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"Stephen," Wong frowned, "Pick up your phone, this is the third time someone's called you."
"What ever happened to we can't lose focus on studying?" the aforementioned man teased while turning the page of the ancient text he'd been reading.
"That was before Tony Stark gave you a cell phone and the Avengers started blowing up your phone for the past eight minutes."
"I'm sure it's not all the Avengers, and it can wait. I'm much more interested in learning how to conjure up illusions. You know, you could give me some pointers. It would definitely speed this process up."
The Chinese man gave him an unimpressed look, "Mastering the Mystic Arts requires patience. Just like being a good friend and ally requires you to pick up your phone before I throw it at you."
After a few seconds the ringing ceased and the Sorcerer Supreme looked pleased with himself before returning to the spell book in front of him. No sooner did the chiming end that the object started to ring again. Stephen could feel Wong glaring at him from across the table. An expression, while the younger man was quite familiar with, was nevertheless intimidating after all these years spent together.
Stephen's eyes flicked over the screen of his phone where the name Anthony Stark and a picture of the handsome inventor smiling up at him illuminated the screen. With his left arm braced against the inside of his book to hold his place, he pressed the Call button and brought the phone up to his ear.
"Tony, what a coincidence. I was just thinking of-"
"Stephen Vincent Strange, I swear to God, Odin, and Thor's dead, evil sister that if you don't stop using portals to dump your dirty laundry into my room and steal my clothes I'm going to strangle you with your cloak."
A smirk curled at the corner of the sorcerer's lips. He excused himself from the table to take his phone call in the empty courtyard.
"My love, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Cut the crap, I installed a camera in my room and had FRIDAY do 'round the clock surveillance-"
"Kinky," Stephen laughed.
"Down, boy. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by a Chad, I have video evidence of you opening a portal to my room, dumping your laundry in my hamper, then jumping out of said portal to take my clean clothes and go back home."
"You're accusing me of an awful lot."
"I have evidence! Look, I let it slide because I figured sitting on a mountain washing your clothes in a tub can't be easy."
"We have a laundry room, Tony. We're not savages," the doctor smiled sadly to himself.
"But you're stealing my favourite clothes! I cross the line at missing my lucky boxers I wore when the Giants won the Superbowl in '87."
"You can have those back then, I'm an Eagles man myself."
"Ugh, no wonder you and Rhodey get along," Tony complained.
"He's a smart man."
"Anyways, I'm missing my lucky boxers and my red MIT sweatshirt. I'd like them back."
"You have another MIT sweatshirt, I saw it, wear that one."
"Well A, it's the principle of the matter."
Stephen kicked a rock, "Duly noted."
"And B, it has sentimental value. Rhodey bought it for me because I lost my father's credit card and I really wanted it. It was the first gift he ever gave me, I'm very attached to it. I even got him the same one when I got a new card."
The sorcerer pictured it, fifteen year old Tony with his skinny army slung around a youthful Rhodey, maybe only James back then. He could see the two of them walking into the MIT school store, putting on caps and spinning a keychain stand. Then the way Tony's warm brown eyes lit up upon seeing the simple sweatshirt and that look on his face that meant he saw something he wanted. In Stephen's daydream, the teens are both a little drunk from whatever frat party they left. He can imagine Tony with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes wearing the sweater he doesn't have the money for and his best friend gallantly offering to buy it for him.
"All right, if it means that much to you, I'll come by later to give it back," he replied sincerely.
A content sigh traveled through the receiver, "Thank you, babe."
They said their goodbyes and Stephen hung up to return to the library.
Cold air hit Tony like a freight train, he turned his head to see his lover jumping out of the portal with a bag slung over his shoulder. The Avenger's brows raised at the other man's attire. Now, Stephen didn't usually wear his cloak when he came to visit Tony, but he usually showed up in more than Tony's lucky boxers and his MIT sweatshirt. He dropped his bag after the portal closed. Tony had a sneaking suspicion that a medley of their dirty laundry was in it.
"You know, when I said I wanted my clothes back, this isn't what I meant."
"Tough luck, Tony," Stephen grinned, "I'm giving you a chance to take them back."
"Oh? What do I have to do?" the older brunet sat up in his bed.
The sorcerer made his way to the bed until his knees bumped into the mattress. He stood there, hands resting casually on his hips and his grin shifted just slightly to look wicked.
"Take what's yours."
So he did.