Chapter Text
“—and this here is Doctor Stephen Strange,” Pepper said, voice taking on an edge at the words, clearly telling Tony to behave. “He’s an up-and-coming neurosurgeon with Metro General, they expect him to be one of the best.”
Tony looked past her to the man dressed in an elegant, three piece, midnight black suit that fit him perfectly, a rich, scarlet tie the only splash of color. There was nothing special about him, but at the same time he stood out in the crowd of people that stood along the outside of the dance floor, like an anchor in the ocean of people.
A shiver ran down his spine as Doctor Strange looked at him, his blue eyes like ice as his gaze ran over Tony’s body with unhidden desire. Strange’s gaze came back up, meeting Tony’s gaze this time. And oh, Strange’s eyes weren’t icy any more, instead they were heated, leaving Tony feeling almost burned, if burning could be pleasurable.
There was something else about him though… Tony had the alarming feeling that Doctor Strange saw far more of Tony than Tony was comfortable showing. It was a disquieting feeling, sending a chill down his back.
“Good evening, Doctor Strange,” Tony parroted easily, keeping his voice bland, neutral, completely unimpressed. He was an expert at blowing people off without actually crossing the lines of respectful, and this Doctor Strange would be no harder to offend—and thus convince to leave—than anyone else. And while Tony was trying to make a good impression, he was thinking about moving into bio-tech after all, he felt safer offending this one.
Doctor Strange took a step closer to him, and there was a spark in his eye that told Tony that the doctor knew exactly what he was trying to do and wasn’t about to be so easily swayed. “Doctor Stark,” he said, and his voice was low and smooth, sending an all together different sort of shiver down Tony’s back. Doctor Strange held out his hand and Tony hesitated a moment before reaching out and shaking it. Strange’s hand was warm in his grip, though Strange’s grasp was strangely light, for all that it felt unbreakable. “It’s an absolute pleasure.”
“I’m sure it is,” Tony said, flashing a sharp smirk in Strange’s direction and ignoring the way Pepper dug her elbow into his side at the lack of manners.
The words earned him an amused, but knowing smile from Doctor Strange, and something in his gaze made Tony feel pinned in place.
It took Tony a moment too long to realize that Doctor Strange was still holding his hand, the tips of Strange’s fingers brushing lightly against the inside of his wrist in what could pass as a caress.
He pulled his hand back to his side, resisting the urge to hold his wrist, to rub his fingers over where Strange had touched him. He wasn’t sure if the desire came from the need to wipe Strange’s touch away or something else. He stepped back and away from Strange, needing the few inches of space to regather himself. His wrist tingled where Strange had touched him and the desire to touch and trace the spot that Strange had touched was only growing stronger. “Enjoy the gala, Doctor Strange,” he said, keeping his voice brusque, and indicated for Pepper to lead him away to the next important person on the list. He tried to ignore the sense of eyes on his back and the twist in his gut that said that Doctor Strange had just won something between the two of them.
It didn’t matter. It was over. He tried to focus on the next person Pepper wanted to introduce him to, but his attention was scattered all over the place, his wrist still burning where Strange had caressed him.
It should have been easy to forget Strange. With space between now and the interaction Tony could see that there had been nothing truly unusual about the meeting, only Tony’s own unnecessary reactions to what had been a simple greeting and what was perhaps an attempt to flirt. Tony had had much, much worse than what was a nearly innocent touch. But he couldn’t forget. The sensation of Strange’s gaze on him was lingering, despite chancing a look at Strange to see him otherwise engaged.
The whole thing was probably a result of the palladium poisoning, Tony thought exhaustedly after the sensation of Strange’s eyes on him was once again proven false. He knew the palladium would mess with his mind. Paranoia was an unwanted, but not necessarily unexpected symptom.
No. He wasn’t going to let some messed up brain chemistry get in his way. He kept his efforts focused on the schmoozing required to improve Stark Industries’ standing after his abrupt ending of their weapon contracts, all false smiles and feigned laughter as he rubbed other people’s egos. It was something he’d always been good at, likely a result of having been in the public eye since he was four. He wanted SI to be in as good a place as possible before he made Pepper CEO. It was the least he could do, especially given the possible ramifications of his death on SI stock.
