Chapter Text
Tony was freaking out. Just a little bit.
His boyfriend, Stephen Strange, was returning from some magical bullshit field trip (Tony pretended not to know or care, but if asked, he could recite every dimension that Stephen predicted he would go and then extrapolate from that where he probably was at the time. So sue him, he cared a little bit), and Tony hadn’t exactly told him about some changes that occurred in the Compound while he was away.
Namely, the Rogue Avengers were back.
It wasn’t news , per se, because Stephen and Tony had known they were coming for months (in fact, Tony had been instrumental in securing their pardons, much to Stephen’s discontent). Tony just might’ve not told Stephen that they were coming while he was gone.
It was an important trip that Stephen was on, and Tony didn’t want to derail it because he couldn’t get along with the Rogues. He knew Stephen would’ve stayed if he asked, so he didn’t ask. He had ushered Stephen out the door (portal) and hours later, ushered the Rogues in.
The Rogues came back with every selfish, awful trait cranked up on high. Rogers immediately started with the we forgive you, Tony, don’t be petty shtick that he had down to a science, while Wilson just glared from behind him. Barton spat horrible things at Tony, and Romanoff contributed every so often with a cutting remark about his ego. The worst was the witch. Maximoff immediately tried to get into Tony’s head, only to have her magic repelled by the shield charm Stephen had given Tony when they first got together. When the witch had the gall to complain about being locked out of Tony’s own head , Rogers gave him the disappointed eyebrows and a small speech about being a team. Tony flipped him off and walked away, to the jeers of the assembled Rogues.
Tony had spent the next few days avoiding them, going so far as to use FRIDAY to tell him when the coast was clear to go into common areas. But still, the Rogues had managed to sneak up on him and corner him, which really fucking sucked. Barton wanted to scream about the divorce papers that came with his pardon. He had actually tried to hit Tony, but FRIDAY threatened to gas him and have him arrested. Romanoff tried to scuttle back into his corner like the little spider she was, but Tony rebuffed her, and she made a crack about his ego before disappearing again.
Rogers was the worst, though. He kept cornering Tony to talk about love, and friendship , and trust , and it made Tony sick. Rogers didn’t apologize, not once, so Tony didn’t see a reason for them to talk. In fact, the last time Rogers had cornered him, Tony stuck a powered up gauntlet in his face, the nanotech coming together seamlessly (Tony was really proud of that, considering the gauntlet had a tendency to jam, and that would not look intimidating at all ).
So Tony was happy that Stephen was coming home, but also freaking out, because he figured Stephen would be mad because Tony didn’t tell him ( sometimes my teammates don’t tell me things , the ghost of a former partner echoed in his head).
Tony was so deep in (frantic) thought that he didn’t notice when Stephen portalled into their bedroom.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Stephen greeted, kissing Tony lightly on the cheek. “What are you thinking about?”
Tony didn’t have the energy to try to put on a false front, so he just collapsed against his boyfriend. “They’re back,” he said softly. “And I fought for this, I made this happen, and I hate it so fucking much.”
Stephen stiffened. “Tony,” he said carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me they were coming back?”
“I mean, technically, you knew…” Tony said, sounding like a scolded child.
“Tony.”
“You were doing important stuff, this could wait,” Tony muttered into Stephen’s robes. “And it can continue to wait until tomorrow morning. I haven’t been sleeping well without my wizard pillow, and I need to take full advantage now that he’s here.”
Stephen sighed but curled up against Tony. “Tomorrow,” he promised, and Tony hummed his agreement.
---
Tony woke up feeling better rested than he had in days, but also alone. He knew Stephen had been there, because his side of the bed was all messy, but the wizard was missing.
“Fri, where’s Stephen?” Tony said, yawning widely.
“Doctor Strange is in the common kitchen, and Mr. Rogers appears to be on his way there now, Boss,” came the AI’s voice. Suddenly, Tony was wide awake.
“Shit, ” he whispered. “Fri, security feed? Gotta make sure Abra Cadabra isn’t killing the captain and shoving his corpse in the dark dimension.”
The AI wordlessly pulled up the security feed.
Stephen was in the kitchen, lounging casually against the countertop. Rogers was looking markedly agitated when he saw Stephen standing there making coffee.
“Excuse me,” Rogers said in his I am Captain America, bow down to me voice. “How did you get in here? I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Stephen delicately arched an eyebrow as he turned away from the coffee machine and fixed Rogers with an unimpressed stare. “I live here,” he said.
“Then how come I’ve never seen you?” Steve replied, venom in his voice. “This is my home, and I think that I’d know if you lived here.”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “FRIDAY, be a dear and remind Mr. Rogers who the Compound belongs to?” His voice was sweet, but Tony could hear the undercurrent of iron.
“The Compound is the property of Tony Stark, Doctor Strange,” FRIDAY replied coolly.
Rogers was red with anger now. His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s and he started several sentences before settling on a terse, “It’s Captain Rogers.”
Stephen lifted a finger and clicked his tongue. “That’s propaganda,” he said cheerfully. “You never earned your rank, and, in your absence, the US Army decided to strip you of your honorary title. So no, Mr. Rogers, it isn’t.” With that, Stephen left with his coffee, an angry Steve Rogers in the kitchen behind him.
When Stephen came back up the elevator, Tony greeted him with a long (and not quite clean) kiss.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Stephen laughed. “But what was that for?”
