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Tony took pride in his ability to answer every question asked of him.
Be it ego or intelligence, he always had a comeback on the tip of his tongue that left him out on top, outsmarting his challenger, or simply putting them in their place with a bit of humour and his irresistible charm.
That, was until he was ruined by a thirteen year old girl with a smartphone- not a Stark one, he might add.
Just to rub it in a little more.
He’d been swarmed by the usual pack of reporters outside his ‘business’ door at Stark Business tower. It was the place they gave journalists a photo opportunity and chance to heckle him with questions. At least three times a week, he participated in the partially staged event, usually answering the same old questions the same old way.
Mr Stark do you care to comment on the rumour…
No. That would hardly make it interesting then, would it?
Mr Stark, what are you currently working on?
It’s classified. But between you and me…
What do you have to say about your…
Well, I did it, didn’t I?
It was all the same old usual things, until a sharp, high pitched voice stuck their mobile phone in his face, and used his government name.
Government name.
“Anthony Stark. What is your relationship with Dr Stephen Strange?”
He’d gone to answer on autopilot, then found himself with no words.
What was his relationship with Dr Strange?
It was a simple enough question, with an easy answer, and yet, he didn’t have one.
He didn’t have an answer.
He…
What was his relationship with Stephen…
How did she even mean? Did she mean coworkers, personally? On the battlefield, at home?
Home. That was an odd destination. Where exactly was ‘home’ when he lived at Stark tower, and Stephen lived in the New York Sanctum? How could he consider them joint, when they were entirely seperate?
“Mr Stark? What is your relationship with Dr Strange? Do you care to comment on the speculation surrounding your involvement with the sorcerer supreme? Anthony-“
He rushed his way through the rest of the pack, feeling cornered, suffocated and desperate for some semblance of privacy.
His head was spinning.
The hounding questions of the journalists drowned out, lost amongst his thoughts as he jumped in the back of a car, promptly slamming the door. He tried to swallow down the discomfort, but his throat was too dry.
He didn’t like being put on the spot like that. Didn’t like not being the person in control.
He’d frozen, faltered in front of an audience. It was a means of failure per his standards, and the whole world would likely see it on social media within the hour.
That prospect was eating him alive.
“Residence?” Happy assumed, none the wiser,
“Yeah…”
Tony was distracted. He didn’t know how many times the man had asked, or when he accelerated off, or how long they’d been driving.
He was lost in a pool of thoughts and memories regarding Stephen, trying to decipher them, categorising them, but he didn’t even know where to start.
How did he label their lives? Their complicated, unusual, inhumanely complex lives?
They were close, sure- of course, he realised.
They shared moments together that Tony didn’t share with other coworkers of theirs, or even his longtime, personal friends.
He’d told Stephen about himself. Things one didn’t need to know about someone unless they shared space and time on an intimate note. Unless they’d be around on trauma dates, or for the anniversaries mourned, not celebrated.
Tony had let Stephen linger physically close.
Their shoulders touched when they watched movies, sharing snacks.
He had let the man be close, even while he was injured or hurt. Had let Stephen clean blood from his brow, and pat blood from his lip.
Touch was a habit he’d terminated after one too many villains had used it against him.
It was Thanos’ monstrous hand on his head. Stane’s taunting smile, looming over him while he lay paralysed. All of his captors in Afghanistan.
Close proximity made him antsy, given his precedent, and yet, Stephen being close had become so familiar that he worried when Stephen wasn’t. He instantly assumed it was a bad day, or more often, he worried he’d done something wrong. That Stephen didn’t want to be close, and that hurt.
He wanted Stephen close again.
He enjoyed mocking the newspaper together in the kitchen, Stephen peaking over his shoulder at the headlines while he stirred tea, Tony pouring a coffee.
He swore his brain retained information better when he studied it with Stephen laid on the couch with him. He liked him close by so they could debate the findings in newly released research papers.
