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The Metropolitan Hospital Gala, 2007
Tony arrived late on purpose. His tuxedo jacket was open at the chest, whiskey already in hand, a smile that said he knew all the cameras were on him. The whole room turned to look. As always.
Across the room, Stephen Strange sipped champagne and gazed at Tony as if he were the embodiment of the seven deadly sins – all at once.
"Doctor Strange," Tony appeared out of nowhere beside him, his voice slurred with whiskey and malice. "I heard you save lives. How about saving mine tonight?"
Stephen didn't even blink. — Stark. I heard you buy entire hospitals for tax deductions. How about buying a mirror and looking at yourself with a little less enthusiasm?
Tony laughed too loudly. He loved it. "You're even more of a son of a bitch than I thought. Give me your number."
" No."
" Great. Meet me in the men's restroom in ten minutes."
Stephen raised a perfectly formed eyebrow. "You're drunk."
"Not enough to think this is a good idea yet," Tony said, his voice low, just for the two of them. "But enough to do it anyway."
Silence. Gazes locked in a fight as if they were about to kill each other.
Or you can eat right there.
Stephen finished the champagne in one gulp. "Fifteen minutes," he said coldly. "And if you come in less than five, I'll never speak to you again."
Tony grinned like the devil. "Challenge accepted, Doctor."
_______
Tony arrived at the men's restroom at exactly 14 minutes and 52 seconds.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder, his tuxedo already slightly crooked, his tie loose, an empty whiskey glass still in his hand. The place was empty, thank God, white marble, cold light, smell of expensive disinfectant.
Stephen was already there.
Leaning against the sink, arms crossed, his white lab coat exchanged for a black tuxedo that seemed tailor-made for him. His blue eyes piercing Tony in two.
"Late," Stephen said, his voice low and clinical.
"Traffic," Tony lied, setting the glass down in the sink. "Or maybe I just wanted to keep you waiting, Doctor. Do you like waiting?"
Stephen didn't respond with words.
Two steps and he was already pinning Tony against the tiled wall, his huge hand grabbing his face, his thumb squeezing his jaw until it hurt.
"Take off your pants," he ordered.
" No "hi, how are you"? How rude. "
"Shut up, Stark."
Tony laughed, but his hands were already on his belt. The alcohol burned deliciously in his veins, enough to transform fear into pure lust. He'd never done this before. Women? Thousands. Men? Not a chance. But now, with Strange breathing down his neck as if he were going to tear a chunk out, it seemed like the most logical idea in the universe.
Pants and underwear on the floor. Shirt still buttoned. Stephen turned him to face the wall without ceremony, hand between his shoulder blades pushing until Tony's palms rested on the cold tile.
"Without a condom?" Tony asked, his voice already hoarse.
"I'm a doctor, Stark. I'm clean. Are you?"
"Playboy, not an idiot. Clean. Now go before I–"
Stephen spat in his hand. Without warning. Without foreplay. Without mercy.
Two fingers went in dry, tearing. Tony let out a grunt that was half pain, half shock.
" Damn it"
"Relax," Stephen murmured against the back of his neck, but it wasn't affection, it was an order. "Or it's going to hurt more."
It hurt like hell. It burned. Tony bit his own forearm to keep from screaming too loudly. His whole body was trembling, adrenaline mixed with whiskey and rage.
"You're... fucking tight," Stephen growled, his voice cracking for the first time.
" Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Asshole."
Stephen removed his fingers, aligned them.
Tony felt the head of his cock—big, obviously, son of a bitch—pressing against him.
And then it went in.
Nonstop.
No mercy.
All at once, right to the hilt.
Tony saw stars. He screamed into the tile, nails scratching, legs buckling. The pain was white, electric, tearing him apart from the inside as if Stephen were clearing a path through him.
" Damn it, Strange"
"Hold on," Stephen growled, his hand gripping Stephen's hip hard enough to leave purple marks. "You wanted this. You asked for it."
And it began to move.
Fast.
Brutal.
Each thrust hitting deep, forcing Tony against the wall, the sound of skin against skin echoing too loudly in the empty bathroom. Tony felt every inch of that cock opening him up, tearing him, marking him. Pain mixed with a sick pleasure he didn't know existed.
"Look at you," Stephen whispered in his ear, his voice hoarse with lust. "The great Tony Stark crying on my cock."
Tony chuckled through his teeth, tears welling in his eyes, but he pushed his hips back.
Go fuck yourself, Strange. Harder.
Stephen obeyed.
He grabbed his hair, pulled his head back, bit his shoulder. Violent, arrhythmic thrusts. Tony felt his own hard cock leaking against the cold wall, pain and pleasure mixing until he could no longer tell where one began and the other ended.
"Come for me," Stephen ordered, his hand sliding down to squeeze the base of Tony's penis, denying him an orgasm.
