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The Avengers' meeting room had never exactly been a calm place, but in recent months it had been setting personal records for environmental hostility. Natasha spent more time rolling her eyes than breathing. Even Bruce, the king of zen, had broken two pens just from pressing too hard while listening to the daily show.
Steve finished handing over the mission report, his voice firm, his posture perfect, that Captain America tone that made anyone want to stand up and salute the flag. Anyone except two specific idiots.
“—So, to sum it up,” Steve said, pointing to the hologram with the civilian casualty data—zero, thank God—“the evacuation was a success and…”
“Without the Wizard here turning everything into a second-rate circus?” Tony interrupted, slowly spinning in his wheelchair with a smile that was 70% sarcasm and 30% wanting to be punched. “Because, look, I counted: there were four unnecessary portals, two near-accidents with civilians that you swore were ‘under control,’ and a five-minute speech about how ‘technology is the way of the weak.’ Congratulations, Houdini, gold medal in dramatization.”
Stephen, sitting across the table with his arms crossed, didn't even bother to turn his whole face. Just a sideways glance, that icy stare that would make anyone rethink their career.
“Funny you mention ‘dramatization,’ Stark,” the voice came out low, drawn out, heavy with disdain. “Especially coming from someone who needs forty-two different suits of armor because he still hasn’t learned to fight without a robot holding his little hand.”
Tony gave a nasal chuckle, tilting his head as if listening to a child throwing a tantrum.
“At least my suits of armor don’t have existential identity crises and decide to run away in the middle of battle. Remember the last time your cloak decided you were a jerk and flew off on its own? Because I remember. It was beautiful. I almost cried.”
The cloak in question fluttered on Stephen's back like a cat that had just been called fat.
Clint let out a sigh so loud it was dramatic, even by his standards.
“I swear to God,” he murmured, burying his face in his hands, “if you two don’t have sex or kill each other soon, I’ll kill myself.”
Silence.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly approving of the idea.
Steve massaged his temples. “Clint…”
“That’s right!” Clint pointed his finger between Tony and Stephen. “This is starting to look like a messy divorce between a couple who never even dated! I can’t take it anymore! Every mission is the same thing: ‘my magic is better than your science’, ‘your science is a crutch’, ‘your cape is ridiculous’, ‘your ego is too big for the planet’. ENOUGH!”
Tony opened his mouth to retort, of course he did, but Stephen was quicker. He stood up slowly, his cloak billowing as if he were personally offended, and took a step forward, stopping just inches from Tony.
“Do you really want to do this here, Stark?” His voice was so low it sounded like a physical threat. “Because I could spend the rest of the afternoon listing, point by point, every time your ‘genius’ almost killed someone in this room. Starting with Ultron, going through…”
Tony stood up as well. Now the two were face to face, too close, breathing the same air, their eyes flashing. The tension was so palpable.
“Go ahead, Strange,” Tony whispered, a dangerous smile on his face. “Talk about Ultron. Talk about Wanda. Talk about everything you think you know about me. But remember I have a list too. And yours starts with ‘abandoned his medical oath to cosplay as Gandalf’ and ends with ‘thinks he’s better than everyone else.’”
For a second, nobody breathed.
Then Stephen gave a cold, sharp smile.
"At least I don't have to buy friends with open bar parties and cheap jokes."
Tony laughed, but there was no humor in his laughter.
"And at least I don't run away from people who try to get close to me by pushing everyone away with a 'I'm the Sorcerer Supreme, I don't have time for mortals' attitude."
Stephen's cloak bristled as if about to attack.
Tony's hand trembled slightly at his side.
Steve slammed his fists on the table. “ENOUGH! Both of you! Sit down. Now.”
Neither of them moved.
Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, clearly amused. "Let them, Steve. Let them argue. Who knows, maybe a kiss will happen in the heat of the moment."
Clint pointed at her as if to say "exactly".
Stephen and Tony looked at each other for another second.
Then, at the same time, the two turned their backs to each other and sat down again, arms crossed, looking in opposite directions like petulant children.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Bruce broke the tension, his voice low. "I brought chamomile tea. Anyone want some?"
No one answered.
But Tony and Stephen continued to glance at each other out of the corner of their eyes.
And, at the back of the room, Sam murmured to Bucky: "Ten bucks and they'll last until Christmas."
Bucky snorted. "I'll give you until Thanksgiving."
