a hand to wave lazily at him as she moves away, happily entangling a friend in conversation. She knows he meant no real offense, that's just how they interact. It probably is why she broke up with him, though, a fact that Stephen is aware of and yet feels no need to change whatsoever.
After some painful small talk, and congratulations from everybody who recognizes him, Stephen winds up in a group of four. A billionaire, and two nearly-billionaires, all in tech, and Stephen spares a moment to stare at the ceiling, bored out of his skull, as the three of talk about fossil fuels versus clean energy. It takes him a long moment, then, to recognize that half of the talk has gone, the two nearly-billionaires splitting off to carry out their conversation near the bar, leaving him with--
"Mr. Stark," Stephen says, politely enough. Everybody in New York knows who Tony Stark is, though Stephen doesn't particularly keep up with the news. "The last time I saw your name mentioned, it was on the cover of a lurid tabloid magazine talking about your difficulties providing for your... what was it, approximately sixteen illegitimate children? How's that going for you?"
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"Sixteen? I thought they were up to twenty by now." Tony waves it off, orders another martini from the bar just for the olives. "I'll worry about it if any of 'em ever bring a paternity suit. They just milk the rags for money. I mean, do the math; twenty kids wouldn't put a dent in my cash. Except, wait, it's all going up my nose, right?" Another common tabloid rumor. It's not that Tony hasn't tried coke - god, he was in his late teens at the height of its popularity - but it's never been one of his vices of choice. Thankfully, Rhodey always managed to discourage trying the hard stuff more than once.
"I like my brain unscrambled too much for that." Tony grins at the man - Strange, was it? "Surely you can appreciate that in your line of work, hm?" Even however many drinks deep he is, he can still remember names and jobs, at least for people he deems interesting enough to bother with. And Strange happens to fill out that tuxedo in an absolutely fascinating way.
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He's fairly sure he's joking about the coke, though. Stephen spends approximately half a second checking out his pupils and his nostrils, and rules out a cocaine habit.
"I don't know. Plenty of people in your position claim to be the brains behind their genius operations, but it eventually turns out they're just standing on top of the work of their engineers," he hums, taking a sip of his champagne. He can't lie; Tony Stark makes that suit work. He looks just the tiniest bit rumpled, but in the most artful of ways, and that suit probably costs more than what Stephen makes in a month, and he makes it all look really, really good. "For all I know, you're an idiot that's just really good at marketing."
Oh, how the director of his hospital is probably crying into his bourbon right now, muttering about the futility of trying to tame Stephen Strange long enough to play nice with the rich people.
Stephen's pale gaze comes to rest on Stark, thoughtful. "I'm open to being proved wrong, though."
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"Please," he drawls around the swizzle stick in his mouth, "I'm a trust fund idiot with an excellent PR team. But one thing they don't have to exaggerate is my intellectual prowess." Tony waggles his eyebrows as if to imply that his sexual prowess isn't exaggerated, either. "The DoD falls all over themselves to buy the latest Starktech, all invented by yours truly."
Maybe it's a little over the top, but Tony's had too many drinks to be subtle at this point. "How many zeroes on the check to prove you wrong? Or do I have to play a game of chess with you?" He bites back another question, not quite sure yet if he's reading that look correctly. It would probably take a lot to get him on his knees, anyway.
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"If you wrote a check to prove me wrong, I feel like that would just prove my point," Stephen says dryly. "Chess might be an interesting option. Watching you solve some complex calculus or build a robot would be even better."
He's almost starting to think that Stark might actually not be lying about being a genius. Or he's really lying, and just confident that he'll never be found out. One of those options is incredibly attractive; the other is boring but funny to poke mockery at.
"You do give far more to charity than pretty much every other rich person in this room, though, and that earns you some points," he continues, amused. "I'd avoid the hospital director for the evening, though. He has his heart set on a new MRI machine and the budget for five more specialist surgeons. He'll be an unbearable schmooze."
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Truth is, Tony loves showing off just as much as you might imagine. If he had enough tools to build a robot here and now, he probably would, just to prove a point.