But there was only so much that Tony could take at once.
About halfway through the night Tony slipped onto an empty balcony. Pepper had been pleased with him thus far, but Tony was exhausted and didn’t want to even think about schmoozing another CEO or doctor for at least five minutes.
The air was cool on his skin and for the first time that night he felt like he could actually breathe. Galas hadn’t used to be this stifling, this exhausting. He wondered if it was the palladium poisoning that had done it or if it was the aftermath of Afghanistan and the way that had changed him so irrevocably.
Maybe it was both.
“For a dying man—” came a voice from just behind him, and Tony recognized that smooth, low tone immediately, despite having only heard it once, “—you wear your masks well.”
Tony nearly dropped his glass of champagne with how fast he turned around. “Strange,” he said, taking in the man in front of him again. He looked just as perfectly put together as before. But there was something… different about him, here under the dimmer lights of the balcony. As though the shadows were caressing him. “What are you talking about?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral even as he tried to decipher the threat hidden in Strange’s words.
Strange smiled, the look in his eyes too knowing. “Palladium poisoning, Tony. Don’t tell me it has already affected your mind to the point you’ve forgotten you’re dying.” The words sounded almost as though they were supposed to be a joke, but there was no note of actual humor in Strange’s tone.
Tony froze, the words taking a moment too long to permeate his mind.
He knew. Strange knew.
No one knew. Not Rhodey, not Happy, not Pepper.
Only him and JARVIS.
So how the hell did some up-and-coming neurosurgeon from New York know?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony bluffed, knowing that his voice sounded genuinely confused. If there was one thing he was good at, it was lying. If Strange was guessing—which was nearly as impossible as Strange knowing, not when Tony had done everything to obfuscate just how the arc reactor worked—then Tony wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of realizing that he was right.
Strange stepped closer and despite himself Tony stepped back until he found himself pressed against the railing of the balcony, the stone bannister digging into his back, Strange right in his space. It could have easily been considered an intimidation tactic—it would not be the first time someone had tried to do so—but Tony was fairly certain that Strange was aiming for seduction, not intimidation. Tony wasn’t going to let it work.
He wasn’t.
But god, Strange’s eyes were beautiful from this close.
“Your secret is, of course, safe with me,” Strange continued, ignoring his denial with ease. “You can continue lying to the rest of the world, to all of your friends, to everyone else. I don’t care. But we should establish now that I am very good at spotting your lies.”
A flash of anger twisted down Tony’s back, that sense that Strange saw more of him than Tony wanted him to see. That perhaps Strange saw him better than anyone else, better than Pepper, better, even, than Rhodey. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet here it felt like it was. “We don’t have to establish anything, Strange,” Tony bit out, keeping his tone sharp at the absolute presumption Strange was showing. “I don’t know what you want, but I can assure you that you’re not going to—“
“What I want,” Strange cut him off smoothly, “Tony, is for you to live past this unfortunate little hiccup.”
Little hiccup. Little hiccup. Tony was dying and this man thought it was just a little hiccup? Something that was annoying, perhaps, but generally inconsequential. Frustration bubbled beneath his skin.
Tony tilted his head up, cursing that Strange was so tall. He glared up at Strange where he’d gotten far too close for comfort. Tony could see every fleck of color in his eyes, every shift in emotion. “I’m working on it.”
“Yes, I know.” Strange reached out, taking the champagne glass from his hand and placing it on the bannister just out of reach. His fingers brushed against Tony’s own almost tantalizingly. “And if I let everything go as planned you’ll figure it out once SHIELD dangles bits and pieces of the solution in front of you. You’ll create a miracle, as you tend to do.”
Tony frowned at the words, alarms going off in his mind. “What are you talking about?” Shield? What Shield? Was he talking about that government agency, Strategic Homeland something or other, that had been on his case right after Afghanistan? The one that had broken into his house in the aftermath of the ‘I am Iron Man’ speech?
Strange shifted closer, one hand coming to rest on the balcony so that he had Tony pinned in. He was radiating warmth, and some strange instinct told Tony to move in, to press closer to that warmth. He resisted the urge, uneasy at the unusual instinct. Yes, Strange was attractive, but despite what most people thought, Tony was more than capable of ignoring attraction. What was between him and Strange was something very different than something as base as attraction.
