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The Avengers are doing yoga together. Right now, Tony can’t remember why. He also doesn’t particularly care, not as long as he gets to admire Stephen Strange in a tank top and skin tight exercise shorts bending himself into a pretzel right in front of Tony. Tony can’t help but resent every pose that requires him to tear his gaze away from Stephen’s firm ass, long legs, and attractively glistening skin.
The instructor talks them through another pose, describing both beginner positions and progressively more advanced variations. Stephen, of course, slides right into the most difficult variation of all. “I don’t think humans are supposed to be that flexible,” Tony murmurs, transfixed. He barely bothers to fold himself into the beginner version.
Next to him, Natasha laughs softly. She’s performing one of the more advanced options, thought not quite as advanced as Stephen is. “I’m sure it’s the limits of the human body that have you so captivated.”
“You don’t think that’s impressive?” Tony asks, even though she’s absolutely correct.
“I think you’ve been to bed with at least one contortionist, and you’re thinking about that now,” Natasha shoots back.
“I am not,” Tony protests. It actually has the advantage of being true: Stephen has knocked thoughts of anyone else straight out of his brain.
The class unfolds from their various versions of the pose and into an almost natural standing position. Stephen turns slightly and looks over his shoulder at Tony. “It’s just as well,” he says, “since contortionist skills don’t have as much overlap with yoga as you might think.” He smirks and arches an eyebrow at Tony. “Perhaps I can give you a comparative demonstration?”
A wave of heat goes through Tony. “Sounds good,” he says, and ignores Natasha’s snickering.
He’d gotten what he wanted, after all.