Work Text:
Give and take
Tony Stark walked down a street in Bern at a brisker pace than strictly necessary to reach his destination, but he enjoyed the movement.
The congress was going well, the contacts he made could already keep him busy easily for a year and longer if all the ideas were ever made into something more substantial than scribbles on napkins and random pieces of paper. Roughly half an hour ago he had called it a night and left Banner and a few other congress participants in the hotel bar. After twenty minutes of sorting his papers in his suite, he still felt way too restless to go to bed. Tomorrow was nothing on his schedule before 11am; spontaneously he decided to go for a late walk and do some scouting.
A few hours earlier, he and a group of fellow researchers had dined in a cozy little restaurant which he had FRIDAY memorize. He could totally see himself there in a candle-lit corner with Pepper or Stephen should he get to Bern again in their company. What had him walking into the direction again now was something entirely different, however.
The group turned the way back to the hotel into an extended after-dinner walk and took a little detour just for fun. Sauntering along a pittoresque little street Tony had noticed an old-school shop selling hats and shawls. What caught his attention weren't the silky top hats on display in the windows but some doll hands presenting fingerless gloves. Fingerless men's gloves in red and blue, to be precise. Given that he since recently dated a man who a) permanently had cold hands, b) needed all the free range of movement and tactile sense he still owned and therefore c) couldn't exactly wear mittens all day, Tony had in a bright moment identified fingerless gloves as just the right thing. At least, they were totally worth a try. Since his schedule provided him with a free time slot, he had already decided to go for a little shopping tomorrow anyway. Right now, he just wanted to check out the shop display again while he stretched his legs.
It was approaching 11pm and Bern had basically turned in for the night. While there were still people out and about enjoying a late walk like he did, quietness had settled. Tony enjoyed it after the bustle of the day, being for himself, his brain not in overdrive processing input. The air was still warm, carrying the promise of growing heat to come. It was nice to wear just an old, worn shirt, unspectacular and comfortable. The ice cream parlor located a little further down the street from the hotel was still full up despite the late hour. A remarkable queue of walk-in customers waited at the sales counter. Tony spotted a few faces from the congress and was glad he could pass by unnoticed. He had something else on his mind right now.
Tony made it to the hat shop in some twenty minutes and purposefully steered toward the corner with the gloves. The props in the windows were so old they looked almost unreal for a high-tech engineer like him. Their outdatedness did radiate a certain charm, however, and the articles on offer were far from old and boring. A mix of timeless classics, understated modern design and some well-chosen statement pieces presented themselves.
It wasn't the season for gloves, but the few items Tony found were enough to call his nightly spy mission a success. A pair of fingerless gloves in dark blue matched Stephen's robes, and Tony would absolutely get him the pair with black and white stripes and a dark pink edge just for the Beetlejuice vibe. There were also nice gauntlets in black and red with sparkly threads in the material. From what he could estimate in the artificial light, the red wouldn't clash with Levi, and one couldn't do wrong with black. Also, the gauntlets had arm parts that were long enough to go properly under the sleeves of a tunic.
“FRI, scan the gauntlets and check if they are wide enough for Twinkles.”
“At once, Boss”, he heard the AI's voice out of the frame of his glasses. “Scan complete. Given the measurements I have available for Doctor Strange these gauntlets – and the gloves, too – will fit him. I do advise to check the material, though. The doctor may find them uncomfortable given his daily condition if the material doesn't stretch enough.”
“Very thoughtful”, Tony commended. “Check out if there are similar shops in Geneva and what I can find back in New York.”
“Will do, Boss.”
Tony read the sign in the door for opening hours and turned around to stroll back to the hotel.
Given his daily condition, FRIDAY had called it, and by these Vishanti guys, he still needed to know a lot more about that matter.
He had a good deal of facts collected from the many months that predated their dating. And to a degree also from earlier years. He knew that Stephen once was the best neurosurgeon the world had on offer; they had even crossed paths on some charity events hosted by the Maria Stark Foundation or other, but that had been in passing, happening rather in is peripheral sight than his actual focus. In this context of funding medical treatments and research he also learned about the devastating car crash and that the neurosurgeon was off duty for good. With that, Stephen had disappeared from Tony's radar.
Until he resurfaced several years later as a Master of the Mystic Arts and an ally to Iron Man/the Avengers in fighting back all kinds of meanies. And only little later as Christine Palmer's significant other when the trauma surgeon and Pepper became close friends.
When Stephen became a regular appearance at Stark Tower in that capacity Pepper discreetly stocked up their supply of what she called high voltage painkillers, pills and creams alike, even local anaesthetics prefilled in syringes. Sometimes being an Avenger did have its perks; it meant access to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medicine cabinet without having to fill out application forms, nor was it necessary to justify the use of every pill and band aid. Pepper just took Christine's list and walked into the Compound's infirmary, and that was that. Tony didn't protest. Why would he? It was true, by that time he didn't especially like the former surgeon, but he wasn't a sadist, either. There was no reason to let the man suffer.