Tony came with a muffled cry, his body convulsing, his semen splattering on the wall, his legs trembling so much he almost fell. Stephen didn't stop. He kept fucking him throughout the entire orgasm, prolonging, prolonging the pleasure, until he came deep inside with a low, animalistic grunt.
They stayed like that for seconds.
Stephen was still inside him.
Tony was trembling.
Then Stephen left. Slowly.
Tony felt the emptiness like a punch.
"You bled," Stephen said, his voice returning to its clinical tone, but still hoarse. He grabbed a paper towel and cleaned Tony with irritating efficiency. "Do you need stitches?"
"Go fuck yourself," Tony replied, his voice weak but with a crooked smile.
"I've already done that."
Tony turned around, leaned against the wall, his legs trembling. He looked at Stephen adjusting himself, his penis still half-hard inside his expensive pants, not a hair out of place.
"That was…" Tony began.
"A terrible idea," Stephen finished, but his eyes were still dark with lust. "The best terrible idea of my life."
Stephen snorted. He picked up Tony's empty glass and threw it in the trash.
"Don't call me."
"I don't even have your number, Doctor."
Stephen stopped at the door. He looked back. "You'll have to."
And he left.
Tony stayed there for a few more minutes, breathing heavily, his body aching in a way he had never felt before.
He smiled at nothing.
He was screwed.
And he couldn't wait to be again.
________
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days since the gala bathroom incident.
Tony counted each one of them like an addict counts the hours.
The rule was simple and never spoken aloud:
When Tony sent a message with a single knife emoji 🔪, Stephen would unlock the private elevator to the apartment. No hello, no conversation, no name. Just the door opening on the 17th floor and Stephen waiting on the other side, already without his jacket, shirt sleeves rolled up, a look of someone who knows exactly what Tony needs.
On that rainy Thursday night, Tony arrived feeling worse than usual.
A meeting with the Stark Industries board that lasted seven hours, Obadiah Stane talking in his ear as always, stocks falling, journalists in the lobby. He got out of the car still yelling on the phone with Pepper and sent the message in the elevator.
🔪
The door opened even before the ding.
Stephen was leaning against the doorframe, a glass of bourbon in his hand, his eyes cold.
"Bad?" he asked, that was all.
"Fuck me until I forget my own name," Tony replied, already taking off his jacket and throwing it on the hall floor.
Stephen didn't even blink.
He grabbed Tony by the tie, pulled hard, and kissed him as if he wanted to hurt him. Teeth clashing, tongue invading, biting his lower lip until he tasted blood.
"Take everything off," he growled against his mouth. "Except the tie. I'm going to wear that."
Tony obeyed, trembling with rage and lust.
In less than a minute he was naked in the middle of the enormous room, rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the blurry lights of Manhattan below. Stephen was still fully dressed. Always like that. The contrast drove Tony crazy.
Stephen twisted the tie around his wrist, reached behind him, and tied Tony's wrists behind his back, tight enough to cut off circulation.
"On the sofa. On my knees. Face pressed against the backrest."
Tony went.
The cold leather of the sofa clung to his sweaty skin. He heard Stephen's belt unbuckling, the sound of the zipper. He felt large hands roughly separating his buttocks.
"Still sore from last time?" Stephen asked, his voice clinical again, his finger tracing the still-sensitive entrance.
"Not enough to make you stop," Tony spat. "Go on, damn it."
A sharp slap on the behind. Hard. Left an immediate mark.
" Who's in charge here, Stark? "
"You, damn it. You. Now fuck me."
Stephen spat. Once. Twice. He inserted three fingers at once. Tony screamed into the back of the sofa, his body writhing.
"That's it," Stephen murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Shout. No one here can hear you."
And then the stick.
Always bigger than Tony remembered.
He went all the way in with one swift thrust, without waiting, without mercy.
Stephen held the makeshift tie as a rein and began to insert it.
Fast.
Deep.
Each thrust hit Tony's prostate hard enough to make him see white. Stephen's hands moved down, leaving nail marks on his thighs, hips, waist. Another slap. Another. Tony's ass burned as much as the rest of his body.
"You're pathetic," Stephen growled in his ear, his hand rising to his throat and squeezing. "The great Tony Stark coming here begging me to destroy you because he can't stand his own life."
Tony chuckled through his teeth, tears of pain and relief streaming down his face.
" Shut up and break me already, Strange."
Stephen tightened his grip on his throat.
Tony felt the air disappear, his eyes rolling back, his cock dripping onto the sofa without even being touched. The world shrunk, pleasure, shortness of breath, and the wet sound of thrusts.
" Cum" Stephen ordered, his voice cracking with lust. " Cum while I use you like the broken toy you are."
Tony came with a hoarse, broken cry, his body convulsing, his semen soiling the expensive sofa. Stephen didn't stop. He kept fucking throughout the entire orgasm, prolonging it. He only came when Tony was already limp, whimpering from oversensitivity, filling him until he overflowed.