Strange was magnetic and Tony felt almost helpless against the pull.
He refused to feel helpless.
“I thought I would let things play out as they would,” Strange continued, an almost regretful note to his voice. “But you see, I rather dislike seeing you in pain. Call me sentimental.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, voice low. Because the more Strange talked, the clearer it was that he was someone more than who he claimed to be. This was no up-and-coming neurosurgeon from New York.
Strange smiled, the expression too smug. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, your dear Miss Potts—“ There was something cold and bitter in Strange’s voice as he said Pepper’s name, ”—told you that already.”
“And that’s all you are?” Tony pressed, not believing it for a second.
Strange just smiled at the question, the look in his eyes making it clear that he had no intention of answering the question. Which, Tony thought grimly, was an answer in and of itself. The hand not pinning Tony in on the balcony came up, and Tony stood frozen as Strange rested his hand against Tony’s chest.
The last time someone had touched him there, Obadiah Stane had ripped his arc reactor out of his chest. Strange doing it now… it should have been a threat, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was not like the paralysis that had overcome him with Obie, the ringing in his ears and the terror underneath his skin. No, this was something else altogether. He couldn’t bring himself to feel threatened. Strange wouldn’t hurt him.
He didn’t know how he knew, but he did, like that truth had been burned into his bones.
Strange would never hurt him.
Strange seemed to see Tony’s realization in his eyes, because he smiled. “Good,” Strange nearly purred, the praise falling from his lips, low and smooth and Tony felt a shiver of pleasure fall down his spine. Some of the tension eased from his body, and his head fell back a little, though he kept eye contact with Strange, unable to not note the burning desire in Strange’s eyes.
God. He was being dominated by a touch and a word and some part of Tony craved more.
There was a flicker of golden light in Tony’s peripheral, right above his chest where Strange’s hand rested. Then Strange was pulling back his hand. Tony gasped, his body going limp, only the bannister of the balcony behind him and Strange’s presence in front of him keeping him up straight. In Strange’s hand was a roiling ball of a grey-ish blue liquid.
Strange stared at the ball, scorching anger in his gaze. He met Tony’s eyes as he squeezed his hand shut and the liquid vanished as though it had never been there.
“What was that?” There was the faintest tremor in Tony’s voice and he wished it weren’t there.
“That was the palladium in your blood stream,” Strange said easily. “And most of tonight’s alcohol for that matter.” A smile flickered around his lips. “Buying you time is something of a specialty of mine.”
Strange said the words as though he hadn’t done something that was entirely impossible.
“What did you just do?” Tony demanded, using the bannister to straighten up. “That’s…” it had to be some sort of sleight of hand. Except, he could feel it. Feel the difference in the sudden soberness, in the lack of fog over his thoughts. That shouldn’t be possible.
He wanted to blame it on the placebo effect, but no, it had been too fast, the changes too sudden. Too real.
Strange’s lips quirked up into a small amused smile. “Magic, Tony. That’s the word you’re looking for.”
“Magic’s not real.” It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
Strange raised an eyebrow. “Tell that to the palladium no longer in your blood stream.” Strange tapped a finger against the fabric of his shirt hiding the arc reactor. “I can’t fix this. That’s something you’ll have to do. But like I said…” Strange’s hand trailed up Tony’s chest, soft hand warm against Tony’s neck before Strange was cupping Tony’s cheek. His voice turned low, rough. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
Tony couldn’t breathe, completely pinned in place by Strange’s overpowering presence.
“What the hell are you?” Tony whispered.
Strange’s eyes glinted with something dangerous, and Tony felt completely overwhelmed in a way he had never felt before as Strange somehow moved even closer, head tilting down until they were breathing the same air. Tony found his gaze dropping to Strange’s lips, before he forced his gaze back to Strange’s eyes. It felt almost as dangerous.
“Now Tony, let’s not ask questions when you’re not ready for the answers.”
For a moment Tony thought Strange was going to kiss him. For a moment he wanted Strange to kiss him. But then Strange was pulling back and stepping back to a reasonable, safe distance. It was chilly, suddenly, without Strange pressed right into his space.