__________
The building collapsed with an elegance that not even Tony expected. One second they were exchanging barbs while dodging alien lasers, the next there was only darkness, dust, and the muffled sound of metal creaking above them.
Tony woke up first. The HUD was black. Complete. Not even the blue glow. The Mark armor was dead. Battery dead. Servos locked. He was trapped inside a billion-dollar titanium-vibranium coffin.
Excellent .
He managed to turn his neck enough to see Stephen about two meters away, leaning against a crooked pillar. His cloak was torn in several places, soiled with dust and blood. The wizard's face was paler than usual, which was quite a feat. And there was a thin beam running across the left side of his torso, entering just below his ribs and exiting through his back.
The blood flowed slowly, steadily, dripping onto the floor.
Tony felt his stomach churn. "Strange." The voice came out muffled inside the helmet. "Strange, talk to me."
Stephen slowly opened his eyes. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand, as if it were just a bit of spilled coffee.
“Stark,” he replied hoarsely. “If you come at me with any comments about ‘now you know what it’s like to feel human,’ I swear I’ll find a way to kill you before I bleed to death.”
Tony laughed. It was a nervous laugh, completely devoid of humor. "Relax, Houdini. I save my best jokes for when you're not looking like a kebab."
Stephen closed his eyes again, breathing shallowly. Each breath made a wet, horrible sound. “The ring…” he murmured. “I lost the Sling Ring when the ceiling collapsed.”
"Great. And my armor decided to take a vacation. No power, no communication, no flight. We're officially screwed."
Stephen let out a sound that could have been a laugh or a groan. "At least... now you can't escape my company."
Tony managed to move his right arm just enough to slam his metal fist on the ground in frustration. "You're dying, Stephen. Stop being an asshole for five minutes."
Stephen turned his face slowly. His gaze was glazed, but still filled with that characteristic venom. "I don't die easily, Stark. I've come back from the dead more times than you've changed armor this year."
"You have an iron bar in your lung."
“Rib. Not lung. Yet.” He coughed. More blood. “And I’ve had worse.”
Tony swallowed hard. "You're pale as hell."
"Thank you for the medical report, Dr. Playboy."
The silence that followed was too heavy. Only the sound of Stephen's labored breathing and the steady dripping of blood.
Tony tried to move the armor again. Nothing. His left leg was trapped under a concrete block. He couldn't feel his toes. He didn't know if that was a good or bad sign.
“They’re going to come after us,” Tony said, more to himself than to Stephen. “Steve, Nat… someone’s going to notice we’re gone.”
Stephen didn't answer immediately. His head tilted slightly to the side.
“Stranger?” Tony called out, louder. “Hey. Look at me.”
Stephen looked up. His eyes were half unfocused. “If I faint,” he said in a low voice, “don’t you dare remove that beam. My blood pressure will drop, I’ll die in minutes. Understood?”
"I'm not completely stupid."
Stephen gave a weak, bloodied smile. "Debatable."
Tony took a deep breath. The air was thick with dust and smelled of iron. "Look... I know we hate each other—"
"Underestimation of the century."
“—But if you die here, I’ll be really pissed. So stay awake, okay? Stay awake and keep annoying me, because that’s what you do best.”
Stephen stared at him for far too long. As if trying to decide if this was just another joke.
Then, slowly, he stretched out his trembling hand and let it fall to the floor between them. His fingers spread. Like an invitation. Or a surrender.
Tony stared at that hand for a few seconds.
Then he stretched his metal arm as far as he could, until his armored fingers touched Stephen's.
It was the closest they had ever come to physical contact that wasn't about punching or pushing.
"You're an insufferable son of a bitch," Tony muttered.
Stephen closed his eyes, but his fingers curled slightly around the cold metal.
“I know,” he whispered back. “You too.”
>>
Stephen's fingers were still cold against the metal of Tony's glove when the silence turned... wrong.
Tony was in the middle of an automatic reply, something along the lines of "if you die I'll sell the Sanctum to Starbucks and turn it into a themed coffee shop," when he realized Stephen hadn't finished the sentence.
The wizard had begun with his usual drawn-out tone:
“If I survive this, Stark, the first thing I’m going to do is burn all your armor and force you to learn a basic levitation spell…”
And it stopped.
Her head fell to the side. Her fingers relaxed at once, slipping from the weak grip they held on the metal.
“Stephen?”