“That was for not throwing Rogers in the dark dimension,” Tony replied, grabbing a coffee mug from Stephen’s hands and gulping it down greedily. “And for the coffee.”
Stephen got a dark look on his face. “The dark dimension is too good for him,” he spat. “But I can't promise that I won't do it next time I see him, if he persists at being an absolute idiot .”
“Stephen,” Tony said sternly. “If I can’t kill him, you cant either.”
“What's your stance on maiming?”
“Stephen!” Tony cried, but with a smile. “You don't have to defend my honor, I’m perfectly capable of that. Besides, he didn't even do anything to you.” Tony said it glibly, but Stephen could hear the undertone of worry in his voice, as if Stephen would choose Rogers over him, given the chance.
“He left you half dead in Siberia, Tony,” Stephen growled. “He hurt you, and that hurt me.” He didn't mention that he would never be able to unsee Tony’s broken form, reactor dead, blood frozen . He would never be able to forget the fact that Tony had flatlined three times on the operating table and had to have the arc reactor put back in his chest (he would never forget being helpless while his lover fought for his life).
Tony stiffened. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“Not your fault.”
Tony just shrugged and burrowed into Stephen, needing the comfort. “I love you,” he said quietly.
“I love you, too,” Stephen replied. It was a sign of how much Tony had grown that he was able to express his love freely and feel like it was reciprocated. When they had first gotten together, Tony had been unable to say it or hear it, believing that he was unlovable. Stephen had noticed that the then-Avengers seemed to only make it worse, but he never said anything, because it was clear how much Tony loved them. When they left, Tony had rebuilt himself better , and Stephen was not going to let them ruin his lover again.
---
“So,” Stephen drawled, dragging out the vowel. He was leaning up against the doors of the lab, golden sparks idly playing at his fingertips and sentient cape lightly flapping around him (so he was a bit of a drama queen. It was for a good cause). “What possible need could you have to talk to Tony right this minute ?”
Rogers in front of him looked determined to get what he wanted, which, historically, did not work out well . “I want my shield back,” he said. “Tony took it from me, and I need it back to be able to fight.”
“Want or need?” Stephen asked calmly. “You said both.”
“Does it matter?” Rogers growled. “It’s mine, I’m getting it back.”
“Putting aside your blatant disregard for, well, words , the shield is the property of Stark Industries. At least, they have all of the relevant documents. Do you?” Stephen had an edge of steel in his voice.
“I don’t need documents ,” Rogers was basically shouting. “Howard Stark gave me that shield, its my property, and Tony has no right to keep it!”
The door to the lab slid open soundlessly, and Tony Fucking Stark stepped out.
The mask of Tony Fucking Stark was one he donned often. He used it against arrogant politicians, shady directors, and fucking terrorists . Steve Rogers barely qualified as a threat anymore (not after months of night terrors and subsequent inventing, when he put trackers in everything and backup power sources in all of his suits, when he remade his reactor with vibranium he bought off of T’Challa so no shield could break it; not after months of rebuilding himself without the constant insults and hatred that came so easily from his “team”).
“Actually, Rogers,” Tony said cooly. “The shield is mine. Check Howard Stark’s will, if you want. Or don’t, I don’t give a fuck. It doesn’t change the fact that he left the shield and all of your items that he owned to me. I have all of the papers required for its ownership, so you can fuck right off.”
Rogers looked on the verge of exploding.
“Oh, dear,” Stephen said mildly. “I think you broke the man.”
Rogers turned to him with a snarl. “Who do you think you are?” he shouted. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re trying to turn Tony against me, aren’t you?”
Stephen cocked an eyebrow and turned to Tony. “Have you changed your mind on maiming?” Tony just gave him a look. Stephen dropped all pretense of friendliness when he turned back to Rogers. “Listen closely, because I do not plan on speaking to you again,” he said harshly. “My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, I am the Sorcerer Supreme, and I have more power in my pinky finger than you have in your whole body. But anything I can do pales in comparison to Tony. That is probably the most powerful and dangerous man on the planet that you’re accusing me of coercing. As if such a thing were even possible . You’ve seen what happened to people who tried to get him to do what they wanted. Rather, I suppose you’ve seen their corpses . Just because I know what loyalty means doesn’t mean that I’m controlling him. I support him, Rogers, not that you’d understand what that’s like. If it were up to me, you and your merry band of law-breaking douchebags would be in some distant hell dimension where I wouldn’t have to worry about you hurting Tony. But Tony asked me ever so nicely, so I’m restraining myself. But I’m warning you, Rogers, my patience is not infinite, and sometimes my magic is known to… slip up, and do things that I don’t mean to.” Stephen finished his speech with a smile that was more like a snarl, with far too many teeth and anger in his eyes.
“Are you threatening me?” Rogers asked lowly.
“Yep!”
Before Rogers could do something stupid (not that Stephen was hoping for that so he’d have an excuse to send him to some sort of hell dimension for a couple years), Tony stepped in.
“Stephen,” the shorter man said, drawing Stephen in for a chaste kiss. “What have I told you about engaging with idiots?” Tony’s tone was fond despite the reprimand as he grabbed Stephen’s hand and started to lead them away. He didn’t spare another glance for Rogers.
“He’s using you, Tony!” the super soldier called at their retreating forms.
Tony stopped.
He turned slowly, eyes predatory. He looked every inch the dangerous man that Stephen said he was.
“Like you did?”
Without waiting for an answer, Stephen portalled the pair away, leaving a fuming Rogers in the past where he belonged.