"A robot," he continues, wiggling his hand in the air, "eh. Not so much that I can't do it as much as it's just not feasible at a hospital fundraiser. But if you're ever in Malibu, I'll introduce you to the first one I ever built." God help him, he has a soft spot for his little inept robotic claw. "Or, a bit closer to home, I've got a natural learning AI implemented throughout my house." Well, penthouse, plus a few extra floors, if they're really being pedantic. (The mansion on Fifth Avenue is nice, but also a fucking mausoleum. Tony likes the places he's made his own.)
"Besides, it would give me a chance to get away from your director - god, five specialists? Has he even heard of a budget?" Judging by the watch Strange is wearing with his tux, they don't exactly stint the specialists they already have, and imaging machines don't come cheap, either. He'll take Strange, who at least isn't blatantly angling for a donation right now.
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Stark's mention of a natural learning AI has Stephen's eyes narrowing in interest. He's no expert, but he keeps himself appraised of cutting edge technology in the medical field, and AI is of particular interest. There'd been a fascinating case recently where a bakery in Japan had built a very basic AI to differentiate between different pastries, and had accidentally stumbled into a way to identify cancer cells with 99% accuracy. Dedicated AI, built the right way, could shorten wait lists, speed up diagnoses, alert physicians to potential problems before the patient is even aware of them...
He glances at the stage, where people are setting up the podium and microphone for various boring speeches to occur.
"In about two minutes, we're going to have to sit through rambling speeches from the most yawn-worthy people you've ever met, and I'm going to have to go up there to get presented an award."
Stephen drains the rest of his champagne glass, the tiniest of amused little smiles curling at the corner of his mouth. His gaze, when it returns to Stark, is very interested. "After that, perhaps I could be convinced to leave early. All I'd be doing afterwards is suffering through small talk. There are far better things we could be doing, I think."
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But oh, he catches that interest in Stephen's eye - he's still not sure if it's intellectual or sexual or if the difference really matters (it doesn't).
"Well, I also could be persuaded to offer a nightcap of substantially higher quality than you'd get here." There's a slight arch to his eyebrow that implies that a very different nightcap is also an option. "Never let it be said I'm a poor host, after all." Heaven forbid.
As the lights begin to dim for the speeches, Tony flags down a server for another champagne flute in the nick of time. If he has to listen to doctors talking about things he doesn't care about, he's not going to do it without a drink.
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Never let it be said that Stephen has a type, but Stark does, in fact, fall directly within that type.
The speeches start, and Stephen is at least polite enough to stop talking during them, however boring they are. Under the cover of dimmed lights, he shoots the occasional amused eyeroll toward Stark whenever something particularly monotonous or stupid is said. The director of the health board for New York speaks first, and then the director of the hospital, and when he starts looking into the audience, Stephen figures that's his cue to get ready. He dutifully accepts the award for the new non-invasive technique he'd invented to help with essential tremor -- and when he gives a speech about high-frequency sonic beams guided by magnetic resonance to ablate the focal point in the brain causing tremors in Parkinson's patients, most of the room just politely claps, because Stephen Strange is many things but he's not especially gifted at audience engagement -- and by the time he returns to his spot in the crowd, he's got a little piece of glass and steel with his name on it. Good for him.
It's another few minutes before the speeches end, and the fundraising portion of the evening begins, with people starting to line up to write down their pledges.
"Honestly, you'd think half of the people in here had never even heard of an MRI," Stephen sniffs, snagging a new glass of champagne.
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The problem is that Stephen himself gets far too technical in his speech - something Tony normally only does to annoy people - and loses his audience. Tony could probably give him a few pointers on public speaking (it's second nature to him by now), but he isn't sure how well Stephen would take the critique coming from someone as...erratic in his speeches as Tony (a polite way of saying he's been known to get shitfaced and entirely off-topic). Anyway, the man's a neurosurgeon; he doesn't have to get up in front of crowds that much.
"I'm sure they only think of them as useful for imaging." Tony shrugs. Again, not his area of interest; he doesn't deal with biology, and anatomy largely only interests him when it comes to hands-on study. The concept of Strange's innovation is fascinating, but he's lost in the execution of it. "But, hey, at least you don't have to know what one is to contribute money for one." He snorts and finishes off his own glass.
