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Despite the tentative friendship that they’ve established in the months since Thanos, Stephen knows that Tony must have an ulterior motive for appearing at the Sanctum with lunch. Usually, they’ll arrange a time to talk in advance, usually about the intersections between technology and magic. Sometimes, after a battle or an Avengers meeting, they’ll go out to eat together. But they don’t just casually drop by, especially not with food. There are implications to personally delivering food when an unbonded omega is involved.
The degree to which it pleases Stephen is dangerous.
Despite that, Stephen does allow himself to enjoy their meal together before asking what Tony’s up to. He didn’t ask Tony to come, Stephen reassures himself. He’s not trying to pursue anything. He’s not expecting anything. Tony is not his mate.
No matter what his instincts and his dreams and—to an extent that baffled the heat specialists—his biology say.
They’re setting empty cartons aside and Stephen is steeling himself to confront the issue, but Tony gets there before him: “So. I’ve been reading up on heat disorders.”
Fuck. “Tony,” Stephen interrupts. “This isn’t a normal heat disorder.”
“Not the cause, but even if we can’t get at the source of the problem, that doesn’t mean we can’t address the symptoms,” Tony goes on stubbornly.
“There is no ‘we’,” Stephen says. “You’re not my mate. Not only are you not my mate, you’re bonded.”
“I know everyone acts like mate bonds are the be all and end all of dynamic biology,” Tony says, “but you probably know better than I do that it’s more complicated than that. Everything I’ve read says that having an alpha present during your heat substantially eases the symptoms of most heat disorders. Even when there’s no sexual contact, Even an alpha bonded to someone else.”
This is a disaster. Every instinct Stephen has is screaming Say yes! and every rational thought is reminding him that spending a heat with Tony would destroy him emotionally.
“And what does Pepper say?” Stephen asks, and knows he’s grasping at straws. Tony wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t talked to her.
“Pepper says that if I want to help a friend, I should.”
Of course. Stephen rubs a hand over his face, trying to buy time to think of how to say no.
Wong speaks before inspiration strikes: “You should do it.”
Stephen lowers his hand to find the other sorcerer standing in the kitchen door. “I can’t,” Stephen says, to Wong instead of Tony. It’s easier that way. “You know I can’t.”
“I know you won’t,” Wong corrects.
Suddenly, Stephen feels cornered. They’re both watching him, equally stubborn, and he has no escape, and Wong is blocking the exit. He’s not carrying his sling ring, but he’s still the Master in this Sanctum. A silent request and Stephen is abruptly relocated to his bedroom. The door locks with a reassuring click.
Stephen crawls into his bed and pulls the sheets up over his head. It’s a feeble barrier, hardly enough to block out this universe he’d chosen for all of them, but it’s all he has.