Nothing.
“Strange. Well. Strange!”
Tony squeezed his fingers tightly. "Don't do this to me, you arrogant son of a bitch, wake up!"
Stephen's chest rose and fell in increasingly longer, shallower intervals. The blood in his mouth now dripped without him wiping it away. The beam was still there, gleaming with a red that looked black in the dim light of the arc reactor.
Tony felt panic surge down his spine like acid. "Strange, for fuck's sake, look at me! You can't faint now, we were almost having a decent moment."
He tried to move, ignoring the excruciating pain in his trapped leg. The armor creaked, but didn't give way. The helmet was cracked; he could taste blood in his own mouth now, but he didn't know where it was coming from.
“FRIDAY!” he shouted into the void. “FRIDAY, status, give me anything!”
Silence ...
He was alone with an unconscious, bleeding Stephen, and an invisible clock ticking inside his own head.
“You don’t die here,” Tony growled, his voice faltering. “You don’t have permission. I don’t give you permission, you hear? I still have a whole list of insults to call you, you’re not going to steal that pleasure from me.”
He squeezed Stephen's hand tighter, as if he could hold the life within it.
“Wake up, Strange. Wake up, damn it. I… I don’t know how to pray, but if it helps, I promise to stop calling your cloak a flying blanket. I promise. Just wake up.”
The silence that followed was the worst of all.
Tony didn't know how long he stayed like that: cursing under his breath, pleading under his breath, his voice growing hoarse, his eyes burning with dust or something else he refused to name.
Then the ground shook.
A muffled, deep roar that made the beams creak.
Another tremor. Stronger.
Tony lifted his head, his heart racing.
A loud bang. A huge chunk of concrete was ripped away as if it were paper.
Daylight streamed into the hole, blindingly bright.
And there, on the edge of the hole, was Hulk. Green, enormous, his eyes wide with worry, which would have been almost comical if the situation hadn't been a nightmare.
“TONY!” the roar came out almost like a worried dog's bark. “STEPHEN!”
Hulk jumped down, cracking the ground. He looked at the two of them, saw the beam, saw the blood, saw Tony's hand still holding Stephen's.
“GET OUT NOW,” he grunted, already beginning to lift the wreckage with ridiculous ease.
Tony let out a shaky sigh, almost a hysterical laugh. "It took you long enough, big guy..."
Hulk first lifted Tony as if he were a child, carefully setting him down a few meters away. Then he returned to Stephen.
“BE VERY CAREFUL WITH HIM!” Tony shouted, his voice breaking. “THE BEAM CAN’T COME OUT YET!”
Hulk nodded, serious. With a gentleness that no one would believe if they didn't see it, he held Stephen by the shoulders and hips, keeping the beam exactly where it was, and lifted him slowly, as if carrying a glass.
When the two finally reached the surface, Tony, now without his armor, staggered over to where Hulk had laid Stephen on the ground.
The sorcerer's face was gray.
Tony fell to his knees beside him, cupping his face in his hands, which were covered in blood and dust.
“Look at me, Stephen. Look at me, you idiot. We went out. See? I told you we were going out.”
Stephen's eyes flickered. A thread of consciousness returned, hazy. "...you... cried?" the voice came out as an almost inaudible whisper.
Tony gave a wet laugh, without letting go of his face. “Shut up. Shut up and stay alive, okay? That’s all I want from you right now.”
Stephen tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace. “…orders… Stark?… you lowered the tone…”
And he fainted again.
But this time Tony knew the doctors were seconds away. That the bleeding would be controlled. That he would survive.
And, for the first time in years, Tony Stark truly prayed that the universe was listening.
______
Stephen opened his eyes to a ceiling that was too white, too bright, and the unmistakable smell of antiseptic.
The pain was a distant echo, muffled by morphine. He could still feel the phantom beam piercing his ribs every time he took a deep breath, but at least he wasn't bleeding internally anymore. Small victories.
The first thing he saw was Peter nearly falling out of the chair next to the bed.
“Mr. Strange!!” Peter practically shouted, his eyes wide with relief. He was holding a cup of coffee that he almost spilled all over the floor. “You’re awake! I… I brought caramel candies! And Mr. Stark said that if you woke up today he’d let me fly the new drone, but I said it was better if I stayed here in case you needed water or… anything!”
Stephen blinked slowly. The boy's voice was a sonic assault. "...Parker," he managed to hoarse. "Volume."