And he liked to annoy the man by poking him with his toes.
Stephen’s opinion, though sometimes wrong, was always logical in some sense, unlike the idiots he worked with.
He would listen to Stephen say anything, just to hear him talk.
Tony gave Stephen the last bite of his favourite donut. Which didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but now that he thought about it. Things like that meant something.
The time they spent together, meant something. The way they integrated into each other’s lives.
Tony walked in, home, at the private tower, tossing the keys on a hall table and pausing in the doorway to the living room.
Stephen was napping on the couch, in a t-shirt and sweats Tony was pretty sure he could remember the housekeeper folding from the basket the other day.
They hadn’t discussed him being here. Come to think about it, they never did discuss turning up in each others lives like this. Tony too had hung around in the sanctum without Stephen, snooping, or borrowing books or resting.
Like how Stephen was now, he too had taken solace in the quiet away from his workplace. He waited while Stephen was out to see him, to spend time with him. To talk.
Being with Stephen was like a release. A comfort. An outlet and a shelter.
He was the first person Tony seeks to share good news. The first person Tony vents to when he’s worked up. And the only person he wallows silently with on bad days, when he doesn’t want to be alone, but doesn’t want to have to talk and explain.
They both fit so seamlessly in each others lives- in each others trauma without having to fuss about the particulars.
Stephen being asleep on his couch when he arrived home from work was totally… mutual.
Home.
He walked the open plan living area, pulling at his tie and dumping it on the kitchen counter. He turned, circling back to Stephen.
He liked walking in to find him already here. He was just as relaxed and undone as the sleeping man. It was like a whole weight fell off his shoulders.
He reached down over the back of the grey couch cushions, fingers floating above Stephen’s shoulder. He didn’t touch. Not quite brave enough.
He had the urge to, though. Not necessarily to wake him up, but just to feel him there. To touch. To linger with him.
Stephen was not a fan of being cold, there were too many memories, and Tony could also see that it hurt. Even if Stephen didn’t say so out loud, the way he squeezed at his own hands said it all. It ached right through his shattered bones, made the metal rods even more uncomfortable.
Tony pulled his blazer off, setting it over Stephen’s exposed arms. The fabric should be warm from Tony’s own body heat, enough to protect Stephen from the chill of the air con until he woke up.
Tony never woke him. He knew how little Stephen could sleep some nights.
It wasn’t uncommon they slept together- in the same bed. There was even times they’d shared pyjamas, and a glass of water for the evening.
None of it had ever seemed extraordinary before, but now that it had been brought to his attention, his head was reeling.
There were so many things they did together, moments they shared that he wouldn’t dare share with anyone else- couldn’t ever picture himself wanting to share with anyone else, especially now that he associated those things with Stephen.
It would just feel wrong.
He needed time to think.
He pulled his sleeves up, initially intending to go down to the lab, but Peter would be home from school soon, and he didn’t want Stephen waking up thinking Tony was still absent.
Heaven forbid the sorcerer leave and go home.
Tony detoured through his bedroom, changing into some more comfortable clothes, an old festival t-shirt and sweats, before moving back to the kitchen.
He’d cook, keeping his hands busy while he let his thoughts run wild. His mother had taught him a recipe as a child that he’d later in life cooked alongside Ana Jarvis. By now, it was muscle memory, and it’d probably still be edible, even if he didn’t pay attention to half of his work along the way.
He gathered pans quietly as he could, cut the vegetables slowly, with the sharpest knife he remembered owning.
It hadn’t occurred to him, until half way through, that this was the meal his mother had always considered to be a family occasion. It was made with love, she told him, when he was young enough to believe in fairytales like that.
‘It’s the secret ingredient. We make it specially for the ones that we love.’
Making it, for the first time in years. Smelling it, as he stirred it and meticulously calculated the spices, he understood. The dish required precision, focus saved for loves so big it made you do unusual things to make them happy.