"So, are we going to excuse ourselves now? Because I've about reached my limit for polite mingling here, I'm afraid." Not with Stephen, obviously, but the rest of the crowd.
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His own use of they -- mentioning the rich people as a group, but excluding Stark from the insult -- interests him even as it comes out of his own mouth. Oh, he's sure he'll insult the man again soon enough, but for now he's apparently feeling reasonably friendly, and interested enough to forgo the more obvious offenses. That rarely happens this quickly.
He finishes his own glass, and smiles, a sly little curl at the corner of his lips.
"I think I've about reached my limit for standing around and being used like a show pony," he agrees. It's actually a miracle they haven't been interrupted. He usually spends these things having to talk a new person every minute because everybody wants to talk to the world renowned neurosurgeon. It's flattering, but... annoying. "I'm not sure I'm quite sober enough to drive, though. I assume you have a driver?"
The question comes with some amusement, not pointed at Tony, but somewhat barbed nonetheless. Not a true insult, though, because Stark does have a reputation for getting drunk at these things: having a driver is just smart.
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"Drive myself in New York?" Tony quips. "What kind of rich person do you take me for?" Absolutely not a sober one, and Tony is well aware of his own reputation. Talking to Stephen has kept him from having quite as many drinks as he might have had otherwise, but he's still not willing to risk driving.
A word to one of the coordinators has them heading to the exit, where Tony's car and driver are already waiting. Tony gestures for Stephen to get in when the driver opens the door, and he walks around to the other side to settle in. He'll make sure the appropriate donation gets to the hospital sometime soon - enough to make the director rethink his opinion of allowing Stephen Strange to hobnob with the crowd, though maybe not enough to fund any of his goals.
As he leans back against the seat, Tony's already pulling the knot of his tie loose. "So, what kind of demonstration are we looking at here?"
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A beat, and then:
"I'm kidding." Stephen angles a slyly amused look at Stark. "I'm already 90% convinced you are the genius you say you are. The final 10% can probably be achieved with a demonstration of that AI you promised, a better quality of drink, and," he pauses thoughtfully, "a good engineering joke."
He's joking about that, too. Mostly.
The car they're in certainly proves that Stark has money, if nothing else, but that was never in question. It's even nicer than Stephen's car, which he might be a little miffed about if he wasn't pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the company -- and also spending about 50% of his brainpower on wondering what Stark looks like out of that tux.
"The loss of a few items of clothing would also be highly convincing," he adds, smirking.
not me googling engineering jokes in a panic
Ha, ha. Listen, Tony might be known for seducing people, but he can also be pretty damn good at shooting himself in the foot sometimes, too. That doesn't keep him from pulling his jacket off while he's at it, just to prove his dedication to Strange's requests.
Of course he's gotten naked in several of his cars before - including fancier ones than this - but the travel time is too short for most hijinks. Besides, the jet is much better for fucking.
"Present company excepted, obviously," he adds once he's free of the jacket, showing at least a modicum of self-awareness. Tony decides to tack on a second joke: "How do you know God's a civil engineer? Nobody else would put a sewer system in the middle of the recreational area."
sdklsaj they are perfect
And oh, hello, Stark's already taking off his jacket. He's awfully eager to cater to Stephen's whims, which is just delightful. Underneath the jacket he's got a very nice set of shoulders, and a leanly muscled torso Stephen wouldn't mind exploring further, if not for the shirt in the way.
The second joke actually hits; Stephen laughs, a baritone sound in the confines of the car.
"It is terrible design, isn't it?" he chuckles. "Certainly a mechanical engineer would have the good sense to separate the two areas, I'm guessing that's your implication here. Do certain types of engineers have superiority complexes over others? It happens enough in the medical field, it wouldn't surprise me if it happened in yours, too."
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"Anything complex - mechanical, chemical, the like. Civil engineers are practically architects, so they're at the bottom of the pyramid. And I'm at the top, of course." He smirks at Stephen as the car stops smoothly. Even though he's already taken his jacket off, he doesn't want to appear too eager by leaping out of the car like he's about to fuck in the elevator. (This probably isn't one of those nights; Stephen at least deserves a good drink first.)