Weeks later, when their original animosities were settled and Stephen was granted access to the lab Tony had witnessed one of the doctor's not so good days. He pointed him towards the lab's first aid corner where practical pump bottles with Betadine, Bengay, burn gel and a few other goodies stood lined up on a counter. He told Stephen to take what he needed when he needed it. No asking, no explanations required. Before he left, he gave the doctor a tube of the special hand cream SI issued to the staff who worked with sharp wires and chips and the like. It didn't help against pain but it was composed to treat and strengthen skin that was often scratched, cut and poked into. It couldn't be bad for Stephen's scarred hands, either. Tony personally put some of the high voltage pills in the lab the same evening and went to fetch additional bottles with Bengay Ultra Strong and Lidocaine, just in case.
When the cold season came, he practically never saw the doctor without bandaged hands, normal gauze bandages under layers of various fabrics. Tony couldn't remember a single time Stephen took them off in his presence, but when they were in the lab together, it quickly became a normal occurrence that the distinct lemon scent of the lidocaine cream was suddenly in the air. Magic, of course; Tony never lost a word about it. Stephen liked reusable hand warmers and often slipped one underneath his bandages. Tony instructed FRIDAY to keep the different Bengays in stock and search for small hand warmers that would go under the wrappings smoothly.
The cold season went and with it the bandages; things evolved and the Fateful Friday happened. And a few days later came that blasted afternoon when he hurt Stephen. In the warm night of Bern Tony felt the memory like a sudden hailstorm and squirmed inwardly.
Stephen had portalled onto the spacious terrace as he usually did. He enjoyed the vantage point Stark Tower offered with its height. During the previous months Tony had joined him here with increasing frequency. Sometimes they chatted over a coffee/tea/beer/wine, at other times they shared an amicable quiet and let their minds wander, lured into the distance by the vast stretch of the city. Tony especially enjoyed the nightscape of New York City when street lights and illuminated buildings turned the metropolis into a magic wonderland of its own. It was the perfect backdrop for a man of magic, Tony thought. Also, he liked to believe that it was easier to remain discreet when he gave in to ogling the object of his hidden affection (and his affection becoming less hidden in the act).
That very afternoon, Stephen had no chance for his preferred five minute city sweep. The last orange spark of his portal had barely faded when Levi took over and began pulling at the sorcerer who had turned towards the city (by power of habit, as Tony knew from experience) and not the penthouse glass front, through which Tony watched the proceedings in an outburst of laughter. The genius couldn't tell if Levi had noticed his presence with their magic abilities or if they were just dissatisfied with Stephen's move. In any case, the Cloak of Levitation was determined to put things in the right order. The red garment engulfed their owner, pushing and pulling him around the pool. Stephen wasn't very fond of being relic-handled like that as his grim face indicated when he grouched into Levi's collar. It looked like he braced himself against a powerful storm hitting him from behind, cursing the elements. Well, the Cloak of Levitation were a force of nature in their own way.
Still laughing, Tony stepped outside. “What do I have here, a Master of the Mystic Arts blown across my modest porch by magic forces invisible to the human eye.“
He opened his arms wide as Levi practically tossed the Master of the New York Sanctum at him and caught him in a tight embrace.
“A very appropriate entrance, I must say”, he added with an affirmative nod.
“A Master of the Mystic Arts does have standards”, Stephen replied under an arched eyebrow, only to exclaim “Ouch!” a second later when Levi swatted him over the head to push him downwards.
“I have a feeling Levi doesn't trust us to handle this ourselves”, Tony mused and rose to his toes to kiss the sorcerer. Stephen bent towards him and slowly made him sink back.
“We did need your incentive, I grant you that”, Tony soothingly told the Cloak and patted the fabric on Stephen's shoulders in acknowledgment.
“ Yes, you were of invaluable help”, Stephen seconded grumpily. “Can you give us a little space to breathe now?”
He knocked his elbows back into the garment not so gently. Instead of following his wish, Levi flung themselves around Tony and smacked the engineer flat against the sorcerer before pointedly tying a knot in their hem.
“I find your lack of faith disturbing”, Stephen growled menacingly while Tony, with a feeling of déjà-vu, laughed into his shirtfront at the top his voice.
“It seems, dear Watson”, he spluttered cheerfully, “we are trapped in the clutches of a magical device. I assume only a loving kiss shall free us from this inconvenience.”
“No shit, Sherlock”, Stephen grumbled, still trying to glare the Cloak into relenting, yet without success.
“Very well”, Tony chuckled, closed his eyes and raised his face towards Stephen with happy expectation. “Snog me silly then, Sparkles. I'm all yours.”