There was definitely something more to his relationship with Stephen. This wasn’t just a trauma bond, or a heightened attachment from being isolated together in literal space.
This was a kind of love that consumed you.
The kind with partnership, and honesty, and such deep longing that even being together was never close enough.
It was hard to wrap his head around.
Even in his past relationships, Tony had never experienced anything like this. All of those experiences seemed minuscule now. This was something completely new, so much bigger than he’d ever experienced, and the realisation knocked him on his ass a little bit.
He had no answers. But had focused more attention on the dish he was preparing. No longer willing to allow mistakes.
He was making it with the love his mother had taught him to do.
To absolute perfection. For the perfect person in his life, who meant the most to him.
An hour passed. Peter had come home and done his homework, and had settled in his room.
Stephen stirred, and silently, he slipped into one of the barstools across from Tony, head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes the way he usually did after a day spent with particularly taxing idiots.
Tony had noticed that tick.
Staring at Stephen now. He wondered how he ever could’ve thought this was something less than love.
The things they knew about each other without knowing them themselves…
How could he have been so blind?
“What’s on your mind?” Stephen brought him back to reality, leaning forward on the counter,
“I think you know something I don’t,”
“Would you like me to teach you?”
“Not knowledge. A life…” he shifted, “Are we… I mean, what is this? This thing, where we show up at each others houses, and share a bed, feed each other take out, and sit in silence when we’re feeling shitty…”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Stephen admitted, “it’s just what it is, right?”
“Right… except. Maybe it means something more. I mean, are we friends? Are we something more than friends? Are we practically married?”
Stephen was silent, contemplating, and Tony’s head rushed with more and more thoughts he didn’t share out loud.
He was terrified of being rejected by Stephen. Though he may not know how to define their relationship, he wasn’t willing to lose it.
“Yes,”
“What?” Tony startled, looking at Peter, munching on a fresh apple in the doorway,
“Yes. You are practically married… friends or boyfriends, I can’t help you with…” he trailed off, down the hall to his room, probably.
Tony hadn’t even considered this part.
The part where they shared responsibility of Peter. On May’s behalf, hand in hand with her raising the boy.
“Well… if we don’t kiss, we’re not more than friends, right?”
“Not necessarily, I guess…” Tony fidgeted.
Plenty of people in relationships don’t kiss. That hardly meant much.
How they labelled their relationship had nothing to do with what they do and don’t do physically, and more the way in which they chose to connect with one another. Did they share habits and time and space? Do they consider one another in their everyday lives, do their plans and goals mingle?
When they thought about the future, was it for themselves, or together?
“Do you want what we do to change?” Stephen asked cautiously,
“No.”
Tony knew that for sure.
Absolutely not. No.
He was not open to losing any of this.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Stephen tried another angle,
“I’ve not considered it since we met… sure, I thought you were good looking and I thought about it, but that’s just notable attraction. Lust at best… then everything happened, then we started getting to know each other and just… I never thought about you as though you weren’t there… we’ve just always been us. I never thought about us any different way,”
“And if you think about it now?”
If Tony thought about it. About kissing Stephen.
If he thought about ‘home’ meaning wherever Stephen is, and sleeping a little closer together, waking up to wandering arms and warm lips, Stephen’s well-worn Columbia t-shirts too big on him but stealing them anyway.
If he thought about nights at galas and introductions and May knowing Stephen better and being a real family unit. Stable together and caring for Peter.
He wanted it.
He wanted to know what it feels like going in full throttle. Throwing everything he had into it.
Tony rounded the counter, slinking into Stephen’s personal space, between his legs.
He studied the man. The things he’d gotten used to and started to take for granted.
He was beautiful, all sharp cheekbones, and softer jaw that Tony now wanted to reach out and touch.
He wanted to know what the graze of Stephen’s goatee felt like under the pad of his thumb. He wanted to watch the colour of his eyes shift in real time, watch the change in his pupils when he looked between another thing and himself.