Peter lowered his voice to an animated whisper. “Sorry! It’s just that everyone was super worried! Mr. Stark barely left the house, like, he slept in that chair over there,” he pointed to the now-empty chair, “and brought a bunch of coffee for Dr. Cho, and kept talking to himself about how he was going to fix the armor so he’d never run out of power again, and…”
The door opened before Peter could finish his sentence.
Tony came in carrying two cups of coffee to go. His black dress shirt was wrinkled, he had stubble, and dark circles under his eyes could be used as eyeshadow. He looked like he'd aged five years in five days, but the scratches on his face were almost gone.
Peter stopped mid-sentence, looked from Tony to Stephen and back to Tony.
Tony stopped at the door. His eyes met Stephen's.
Silence.
Peter realized it was time to evaporate.
“I… am going to… tell everyone you woke up! And get more coffee! Or water! Or… anything!” He practically tripped over his own feet, running out and slamming the door.
The two were left alone.
Tony took a deep breath, as if about to dive.
"Hi," he said simply.
Stephen raised an eyebrow, the maximum movement he could manage without everything hurting.
“Hi,” he replied curtly. “Did you come to check if the investment in coffee was worthwhile?”
Tony gave a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. He approached slowly and placed one of the glasses on the small table beside the bed.
"Blackie, two spoonfuls of sugar, no milk. Just the way you like it. I... asked Wong. He said if I put milk in it, you'd turn me into a frog."
Stephen stared at the cup as if it were a bomb. "You spent five days bringing coffee to people and figuring out how I like it?"
Tony shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I had to do something useful while you decided whether or not to come back."
Stephen looked away. "You didn't need to stay."
"I know."
"You hate hospitals."
"I know that too."
"You slept in a plastic chair."
"I brought a pillow from the Quinjet on the third day. Five-star luxury."
Stephen closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, the voice was lower.
"Why did you do that, Stark?"
Tony took another step closer. He stopped beside the bed. He looked at the bandages covering Stephen's torso, then at the cup of coffee he was still holding.
“Because I spent five days reliving you fainting in my hand,” he said, so quietly it barely came out. “And I discovered that I don’t like the idea of a world where you’re not awake to call me an arrogant idiot at least once a day.”
Stephen remained quiet for so long that Tony began to regret opening his mouth.
Then:
"Did you really cry?" Stephen asked, without looking at him.
Tony snorted. "I had dust in my eyes."
"In both eyes. At the same time."
"Very symmetrical dust."
Stephen turned his face slowly. His eyes met Tony's. For the first time in… maybe ever, there was no sarcasm there. Only tiredness, pain.
“Thank you,” Stephen said. Simple. Low. True.
Tony swallowed hard. He took a step back, as if the word burned. “Don’t die again,” he replied, turning toward the door. “I didn’t bring enough coffee for five days on duty.”
He left before Stephen could see how much his hands were shaking.
At the door, Peter almost fell inside, peeking.
"So... was it good or was it bad?"
Tony walked past him, ruffling the boy's hair.
"It was... a small start."
________
Two and a half weeks after the incident, Stephen returned to the Avengers meeting room walking alone.
No wheelchair, no cane, not even the cloak covering too much of the left side of his body, just because it still pulled at his ribs if he breathed too deeply.
The door opened and the chatter stopped instantly.
Natasha was the first to stand up, a quick but tight hug.
Clint gave his good shoulder a light punch: "Welcome back, the house was too quiet without you and the billionaire being estranged."
Steve smiled in a way that seemed like pure relief: "Good to see you back on your feet, Strange."
Bruce simply pushed a cup of herbal tea toward him: “No caffeine until the end of the month. Cho’s orders.”
Peter practically jumped out of his chair: “Mr. Strange! I brought cookies! Like… lots of cookies!”
E Tony…
Tony was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, coffee cup in hand, looking at Stephen as if he were personally checking every stitch, every scar hidden under his clothes.
“Look,” Tony said, his voice lower than usual, almost soft. “The undead is back. Approved by Stark’s quality control department.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow. "You're... strangely polite. Are you ill?"
"Me? Never. I'm just being a decent human being. Enjoy it, it's a limited edition."
The meeting began. Steve resumed the week's tactical report, but no one was really paying attention. Everyone understood the small details:
• Every time Stephen leaned forward to see the hologram, his right hand would automatically go to protect his ribs.
