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"I'm not particularly fond of magic, you know," Tony said mindlessly, an empty, offhanded comment made for the conversation's sake— but Stephen looked at him unimpressed, his expression telling Tony exactly how obvious his stance on magic had been. It made something in Tony want to elaborate, and so he did, delving into the topic more deeply than he intended. "My first real encounter with it happened back in twenty twelfth— when Loki invaded. The guy tried to use the sceptre— the mind stone, I guess— to invade my mind. He failed, obviously. But then Wanda came, two-and-something years later, and messed with my head."
"Not the most pleasant first experience, then," Stephen winced, his own mind drifting to the vast and endless myriad of colours and feelings, a pit of energy swallowing him whole after the Ancient One's single touch, settling the path of his future not unlike that butterfly. "But you don't wish to, I assume? Despise magic, I mean."
"No, I don't." Tony swallowed his coffee and shook his head, his gaze falling to the floor. He tapped the ceramic of his cup with his finger, a quick and irregular motion to keep him focused. "I'm tired of being scared, actually. Completely fed up. It's exhausting and absolutely useless. Zero out of ten type of experience."
"I suppose," Stephen hummed, sly agreement slipping in. He tilted his head and turned to Stark, his entire attention taken in by the other man in an instance, immense and firm. An idea bubbled at the forefront of his mind, a sweet and tempting gamble of feelings that Stephen wanted to squash and forget. He tilted his head.
Stark looked up, the motion of his fingers ceasing under the intensity of Stephen's stare. He raised a single eyebrow, a silent question and a prompting to speak up after being silent for a second too long. " I suppose there's more you have to say in there, Gandalf?"
"I could teach you," was what his traitorous mouth said, voicing that twirl of thought at the forefront of his mind with no regard for logic and tact. Stephen blinked a few times— as did Stark, the other eyebrow joining the first to stare at him in confusion— and swallowed a lump in his throat. This was an opportunity. "Mystic arts, I mean."
"What, like, spells and incantations and the like?" Stark frowned, looking at him with an expression of incredulity mixed with curiosity. A spark of genuine interest, a tilt of his head, and the renewed tapping, now with his heel against the floor. "Because, if so— I don't particularly want to get myself involved with that— beyond what I already do, at that—not my style, you know?"
"No, no," Stephen interrupted him, waving a hand at Stark. "I'm not speaking of teaching you how to use mystic arts— I'm offering to teach you the ropes of it, give you something more than whatever half-assed understanding you have in your head. There is a lot of theory to it, after all."
Had curiosity won him over or Stark's genuine desire to stop the fear he mentioned from clouding his thoughts? Stephen couldn't know. But the man looked at him, determined and driven the way he always was when talking of his technology, and eagerly accepted the offer, asking for a time and place.
Stephen couldn't help the grin that overtook his features.
Stephen Strange was fascinated with Tony Stark for quite a long time. How could he not be when he looked at that walking legend and saw a mirror of himself long gone: a man with a sharp mind and an ego to match, a genius in his own field and any he would touch? Stephen was always drawn to people like him, skilled individuals with intellect that corresponded to their ego, but something about Stark stood out to him like nothing else.
Christine would call it a courteous curiosity, but Stephen was more inclined to risk calling it audacious attraction .
Tony Stark was, by all accounts, an attractive man, with both his ravishing looks and a charming mind. For all the ego Stephen possessed, he would be a fool not to see it clear as day. And Stephen would never consider himself a fool.
Only on the most daring of occasions, perhaps— when he would use a little more magic than necessary, purely for the pretty show it made. Wong politely kept his mind shut in front of Stark, but once they reached the privacy of the Sanctum, he would slap Stephen with a book stronger than any enemies had ever hit him, scolding him with words Stephen had never heard before.
But then he would shake his head, fond and exasperated, and send him off to another tete-a-tete meeting with Stark.
They hadn't gotten a chance to encounter each other before. For all his brains and intelligence, Stark was a raving alcoholic and a reckless individual to boot. Becoming Iron Man had only ceased one of those aspects and fuelled the other. So for a long time, Stephen held off on attending any Stark Industries events, and with the formation of the Avengers, had abandoned any thought of possible cooperation.
Until the accident. Until Kamar-Taj. Until Stephen lost the old 'him' and became as much a madman as he previously considered Tony Stark to be. Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts— all glorious titles but no less hazardous than Iron Man had been.
