Work Text:
Stephen glanced over and stopped walking, halting his spirited discussion with Tony mid-sentence as they passed the giant TV and couches in the common area of Avengers Tower.
“Are you watching the Mets?” he said, incredulously.
Steve turned around on the couch.
“I know…” he sighed, “but, really, they’re… not too awful this year?”
Stephen scoffed. “Nonsense. They might have gotten lucky lately, but it’s still the Mets. Their incompetence is essentially pathological at this point.”
“No, but the new second baseman is looking pretty good so far. His batting average is-” Steve said earnestly.
Stephen held up a hand, and Steve paused.
“Steven Grant Rogers,” he said sternly. “Were you or were you not born and raised in Brooklyn?”
“Yes… but-”
“No,” Stephen said firmly. “I grew up in Nebraska and even I know better.”
Tony stood back and watched the carnage, his hand casually covering his mouth. Once a surgeon, always a surgeon, apparently, because damn if his boyfriend didn’t still wield a scalpel with the best of them.
“Either you resign yourself to the cruel whims of fate and continue to pledge your loyalty to the Dodgers or root for the Yankees. Those are your only options.”
Steve dropped his head and sighed.
Stephen glanced over at Tony and then slowly raised an eyebrow.
“Really? You do know it’s the middle of the afternoon? What about that contract Pepper wanted you to review?”
“Yep. Don’t care. Bye, Steve! Gotta go do a thing here. Right now.”
Tony grabbed Stephen’s hand and dragged him toward the penthouse elevator.
Almost before the doors closed behind them, he had pressed his ridiculously hot boyfriend against the back wall of the elevator and was deftly unbuckling his belt.
“Do a thing? So I’m a thing now, am I?” Stephen Strange said fondly.
“What?” Tony grinned, “You didn’t break Captain America enough for one day? I should have gone for round two? Told him I was going to do that thing you like where I use my tongue to-”
His speculation was cut short as Stephen grabbed his tie and pulled him close, pressing their lips together.
Stephen’s gasp broke the kiss as Tony’s hand slipped down the front of his pants, the elevator coming to a stop on the top floor.
“So how long have you been into baseball?” Tony asked as he tugged Stephen out of the elevator and pulled him toward the bedroom. “Should I get you your own box for the season?”
“Oh, I’m not. There was a guy in my dorm one year who never shut up about it. All I really know are the buzzwords - RBIs, designated hitters, and such. And that - as with all major sports - its fans are rabid and territorial.”
Tony stopped, his mouth hanging open.
“Stephen Strange, you sly dog,” he said admiringly. “Every time I think I can’t possibly be more impressed, you exceed my expectations.”
“I consider it worth my while to keep you entertained, and not just for the more obvious benefits,” he smirked.
“You. Bedroom. Now. The couch might be closer, but I’m not in my 20s anymore, and neither are my knees.”
Stephen laughed and let himself be drawn into the bedroom, pushing the door closed behind them, once again marveling at having this relationship and this man in his life.