He wanted to know if Stephen felt differently about him than he did about everyone else.
He wanted to know the touch of the man’s big hands, the space between his wide shoulders, in the expanse of his chest. Tony reached out and touched Stephen’s face, admiring him, mapping him in a way he hadn’t done since the day they met.
It was all still there, that physical attraction he’d initially felt, but they felt connected so much deeper than that.
He longed for Stephen in his bones. In his soul. Stephen had to be a part of him or he’d completely fall apart.
Their life together was the beating heart of everything he did. Every morning he got out of bed.
He didn’t just love Stephen. He was in love with the man. So deeply, unconditionally, madly in love with him.
They wrapped their arms around each other, Stephen’s hold tighter, Tony’s nose buried in his hair, and Stephen’s pressed into the chest of Tony’s shirt.
Tony closed his eyes, and breathed.
It was simple, something so little, but it felt so profound.
They hadn’t touched before, not like this, not so deliberately and intimate. It was healing.
It was so long overdue, and Tony didn’t ever want to let go.
“I think I want this for the rest of my life… if you’ll have me,”
Stephen looked up, “yeah. I think I’m amenable to that.”
Tony ran his fingers through Stephen’s hair- curls at home, no product keeping it out of the way.
Home. Wasn’t that a wonderful concept. That home was company, and warmth, not an empty place trying too hard, but a heart and soul completely connected to his.
Tony leant down, noses bumping, “can I kiss you?”
“Mhm,” Stephen nodded.
It was gentle, soft and cautious. Appreciative. Innocent.
It was a first kiss.
Blooming, and tentative, and a little bit fearful.
It made his heart beat faster. Happy, not nervous. Kissing Stephen was everything and more he could’ve imagined.
He’d never had a kiss like this. One that knew his deepest, darkest sins and still treated him innocent.
He didn’t want Stephen to pull away, but he did.
“Well?”
“Yeah…” Tony nod, “I’d definitely fly into space to rescue you again. A million times over, if I had to.”
Tony kissed him again, and Stephen’s enthusiasm surged.
Stephen deepened the kiss, moving faster, more desperate than their initial kiss. He tugged Tony closer, and Tony leant right into the touch, burning up from the man’s warmth and lapping up every ounce of attention.
He always loved that. But this, this was… Everything more. To have Stephen wanting him, it was the most exciting, rewarding, thrilling attraction he’d ever experienced.
He hated so damn much that everyone who had ever told him, that desire and sex was better with someone you love, was right.
It meant he had been wasting his time. But all of that had lead him here. To Stephen.
Stephen wasn’t some fleeting pleasure. Stephen was the thing Tony had never believed he’d get.
A for life love.
And yet… Here they were.
Enthusiasm like that didn’t lie. Stephen wanted a life with him.
Stephen’s arms tightened again, hands roaming dangerously close to the hems of both Tony’s shirt and sweats.
“Hey,” Tony chuckled, moving a hand to Stephen’s jaw, calming him down,
“I guess I didn’t realise how much I was missing this… how much I want to be touched, and desired. How much I wanna hear you say that…”
“That I’d follow you anywhere. No matter the consequences or outcome?”
“In our line of work, that means…”
“Everything,” Tony nodded, “it means more than anything else could’ve,”
“Yeah…”
Tony leant in again, pressing small kisses to Stephen’s lips, giddy just because he could.
Tony was willing to test to see if he could kiss all his appreciation and love for the man right into him.
Their son, however, may not be so keen.
“…Peter?” Tony pulled away, looking over Stephen’s shoulder at the boy, half hidden behind the doorframe,
“Sorry. I came for a bag of chips, but you were… busy. Sorry,”
“Go on… you’re gonna have to get used to it,” he watched the boy shuffle along,
“Do I have to?” He mumbled,
“Yes… and it’s dinner time,”
“I’ll still eat it.”