Stephen was happy to oblige, softly cupping Tony's face in cold, trembling hands. The Cloak was likely due for a stern talking-to , but Tony found their antics rather amusing. Stephen's relic neither insisted on something repelling nor was it something that hadn't been on his mind, anyway. So the billionaire just enjoyed his new-found closeness with the former doctor. Guessing from the thoroughness the latter applied to the snogging, the pleasure was shared.
Eventually, Levi was satisfied with the proceedings, loosened their grip and slipped away with what was definitively a friendly pat on Tony's back.
“We're free”, the inventor murmured against Stephen's mouth. “The combined powers of science and sorcery saved us from this magic menace.”
“Indeed”, Stephen whispered back, smiling. “There is still the question what we do about our woolen nanny with trap function, though.”
“You mean before they pull a pen and a clipboard out of a secret pocket and check off a list whether we do everything properly?”
The tow men eyed sideways to the relic hovering peacefully over the edge of the pool, observing its own reflections in the water, playfully making a few moves.
“Can you open the library for them again?” suggested Stephen. “They were quite happy there Friday night.”
“Good idea”, Tony agreed. “FRI, get a lift up here and open all the doors on the way.”
“Will do, Boss”, came the subdued answer from a hidden speaker in the vicinity.
Tony suddenly realized how often Stephen had been here before; he didn't look around in irritation anymore, trying to locate where his AI's voice came from. And yet, his presence here was suddenly so very, very new.
“That's settled, then.” The two men nodded to each other before Stephen turned to his garment.
“Listen, buddy, would you like to go to the library again? You can sweep around there all night.”
“FRIDAY can also let you into the art exhibit, once it's closed down for the public later”, Tony added a sudden idea.
“Really? Aren't there security guards?” Stephen interjected.
“Of course, but FRI can manipulate the cameras as needed and direct Levi out of sight when the guards make their rounds, right, my girl?”
“Correct, Boss”, FRIDAY confirmed. “Also, it's Bertie on duty today”, she informed with a meaningful tone.
“Ah”, was Tony's entire comment. “What do you think, Levi, that sound good?”
Levi nodded without hesitation. It seemed the Cloak considered their mission fulfilled, at least for now, and were willing to indulge in some entertainment of their own.
“See you for breakfast, then”, Stephen waved after his relic floating across the pool towards the door in the window front where they turned and waved their hem back before disappearing inside the penthouse.
“Phew”, Tony sighed. “Who would have thought that getting you out of your overgarments would ever have this dimension of priority!”
“Who indeed”, Stephen confirmed dryly. “Who is Bertie, by the way?”
“One of the older guards. He's doing a few night shifts every month to enhance his pension. He always falls asleep at one point or another for an an hour or so. Before you wonder, no, it's not a drama. The security system down there is so advanced, somebody who wanted to break in had to be clever and subtle way beyond being noticed by any guard. If anything ever happened, it wouldn't make a difference if Bertie was napping or as alert as a three-headed watch dog from hell. I mean, we keep that a business secret, but the guards are more a means to calm the public and the insurance companies.” Tony shrugged. “Still, Bertie snoring does make things a little easier if you want to sneak a secret visitor in”, he winked, and Stephen winked back before Tony kissed him again. “Wonderful, that obstacle is off the list as well”, the playboy-in-retirement stated contently.
“What obstacle now?” Stephen wondered, genuinely clueless.
“The first encounter after the morning after the night before”, Tony explained. “It's always a little awkward, don't you think? What do I say to greet him, what do I do to greet him, did he have second thoughts in the meantime, what if he is totally different from my memory now that the hormones are digested... Yadda, yadda, yadda. You name it.”
Stephen gently ruffled through Tony's hair. “I see. Just to clear that up: No second thoughts, and you look exactly like I remember you.”
“Likewise.” Tony's doe eyes twinkled softly.
“As for the rest... Levi took over without warning, however, I didn't come unprepared.” Stephen drew a glittering sigill in the air with his trembling left hand and out of a cloud of orange sparks he pulled a cake box. “I bought cup cakes. It's coffee time, after all.”
Tony giggled. “Oh, that's sweet of you. But you didn't have to...”
“I know, you have your own baker in the tower and he's good. Still, I wanted to get these“, Stephen grinned. A look through the plastic lid and Tony understood why: the little cakes were crowned with a deep red cream and decorated with golden sprinkles. The philanthropist laughed.
“Red velvet?”
“Yup. And a perfect match for this knight's shining armor.”
Tony relished the soft kiss he got with the explanation. Nobody except Pepper had ever called him a knight in shining armor. Stephen couldn't know how the compliment tingled on Tony's back. The sorcerer reached into the sparkling cloud again before it dissolved. What he pulled out was wrapped in blue paper and had green stems coming out on one side.
“Flowers!” Tony was baffled.
“Yeah, not the most traditional gift for a knight, I know.” Stephen nervously scraped his teeth over his lower lip. “But they said Tony so clearly when I came by the shop... I wanted them for you. He cupped Tony's cheek with a cool hand and gently kissed him on the other. “Unusual gift for an unusual man.”