Tony leads Stephen through a quiet and elegant lobby to the elevator, hitting the button for the penthouse before leaning oh-so-casually against the wall. "Are you waiting for me to undress you?" he teases Stephen. "Because I feel like things are a little unbalanced right now." Just to toy with him a little more, he pops the first two buttons of his shirt open.
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Despite his fairly high standards -- born not of his very middle-class upbringing, but his fantastic specialist surgeon's salary -- the lobby he's led through is impressive. There's two types of rich people: those who flaunt their money at every opportunity and make for extremely gaudy surroundings, and those that keep things tasteful, and Stark's the latter. Oh, Stephen's sure he probably has a whole armada of expensive cars and technology, but the lobby, at least, is classy.
The question once they're in the elevator prompts a thoughtful hum, and Stephen reaches up to hook a finger in his bowtie. Slowly, he tugs it loose, and then tosses it at Stark, the material draping over his shoulder. "There, now I'm catching up," he drawls, and reaches over, popping the third button of Stark's shirt.
Ooh, like unwrapping a present. He does like this slow reveal.
"Maybe I'm just keeping you on your toes," he says, playfulness sparking in pale eyes. "I'm not one of your fangirls, Stark. I'm not going to tear my dress off as soon as we're in private. I save that for the second date."
no subject
Even though Stephen barely touches Tony when he unbuttons his shirt, Tony hums with contentment. "A good start," he agrees, trying to play it cool. The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors slide open on the first floor of a split-level penthouse. An impressive bar stretches nearly the length of one wall, facing an equally impressive view of the skyline.
"Does this count as the first date?" Tony asks as he steps behind the bar. "Just so I can keep track." He rummages through the bottles for a moment before taking out one bottle full of amber liquid and two glasses. "And if it doesn't, I might bump you down from preposterously expensive scotch to just really good, so no pressure."
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The penthouse is impressive.
Stephen has a fairly nice apartment of his own; central city, ten minutes walk from the hospital, nice view over Central Park. But this is something altogether different. He has a bar the size of one of the rooms in Stephen's apartment, and a view of the city that photographers would kill for.
He follows Tony to the bar, and puts on air of resigned neglect. "No, this still very much counts as a first date, so I guess I can deal with the 'really good' stuff," he says, though there's amusement in his tone. Stephen leans an elbow against the counter, and allows himself to look openly impressed. Very few people in his life have seen that expression.
Still. This is only a penthouse bar, and not a sign of real genius. He'll save being truly impressed until later.
"So why do you attend charity galas?" he asks, idly interested. "A man like you doesn't need to rub shoulders with the other wealthy assholes of New York." Stephen narrows his eyes, curious. "Is it about fostering good will? Weapons manufacturers need all of that that they can get, these days."
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He slides one glass across the bar to Stephen and picks up his own, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the aroma of the booze.
"Honestly? Part of it's just killing time with something to do. You're right, though, it is good PR to be seen at charity galas - the reporters get a picture or two, my image as a philanthropist is maintained, stockholders are happy." And he's used to it by now; he's been going to these things since he was a teenager and able to be trusted to behave himself in public (mostly). Some people get to spend their weekends going on dates or watching movies at home, and Tony Stark goes to charity galas. "My dad had to do it because he was new money and it was important to establish himself with the rest of the rich assholes, and I guess he impressed that on me. Or he passed on a tendency to find one-night stands at benefits, but the first one sounds marginally better and doesn't make me think about my dad sleeping with half of New York before he met my mom." Tony makes a face and takes a sip of his scotch like it'll clear his mind.
"And sometimes you do meet interesting people. Case in point." He gestures to Stephen with the hand holding the glass. "But I believe you wanted to meet JARVIS. You up, buddy?" That last is directed towards the ceiling, although Tony doesn't really need to look up.
"For you, sir? Anytime." A disembodied voice with a crisp British accent seems to come from everywhere and nowhere.
"This is Doctor Stephen Strange. Strange, this is JARVIS, my NLUI. He runs my houses, juggles my schedule, helps with schematics, and probably a half-dozen other things I'm forgetting."
"Only a half-dozen?"
