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"Have you ever considered, maybe, trying to not overly justify every single situation you find yourself in?"
"No can-do, Doc," Tony muttered, voice ever-confident and movements betraying the fact he was much less so. "Isolated incident. This is an isolated incident and I'm-"
"You're fine, really, Tony."
"Well, yeah, I am fine, I just-"
"Tony."
Characteristically of Tony Stark, his constant shuffling against Stephen's chest (which was growing steadily more annoying by the second, but Stephen was willing to accommodate after all he put the poor guy through) did not stop. Uncharacteristically of Tony Stark, he shut up immediately.
Stephen kept his eyes trained on the vague blue light that found its way in from the window, the thin, useless paper that was probably less adept at acting as a curtain and more of a lazy attempt of giving the small room a more mystical vibe (which exactly none of the rooms in the Sanctum Sanctorum had, save for the library and the few more magically-inclined areas scattered about.) There was a point where he couldn't tell much at all whether he was forcing himself to make out the vague outlines of buildings through all he could see with the naked eye, or forcing himself to not look down at the economical giant of a man that was more than tiny in his arms.
It'd be stupid not to look. Ridiculous, even. Not the kind of closeness you achieve with someone you're not fond of, his conscience chided.
Stephen looked.
The version of himself, in this particular timeline, in this particular universe no less than a week ago would've scoffed at the idea of not only being alone with Tony Stark, but also at the idea of being, for a lack of a better term, physically close with the billionaire who's name he'd only prior read in headlines, and tossed aside as an afterthought and a 'man, screw that dude.' He'd also have scoffed at the idea of Stark being the one to seek him out in the first place, and scoffed into the next 53 dimensions at the prospect of Stark seeking him, of all people, out for comfort and warmth.
Stephen, however, obliged.
There was a long silence before either talked again, Stephen tried to contemplate anything but the expensive-to-the-point-of-being-repulsive scent of whatever cologne it was that Tony was wearing, and the way he stopped jittering with his inexplicable nonstop manic energy, and eased a bit closer, daring to push his face closer to his chest. Spreading faster and calmer than the energy flow of the Multiverse itself was the feeling of even-more inexplicable wholeness that came with how Tony pulled him a little closer, held back a little tighter, shut up a little harder.
It was getting to the point where he wished Stark would say something stupid again, or try and make some joke about how the situation at hand was just another product of extraordinary circumstances. The lack of a cop-out was deafening, Stephen worried the sound of his heart was just as much.
"Man,"
"Y-yes," Stephen jumped abruptly out of his internal monologue, and realized that astrally projecting his way out of this situation would be a lot more favorable than dealing with the way his heart jumped at the sound of Tony's voice again.
"You smell like an import store."
"You smell like million-dollar body spray."
"I don't see how that's not a good thing."
"It smells like shit, Tony." Stephen bit back the laugh that fought to creep its way up his throat, it fought back harder the second he realized he could feel Tony's smile outlining against his chest. Made his heart dance like no spell that had nearly accidentally sent him into cardiac arrest ever did. Shit.
"Hurtful, Doc."
"We've been through the Apocalypse itself together, you can call me Stephen, pleased to meet you."
"Yeah, well, for a hot second there I was the one alone dealing with the implications of half the goddamn universe turning into sawdust."
"Fair enough," his hand moved slowly up Tony's back, a movement met with hesitation, then the faintest arch closer to his touch. "But we're all here again, as it was meant to be in this timeline, at least."
"Yeah, meant to be, I guess."
Stephen didn't need a spell, didn't need some projection, didn't need some seventh, eighth, tenth sense to note Tony's rising discomfort. He took a breath, also noted the way that Tony's arms grew tighter around him when he did so, noted further the way his breathing grew shallow in the small pause they shared. Not the kind of shallow you find in resentment, or fear, for that matter.
"Are you okay?" the words sounded like some cruel joke coming out of Stephen's mouth, fuck, you're a doctor, I mean, not a psychologist, part-time- I mean, full-time Sorcerer, and you just hit him with an 'are you o-
"You think, Doc?"
"Well, no."
"Bingo."
The orange rocks of Titan still beckoned from his memory like a lingering, dying monolith. The absence between his reappearance, and, well, disappearance felt like a blink in time, a hiccup, a bubbled-mishap in their corner of the Multiverse itself. The hardest choice was not death, in fact, harder with the knowledge that he left him there.
Stephen was never known for tenderness, another part of the myriad of reasons he couldn't imagine why he now laid in silence with Stark nestled close to his ceaselessly-beating heart, but he found his hand moving up toward's Tony's hair, finding a place to spread and caress. He'd given up on channeling a dull stream of magic to stop the tremors, stop the lack of feeling that plagued his fingers a long time ago, but somehow he could feel the way his fingernails caught on the little hairs still fused together with gel, the way Tony's head turned under his hand with that same, special kind of reluctance and reverence he knew he always held for him.
"God, Stephen, and here I thought Ultron was here to haunt my dreams for the next fucking eternity."
"Well, you don't have to sleep now. We can stay here all night, honestly."
"I want to."
The sudden softness that came over Tony's voice seemed to shut both of them up. Especially Tony. Stephen wondered if that man had felt a shred of softness in his life, or, rather, softness he let in.
"We can do that, too."
Jesus fucking Christ, Strange.
"I-" Tony sighed, pushing his head back into Stephen's hand stiffly. "I'm not too interested in being alone right now or- the next while, actually. Really don't-"
"You're fine, Tony." Stephen whispered, daring to bring his chin to his forehead, daring harder to see if Tony didn't flinch away. Or make another quip.
To both of their surprises, most likely, neither did. The path Tony's forehead made from Stephen's chin, to more safely nuzzled into his neck was a slow journey that left Stephen wondering if he'd die from oxygen deprivation if he kept holding his breath at this point. He found the way, that one that started out small at first, where Tony's hands ran up and down the valleys and roads of his back, was the way that sent sparks through the rest of him. Wondered if it was that same dimensional energy, or perhaps, just another form of it finding its way into Tony's fingertips, or just his own damn neurochemistry going haywire at the touch of someone he didn't want to hold at an arm's length.
It felt something like safe. It felt something a little more real, a little more grounding and overpowering than the fear of dissolving into ash again. It felt-
A sudden warmth drifted over the two. Is this what Wong meant about some spiritual singularity when you're with someone you're meant to b-
The Cloak rested on top of them. Waved a smug tail at Stephen, before putting some faint magical effort towards pushing them closer to each other.
"Didn't you say that thing's picky with who it likes?"
"Yeah, I did,"
"Looks like we got more than one Supreme Sorcerer in the house, how about that, Doc?"
"Sorcerer Supreme," Stephen grumbled, ignoring the rising warmth in his chest and all around him as the Cloak held the two closer. (a fact Stephen almost found himself thankful for, at least the Magic Carpet itself was unafraid).
"Stop taking yourself too seriously for two seconds, you sound like the latest magically-influenced Taco Bell menu addition."
"Have you ever considered, maybe, admitting the fact you actually respect the Mystic Arts and how they saved your sorry ass?"
"Maybe," Tony pulled him closer, as did the Cloak. "It's up for debate."
Stephen buried his face in Tony's hair, took a deep breath, and found he didn't even mind the way how expensive perfume seemed to backfire into cheap perfume the higher-end it got.