Tony stared at the bouquet that swayed slightly in Stephen's shaky hold.
Stark Tower's penthouse was so far up the street noise was just a distant hum here, but the air moved with a quiet whoosh. The sound of paper crinkling in Stephen's grip was remarkably clear. Tony was weirdly aware of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.
“Nobody ever gave me flowers just because”, he said quietly, and if he sounded a little quivering – to hell with it. He left the flowers in Stephen's hold while he carefully removed the paper. The bouquet was indeed not for the average taste. Two orange strelitzias, cut to different heights, surrounded by stalks of what were probably orchids; Tony could ad hoc only name a turquoise phalaeonopsis, for the other radiant purple blossoms he would need FRIDAY later. Thin grasses, a fern stalk and some other greens with leaves in pretty shapes and colors completed the selection. A few aluminium wires in pale frosted blue and white, artistically wrought into coils and spirals, were stuck in between and added a futuristic touch to the whole arrangement. The colors, shapes and textures were a daredevilish combination, yet the florist's skill prevented a riot; all came together bold and still in harmony. The strelitzias looked like two exotic birds in an otherworldy flower garden.
Two weird birds, like you and me, Tony thought tenderly. When Stephen cleared his throat quietly Tony realized he hadn't spoken in a while.
“Do you –“
Before the sorcerer could finish the question Tony moved his hands with the flowers aside to get a free range and pulled the other man down for the mother of all kisses.
“Fuck yes, I do!” he exclaimed breathlessly when they parted again with a happy smack. Both realized the same moment that it looked like a proposal scene in a schmaltzy movie and burst into laughter together.
“I do like the flowers”, Tony rephrased eventually. “They're spectacular. Thank you, really.”
“Ever so welcome.” Stephen beamed, visibly relieved. With a bit of magic he let the flowers hover mid-air next to the cake box and wrapped his arms comfortably around the inventor. “So, nobody ever gave you flowers?” he asked then, disbelieving. Tony shrugged.
“Sure thing, I get the usual gift baskets at all sorts of events and special days and so on. But just because? In private? From a lover? Nope. Then again, I'm a guy, and even in the 21st century flowers aren't the common gift for a man. You ever got any, apart from an award and such?” “When you say it like that...” Stephen thought a moment, then nodded. “A girl I was seeing in high school liked to give me sunflowers. But otherwise... nope, either.”
“See? It's usually the knight's job to get flowers for the princess, isn't it?”
“True”, Stephen mused. “Well, then... You are the knight and I am the sorcerer in this tale. Seems we have to split the princess part between us”, he concluded seriously. Tony hummed in agreement.
“At least we should give it a shot.” The engineer looked at his hovering flowers again. “I should put them in water, right? FRIDAY, check the inventory for a fitting vase”, he instructed his AI.
“At it, Boss.”
“Meanwhile, let me help you out with this”, Stephen offered. A move of his fingers and a boring ceramic vase manifested to hold the bouquet. “Not a perfect match, I know, but it works. I used it to keep them fresh before I came here.”
“I booked a table for two there, mind to move them over?” Tony pointed over his shoulder at a table under a parasol, neatly decked with a blue-white table cloth. Grinning, Stephen let both flowers and cake box float over and land gently.
“Perfect”, Tony beamed. “And look how the flowers match the table cloth. Did you look into the future to make it so, great sorcerer?”
“Of course”, Stephen deadpanned gravely. “It would be impolite to bring flowers that clash with my noble knight's tableware, wouldn't it?”
Chuckling, Tony kissed him. “Shall we have coffee and your cakes? Tea for you, I mean. A new delivery came this morning, I thought you might like to check it out and pick one?”
“With pleasure.” Stephen ruffled Tony's hair once more.
The inventor wasn't a tea drinker himself, but Stephen had learned with time that he had a very good tea shop at hand that delivered the supply for the tea drinkers around him. Whoever curated the selection of regular staples and new, changing sorts had a pretty good hand at doing so. Stephen enjoyed unboxing the new teas and sniffing at the paper bags, picking out which to try first. Once Tony had understood Stephen's little pleasure he tried to synchronize re-ordering with Stephen's visits. Bare coincidence, he would claim. Now that he actually dated the good doctor there was no longer a need for such covert operations. Something in said good doctor's smile told him the other man had reached the same conclusion.
“Come on, then, let's get that package.” With a happy bounce he hopped along the pool. Stephen followed, laughing.
“How much coffee have you had already, and do you think it's wise to drink even more?”
“It's not some bleak caffeine, it's you, wondrous wizard”, Tony singsonged, gripped Stephen's hand and playfully pulled him along.
“Tony---!” Stephen hissed sharply.
“Sorcerer, I know, I know”, Tony chortled.