So at the end, he'd come in a full circle, ending up on the even field with Tony Stark once again.
Perhaps that was the cause that encouraged his impulsive decision to invite Tony Stark to visit the grounds of the New York Sanctum for nothing else than spending a bit of time together, covered up by an offer of sharing knowledge. And then, somehow, through means Stephen couldn't place a finger on, they travelled to the Library of Kamar-Taj, slipping out of sight of curious eyes.
"You said you would teach me," Tony stated, a book from one of the shelves held open in his hands. "Isn't that against the rules? Won't you be publicly executed for breaching the blood oath— or whatever your wizard network comes up with to punish people?"
"That doesn't work like that, no," Stephen snorted in surprise. "We do not make any blood oaths to keep sorcerers from spreading information. Some private occult communities might, but it is not a practice we perform at Kamar-Taj. Keeping it a secret from the general public holds more of a personal significance to us, as we do not wish for the wrong individuals to catch wind of this place."
"But because I already knew of it—"
"There is no risk in educating you further, yes." Stephen nodded.
A short silence fell over them as Stark looked around, gaze sweeping over the multitude of shelves and books filling them all. For a second his gaze fell on the crucial 6 books at the very front— information on the infinity stones, which, admittedly, had been the reason that Stephen initiated first contact with Stark. Tony reached out towards the first of the books, one Stephen knew told of the Time Stone. He didn't take it out, however, gently tracing the lines and engravings on the cover with his free hand, instead.
It's delicate work, Stephen knew, to learn mystic arts. He was an outlier, having learnt everything in the shortest time frame in Wong's experience, jumping towards astral projection in the very beginning of his training. An impressive feat, he was told, but still a rare one.
Stark himself was a genius whose inventions would go into history books regardless of Iron Man's existence. But would he be able to throw science to the side and immerse himself in all matter mystical without trying to think of it as another science secret to solve?
Stark was a determined man, Stephen knew, and perhaps that was what settled his own resolve in that moment. He moved forward, carefully taking the book out of Tony's hands. Stark looked at him with an eyebrow raised expectantly.
"Go sit at the table," Stephen said, motioning with an arm behind himself. He felt the cloak flutter behind him, pointing in the correct direction, and Stark followed it with his gaze. "I will grab you a few books to start with."
Stephen returned barely five minutes later, only a small handful of books in hand, the most crucial ones that describe what, exactly, the mystic arts were. Stark followed his directions, but instead of sitting at the chair like any normal person would, he propped himself up to sit directly on the table to the left of said chair, one leg thrown over the other, hovering above the floor. Stephen approached him from behind.
"When I told you to sit at the table," Stephen said as a way to announce his presence, and Stark turned to watch him as he set the books on top of the table and then slid into the empty seat. "I didn't mean directly on top of it. "
"Instructions unclear," Stark had the audacity to smirk. "I did exactly what I've been told to do, for once. A rare occurrence, I must say. Ask whoever. They'll agree."
"You're insufferable."
"So I've been told," Tony chuckled, and then pointedly snapped his fingers in Stephen's direction. "And yet here I am, doing God knows what in the sacred grounds of your own little Hogwarts, invited by Yours Truly. Am I not?"
Stephen clicked his tongue, resisting the urge to swallow. He propped his elbow against the table, looking up at Stark and licking his lips.
"Haven't changed my mind yet," Stephen said after a short pause. "But I might if you start asking questions irrelevant to what we planned this evening for."
"Well, that's a shame." Stark clicked his tongue, tilting his head to the side. He poked Stephen's hip with the toe of his boot, and Stephen sent his way an unimpressed glare. "I just might take you up on that offer, though."
Perhaps Stephen would give the reckless passion in his heart a chance to burst into something tangible, as real as the warmth coming from Tony Stark's body under the touch of Stephen's shaking fingers.
Wong will, no doubt, give him a prolonged lecture about inviting outsiders onto the sacred grounds of his beloved library once the word of rumour reaches the man's ears. But that was a problem for a future Stephen, and he learnt that he should make the most of living in the moment.
And in the moment Stephen would enjoy Stark's peaceful company, the tentative stolen glances, and silent promises in settling a bridge where Stephen thought there would forever be a drift. One gentle word at a time.