Chapter Text
Tony often found himself straddling the line between luxury and common comfort. He indulged in the occasional caviar and truffle combo, usually at 1am when he felt like his life was doomed and falling apart. He also liked buying a dozen of the cheapest donuts he could find, scarfing them all in an instant, and washing them down with immediate regret. He liked what he liked and, in his opinion, that was all that mattered.
So when a coffee shop popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, only a block away from Stark Industries, his interest was immediately piqued. It was a bizarre combination of avant garde and down-to-earth charm, the front of the shop looking sharply modern but also decorated with homey looking plants in clay pots. The name-- Espresso Supreme-- sounded brash and bold but the font reminded him of a cheesy Hallmark card. The store's mere existence was enigmatic and enticing, much like Tony's own tastes. Given he was ahead of schedule, he decided to surrender to his own curiosity and stepped inside.
He was immediately awash with the smell of incense and flowers, jasmine and hibiscus probably. The ceiling was open, baring dark metal beams and light wooden paneling. The counter looked handmade, sawed, buffed, and lacquered with care. There was a petite pastry case filled with a variety of sweets. A particularly fudgey looking chocolate tart caught Tony's eye. Here and there, a few people sat on cushy pillows and padded benches, sipping away or munching in silence. Soft music was coming from somewhere, probably a PA system.
Tony ambled over to the register, delighted for a brief moment to find that a clunky old counting machine was missing and instead replaced with one of his own Stark-brand smart tablets. The cashier was a solid looking man, his head shaven and his face seemingly set in stone. He grunted softly when Tony stepped forward.
"Mornin'!" Tony beamed, laying the charm on thick. "I almost missed you guys on my way to work! When did you decide to drop on by?"
"We opened a week ago." The cashier's voice was an octave lower than Tony anticipated. "What would you like to order."
Tony blinked rapidly, looking between the cashier's brusque disposition and the menu behind him. It was a chalkboard, the items and prices written neatly. For a moment, his vision seemed to swirl, utterly baffled by the endless options before him. Until now, he'd frequented the exact same coffee shop for ages. All he had to do was walk in and his order was made ready. He still had no idea what it was, only that it tasted good.
"Uh. A... Medium latte. Please." Tony's eye twitched slightly.
"Light, medium, or dark roast."
".... Mmmmmmedium?"
The cashier scrawled his order onto a cup, passing it along before looking expectantly at Tony. He snapped out of his inner monologue, fishing out his phone and tapping it against the card reader. The tablet chimed, prompting the cashier to twist it around. Tony signed with a flourish. He went to end the interaction with a witty quip, only to be metaphorically shoved aside by the next customer. With his tail between his legs, Tony shuffled to the pick-up counter.
Working away was the most gorgeous barista Tony had ever laid eyes on.
His hair, midnight black with a few artistic streaks of grey at the temples, was perfectly coifed, swooping back and skyward. He was tall (at least compared to Tony) and slender, though an undeniable fit physique twisted under his darkly colored uniform. He had a tan, light enough that he was undoubtedly Caucasian but dark enough that he could be biracial. An aura of certainty rolled off of him in waves. He worked like a pro, brewing a shot without even looking as he steamed and frothed an appropriate amount of milk. His twists and flips and juggles seemed second nature, not an act of arrogance. He tossed a bottle of milk from one hand to the other, skimming a spoonful of foam with a flick. His pour from cup to cup was effortless, never spilling a single drop. When he edged closer to grab a cardboard sleeve, a flash of cologne swirled into Tony's lungs. He smelled like spices from a far off land.
He was simply magical
Tony shook his head, chiding his stupidly innocent subconscious. Magic was a false bedtime story to help children flee from the horrors of real life. Science was the only absolute.
"Medium latte." The barista called. His voice, like the cashier's, was baritone, but a soothing warmth seemed to punctuate every syllable.
Tony stepped forward, a flirtatious line already loaded on his tongue. It fizzled out of existence, however, when the barista glanced up to meet his gaze.
His eyes were otherworldly. They were blue and green like the endless ocean, like the sky at sunset, like the air on a perfect summer day. A spark of something shone behind his stare. Tony couldn't put his finger on it. Whatever it was, it would no doubt follow his dreams for at least a week.
"Th-uh-than-thhhhh-thanks." Tony replied intelligently.