“Don't!” Stephen yelled and yanked his hand away, hissing in intense pain, and tucked it under his armpit, bending with an expression as if he had caught his fingers in a door. A heavy, fire-proof security door. Tony was terrified.
“Twinkles, what-” In reflex, he reached for the man but Stephen evaded his touch by stepping backwards, clenching his teeth. Tony felt like dowsed in ice water. His brain processed the events of cause and effect with some delay, but then he understood that he had just hurt Stephen by taking his hand.
“I'm sorry”, he whispered horrified. Stephen growled, still bent over and avoiding eye contact. Tony swallowed empty. “Can I do something? Twinkles?”
He wanted to touch Stephen, hug him to comfort but when he moved forwards to put a hand on his shoulder the sorcerer turned and walked away.
Tony shattered inwardly. It was a convenient coincidence that he was next to the table by the pool; he crashed into one the chairs so hard it wobbled. If Levi were around the relic had probably wrung his neck in a raging fit of protectiveness; Tony wasn't sure if he could have defended himself. He was too shocked and helpless. All he wanted was to spend a delightful afternoon, evening and hopefully night with his newly-found lover. All he wanted was to hold Stephen's hand because it was something that lovers did naturally, at least in his part of the universe. And now, this. Gone was the joy, the happy expectation that made his stomach do somersaults. Stephen was hurting, he pushed him away, and it was his fault, no matter how absolutely never he wanted to cause harm.
Next to him on the table, the flowers glowed brightly in their bold colors. Tony scratched his nails against the vase trying to assure himself he was still in the same universe as before, not suddenly in some parallel dimension where everything went south, and painfully so. How the fucking fuck did this happen?
Tony startled when Stephen's shadow suddenly fell over him. The sorcerer had the light step of a predator. The scraping on the floor when he pulled the other chair was ridiculously loud in comparison. Tony eyed him shyly when he sat down. Stephen's face was unreadable; at least the acute pain was gone from his expression. He still rubbed his left hand lightly.
Tony bit his lower lip. He wanted to touch him so badly to express his empathy, to provide comfort, to stroke the hurt away, to make sure Stephen was alright and they were still in the same universe together. When he realized his hands reached out on their own accord Tony forced them to a halt with brute mental force. No. No. No. He wouldn't do this. If Stephen pulled away from him one more time, he would simply crumble to dust over the rejection.
Tony understood in a strike of lucidity that in order to make this good he couldn't take action; he had to offer his support and wait for what he was granted. Here came the man who had a pathological problem with being handed things, but this was exactly what he had to do: if he wanted to touch Stephen's hands, he had to wait for Stephen to give him his hands. And then do the fuck what he could not to fuck up again.
When Tony placed his hands on the table, palms up, it felt like he had stepped into a mine field, blaring sirens and all. His pulse went up, his breathing accelerated. It was ridiculous and it felt absolutely threatening. He couldn't look the other man in the eye; instead, he stared at the spot where the Eye of Agamotto sat when the sorcerer wore it.
When Stephen eventually reached out and put his trembling hands slowly into Tony's it felt like a unicorn came sneaking out of the woodwork to sniff him. And then, still ready to bolt, rested their head on his knee.
Tony swallowed hard, trying to even his shaky breath before he exhaled. He forced himself to remain still when he felt how decidedly too cold Stephen's hands were; the reflex to rub them warm came so naturally, he felt physical irritation at suppressing it. Stephen didn't pull away. Maybe the warmth of his own calloused hands was enough to warm up the sorcerer a bit; at least Tony wanted to believe that the cold dissipated a little. Stephen didn't pull away.
I can do this, Tony told himself, I can do this, I'm not going to panic because I'm given things. I can do this. I am doing this already. I can do this.
Stephen's fingers relaxed against his own, trembling fingertips lightly tapped his palms. “Please don't stop breathing”, the former doctor asked calmly. “It's counterproductive to drinking coffee with me.”
Tony snorted with raspy laughter. Gingerly, he closed his thumbs across the back of Stephen's hands, like he held an artwork made of spun sugar, and lifted his eyes.
“I'm sorry, Twinkles. I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“I know”, Stephen said quietly. “I'm sorry, too. It's my fault. I should have told you how tricky my hands can be from the start... It's just that I hate doing so.”
With a shaky exhale of his own, he did it nonetheless, talking himself warm with the basics, then going into detail. The damage he had suffered in his car accident was extensive; his hands were now stiff and permanently too cold due to the impaired blood flow. They plagued him with constant ache. While his fingers were widely numb, he did feel pain inflicted from the outside. Sadly, that could include a happy squeeze from his lover even on a good day. Things fell into place; Tony's hands weren't only deft, they were strong, too. The mechanic understood that he had to fine-tune his grip more than ever. Tony learned about the tremor, the swollen joints, the ever-recurring inflammations of mauled tendons and muscles. Cold was generally bad; Stephen talked about the steel pins in his bones that made cold even worse. He explained how cold could aggravate his usual stiffness into spasms that resembled spastic paralysis on a really godforsaken bad day.
