All Penguins Are Valid

JARVIS was normally a pretty good judge of that. “All right,” he said. “Put me together a synopsis of whatever ‘vision’ he convinced you on.” He wrinkled his nose. “I hope you know what you’re talking about. I hate interviewing people.”

Pepper looked mildly amused at that. “Your version of the hiring process isn’t what I’d call the most sensible,” she said. “While I’m glad I got the job, I’m still not sure that threatening to pepper spray Happy was the qualifying feature that you thought it was.”

Tony grinned at the memory. “It turned out great, don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Pepper just shook her head, smile still amused. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That’ll be all, Miss Potts.”

Pepper made her way out and Tony pulled up the file JARVIS had already started putting together. By the second concept Tony found himself straightening, by the fourth he had JARVIS start making notes for him, by the sixth Tony was pretty sure he absolutely could not hire this man, because Tony was pretty sure he wanted to marry him, instead, by number eight he was regretting the fact that most people would not react well to a marriage proposal from a stranger and Doctor Stephen Strange was quite likely one of them.

“JARVIS,” Tony said when he finished. “Write up a contract and let me know when Doctor Strange arrives for the interview.”

“He’s already here,” JARVIS said. “He arrived thirty minutes early and has been waiting.

Doctor Strange was either incredibly punctual or just as eager about these ideas as Tony was. 

Tony double-checked that he looked presentable enough to hire someone before heading to where Doctor Strange was waiting. He strode in, gaze immediately landing on a tall man standing by the window, dressed impeccably, and just as attractive in person as his mind had been on paper. “You’re hired,” Tony said, not bothering to beat around the bush. “Now, do you want to talk about your consulting fee or do you want to talk medical tech.”

Doctor Strange turned away from the window to look at him and damn it, did the man also have to have the most piercingly gorgeous eyes Tony had ever seen? Tony’d already hired him! Tony wasn’t allowed to date him after that! “The consulting fee can wait,” Doctor Strange answered. “I’d like to get started.”

By the time your car pulls into the private garage, the adrenaline has started to fade, replaced by a bitter wave of reality. You walk out of the elevator and into the lab, the cold air hitting your bare ankles under your sweatpants. You look like a mess, but the moment you step inside, Tony is already watching you. He’s leaning against a table, a glass of scotch in one hand, looking entirely too put-together for someone who claimed to be having a crisis.

"Look who made it," he says, his eyes traveling down your casual clothes with a look that makes your skin hot.

"Where's the tech, Tony?" you demand, crossing your arms. "You said you needed help. I thought something was wrong."

He sets his glass down, walking toward you with that effortless, arrogant stride. "Something was wrong. The lab was empty. You weren't in my bed. Highly problematic."

"You're an asshole," you snap, stepping back, but he closes the distance anyway. He catches your waist, his fingers digging into your hip through the fabric of your pants, pulling you flush against him.

"I am," he murmurs against your jaw, his breath smelling faintly of liquor and mint. "But you're here. You always come back."

He kisses you then—rough, possessive, and entirely unapologetic. It’s the same toxic cycle you swear you're going to break every single week, but as his hands move under your shirt and he lifts you onto the nearest glass desk, scattering tablets and tools to the floor, you realize you've already lost the argument.

“I definitely’d rather see you on my workbench than my bed,” Tony murmurs, his kisses tracing a burning line down your neck. His hands are already playing with the elastic band of your sweats, tugging impatiently. “Up, up. These are in my way.”

You hate that you obediently lift your hips, doing exactly what he says without a second thought.

The most insufferably smug smile appears on his face the second he realizes you aren't wearing any panties. You roll your eyes, trying to hide how fast your heart is beating. You’ve always hated sleeping with underwear, and the bastard knew that when he called you.

“Look at that. You’re so ready for me,” he says, his voice dropping an octave as his hands wander up your thighs, effortlessly finding the heat between them. His fingers press right against your aching clit, and it’s embarrassingly obvious just how badly you want him.

You gasp, your fingers instantly digging into the fabric of his dark shirt to keep your balance on the edge of the desk. You want to bite back, to say something to ruin that confident look on his face, but he knows exactly how to touch you to keep you quiet.

"Shut up, Tony," you breathe out, but it comes out entirely too breathless to be intimidating.

"Make me," he whispers, leaning in to catch your bottom lip between his teeth. He applies just enough pressure with his thumb, a slow, agonizingly perfect stroke that makes your toes curl. He’s completely sober now, entirely focused on the reaction he’s pulling out of you. He loves the control, loves knowing that no matter how much you fight him outside of this room, in here, he owns your body’s responses.

He slides two fingers inside you, testing how slick you are, and you let out a low moan that echoes in the quiet, high-tech lab.

"See? This is what I was thinking about at three in the morning," Tony murmurs against your skin, his pace quickening just enough to drive you crazy. He looks up, his dark eyes heavy and dark with satisfaction as he watches your expression undo itself. "Tell me who you drove all the way here for."

“You,” you breathe out, followed by a wrecked moan as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot he knows so damn well.

“Exactly. Only me,” he says. You didn’t even notice when he unbuckled his pants, but suddenly the hot tip of his dick is resting right against your slick entrance. “You want me, sweetheart?” he asks teasingly, slowly smearing your wetness all over yourself, mocking you with the proximity.