A smug smile crossed the barista's lips. Before he turned back to his work, Tony caught a glance of his nametag and the chill of deeply rooted interest clenched around his heart.
"Strange."
Tony spent all his free time that day and well into the night studying coffee. Part of him was screaming that this was a minor crush, a wave of sexual gaseous fumes stemming from his infinite loneliness. He smothered that rhetoric with his second donut in ten minutes, reading up on the Wikipedia page "List of Coffee Drinks" while he tinkered away.
"All coffee drinks are based on either coffee or espresso, in different strengths; some drinks have milk or cream added, some use steamed milk, cream, plant based milk, or foamed milk, some have flavorings or sweeteners, some have alcoholic liqueurs added, some are combinations of coffee with espresso or tea...."
Tony sighed through his nose. He set down his soldering torch, rubbing at the space between his eyebrows. Mechanics, weaponry, technical blueprints; all were simple English in the face of the article. Tony thought himself a smart man, incredibly so, but clearly his brain was wired one way. That way was as far from drink making as possible. Apparently. Back when he was a raging alcoholic, he never really paid much attention to how things tasted. What was important was that he was inebriated and that was it. They weren't drinks to enjoy, they were a venue to smother his pains and transgressions.
"Ohh I'm a fucking basket case." Tony groaned.
"I wasn't aware that was something that needed to be spoken aloud, Master Stark."
Tony jumped, his heart hammering in his chest. From the door, Jarvis was beaming.
"It's nearly 1am, sir. I would advise you to get some sleep. Only if you wish to make it to your new beloved coffee shop on time."
Tony bristled. For being an older man, Jarvis was sharp as a tack with the hearing of a bat and the intuition of a Bloodhound. Not that Tony wanted his beloved butler and guardian to ever change.
"I didn't even have a proper conversation yet but I'm fucking shaking like a leaf at the thought of seeing him again," Tony stood, knocking over his tools in the process. He ran a bio-fuel slicked hand through his hair. "I've dealt with crime lords and done massive public addresses with no problems but facing a man I don't even know the name of is fucking terrifying me."
"I suggest you sleep on it, sir." Jarvis quirked a brow and a minute smile played at the corners of his lips. "Meditate if you need to and get some rest."
Once he left, Tony swore his woes under his breath. He begrudgingly packed up, shutting off the lights in his garage with a snap of his fingers. Jarvis was right, of course. The best course of action was simply to chill the fuck out and hope for the best.
Tony stripped down, collapsing into bed with a groan. For a moment, the mystery barista left his mind, replaced with the promise of real work in the morning. Developing new cellphones and handheld devices was like watching paint dry but it made Stark Industries filthy rich and kept the Stark estate afloat. While he didn't want to return to his old life as a merchant of (unknowing) death, he secretly wished that somehow, his inventions could somehow fuel his existence instead.
"I bet there's a me in an alternate universe that has a better job that this," Tony lamented into his pillows. "I'm so jealous of that spoiled bastard."
With that, he clicked off the lights and hoped he'd surrender to sleep quickly.
The next morning, Tony tried his best to be cool as a cucumber. He waltzed into Espresso Supreme like he owned the place, only to immediately feel insecure and tone down his swagger. He leaned against the counter, letting his eyes snag on the cashier's nametag.
Wong.
"Good morning!" Tony chimed, flashing his best paparazzi smile. "I'll take a Caffè Medici, if you please!"
Wong's eyebrows raised a millimeter. He glanced over to the barista and they shared a knowing look.
"Ring it up as a medium latte." Strange replied, already getting to work on Tony's order.
Wong mumbled something under his breath, possibly in a different language, before punching in the order and spinning the tablet around. This time, Tony signed with a smiley face, looking awfully pleased with himself. He scooted down the counter, looking expectantly at his caffeinated crush.
Strange had worked quickly the day before but clearly, today he slowed his pace so Tony could watch. Two shots of dark espresso were brewed simultaneously on parallel machines. An orange seemed to appear out of nowhere (it'd been in the mini-fridge but Strange had hidden it in his sleeve) and was promptly shaved into a cup. Once Strange felt there was enough rind, he poured the two shots into the cup, one in each hand, and gingerly plopped a dollop of whipped cream on top.