Heat was better, for it eased the stiffness and the ache, but too much of it was tricky as well; the pins could heat up and cause a burning sensation. Luckily, the only time that had ever happened was in another corner of the multiverse.
“How many pins are there?”
“Eleven in total.”
Tony felt sadness; Stephen had big hands, but they were too small for eleven pins nonetheless. With his thumbs, he carefully traced the scars. He knew that the best possible treatment had been given to these injuries, and still, the scars looked like somebody had worked a piece of china with a screwdriver. They were terribly prominent, even after years, and if this was the result of the best possible...
It was the first time ever that Stephen didn't hide away, and Tony accepted the unspoken permission to look with humbleness. His thumb pads followed his eyes down the raised lines along the backs of both hands, touching the unshapely spots where whole chunks of skin and flesh had been torn out, gaps and holes that couldn't heal with the evenness of the surgical incisions. The left hand was worse in general. The left index finger looked especially bad from the knuckle up to the first joint, and the middle finger wasn't much better. Mainly on the right hand, the scars showed purplish discolorations where they touched the finger nails making it look like they were still not fully healed. Now that Stephen's hands rested quietly in his own (apart from their usual tremble, that was) Tony noted in full the misalignments in the joints, the odd bend downwards between the middle and last joint of his right ring finger, how the last phalanx of his left middle finger pointed outwards with a tilt that was just slight and yet not in harmony with the rest of the natural bone structure. Less prominent than the scars, the former surgeon managed well to hide this damage in movement, under bandages and long sleeves. Stephen had lost most of his former suppleness and sensitivity, but Tony could sense the skill he once possessed. Like a derelict castle could preserve the grandeur and richness of its original appearance, Stephen's hands still told the tale of their past elegance and precision.
Tony raised the sorcerer's left hand and breathed light kisses along the scars, from the fingertips up to the wrist. There was no way to kiss this misery better, but he couldn't not try. Stephen said nothing.
“Can you feel me doing this?” Tony asked quietly after a while, already guessing the answer.
“Not as much as I want to.” Stephen's voice was barely more than a whisper. It was probably the saddest euphemism of No Tony had ever encountered.
“When I hold your hand like this? On a scale, one to ten?”
“Zero to three, depending on the spot. Four on a really good day. The right side is better. Four to eight, five to eight on a good one.”
“On the same scale, where do I begin to hurt you?”
“That's a different thing”, Stephen tried to evade. “You can't equate-”
“Scale”, Tony demanded feebly.
“Three, maybe four”, Stephen murmured.
Tony stared sideways into the pool. The bright water reflections made the sting in his eyes easier to handle. The math of all this was gruesome. Even if Stephen was right and the two things weren't exactly comparable to each other, it was obvious that the intensity of touch he needed if he wanted Stephen to feel him was overlapping with the intensity levels that would cause him pain, probably with a terribly low common denominator. Depending on the spot and if it was a good day. Tony wanted to cry, and he wanted to punch fate in the jaw hard enough to break it.
“Don't”, Stephen said quietly.
Wait, can you read my mind now? Tony wondered. He had hardly reached the end of the thought when Stephen took his chin and moved his head back around.
“Don't”, he repeated softly, lovingly rubbing his thumb over Tony's goatee. “There is no use in crying over spilled milk.”
“Spilled milk, my ass”, Tony snorted. Stephen's left hand still rested in his palm; he drew a circle onto its back. “You can't feel this, can you?”
What am I doing here, trying to convince him of all people how sad this is? he wondered inwardly and felt stupid.
“Barely”, Stephen admitted soberly. “But I can feel that you are nicely warm, and I can see you doing this, and I know you mean good. Will you believe me that makes it as alright as it can ever be?”
On a nightly street in Bern, Tony deeply inhaled the mild air. His sweet sorcerer was right. He couldn't undo what had happened. However, he could take the knowledge he gained to make things easier for his lover. If cold posed a general problem, he could do something about that with something practical like pretty gloves. The worst thing to happen was that Stephen told him he found gloves too impractical in daily life. Then he could think of something else. And badger his man until he gave him some hints at least. Stephen could still be evasive as fuck about his impairment, but that wouldn't stop the man who once hacked the American government while sitting right in front of its representatives. Tony Stark had set his mind on finding something good for his lover, and that he would do, come hell or high water.
Gift-giving was Tony's first love language, and it had little to do with the line of digits that graced his bank statements. Before anything else, he was an engineer, an inventor, or in other words, a maker of things. Making things to express his affection was just natural to him, and if he couldn't make things himself he could/would get others to make them. Sometimes that meant indeed just shopping, sometimes it meant to commission another professional (which was the moment when the digits on his bank statement did come in handy). Like in the case of the Chinese kimono.