"And he learned sarcasm from me, which is why you should never invent something smarter than you are." Tony shrugs. "You want genius? There it is. Ask him whatever you want."
just wait until stephen sees the holograms, then he'll REALLY be impressed lmao
Tony Fucking Stark is more charming than he has any right to be. It's kind of annoying, in an endearing way. It helps hat Stephen is ridiculously attracted to him, from his slightly rumpled hair to his dark, dark eyes and even his stupid facial hair.
He listens with interest as Stark details why he attends events like those. There's some unresolved issues with his dad, there -- Stephen largely has no idea about his father, the name Howard vaguely rings a bell, and something about World War II, but other than that he's ignorant -- and he's just revealed a rather human side of himself that Stephen finds altogether intriguing. And that's when he addresses someone named JARVIS, and-- ah, that must be the learning AI that he mentioned.
Stephen frowns, thoughtful, looking for the source of the voice and finding none. There must be speakers somewhere. It must be a very well-learned AI if it's able to manage all of that, and its voice is curiously human sounding. There's no stilted words or strange enunciation like with other mechanized voices. There's even something he almost might define as dry humor.
He slants a glance at Stark, intrigued.
"Good evening," Stephen greets JARVIS. "Stark described you as a learning AI. I assume you learn much the same way as any other computer program; by compiling and analyzing data. But how would you define learning? Does it make you feel anything?"
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"I've been cobbling AIs together for years," Tony offers, leaning forward to watch Stephen interact with JARVIS. "JARVIS is the end result, and the one I actively work on improving, but I have the framework for a few others started. Nothing quite so extensive, though. He's probably accessing your ACT scores as we speak."
If he is, he doesn't offer them up, but Tony's sure he'll find a compiled dossier on Stephen Strange waiting for him tomorrow morning.
"Learning simply...is, to answer your question. A human absorbs knowledge constantly without knowing it. My algorithms analyse data in the background while I perform other tasks. Is there such a difference between the two?"
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"I'm no expert in AI, JARVIS, but I'm lead to believe that the difference between human learning and machine learning is that machines are fed data to analyze, while humans are capable of identifying a hole in their knowledge and seeking to learn to fill that hole."
He takes the offered drink -- the ridiculously expensive stuff on offer -- and takes a sip. Oh yeah. That is the good stuff. It's smooth and complex, and doesn't burn all the way down like most alcohol does.
"But you're advanced enough to be in charge of your own learning, which puts you squarely above every other AI I've heard of," he says. "You're also capable of making decisions, and you're obviously intelligent enough that Stark trusts your decisions."
JARVIS also sounds altogether more human than any other mechanized voice he's heard. It's fascinating.
He turns to Tony, eyes alight with curiosity. "You obviously haven't released that technology to the market-- probably a good thing, honestly, I'm not sure humanity as a whole would use it for the best purposes. I'm reminded of the old adage about never letting a machine make managerial decisions, because machines can never be held accountable."
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"So, have I sufficiently impressed you with my genius yet?" Tony sets the glass down and spreads his arms wide, like he's showing off to a meeting of shareholders. At least Stephen, unlike the average investor, is capable of holding an intelligent conversation. But right now, Tony's more interested in seeing how long that conversation stays intelligent once he gets Strange's clothes off.
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And then Tony has to go and mention hard light holograms.
Stephen sets his own drink down, and all but stalks closer, until they're sharing the same air. The slow-burn sexual tension he's been feeling since they started trading barbs all of a sudden feels considerably more urgent, more present. Because yes, Stark has impressed him, and that makes him a hundred times sexier than before. His physical form is attractive, yes, but his mind-- well, Stephen has always gone after smart people.
"Do you have any idea how far medical imaging technology could be advanced with the use of interactive holograms?" he breathes, leaning in, their lips mere inches apart.
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"Mm." Tony leans in and nibbles Stephen's lower lip. "Imagine if you could get a 3-D wireframe model, too. Get in there and see the problem from all angles without all that pesky brain tissue in the way." No hospital could ever afford anything like that, but he's not going to burst Stephen's sexy little bubble. "Figure out just how you need to perform surgery before you make a single incision. It'd be revolutionary."