Silence afterwards.
Only the rain and the heavy breathing of the two of them.
Stephen loosened his tie.
Tony's wrists were purple. He couldn't even move.
Stephen stepped away, adjusted his trousers, and went to the kitchen as if nothing had happened. He returned with a glass of water. He offered no more.
Tony managed to sit up, his body wrecked, his mind finally quiet for the first time in days.
"Did you see the tabloid today?" Stephen asked suddenly, his voice casual, taking a sip of his bourbon.
"No. Why?"
"Page six. You disembarking from a yacht with two Russian models."
Tony gave a crooked smile. "Jealous, Doctor?"
"Just stating the facts," Stephen replied coldly. But his eyes were darker than usual.
Tony stood up slowly, his legs trembling, semen dripping down his thighs. He picked up his clothes from the floor.
"Next time I'll bring the Russian women for you," he said sarcastically.
" Get out before I throw you out the window, Stark."
Tony went to the door, his body marked like a war map.
He stopped in the hall. He looked back.
"Thanks, Strange."
Don't thank me. Just don't die before the next time "you need this."
The door closed.
In the elevator, Tony looked at his reflection in the mirror: bite marks on his neck, bruised wrists, glazed eyes.
He smiled.
He was addicted.
And the worst part was: I was starting to think it wasn't just about sex.
_______
Stephen Strange wasn't jealous.
Jealousy was for ordinary people. He was the best neurosurgeon in the world, had three apartments, a half-million-dollar Rolex, and absolute control over everything.
Except, apparently, for Tony Stark.
He saw the photos at 6:47 a.m. while drinking black coffee at the kitchen counter.
Page Six, as always:
“ TONY STARK EA HERDEIRA VAN DER WOODSEN: NOITE QUENTE IN SOUTHAMPTON!”
Tony leaving a party arm in arm with a tall blonde, sporting a super-playboy smile, his hand on her butt.
Stephen broke his cell phone in the sink.
At 11:14 PM that same day, the elevator rang.
🔪
Stephen opened the door, bowl of bourbon in hand, with the look that used to make residents cry.
Tony entered smiling, his jacket thrown over his shoulder, smelling of partying, whiskey, and someone else's expensive cologne.
"Doctor, you have the perfect look on your face, like you want to kill me. I love it when—"
Stephen grabbed him by the shirt and threw him against the hall wall with enough force to knock Tony's breath away.
"You reek of her," he growled, his nose buried in his neck. "Who was the blonde, Stark?"
"What blonde?" Tony laughed, but the laughter died when Stephen squeezed his throat.
"Don't make a fool of me."
Tony blinked. He understood.
And the smile he gave was pure poison.
"Jealous, Strange? I didn't think you were like that."
"I don't," Stephen tightened his grip. "I just don't share what's mine."
Tony licked his lower lip, his eyes dark. "Then mark me again."
And that was the last straw.
Stephen dragged him into the bedroom—the first time it wasn't a sofa or a wall—and threw Tony onto the bed as if he were light. Clothes torn. Tony's shirt had lost buttons, Stephen's pants didn't even come off properly.
"Do you want to be used by just anyone?" Stephen grunted, turning Tony onto his stomach and entering him.
Tony yelled, his body arching. "Just for you, you possessive son of a bitch," he replied through gritted teeth, pushing back.
Stephen fucked angrily.
One hand in his hair, the other on the nape of his neck, pressing his face into the pillow, his hips pounding so hard the bed creaked. Each thrust was punishment. Each of Tony's moans was victory.
But then something happened that neither of them expected.
Tony turned his face to the side, his teary eyes meeting Stephen's.
And he whispered, his voice broken:
"Kiss me."
Stephen froze.
The stick was still buried up to the hilt, and they were both trembling.
And he kissed her.
It wasn't a kiss of hate.
It was slow, wet, desperate. Tongues intertwining as if they were starving. Stephen let go of his hair, his hand sliding down to his waist, pulling Tony up until his back was against Stephen's chest, still impaled.
"Tony…" Stephen murmured against his neck, his voice faltering for the first time.
"Don't stop," Tony pleaded, his voice hoarse with tears he would deny to the death. "Just... slower. Feel me."
Stephen obeyed.
He almost pulled it all the way out, then slowly went back in, feeling every inch, every squeeze. His arms wrapped around Tony from behind, his hand sliding down to his cock, masturbating him in the same slow, deep rhythm.
They had never done it like that before.
Slowly. Looking.
Tony turned his head, kissed Stephen again, biting his lower lip until it bled.
"You're an idiot," Stephen whispered against his mouth.
"I know," Tony replied.
Stephen turned him around, lay on top of him, and entered him again, looking him in the eyes.