Thinking of it, Tony pulled out his phone and opened one of the pictures Stephen sent him, his man under the huge window with the Vishanti seal, drinking from a tea cup. Wong had lent a hand to take a few photos. Tony had to credit the grumpy librarian with quite a talent for the right moment. Stephen was just breathtaking in the light falling over him, and butterflies fluttered happily through Tony's stomach. If his sorcerer liked the gloves, he would have to revisit his tailor and commission some to match the zhiju. Maybe they had a fabric in Kamar-Taj sporting Tao Mandalas. Or other spells. Tony wasn't picky here. He put three jobs on his list: 1. Sweet-talk the info out of Wong 2. Sweet-talk Wong into providing him with some of said fabric, should it exist. 3. Bribe Wong into keeping that a secret from Stephen.
But first things first; he had this congress to finish, and Stephen would be at Kamar-Taj for two weeks. The gloves had to wait a little. Tony had already settled another chocolate delivery for him; more of the tea truffles which he had enjoyed so much and plain/whole milk/white chocolate morceaux without fillings that were easier to store. He couldn't let his sweetheart go abroad without a few sweets, could he?
Sweetheart. Suddenly Tony felt a heat wave that had nothing to do with the weather and yet he had to wipe a hand across his face once. He felt oddly wobblish in the knees, too, for a passing moment. It had felt very similar on Saturday when Banner and he talked about how everybody was doing and Banner had asked about Stephen.
“How are things with your sparkling doctor?”
Tony had taken a big swig of coffee as fortification. “We are dating now”, he had replied then, trying to be casually and confident. It was not that he expected Banner to be judgmental, but this was still so fresh and all...
Banner had stared at him incredulously. “What now?“
“For a few weeks now...“ Tony elaborated meekly.
“Are you seriously telling me you two are only dating for a few weeks? I thought you were at it since New Year!”
It was Tony's turn to stare incredulously. Well, he hadn't expected that, either.
“Spill the beans, then, Stark – how are things with your sparkling doctor?” Banner repeated his question with a wide grin. Tony leaned in with a conspiratorial face.
“We are fine, thanks for asking. But if you want dirty details, you can wait until you are blue in the face.”
Granted, he had told Banner a little more, because his science bro was his science bro, after all, but he had kept things blurry. Stephen kept a low profile these days, he wasn't keen on any public gossip. That he had made clear from the very beginning. Tony respected that wish. He himself wasn't in the mood to shout it from the rooftops, either. This thing he had with Stephen was nothing to be mentioned casually; it felt rare, precious, a delicate plant that needed to grow undisturbed and in its own tempo. If he was entirely honest, he didn't want to know anybody that he dated Stephen now. Not yet, anyway. Which was why he had later sworn Banner into secrecy, wishing he hadn't told him, science bro or not. Luckily, he could rely on the gamma ray expert in such matters.
“I just don't know yet where it's going”, he had delivered as explanation. And that wasn't wrong. It just wasn't the entire truth. In all honesty, Tony was scared shitless. The intensity level of want he felt for Stephen had long surpassed physical attraction, it was beyond the delight of crossing the metaphorical blades with an equal intellect, too, and it had outgrown his admiration for personality and attitude. Tony's wanting encompassed all of that and pointed beyond at something still bigger. Tony didn't dare to put a name to it yet. For the moment, it was enough that he wanted Stephen with an absoluteness that terrified him. If this went south, then all he could do was to wall himself in and wail and grieve until further notice. Summary: Until everything hadn't grown into a clearer shape, he rather kept it a secret.
And talk of the devil: His phone pinged with the tone he had assigned to Stephen's messages, dispelling all his insecurities into a shower of sparks.
Are you sleeping, coffee bean?
Instead of writing back, Tony hit the dial button. He felt his pulse quicken while the connection established; he would have sworn he saw orange for a millisecond when he heard the sharp, clean emptiness of the line switch into the softer, three-dimensional soundscape of an actual place at the other end, indicating Stephen picked up.
“Good evening, Switzerland”, Stephen greeted with a laugh of happy surprise, and Tony melted a little.
“Grüezi, America”, he replied, sighing happily.
“Not sleeping, then. How are you?”
“Currently very happy to hear you.” Tony's attempt at oozing charm was disturbed when he had to raise his voice over the noise of a passing car with music on full volume.
“What the hell was that?”
“Some local youngsters taking their stereo for a spin through the city”, Tony explained and stopped at the pedestrian light on the last intersection before the hotel. The ice cream parlor right across was still open, but the line of customers had shortened to a handful of people.
“Are you still out? Shouldn't good little congress participants be in bed at your local time?” Stephen teased.
“That's exactly where I'm heading...”
“... good little congress participant...”
“...via the ice cream parlor for a little bedside treat. To answer the question, yupp, I was out on a night walk to clear my head after the day.” Tony leaned against the pole of the streetlight. There was no point in waiting at a red light when no car was visible for a mile in each direction, but he was in no hurry, and whether he stood in line at the ice cream parlor or remained here a little longer made no difference. “And you? Packing for Kamar-Taj?”