• Every time this happened, Tony would stop speaking mid-sentence, his eyes following the movement.
• When Stephen needed to stand up to point something out on the map, Tony was quicker than his own reflexes and pulled his chair back without even thinking.
• When Stephen sat back down, with a slight shudder that he tried to hide, Tony pushed the glass of water toward him without looking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Clint couldn't last five minutes.
“Okay, I need to talk,” he announced, putting down his pen. “You two are being cute. It’s unsettling. You stopped fighting and now you’re in this mode… like an old couple who’ve known each other for fifty years. I miss the chaos.”
Natasha gave a dangerous smile. "I give it a week before one of them brings the other lunch with a little note."
Peter raised his hand excitedly: “I bet Mr. Stark already brought them! He’s shown up at the Sanctum three times this week with ‘parts to fix’ that nobody asked for!”
Tony pointed his finger at the boy. "Betrayal, Parker. Maximum level of betrayal."
Stephen turned his face slowly toward Tony, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Three times?"
Tony shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Your sink was dripping and making a weird noise. I fixed it. For free. Because I’m a saint.”
"You charged Wong for a full breakfast last time."
"Administrative details."
Steve slammed his fist on the table, but he was clearly having fun. “Guys, focus. Mission next week. We need…”
But nobody was listening. Because Stephen, without taking his eyes off Tony, picked up the glass of water that Tony had pushed towards him earlier and took a long gulp.
Then he put the glass back in exactly the same spot.
And he said, quietly enough for only Tony to hear: "Thank you."
Tony froze for half a second. Then he looked away, cleared his throat, and pretended to be super focused on the hologram.
But everyone saw the way his shoulders relaxed.
Natasha exchanged a glance with Clint and showed him seven fingers.
Clint shook his head and showed five.
Peter whispered, "I still think it's until the end of this meeting."
And Stephen, for the first time in weeks, gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.
________
Months later, Avengers Tower had already assimilated the new dynamic as if accepting that the seasons had changed: no one comments aloud, but everyone feels it.
The jabs were still around.
" Stark, if your armor shines any brighter than that, you'll start paying the electricity bill for the entire neighborhood."
"Stranger, if you open another orange portal in the middle of my living room again, I'm going to charge you rent."
But the tone was different.
It was almost... affectionate.
The team stopped betting on when they would kiss and started betting on how long it would take them to admit they were already together without ever having said the words.
That Saturday afternoon, the elevator in Tony's private laboratory opened with its characteristic "ding" sound, and Stephen entered without knocking, his cloak billowing lazily.
Peter was sitting on the floor, surrounded by high school biology textbooks, an open laptop, and an expression of pure despair.
“Mr. Strange!!” the boy practically shouted in relief. “Thank you for coming! I swear I understand chemistry, physics, even engineering, but cell biology is killing me. I have a paper on mitochondria and I wrote three pages and I still think it’s wrong.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow, gestured to remove the cloak, and let it drift over to Dum-E to play.
“Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Stephen recited from memory, sitting on the floor next to Peter with a slight grimace as his ribs still protested a little. “Did you at least start there?”
Peter nodded, embarrassed.
Tony, who was on the other side of the lab pretending to fix a repulsor, looked up.
“You came all the way here on a Saturday to give tutoring to my intern?” he asked, in a tone that had previously sounded purely mocking but now sounded more… curious. Almost pleased.
Stephen didn't even look at him. "Someone needs to stop the kid from confusing ribosome with ribose. And you're clearly not the person, Stark. You failed biology."
“I didn’t fail,” Tony retorted, dropping the screwdriver and stepping closer. “I simply decided that the human body was an outdated operating system and invented a better one.”
Peter looked at the two of them, his eyes wide. "You two... even fight when you're helping with schoolwork?"
"It's not a fight," they both replied at the same time.
Then they looked at each other.
Tony gave a crooked half-smile. "It's preliminary," he added quietly.
Stephen rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth curled up.
Peter pretended he needed to cough to hide his giggle.
For the next hour, Stephen explained mitochondria, endoplasmic reticulum, and apoptosis with a patience that no one there, not even himself, knew he possessed. Peter took notes on everything.
Tony stayed nearby. He brought Stephen coffee, black, two spoonfuls of sugar, no milk, just like always. He brought Peter juice. He brought a plate of cookies that he had definitely asked Friday to order from the boy's favorite bakery.