Hands intertwined above Tony's head. Hips rolling slowly, deep, as if trying to merge.
Tony cried.
Silent, tears streaming down his face onto the pillow. Stephen kissed each one of them.
"It had nothing to do with her," Tony confessed, his voice low. "Just for the photos. I... I couldn't."
"Why?" Stephen asked, without stopping his movements.
Tony chuckled softly. "Because I'm an idiot in love with a jerk neurosurgeon who fucks me until I'm exhausted."
Stephen stopped.
he looked at him.
And he did the most dangerous thing in the world.
He pressed Tony against his chest, buried his face in his neck, and continued moving—slowly, deep, tenderly—until they both came almost simultaneously, muffled moans against each other's skin.
Then he stayed there.
Bodies pressed together, sweat, tears, fuck.
Stephen didn't leave it.
Tony didn't want him to leave.
"You're mine," Stephen murmured into his hair, his voice so low he could barely hear it.
Tony tightened his arms around him. "You finally understand, Doctor."
They slept like that.
For the first time.
No fighting, no "don't call me," no running away.
In the middle of the night, Tony woke up to Stephen slowly running his fingers over the marks he himself had left—bites, bruises, scratches—and kissing each one as an apology.
Tony pretended he was still asleep.
But he smiled.
________
Saturday morning, 10:17 AM.
Tony woke up to the smell of coffee and something that looked like… pancakes?
He opened one eye.
Stephen — the same man who two weeks ago had ripped his shirt off and punched him against the elevator wall — was in the kitchen wearing a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, flipping pancakes as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Tony stood watching from the doorway, wrapped in the sheet, the purple and red marks still fresh on his neck and hips.
"Do you cook?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.
"I operate on human brains for eight hours straight, Stark. Pancakes are a piece of cake."
" You're wearing a tracksuit. I'm having a fit."
Stephen raised an eyebrow. "You slept here. Two nights in a row. I guess that entitles you to breakfast before I kick you out."
Tony smiled, came up behind him and hugged his waist, his face in the middle of his back. "Kick me out? You whimpered my name yesterday at 3 a.m. when I sucked you off until you forgot your own name."
"I don't whine," Stephen replied, but he turned off the stove and turned into Tony's arms.
Tony stole a lazy kiss, nibbling on my lower lip. "I know." "Tony, please, harder" sounded like a whine to me.
Stephen rolled his eyes, but his hands were already on Tony's ass under the sheet. "Come on. Then I'll decide whether to fuck you or throw you in the cold shower."
They ate at the counter, Tony stealing bites from Stephen's plate, Stephen wiping maple syrup from the corner of Tony's mouth with his thumb and then sucking on his own finger just to watch Tony choke on his coffee.
It was... domestic.
Dangerous.
Delicious.
After emptying his plate, Stephen took Tony's hand and pulled him into the room without saying a word.
"A gift," he said, opening the drawer of the bedside table.
Inside: a discreet black box.
Tony opened it and almost dropped it.
A heavy-duty stainless steel anal plug.
A black prostate vibrator, remote control included.
A set of red leather handcuffs.
And a bottle of lubricant .
Tony stared at Stephen, his mouth agape.Did you buy an entire sex shop while I was sleeping?
"I bought it yesterday morning," Stephen replied calmly. "After you said you were going to 'miss me all day at the next boring meeting.'"
Tony felt his face grow hot. "I was drunk when I said that."
" Not me. Lie down."
Tony lay on his back, his heart racing.
Stephen climbed onto the bed slowly, kissing each old mark he himself had left.
Neck, collarbone, nipple – light bite, abdomen, groin.
He stopped just to look.
" Legs spread open."
Tony obeyed, already stiff.
Stephen picked up the lubricant, warmed it in his hand, and began to open it with irritating patience.
Two fingers. Three. Scissors. Touch his prostate until Tony arches and groans loudly.
"You're ridiculously sensitive here," Stephen murmured, his voice low and affectionate. "It feels like it was made for me."
Tony tried to crack a joke, but only a groan escaped him when the cold plug touched him. "Slowly," he pleaded, his voice trembling.
" Always go slowly when you ask nicely."
The plug went in centimeter by centimeter.
Heavy. Icy. Perfect.
When the base touched down, Tony was already out of breath, his eyes glazed over.
Stephen picked up the remote and grinned—that bastardly grin that Tony loved to hate. “Meeting with the board on Monday, right? At 2 p.m.?”
"Strange, if you—"
Click .
The vibrator inside the plug turned on at medium power.
Tony yelled, his hips jumping off the bed.
" Damn! "
"Language, Stark," Stephen laughed, kissing his inner thigh. "Now be quiet."
He spent the next hour torturing Tony.
I'd turn the bass up for a few minutes, just enough to leave Tony stiff and dripping.
It would suddenly rise to the top until Tony begged.
He would turn it off when he was on the edge.