“Yeah..... Sort of.” The Master of the Mystic Arts sighed. Something in the sound put an image in Tony's head, Stephen standing in his bedroom, scratching his head and wondering if he should pack the blue robes or the blue robes.
“It's not that I have much to pack, anyway, but I want to be prepared. I still speed read everything I can think of and take notes.”
The street light turned green; Tony swung himself around the pole in a full circle to gather momentum and hopped across the street. “Good little further education participant”, he grinned.
“I bet I will come across something important the hour I'm back”, Stephen groaned. “Whatever. It's good you called. I need a break. And a cup of tea.”
Tony heard the distant sound of footsteps and guessed that Stephen was trotting down the stairs into the kitchen. “Perfect timing. You can even get ice cream with your break. What do you want?”
Stephen laughed. “Since I'm not even there...”
“Well, correct, but when I eat French toast for you, I can eat ice cream for you, too, right?”
“Pistachio”, Stephen said with a smile; Tony could hear its entire stretch.
There were only two people left at the counter, and Tony could easily peek past them, checking the tubs. “You're lucky, my darling Twinkles, you want pistachio, you get pistachio. Anything else, or shall I surprise you?”
“Surprise me, then.”
Tony held the phone down against his collar while he made his order in Italian. A surprise was a surprise, after all. Not to mention that he could imagine for a few sappy moments that Stephen rested his head on his shoulder, breathing against his neck. It was very bearable that the tired waiter behind the counter needed a bit to squeeze whipped cream and strawberry sauce onto his cup (not paper, a bowl-shaped waffle, how nice), place the entire beauty on a cardboard square and wrap it. Tony left a generous tip and wished the poor soul a good night before he put the phone back against his ear.
“Still there, Twinkles?”
“Of course, do you think I'd leave when you get ice cream for me?” Stephen retorted amused. Tony guessed from clinking in the background that his sorcerer had meanwhile fixed himself a cup of tea and stirred in a little honey. “Not that I could understand everything, but am I mistaken or did you just buy five scoops?”
“That I did, my sweet sorcerer”, Tony confirmed, balancing the little parcel on his fingertips. “Two for you and two for me, and one we can share. With whipped cream and strawberry sauce. Nice, huh?”
“Very nice. So much about a little bedside treat”, Stephen laughed quietly.
“The perks of being an adult”, Tony singsonged. “I can eat ice cream when I want and how much I want. Don't you want to ask what I got you?”
“What did you get me, coffee bean?”
“Cookies 'n' cream with rum raisins. Tried that yesterday, I think you will like it. If not, you can trade it for my moccha latte or zuppa inglese.”
“That's sweet of you”, Stephen said with a gentle purr that gave Tony goosebumps. “And number five?”
“Kinder surprise egg. Seriously, they have that as ice cream here. Minus the toys, of course. I guess it's terribly sweet, but we will have to try.”
“Mission set, then. Do you have to get up early tomorrow?”
“No, I can sleep in for once, why?” Tony strode across the hotel lobby and made straight for the lifts.
“Just asking. Do you – was that a cow bell just now?”
Tony laughed. “No, that was the elevator pling. But I suspect it is indeed meant to sound like one. Local color and all that jazz.”
“Fascinating”, Stephen concluded dryly.
A few minutes later, Tony had made it into his spacious suite and onto his bed, where he put Stephen on speaker to have his hands free for eating.
“Did they put hay bales under your sheets? For the local color?” Stephen wondered.
“Like in that old Heidi cartoon, you mean? No, it's just the usual luxury bed. Boring international standard. With hay bales, I had a story to tell at least”, Tony sighed.
Stephen laughed softly. “Poor Tony. Do you want to listen to something nice as a compensation, if you have no tale to tell yourself? I could read you a bedtime story.”
“Sure. The Kinder surprise is pretty sweet, by the way, but it's not bad”, Tony informed his lover.
“Enjoy it, honey. What's your favorite story?”
Tony stopped with the full spoon mid-air. “Wait – you mean that with the bedtime story, do you?”
“If you want to? And if you don't mind the classics. Modern adaptions like Snow Tony and the Seven Avengers are not in the Sanctum's library, I'm afraid, but I did find an old edition of Grimm's Fairy Tales today between some books about spell work from the fifteenth century. Only the Vishanti know how it landed there.”
“Umm”, was all Tony managed in a tingling wave of déjà-vu.
“No reading, then?”
“No... I mean, yes. Yes. I just can't remember the last time somebody read something to me that wasn't business-related in one way or another.”
Stephen's soft laugh again; Tony felt it like a cool, trembling hand on his cheek. “Take it as a surprise, then. Unusual gift for an unusual man, hm? Do you like fairy tales?”
“I do”, Tony said simply.