"Caffè Medici." Strange recited. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that made Tony's heart skip a beat.
As he took a sip, he vaguely noticed that Strange's hands were covered in thin gloves with the fingertips barely exposed. Before he could comment, the rush of bitter espresso, sharp orange rind, and cloying cream assaulted his senses. He spluttered, earning a soft chuckle from the coffee master.
"I didn't expect you to like it," Strange smirked, taking a second to wipe down his station. "You don't seem that intimately familiar with coffee and a Caffè Medici is a bit intense for new drinkers."
"I'm not a new drinker," Tony scowled into his cup. He acted like he was going for another sip, only to snag a mouthful of plain whipped cream. "Just... New to the experience of choice. I'm used to either K-Cups or whatever the fuck I got every day at my previous coffee place."
A twinkle of interest passed across Strange's face. He pulled out his phone, tapping away.
"Do you like any of the following; caramel, coconut, gingerbread, cardamom, chilli peppers, mint." He rattled off.
"Yes, allergic, no, maybe? Yes, and in my toothpaste."
Strange hummed to himself, typing furiously before tucking his phone away. He grabbed the cup from Wong's outstretched hand and began working on the next order.
"Will you be here tomorrow?" Strange asked, avoiding Tony's gaze.
"Uhh probably."
"When?"
"Same time I guess."
"Great. I'll have something then."
Tony narrowed his eyes, doubt lingering on his face. When Strange said nothing, Tony realized he was dismissed. Taking his nasty concoction in hand, he left without another word.
As clouds passed overhead the morning after, a metaphorical cloud passed over Tony's heart. The subsequent deluge of rain meant traffic was hellish and he had no time to drop by Espresso Supreme. What was the point of owning an entire company if you had to adhere to a strict attendance policy? Of course, that policy's name was Pepper Potts but that wasn't the point.
Tony had to wait a whole 24 hours before he could catch his knight in shining chrome and black canvas. The wind chime above the door jingled and, as if sensing his presence, Strange looked up. He smirked, mostly to himself, and took a moment to whisper something to Wong.
When Tony got to the front of the line, Wong already had the tablet twisted around, prompting the man for a signature.
"I didn't even...?"
"Stephen says it's on his dime this time."
Stephen.
Stephen Strange?
Or was Strange a nickname?
It didn't matter. Tony finally had a proper sounding name to go with his walking wet dream.
Tony smiled. For a moment, he entertained the idea of signing with a doodle of a penis. When he remembered who exactly was ringing him up, he instead signed with his customary John Hancock and slid down the counter.
"Y'know I own an entire company, right?" Tony leaned against the bar, cringing inwardly. That was a one-night stand pick up line he used only in times of desperation. "I can pay for my own drinks."
"Yes but this is experimental," Stephen replied, scooting a mystery drink towards Tony. "I don't want you looking for a refund if it backfires."
Tony grinned from ear to ear before taking a sip.
It was unlike anything that had ever touched his tongue before. Spicy yet sweet, warm and flavorful but succulently creamy, full bodied and complex. Every sip, every smack of his lips unlocked a new layer. Chilli and caramel and salt and molasses and cinnamon and clove all exploded in his mouth, leaving stars to dance in his eyes.
"Fucking christ, that's a spiritual journey in a goddamned cardboard cup." Tony gaped.
"I wanted to call it the Strange Success but that name fails before it's even uttered." Stephen replied, laughter glossing his words. "You like it?"
"I wanna ask it's daddy for permission to fucking marry it."
"Permission granted."
A beat of silence passed between the pair and Tony was suddenly aware that he had no idea where to go now. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. When he opened his mouth, he wanted to ask Stephen on a date, take him somewhere nice, get him between his silken sheets. Instead--
"Thanks. It's really fucking good. Uh same time tomorrow, maybe you can blow my mind again?"
Stephen's smile reached his ocean/sunset/summer breeze eyes.
"Sounds like a plan, Mr.Stark." The barista replied. "I don't work on Sundays but I have the night shift on Saturdays so. Keep that in mind."
Tony immediately wrote a mental note, trying to remember what day it was currently. Thursday, he realized.
"Alright. Sounds uh. Sounds good."
"Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr.Stark."
"You too, Mr.Strange."