He repeated it.
At some point, he handcuffed Tony's wrists to the headboard, just so he wouldn't touch himself.
Stephen, please, I'm going to die.
No, you won't. You're my favorite toy. Toys don't die, they last.
When he finally pulled the plug out, Tony was devastated: tears, sweat, pre-ejaculate staining the sheets.
Stephen entered slowly, embracing him from behind and kissing his shoulder.
"Can you feel it?" he whispered, moving slowly. "This is mine. You are mine."
Tony could only nod, turning his face to awkwardly kiss him.
They fucked like that — embraced, slow, affectionate.
Stephen came first, biting Tony's shoulder to keep from screaming too loudly.
Tony came immediately afterward just from Stephen's penis hitting his prostate , without even being touched.
Then came the aftercare, which neither of them admitted was aftercare.
Stephen removed the handcuffs, massaged Tony's wrists , and dried him with a towel.
He pulled him close to his chest and covered them both with the duvet.
Tony nestled his face against his neck, a lazy little kiss. "You're a romantic son of a bitch," he murmured.
"Shut up and go to sleep, Stark. "
"Only if you hug me tighter. "
Stephen hugged her. Very tightly.
Tony smiled against his skin.
"I love you, you jerk," he whispered, almost inaudibly.
Stephen pretended not to hear.
But it tightened even more.
They slept until 4 pm, curled up as if the outside world didn't exist.
__________
Annual gala of the Metropolitan Hospital, main hall of the Plaza Hotel .
One thousand five hundred people, crystal chandeliers, champagne that costs more than a kidney.
Tony arrived exactly as expected: black Tom Ford tuxedo with satin lapels, shirt open to the third button, and a smile of someone who owns the world.
Only he and Stephen knew the secret under his pants: the steel plug with a vibrator that Stephen had inserted into him that same afternoon, following clear instructions.
" You're going to wear this all night."
"What if I ejaculate in the middle of the room? "
"So you're going to have to smile for the cameras with semen dripping down your leg, Stark."
Stephen stood impeccably across the room, in a midnight blue tuxedo, champagne glass in hand, conversing with a group of European neurosurgeons as if he were the king of the place.
Every now and then their eyes would meet.
And the remote control in his jacket pocket did its job.
First time: low power, just a subtle hum while Tony was talking to two models hired for the event.
He laughed mid-sentence, his hand gripping the glass too tightly.
Second time: medium power, exactly when some heiress placed her hand on his arm.
Tony swallowed hard, his hips moving almost imperceptibly backward, searching for pressure that wasn't there.
Third time: high power, for ten seconds straight.
Tony almost dropped the glass. The women around him thought it was just a bit of a charm.
"Are you okay, Mr. Stark? You're red…"
"The champagne's gone up, darling," he replied, his voice hoarse, his eyes meeting Stephen's across the room.
Stephen raised his glass in a silent toast. And called again.
For two whole hours it was like that.
Tony walked around, smiling, posing for photos, while Stephen tortured him.
When the vibrator hit his prostate squarely, Tony had to bite his lip to keep from moaning loudly.
When it stopped suddenly, the emptiness was almost worse than the vibration.
Tony couldn't take it anymore.
He walked over to Stephen, who was still talking.
"Doctor Strange," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I need your medical opinion. Now."
Stephen didn't even get to say a proper goodbye to the group.
He followed Tony to the private elevator that led to the garage.
Inside the car with the driver – the blackout window rolled up – Tony turned to him.
Fuck me now or I'll rip this thing off and kill you.
Stephen smiled, slowly and predatorily. "Patience, Stark. At home."
In the apartment, the door had barely closed when Tony was already against the wall, pants unzipped, his hard-on spilling out against his silk briefs.
Stephen took the remote control out of his pocket and threw it on the sofa.
He knelt down slowly and pulled Tony's pants down to his ankles.
The plug was still vibrating on the bass.
Tony was trembling all over.
"Look at you," Stephen murmured, kissing her inner thigh. "All dressed up for the gala, and underneath, destroyed by me."
He removed the plug with extreme care, inch by inch.
Tony groaned loudly, his legs giving way.
Stephen stood up, hugged him from behind, and carried him to the bedroom as if Tony weighed nothing.
In bed, it was different from all the other times.
No rush.
No anger.
No kidding.
Stephen laid Tony on his back, calmly removed his own tuxedo, kissing every inch of skin that appeared.
He entered slowly, looking into her eyes.
" Tony… "
"Don't say anything," Tony pleaded, his voice trembling. "Just love me."
And Stephen loved it.
Slow, deep, each movement like a promise.
Hands intertwined, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.
"I love you," he finally blurted out. "Damn it, Stephen, I love you so much it hurts more than anything you've ever done to me."
Stephen stopped, his penis still inside him, his eyes brimming with tears – something Tony never imagined he would see.
