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He stumbled through the portal, leaving footprints that burned with amber sparks as he gazed around, a buzzing sound lodged within his ears. The audacity, the sheer…audacity of those idiots on the council. Hours he’d spent drafting the treaty proposal, hours of the world outside the Sanctum passing him by, hours of missed calls and texts from his partner, hours…for absolutely nothing.
What a colossal joke.
‘Honey?’
Instinct made him move towards the voice, an innate knowledge that everything would be better if he could just make it towards the sound he hadn’t heard in weeks. He wasn’t certain where it was he’d portalled to. His hands had been shaking, more than usual with the rage snarling beneath his skin, and it was the Cloak who had tugged him forward, perhaps sensing Stephen was about to do something he’d regret.
Stephen’s knees smashed into something hard and unforgiving, sending shooting shockwaves of pain down his shins, but momentum kept him moving down, down towards the voice. His comfort. Safety.
Stephen rubbed his forehead against the warm, soft skin, bare and heated. His partner must have been working, his skin was tacky from cooling sweat, and petroleum fumes wrapped around him, but Stephen breathed in deep and held it.
‘You okay? Hit your knees pretty hard on the couch and-’
Even with his limbs heavy with exhaustion, Stephen managed to reach up and silence the question, feeling laughter bubble between his fingers.
He wished he could capture the sound.
‘No talking, got it.’
Hands cradled the back of his head, thumbs rubbing soothing circles behind his ears, up and around, over and over, relaxing the tension, giving Stephen a focal point as his body began to calm, agony tingling beneath his skin as the muscles melted and became malleable once more.
The thumping heartbeat beneath the bridge of his nose began to slow as time stretched around them, the Cloak bundling them tighter together, ever jealous, ever watchful of them both.
Stephen felt his legs shift as his prisoner moved to get comfortable. He clutched tighter, his mind silenced for once, the questions, scenarios, endless potential setbacks of the treaty no longer plaguing him. A pathetic sound bubbled in his throat, a plea, an apology for absence, he wasn’t quite sure.
‘Come on, move with me, honey, your feet are dangling off the edge. That can’t be comfortable.’
Stephen knotted his fingers into oil-smeared cloth.
‘Alright, alright.’
He didn’t fight Stephen, but he did reach around and carefully pluck one of his hands free, bringing it between their bodies and pressing a kiss to Stephen’s knuckles, lips lingering over the bone, warm breath tickling the back of Stephen’s hand.
They drifted for a long while, the heat of the body beside him an anchor, overlapping the frustration Stephen had been feeling, swaddling it in love and warmth so the sharp jagged edges of anger were dulled.
Lifting his head, Stephen looked into the whisky eyes of Tony Stark, the man he loved, who kept him sane. His hair was a mess, spiked with substances found in his lab, the skin below his eyes smudged gray from lack of sleep.
He’d missed Stephen just as much.
‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he heard himself rumble, stretching his neck to kiss him softly.