Tony gathered himself together, straightening and meeting Strange’s gaze with every inch of don’t fuck with me that he could manage. No one, not even Strange—especially not Strange—got to mess with him. “Now, listen here, Merlin—“
A sharp, delighted laugh cut him off, Strange throwing his head back in clear pleasure, the sound ringing in the air. “Oh Tony, never change.” He sounded so unbearably fond.
“I don’t play games,” Tony continued, trying to ignore Strange’s odd reaction. “And I don’t let others play games with me.”
“Oh, trust me, Tony. I don’t play games, either.” The laughter was gone now, as though it had never been there, and in it’s place there was a distinct aura of… of what, danger? possessiveness? radiating from Strange that Tony thought he could almost feel against his skin. “My intentions towards you are entirely serious.”
The liquid warmth in his gut was not the right response to those words, that Tony was sure about. But he couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading—and he tried.
Strange clearly wanted him alive, but what exactly were his intentions?
“Your intentions?” Tony repeated. “I won’t be indebted to you. Whatever it is you want, you’re not going to get it from me.”
Strange raised one perfect eyebrow. “Why ever would I want you indebted to me? Anything you give me you’ll give it to me because you want to, not because you feel you have to.”
Tony didn’t want to believe it, no one did anything for nothing. Strange was no exception to that rule.
But that same bone-deep knowledge that had told him that Strange wouldn’t hurt him was there again.
Whatever Strange wanted, he wanted Tony to give it willingly.
Strange took a step closer to him again, though he was still far enough away to be proper. Not like he’d been before. Tony tried to pretend that he didn’t crave Strange stepping closer again. Didn’t crave that warmth. Didn’t crave Strange’s hand pressed to his chest and that quiet purr of good that had reverberated through Tony’s whole body.
There was a flicker in Strange’s eyes that said he knew exactly what Tony was trying not to want and was pleased by it, but Strange didn’t give it to him. Some part of Tony suspected that if he wanted Strange back, he was going to have to ask for it.
Tony refused.
“I won’t give you anything, Strange.” He infused every ounce of confidence into his voice, every ounce of defiance.
Strange just smiled at him, a knowing, possessive thing. And god, it should not make Tony want Strange with the desperation that it did. “Yes, Tony, you will.”
Frustration simmered in him again, at Strange’s confidence, at the bubbling want in Tony’s chest, at this whole situation. “You—“
Suddenly Pepper appeared around the corner, striding toward them, her heels clacking on the ground in sharp staccato. “Tony, I need you back on the floor. We’re—“ she paused, blinking at the sight of Strange there with him.
Strange smiled at her, and despite the fact that he didn’t know Strange at all, he knew that the expression was fake, the look in his eyes dark. A chill ran down Tony’s back at the sudden difference in Strange. For the first time it dawned on him that Strange was dangerous. Not to him, never to him.
But to anyone who might pose a threat. To anyone who might take from Strange what Strange had decided was his. Anyone who might take Tony.
“It was a pleasure, Stark,” Strange said, drawing Tony’s attention away from the foreboding thought. A smirk played around his lips. “You know where to find me.”
“Don’t count on it,” Tony retorted, almost automatically.
Strange’s smirk somehow grew smugger. “I’ll be seeing you, Stark.”
Despite his earlier words, some part of Tony knew it was true. He was going to see Stephen Strange again. If Tony didn’t break down and search him out, then Strange would make sure their paths crossed again whether Tony wanted it or not. And he didn’t. Shouldn’t. He reached up almost unconsciously hand pressing against the spot on his chest where Strange had touched.
A slow smile crossed Strange’s face at the action.
Strange held his gaze for one moment more, as though he was memorizing him. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Tony behind as Pepper started on her list of individuals that she needed Tony to make nice with for the rest of the evening. Tony barely listened, unable to take his gaze off of Strange until he was out of sight.
By the time Tony and Pepper made it back to the main gala, Strange was gone, lurking only in Tony’s memories of being pressed against that bannister, Strange’s hand on him and a purred good echoing in Tony’s mind as Strange stood close enough to kiss him.
When he got home his blood toxicity was lower than it had been in weeks.
When Tony fell asleep, he dreamt of Strange.