"Me too," he replied, her voice breaking. "God help me, I love you too, Tony."
They kissed as if it were the last time in their lives.
Stephen began to move again — slow, deep, tender, hitting the prostate with each thrust until Tony arched and sobbed with pleasure.
They climaxed together, embraced, bodies trembling, names murmured like prayers.
Then they stayed there, wrapped in the expensive sheets, Stephen kissing Tony's face, wiping away tears with his thumbs.
"Stay," Stephen asked softly.
"I'm never leaving again," Tony replied, kissing his chest. "You're stuck with me, Doctor."
Stephen laughed—a genuine, open laugh, a rare thing. —What a terrible fate.
Tony smiled against his skin. "The worst of all."
And they slept like that, legs intertwined.
__________
Sunday, 9:42 AM.
Sunlight streaming through the apartment windows, curtains still open from the previous night because no one had the power to close them.
Tony woke up first — rarely — with Stephen's penis poking his ass like an alarm clock.
They had slept spooning all night: Stephen with his back to the window, Tony nestled against his chest.
Tony shifted deliberately, rubbing his hip back. "Good morning, Doctor Morning Wood," he murmured, his voice hoarse with sleep.
Stephen mumbled something incoherent, tightening his arm around Stephen's waist. "Five minutes. Brains don't function before ten on Sundays."
"Your dick's working perfectly," Tony laughed, turning around and kissing his nose. "Look, it's already drooling on my belly button."
Stephen opened one of his blue, murderous eyes. "You talk too much in the morning."
" And you're beautiful when you're angry. Kiss me."
They kissed lazily, wetly, without haste.
Tongue, teeth, little bites on the lower lip. Hands wandering: Tony grabbing Stephen's butt, Stephen running his fingers through Tony's messy hair.
"I want to suck you until you forget the Hippocratic Oath," Tony announced against his mouth.
"You don't even know what's in the Hippocratic Oath."
" Is there a "don't ejaculate in the patient's face" option? Because then you've already broken up about fifteen times."
Stephen laughed — a low, hoarse laugh, the kind Tony now collected like a trophy.
He turned his back and pulled Tony up onto him as if he were a feather. "Then come here, patient. Treat the doctor."
Tony kissed his way down the entire path: neck, collarbone, nipples – a bite strong enough to make Stephen arch, a defined abdomen that Tony licked just to hear him curse.
When he got to the pole — big, obviously, as always — Tony looked up with a saintly expression.
"I can?"
"If you don't shut your mouth right now, I'll operate on you without anesthesia."
Tony laughed and swallowed it all the way down.
Stephen groaned loudly, his hand in his hair, his hips rising off the mattress.
Tony sucked, licked, gagged on purpose, drooled, made a mess. Then he went lower, pushed Stephen's legs up and… went straight for his ass.
Stephen let out a muffled cry into his pillow. "Tony—"
"Relax, Doctor. It's just a prostate exam with the tongue."
And he ate it with gusto.
Tongue going in, going out, swirling, sucking as if it were the best thing in the world – and it was. Stephen fell apart: legs trembling, cursing, hand gripping Tony's hair hard enough to hurt.
Just when Tony thought he was going to get off that, he climbed back up, sat on his dick without warning, and went all the way down.
" Damn it" they both said together.
Tony rode slowly at first, hands on Stephen's chest, hips swaying as if he were born for it.
" Look at me " he asked, his voice low.
Stephen looked. Glazed blue eyes, mouth slightly open, hair tousled.
Beautiful. Lost. In love.
"I love you ridiculously," Tony said, speeding up.
"I love you more, you unbearable idiot," Stephen replied, sitting up in bed to hug him while Tony bounced around.
They fucked like this: embraced, face to face, sweat dripping, mouths pressed together.
Stephen held Tony's waist, helping with the movements. Tony scratched his back, moaning in his neck.
"Come inside," Tony asked. "I want to feel you all day."
Stephen came first, biting Tony's shoulder hard, his whole body trembling.
Tony came right after, without touching his own penis, just with Stephen deep inside him and throbbing.
They fell to the side, still connected, breathless.
A pleasant silence.
Just breathing and heartbeat.
Tony was the first to laugh.
" We had sex without even brushing our teeth. That's disgusting. "
"Shut up," Stephen murmured, kissing his forehead.
Tony snuggled into his chest, one leg thrown over him. "Want a pancake?"
"Do you know how to make pancakes?"
"No. But I can call the concierge."
Stephen laughed again, kissing the top of his head. "I will."
Half an hour later: the two of them in the kitchen, Tony clinging to Stephen's back, stealing bits of raw batter while Stephen tried to flip pancakes without dropping them both.
"If Page Six saw this," Tony laughed, biting his ear.
"They would think I kidnapped you."