“Please, Tony,” is all you say, completely defeated by the ache.

He lets out a low, mocking laugh. “I didn’t even have to tell you to beg. That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, and slowly pushes all the way into you.

The sudden fullness makes your eyes roll back, your hands tightly gripping his shoulders as he stretches you out. He doesn't move right away; he just stays buried deep inside you, letting you take all of him while he watches the praise work its way through your system. He loves how easily that title—his good girl—makes you fall apart, even when you both know you shouldn't be here.

"Look at you," Tony whispers, his voice thick and rough as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Fitting me perfectly. Like you never left."

Before you can even process the sting of his words, he pulls back and drives back in, setting a hard, demanding pace. The metal edge of the workbench digs into your back, but you barely feel it over the overwhelming sensation of him filling you up over and over. Every thrust is heavy, possessive, and deliberately designed to remind you of exactly what you’ve been missing.

You throw your head back, a loud, uninhibited moan leaving your lips as he hits that same perfect spot with every single stroke. Tony leans over you, his hands pinning your wrists to the cold glass of the desk, locking you in place so you have no choice but to take everything he's giving you.

"Tony—" you gasp out, the friction building so fast it's making your head spin.

"I've got you," he growls, his own composure finally cracking as he feels how tight you're clamping down around him. He releases your wrists, his arms wrapping under your thighs to pull you even closer, driving into you with a desperate, toxic urgency until you both completely lose control.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wet friction of your juices, and the ragged, desperate breaths from the both of you are the only things echoing through the silent lab.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Make a mess just how I like it,” he growls, his voice completely raw as he feels his own orgasm about to rip through his body.

That’s the exact breaking point.

The praise ruins you completely, and your walls collapse. You clamp down around him incredibly tight, your hips stuttering against his as a violent, toe-curling climax hits you. You scream his name into the empty lab, your fingers clawing at his back, dragging him under with you.

Hearing you break completely shatters whatever restraint Tony had left. He lets out a low, guttural groan, driving into you three more times—hard, deep, and utterly possessive—before he completely unloads inside you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving heavily against yours as he pumps his release into you, filling you up until he’s completely spent.

For a long minute, the only sound is the two of you trying to catch your breath. Tony stays buried deep inside you, his heavy body keeping you pinned to the workbench as his heart beats wildly against your ribs.

Slowly, the fog of the orgasm begins to clear, and that familiar, toxic reality starts creeping back into the room. He pulls out of you with a soft sigh, leaving you feeling instantly cold and exposed on the glass desk.

Tony grabs a stray rag from the workbench, wiping himself down before tossing it aside with that casual, effortless detachment that always makes your stomach drop. He looks down at you, a slow, satisfied smirk returning to his lips as he buttons his pants. The vulnerable, desperate man who called you at 3:00 AM is gone, replaced entirely by the billionaire who just got exactly what he wanted.

"See?" Tony murmurs, reaching down to playfully tap your chin, completely ignoring the absolute mess he left you in. "I told you that you were missing me"

Natasha had said Tony was sneakier than he looked, but Sam honestly hadn’t believed her. Natasha had also been the one who said that Tony and Stephen could pull off this particular con. Sam hadn’t believed that either, not until now.

Steve cleared his throat slightly, clearly looking for an explanation. “Who doesn’t know what?” he asked.

Sam waved at the video feed where they were all watching. “Those two. They’re in love with each other.”

The look Steve gave him was baffled. “Yeah. That’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Sam shook his head. “No man, they’re in love with each other. And they don’t know.”

Steve shook his head. “They’re not—”

“No,” Natasha interrupted. “Sam’s right. They’re in love with each other and don’t know. Why else do you think I said we should send Stephen and Tony?”

“This is a new terrorist cell working with a disgruntled apprentice who left Kamar-Taj and is using love charms to control people,” Steve reminded them. “Stephen handles the magic, Tony gets into the files on this new group.”

Natasha pointed at Steve as though he’d hit the nail on the head. Even though he very much hadn’t. “Exactly. An apprentice who is using some sort of love charm. Love charms can’t work on people who are already in love. I asked Wong about it. Stephen and Tony aren’t at risk for getting compromised.”

They all looked at the security feed again. Tony was laughing, head thrown back and the delight obvious on his face even through a security feed. Stephen was watching him smugly, a soft expression on his face. It was that expression that had clued Sam in. Finally. Because that… that wasn’t something the average person could fake. On the screen Tony stopped laughing, grinning at Stephen and the look in his eyes was… well, smitten.

“Huh,” Steve said, tone thoughtful. “And they don’t know?”

“They have no idea,” Natasha said. “I was kind of hoping this mission would clue them in. Knowing them, though, they’re going to convince themselves that they’re just that good at acting.”

Steve frowned, and Sam could practically see him deciding that they obviously couldn’t let that stand.

Sam wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, because when Steve decided things couldn’t stand, he didn’t exactly just sit back. He had to do something. Sam almost felt bad for Tony and Stephen, but really… it was for the best. And if Steve decided they had to do something about this… well, Sam was always up for helping Steve when it was a good cause.