The boy dramatically sulked his way to the cupboard, dragging his feet and lifting everything with a heavy hand. He fetched his snack, and stomped right on back, down the hall and behind an audible closed door.
Tony looked back at Stephen. Stephen’s thumb rubbing circles in the skin at the back of his hip. Natural, practiced, domestic.
To be loved wasn’t to be touched, or admired, or idolised.
To be loved was to be held, to be valued.
To be seen.
To be loved was to exist in peace, and comfort, and everything Stephen has given him since they’d started this.
“Thank you… for loving me the way I’ve always wanted to be loved… I’ve never had this before…”
“Thank you for sharing this so seamlessly with me that I couldn’t possibly fuck it up… our life is the most content I’ve ever been… it’s the only peace I’ve ever known,”
Tony nod, “me too… I want to kiss you again.”
Stephen stretched up and Tony met him halfway.
He let the kisses consume him, but fell short of the heated enthusiasm Stephen had lead with last time.
Tony wanted to savour them for now.
Wanted to bask in the longevity of each kiss, and burn Stephen’s lips into the core of his memory.
“If you could just…” Stephen talked into the kisses Tony refused to end just yet, “keep telling me that. All the time-“
“Don’t think we’ll have a problem with that,” Tony grinned, “I could tell you many things I want to do to you, now that I’m thinking about ‘em- that list is about a mile long… and that’s just our first fifteen minutes…”
They got lost in a war of tongues for a moment, a timer interrupting them.
“I cooked,”
“Smells good.”
They fell back into the real world. The world they’d been living in for the better part of a year now.
Tony pressed a kiss to Stephen’s forehead, then made a couple finishing touches to the dish, and plated the meal- Peter would no doubt still have room for it, he didn’t even bother to ask the stupid question. It felt like that kid never stopped eating sometimes. Tony was sure he didn’t ever eat this much, even as a teenager.
Dinner was spent on the couch, as always, a little deliberately closer than usual. Peter had joined them half way through, and Stephen snuggling up in Tony’s arms afterwards was about the best feeling ever.
The man was right. Tony too hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this. He wanted Stephen to never leave his arms. Wanted them to be connected for the rest of time.
He had a funny feeling they would be.
Something about them just seemed destined to live and die together. They’ve travelled together through literal space and time, that had to be some kind of sick destiny, right?
He pulled Stephen tighter against his body, cradling him, and waited until the man’s blue eyes looked up at him, familiar and safe.
“I don’t want to rush anything changing between us… but I do want to see a gold band around your finger…” Tony moved to trace the empty skin, “that’s all I’ll ever ask to change…”
“You don’t wanna touch me?”
“Of course I do… but only if that’s what you want… This is important to me,” Tony squeezed his delicate hand gently, “everything else could stay exactly the same, and I’d be perfectly happy- better than happy. Being with you is more home than anything has ever been… I want something to show that. I want people to look at you and know.”
It was a fine line. The privacy he wanted them to keep, and the pride he had in Stephen being with him, and wanting the whole world to know it. The best compromise he can think of is a wedding band.
Stephen’s hand will look so pretty wearing one.
“It’s really important to you?”
“Yes. Because you are important to me, and I want you to know it. I want everyone to know it.”
Stephen pulled him down into a gentle kiss. They were still getting used to that, and he was happy to go as slow as necessary to make sure they stayed exactly as they have been this past year.
“Okay… I will marry you,”
“Yes?”
“Mhm,” Stephen nodded,
Tony grinned, kissing Stephen again,
“But for the record… If I’m wearing a ring, especially your ring… I expect to be getting absolutely railed-“
“I am so far out,” Peter scrambled,
“Well, that can certainly be arranged…” Tony grinned wickedly, fingers dancing down a prominent hipbone, “wouldn’t mind if I took my time though, would you? I rather enjoy the journey of learning- though I’m typically deprived of it…”
“I don’t think I could handle much more yet,” Stephen agreed,
“Well, in time,” Tony promised,
“In time.”