"Or that I finally tamed the most arrogant neurosurgeon in New York. "
Stephen turned his face, kissed him with maple syrup on his lips. "Mission impossible, Stark. I'm still unbearable."
"And I still fucking love you."
They ate pancakes straight from the pan, sitting on the counter, legs intertwined, laughing nonsense.
_________
Monday morning, Stephen's apartment.
Tony was lying face down, his face buried in the pillow that now smelled of the two of them, when he felt cold – and lubricated – fingers separating his buttocks.
"Good morning to you too," he murmured, her voice muffled.
"Open it," Stephen ordered, already pushing a shiny black vibrating egg inside. It was bigger than the plug from the dildo, with a discreet little antenna sticking out.
Tony automatically arched his back. "Damn it, Strange, at least have a coffee before you turn me into a walking sex toy."
"You have a meeting with the board at 10 a.m.," Stephen patted his behind. "I want you to remember who's in charge while Obadiah talks about quarterly profits."
The remote control – new, smaller, matte black – was already in his hand.
Click .
The egg turned on at the bass. Tony groaned loudly, his legs spreading open on their own. "You're the worst boyfriend in the world."
" And you love it. Get up, let's take a shower."
The shower turned, obviously, into sex in the shower.
Stephen pressed Tony against the hot tile, water cascading over them both, the egg still vibrating inside. He thrust in all at once, deep, making Tony scream and scratch the wall.
"Quiet," Stephen growled in his ear, his hand covering Tony's mouth. "The neighbors will think I killed you."
Tony bit his fingers and pushed him back.
They fucked quickly and dirty: Stephen gripped his hips tightly, thrusting hard, his balls vibrating with each stroke. Tony came first, biting his own arm to keep from screaming too loudly. Stephen came soon after, filling him until it oozed out mixed with the water.
Then came the cheesy moment:
Stephen was washing Tony's hair with that expensive herbal shampoo he pretends not to love, Tony leaning against his chest, eyes closed, grinning like an idiot.
_________
7:47 PM – UNICEF charity gala at the Met
Tony arrived arm in arm with Stephen.
First time in public as a couple.
Smoking both, Tony in classic black, Stephen in midnight blue.
The vibrating egg was still there.
Stephen with the remote control in the inside pocket of his jacket.
The first two hours were perfect: photos, short interviews, Pepper smiling slightly as if to say " I told you so, " Christine Palmer congratulating him with a " finally, Strange, even I was getting tired of seeing you suffer."
That's when the problem arose.
Some socialite, blonde, tall, whose name Tony never remembered, came too close, hand on his arm, laughing loudly.
Stephen smiled politely.
And he turned the egg on at maximum power.
Tony choked on his champagne.
"Is everything alright, Mr. Stark?" the woman asked.
"Perfect," Tony replied, his voice two octaves higher than normal, his hand gripping Stephen's arm as if he were going to break it. "My... boyfriend here is just reminding me of something important."
Stephen tilted his head, his face innocent. "Doctor's appointment, love. Don't forget."
Tony almost came right there.
He managed to escape, dragged Stephen into the hallway leading to the private bathrooms, pushed him into a stall, and locked the door.
Take that off now or I'll ejaculate on your $20,000 tuxedo.
Stephen laughed, knelt down, calmly pulled down Tony's pants, and removed the egg with his teeth, only to watch Tony collapse against the wall.
"You're a demon," Tony gasped.
"And you're mine," Stephen replied, putting the egg in his pocket like a trophy.
________
8:12 a.m. the following morning – front page of the New York Post
"STARK FOUND!"
Billionaire playboy Tony Stark, 34, appeared yesterday at the UNICEF gala holding hands with neurosurgeon Dr. Stephen Strange, 32.
Sources say the two have been together for months.
Exclusive photos on pages 4-7: kisses in the dark corner, wandering hands, and Stark nearly fainting when Strange whispered something in his ear.
"Goodbye, the era of whirlwind romances?"
Tony threw the newspaper onto the bed, where Stephen was still drinking black coffee. — Congratulations, Doctor. You ruined my playboy reputation in one fell swoop.
night.
Stephen didn't even look up. "Tragic. Now you'll have to put up with me for the rest of your life."
Tony jumped onto the bed, stole the coffee, and sat on his lap. "A promise is a promise, Strange."
And they sealed it with a kiss.
_________
Four years later
Saturday morning, 7:58 AM.
New apartment in Manhattan; the old one in Bleecker had become too small for their egos.
Room with a view of Central Park.
Tony woke up with Stephen already inside him.
Slowly, deeply, tenderly.
No rush.
"Good morning, Mr. Stark-Strange," Stephen murmured against the back of his neck, his hips rolling slowly.
‐The tabloids were still debating whether they had secretly married in a civil ceremony. They never confirmed nor denied it. They just wore identical platinum rings and let the world freak out.-
Tony pushed back, groaning softly. "If you don't speed up, I'm going to fire you as my husband."