Tony had nightmares. He had them a lot. After barely surviving his kidnapping in Afghanistan, he dreamt often of never leaving, of being trapped in a den of blood and metal until he succumbed to death. He often woke from those nightmares, clawing at the scar in the center of his chest, feeling an emptiness that kept him up until the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes he'd call Pepper, letting the phone go to voice mail just so he could hear her voice. A few times, he played an old voice mail from Rhodey, one where his best friend's voice was filled with delight, drunkenly wishing him a belated birthday. On the rarest occasion, he'd gently wake up Jarvis and the pair would sit silently in the Stark mansion's library, sharing a pot of freshly brewed tea. Those nights were commonplace after the incident but gradually spaced out over time. Soon, they only happened about once a month.
For the first time ever, in the dead hours of Friday morning, Tony thought of Stephen.
They'd known each other for barely a week and yet Tony was fucking enamored. If Stephen was so sharp, genuinely intelligent, why did he work a simple job in a coffee shop? Why did he seem to always be wearing gloves? Was he much older than Tony or were his streaks of grey from years of stress? Why were his eyes so striking but filled with so much pain?
The man was an absolute enigma.
Tony spent a solid hour conjouring up his own backstory. Stephen had been a firefighter in his youth. No, that was too cliche. He'd been an experimental biomedical engineer when disaster struck. God, that was even worse. He was a sharp man who probably had a mathematical background who suffered from some sort of inherited condition that damaged his hands somehow. That sounded significantly more realistic. The barista job had been a spur of the moment decision that Strange fell in love with and there he remained. Happily ever after.
The idea of the puzzling coffee master obtaining a happy ending lulled Tony into a light sleep. He was able to close his eyes and rest until his alarm blared to life a couple hours later. When he awoke, groggy but better than he usually faired after a nightmare of that caliber, he could taste the faint tang of strong coffee on his tongue.
"Wong."
"Mr.Stark."
Tony beamed. He propped his hip against the counter, breathing in deeply. The earthy wooden smell that permeated through Espresso Supreme somehow helped him perk up, almost as much as the coffee did.
"Could you ask Mr.Strange if he could make me something with lethal amounts of chocolate?" Tony asked, tipping down his sunglasses and winking.
"Do you have an aversion to ordering something normal off the menu?" Wong replied. Despite his protest, he handed a cup to Stephen who scribbled down an order and passed it back.
Once Tony paid (snagging a chocolate covered biscotti for Pepper as well), he waltzed down the counter, taking his favorite spot in the shop. A faint smile was on Stephen's face as he worked. The music playing overhead was different than usual. The soft windpipes and traditional strings were replaced with poppy 80's hits. As he moved from station to station, Stephen's hips swayed to the beat. When he was still, his foot tapped quietly.
"You seem to be in a good mood today, Strange." Tony spoke up.
"It's Friday," Stephen smiled a bit wider. "Everyone loves Fridays."
He passed the drink over to Tony and their fingers brushed together. Tony tried to keep his cool, smothering his anxiety with a sip of his drink. It was creamy, rich, and well balanced. A kick of bitter cocoa was offset by the cloying sweetness of gooey honey. The taste of coffee was in the background, earthy and smooth rather than acidic or fruity. Tony found himself taking a longer gulp than he intended.
"Fuck, that's amazing," He sighed. "One day, I'm gonna pry a recipe out of you, I swear."
"Over my dead body, I take my recipes to my grave." Stephen laughed.
That awkward silence passed between them again as both didn't know where to go next. This time, Stephen broke first.
"I appreciate your loyalty, Stark," He avoided eye contact and, for the first time, Tony noticed a tremor in his hands. "Working here is a dream but I think I intimidate our customers. No one really seems to uh. Chat like you do."
"I'm just commending the master on his craft is all," Tony beamed, ever humble. "Plus, not just anyone can keep up with me like you seem to."
Stephen laughed a proper genuine laugh, sharp and bursting from the pit of his chest. There was a flash of teeth, perfect and ivory. On anyone else, the face he pulled would've been dorky at best.
To Tony, it was beautiful.
"See you tomorrow?" He prompted.
"It's Saturday?"
"I know."
Stephen cocked his brow, trying to peer past Tony's sunglasses to read his face. He nodded slightly, cheeks taking on the faintest flush when Tony winked.
He swore he wasn't staring directly at the other man's ass as he left.