Trust Exercise

That particular comment was enough to finally get Stephen to turn around completely to rest his backside against the edge of the countertop to give Tony his full, undivided attention—and unimpressed expression. "Your Option B—the straight razor, if that's what you're referring to, Tony—isn't an actual option because if I did attempt to use it, I'd most likely accidentally slit my own throat when my hands give an unexpected tremor."

The grin that Tony offered up in turn was decidedly wolfish, all teeth and sharp-edges and predatory interest. "Option B is still available to you if someone was willing to step up and offer their assistance."

It was Stephen's turn to pause at the inverted offer, eyes narrowing as he considered the choices before him: he could still refuse and default to the disposable razor that he had originally requested—and most likely spend the rest of the night with small, stinging cuts reminding him of how much he hated the blasted things. Or, more intriguingly, he could take the other man up on his offer and let Tony use the straight razor to remove the excess facial hair. With the second option, as well... Stephen could admit to himself that he was curious.

Both he and Tony tended to be arrogant and assholes, Tony a futurist who had laid his roots in engineering and robotics and Stephen himself was a doctor-turned-sorcerer: similar enough that they had gotten on well from the very beginning when most others would have been ripping out their hair at having to deal with the two geniuses' attitudes and intelligence both—there came a comfort, too, in knowing that either of them were no longer the smartest men in the room; there was someone there who could match the other step-by-step.

The warm fondness and sparking arousal that Stephen had begun to feel in regards to Tony had started quite some time before—and both feelings had, if the sorcerer wanted to be honest with himself, been unexpected but not unwelcome. Not after Christine had very gently but very firmly made clear to him that there was no way that they would be resuming any romantic relationship between the both of them ever again. And Stephen hadn't been bothered to look for a different partner since.

Here, now: there was an opportunity to see what other possibilities might exist.

With Tony Stark.

"Option B would only work if I trusted that someone to put a blade to my throat and know that I was safe in friendly, experienced hands," the sorcerer pointed out, idly enough. The words, however, were enough to darken Tony's mahogany gaze with grief and horror and hurt, and the one-time doctor knew that the other man was thinking of his old team and the events that had happened in Siberia. Before the inventor could bow out, assuming that Stephen's words were a rejection of both Tony, as well as his offer, Stephen continued: "So if the offer of assistance is made from anyone but you, Tony, then I would have to decline."

"...oh. Oh!" came the soft exclamation, and watching the shift from bleak resignation to slow hope, a dawning sort of potential—a desire to see this played out as Tony's slow grin once more returned—was something that Stephen found truly spectacular and humbling to behold. "Well, then," Tony continued and made his way further into the bathroom, shooing Stephen out of his way. "Go and find a handtowel and a chair to sit in, and I'll get everything else set up for you."

Stephen went and did as requested, and it was only s short while later that he was returning with the items in hand; Tony had already set up his station on the sorcerer's countertop and had attached the strop to the towel rack. The goosebumps-inducing sound of steel against leather—the soft scrape that accompanied each motion of Tony's hand—was enough to make Stephen pause and watch, Tony's blade gleaming dangerously in the bright lights of the lavish bathroom as the engineer continued to run both sides along the strip of leather.