"Husbands don't get fired, honey. Only divorce, and I'll burn the courthouse down first."
They laughed against each other's mouths.
They fucked like that for forty minutes: wet kisses, hands intertwined, Stephen thrusting deep and then stopping just to feel Tony tighten around him.
When Tony first came, he was whimpering Stephen's name, just like in the old days.
Stephen came soon after, filling him until it overflowed, biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.
Then they turned around.
Stephen left slowly, Tony made a blank face.
"It's not over yet," Tony said, pushing Stephen back and climbing on top.
Four years later, Stephen still blushed when Tony took control.
Tony prepared it with his tongue, because yes, he learned to eat ass like nobody else, until Stephen was begging.
He entered slowly, looking into her eyes.
Look at me, Stephen.
Stephen looked.
And it completely fell apart.
Tony fucked him gently, tenderly, lovingly.
Hands on face, kisses on forehead, " I love you " with every thrust.
Stephen came without touching his penis, just with Tony inside him, tears in his eyes.
"I'll never get used to this," Stephen confessed afterward, his voice hoarse.
"With what?"
" With you loving me so much."
Tony kissed away each tear. "Settle in, Doctor. It's for the rest of your life."
_______
11:30 AM – Kitchen
Tony is trying to make coffee and burns the third slice of toast.
Stephen, in his pajamas, just his pants on, shirtless, reading the Times on his tablet, laughing at the headlines.
" Stark-Strange: New York's most influential couple for the fourth year in a row ." They're still trying to figure out if we got married.
"Leave them alone. I like the mystery," Tony replied, throwing burnt toast in the trash and going to sit on Stephen's lap. "There's that damn charity gala tonight at 8 p.m."
" You donated 10 million to neurology research last week. It might not be enough."
"I want to go. I want the world to see that the playboy has become a boring monogamous guy and is still incredibly handsome."
Stephen bit his neck. "You're unbearable."
" And you love that unbearable guy."
________
7:15 PM – Preparation for the gala
Tony in the closet, trying on his fifth tuxedo. " Stephen, black or dark blue? "
" Has the black dress I ripped last time come back from the seamstress yet? "
"No, you animal. This one's new. Look here," Tony turned, wearing a midnight blue tuxedo with black lapels. "It matches your eyes when you're horny."
Stephen appeared behind him in the mirror, hands on his hips. "You look great. And I'm going to spend the whole night reminding you that you're wearing nothing under those pants."
"Promises, promises…"
A kiss in the mirror.
Wandering hands.
They're almost late.
_______
20h45 – Gala no Metropolitan Museum
Red carpet. Flashes.
"Stark! Strange! Look here!"
They posed holding hands, their wedding rings clearly visible, with smiles that showed they no longer need to prove anything to anyone.
Inside the hall, the usual:
Women, and some men, are still trying to flirt with Tony.
They arrived with glasses, smiles, and exclaimed, "Mr. Stark, you look amazing!"
Tony smiled politely, shook Stephen's hand a little firmer, and replied, "Thank you, but my husband here is the handsome one in this relationship."
Stephen?
Zero jealousy.
He knew. Four years of Tony sleeping on his chest every night, waking up to make bad coffee.
He knew that Tony belonged to him and to him alone.
Stephen chatted with fellow doctors, laughing at some inside joke, a glass of champagne in his hand.
Every now and then he would glance across the room and find Tony already looking at him.
Automatic idiotic smile.
_____
11:57 PM – Limousine, on the way back
Blackout window raised.
Tony didn't even wait for the car to move. "Take off your pants," he ordered, already unbuckling Stephen's belt.
"Here?"
"Here. Now."
Stephen obeyed, laughing.
Tony sat on his lap facing him, still wearing his tuxedo, only his pants were open.
The limousine swayed slightly on the curves.
"Four years and you still drive me crazy in a tuxedo," Stephen groaned, his hands on Tony's backside, helping with the movements.
"Four years and you still come inside me every night," Tony replied, kissing him dirty. "Stuffy, love."
They fucked quickly and desperately: Tony bouncing, Stephen pounding from below, Tony's bow tie around his neck being used as a rein.
They climaxed almost simultaneously, muffling their moans in each other's mouths.
Then they stayed there, sweaty, clothes crumpled, Tony still sitting on his lap.
"Home?" the driver asked through the intercom.
"Yes ," Tony replied, laughing. "And you can take it slow. We're not finished yet."
______
01:14 – Quarter
Clothes scattered on the floor.
Low light.
This time it was slow again.
Lying on their sides, Stephen behind them, slowly moving in and out, his hand on Tony's penis, kissing the back of his neck.
"I love you more today than I did yesterday," Stephen whispered.
"Impossible. I love you more."
" You're a fucking romantic, Stark. "
" You love me like this."
And he loved.