At one point, Peter went to the bathroom, and the two were left alone in the silent laboratory.
Stephen was bent over the boy's notebook, correcting a diagram with a red pen.
Tony approached from behind, placed his hands on the counter on either side of Stephen's body, restraining him without touching him.
“You’re good at this,” Tony murmured close to his ear. “Explaining. Caring.”
Stephen didn't move, but the pen stopped on the paper. "I was a doctor, Stark. That's nothing new."
“It’s not about being a doctor.” Tony lowered his voice even more. “It’s about you coming on a Saturday afternoon because Peter texted you nervously at two in the morning.”
Stephen finished correcting the drawing, put the pen aside, and finally turned his face. They were too close.
"Someone needs to take care of him," he said simply.
Tony smiled slightly. "You do that to me too, you know?"
Stephen raised an eyebrow. "What do I do?"
"To care."
Silence.
Then Stephen reached out and straightened the collar of Tony's shirt, which was crooked.
"You're a long-term project," he replied curtly.
Tony laughed against his forehead. "I accept the terms and conditions."
Peter returned from the bathroom at that exact second and stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. "...did I interrupt something?"
Stephen calmly stepped away, picking up the notebook.
"No," he replied.
Tony, at the same time: "Yes."
Peter looked at the two of them, grinned widely, and decided it was best not to ask.
But when he ran out to show May the corrected work via FaceTime, he shouted from the hallway:
"I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR!!!"
Stephen and Tony exchanged glances.
Tony shrugged. "He's smart."
Stephen snorted, but didn't deny it.
_______
It was a Friday post-mission briefing.
Simple mission: rescue hostages from an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn.
Everything went well, zero casualties, even the local newspaper praised it.
The whole team was in good spirits.
Fatal error.
Clint began. “So… I should be the first to say that you two worked together today without trying to kill each other. I’m proud. I want to cry.”
Natasha raised her glass of beer. "A toast to the miracle."
Tony rolled his eyes, leaning against the communal kitchen counter. “You guys are ridiculous. We’ve always worked together. Just… with style.”
Stephen, on the other side of the island, sipping tea, snorted. “Your style almost made me open a portal straight to the sun when you decided to 'improve' my portal with a repulsive pulse without warning.”
Tony pointed at him. “And your portal almost sent me back to the 17th century when you decided to 'close too quickly'! I felt my mustache grow and disappear in two seconds!”
The whole room went "oooooh" as if they were in a boxing ring.
Steve tried to intervene: “Guys, it was a perfect mission—”
But it was too late.
Stephen put down the tea.
"You're unbearable, Stark. You always have to interfere, you always have to be the last to speak, always—"
"And you're an arrogant control freak who thinks magic solves everything and technology is just a rich person's toy!"
"At least my magic doesn't explode in the face of the person I'm saving!"
"At least my technology doesn't depend on me having a good hand to work!"
Silence.
It was the first heavy silence in months.
Stephen gripped the cup too tightly. Tony took a deep breath, his jaw clenched.
Clint whispered to Sam: "Five bucks, and now they're kissing."
Sam replied, "I'll double down if it's within the next ten seconds."
Nine seconds later.
Stephen stepped forward. "You're an idiot."
Tony stepped forward as well. "And you're an asshole."
Another step. Now they were thirty centimeters apart.
"You drive me crazy."
"You drive me crazy."
"I hate you."
“Eu—”
And then it happened.
No one knew exactly who moved first, but suddenly Tony was grabbing the front of Stephen's robe and Stephen was holding Tony's face with both trembling hands and they kissed.
Angry. Hungry. With months of accumulated sarcasm, tension, and near-death experiences.
It was awkward, with teeth chattering and heavy breathing.
The entire kitchen exploded.
Clint threw his arms up in the air: "I told you!"
Natasha began to clap slowly.
Peter yelled a "FINALLY!" so high-pitched that he almost broke a glass.
Bruce just smiled.
Steve blushed all the way to the roots of his blond hair.
When they finally separated, because they needed oxygen, both were panting, eyes wide, lips red.
Tony was the first to speak, his voice hoarse: "...does that count as a fight won?"
Stephen, still holding him by the nape of the neck, replied: "Shut up, Stark."
And he pulled again.
The second time was slower. More certain.
Clint glanced at his watch. "Pay up, folks."