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This is probably the hottest foreplay-talk Stephen's ever heard. Interactive 3D models in imaging, being able to examine the problem from all angles before surgery-- revolutionary wouldn't begin to cover it. Exploratory surgery is an unfortunate necessity at times, and what Tony's talking about would do away with that entirely. Patient recovery rates, surgical duration, wasted equipment, medical research, and dozens more aspects would be impacted.
He can't help himself. He swoops in for a kiss; Tony's lips are soft, and warm, and Stephen makes a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat.
"Of course," he breaks away to continue, "you'd have to invent a whole new kind of supercomputer capable of trillions of calculations a second." His hands come up, smoothing over Tony's chest, flipping another button undone. "But I assume that was probably on your agenda anyway."
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He runs his hands flat over the lapels of Stephen's jacket before he grasps them firmly and moves to push the jacket back off over his shoulders. "The supercomputer would be the easy part of it, to be honest." Biology isn't his best area, but he's learned a thing or two about different sciences - and, since he's Tony Stark, "not his best area" qualifies as "above most people with degrees in the field".
The real problem with what Stephen's envisioned is time - the kind of project he's envisioned is something that would take a full team of scientists a solid decade to complete. Like Tony said, JARVIS is something he's mainly put together in his spare time; he still has to pay the rent, so to speak, by inventing new toys for the DoD. Fancy science shows might be Nobel Prize-worthy, but the likelihood of most hospitals being able to afford something like that is incredibly low.
Which doesn't stop Tony from leaning in and mouthing a line of kisses down that long neck of Stephen's. It's a very attractive neck; he'd noticed that earlier.
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He really is a genius, he's not just faking. He'd already been attractive in Stephen's eyes, but the certainty of his intellect pushes him from somewhat physically attractive to holy shit I need to make out with him right now.
So that's exactly what Stephen does. Once his jacket is pushed off his shoulders to land in a messy pile on the floor -- black jacket, black shirt, black bowtie, Stephen had been feeling very monochrome earlier when he'd gotten dressed -- and once Tony has a good go at his neck, Stephen tugs him up again for another kiss, heated and slow, exploring Tony's mouth. His hands land on Tony's hips, curling over the jut of bone there, and as they make out exactly the way Stephen wanted to, he slowly backs Tony up until his back against one of the massive glass windows that overlooks the city.
"'The supercomputer would be the easy part'," he repeats, a laugh rumbling underneath his voice. "I'll take Things I Never Expected To Be Effective Pick-Up Lines for two hundred, Alex."
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"JARVIS, privacy mode," he pants in a seeming non sequitur. He needs to turn the video cameras off before he finds himself getting fucked up against those windows - not that he doesn't like a little exhibitionism, but it's just weird when it comes to JARVIS, and Strange hasn't consented to being recorded. "And you would be amazed at what works sometimes. This lady in Bern had a plant once- anyway. Not the point."
The point is revealing more of Stephen's chest as he pops the buttons one by one and pulls the ends of his shirt free from his pants, and Tony pauses once he's done to lose his own jacket, just to even things out. "Would you like to take this conversation to the bedroom?" he asks with a curl of his lips. He doesn't bed men often enough that he keeps a stash of lube in every room, no matter what anyone might claim. It might be a little optimistic to assume that's the way things are going, but he is Tony Stark.
SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY π
His laugh is a low rumble, muffled against where he's ducked down to kiss Tony's throat. "A plant," he repeats, amused. "Don't tell me you defiled the poor thing."
He does hear the suggestion to take it to the bedroom, but in this very moment, Stephen doesn't want to move. He's got a nice grip on Tony's hips, and his throat is a marvel of smooth skin and expensive aftershave. Stephen works his way from there back to Tony's lips, catching him in a luxurious kiss like they've got all the time in the world. As far as Stephen is concerned, they do.
"Yes. Bedroom. Good idea," he agrees in a hum, and then proceeds to make absolutely no move to get there, too busy tugging Tony into another kiss.
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For the moment, Tony is happy to let Stephen keep kissing him; there are other potentials bubbling to the top of his brain, other suggestions from his libido, but they can wait for a few minutes, at least. Much longer than that, and he'll start to take matters into his own hands, but he's still interested enough to see where Stephen decides to go. He gives a little shimmy with his hips to encourage him, maybe to see what those hands he's been sneaking glances at all night can do.