Doctor Strange - Baby Blues & Tattoos
A/N & WC - This is the enemies-to-lovers, co-workers, 'there was only one bed' fic. As soon as I thought of it, I knew it had to be a Dr Strange thing, and I loved writing it. Also, Ben's wink in the below GIF makes my knees go weak. 8.9k.
Warnings - Swearing, too much bickering, mentions of scars, mentions of a daddy kink, smut: oral (f rec), unprotected sex, brief orgasm denial, 'Doctor' kink, tattoo kink, hickey kink, belly bulge kink. 18+.
Summary - After a tiring mission, the last thing you want to do is have to crash at a hotel, especially with the cockiest man alive. Will things change with the fact there's only one bed on such a sleepless night?
YOUR DAY HAS BEEN EXHAUSTING, thereās no denying it, and the only thing to possibly make it worse?
āCāmon, thereās a place not far away,ā Stephen snaps at you, cajoling.
āWhy canāt we just portal back?ā you ask, uncaring of your tone, how brisk you are.
āBecause we canāt. Shut up.ā
And you do. Heās been grating on your nerves for this whole mission. It wasnāt like it was a bad one, you were away barely for twenty four hours, but this is Stephen. He gets exhausting after five Goddamn minutes.
Bags slung over your shoulders, you follow him down the street. This, sadly, is the type of place you donāt use your powers, save for impending doom. And you have to grant it to Stephen, he knows what heās doing, and heās admirable with it. The way he carries his title, so graciously aids those who need him, all with a stoic resolve. Heās a good sorcerer, thatās an irrefutable fact, and you wouldnāt be this far without him.
Still, doesnāt mean you have to like the pretentious bastard in any way.
Dusk is long gone, night time in full bloom, stars scattering around the sky like tiny sprinkles, smudges of light to guide you through the night, only a thin crescent moon available to you in the far distance. The enveloping navy of the night sky meets the dark hues of Stephenās mundane clothes, sheltering him from view ever so slightly, walking a few paces in front of you.
It doesnāt take long for a relatively small building to come into view, small for a hotel, no bigger than the body of Bleecker Street, an orange glow bleeding out the entrance.
His shoulders rigid, his posture as straight as a rod, he stalks through the front doors and up to the clerk, slightly more human clothes back on in place of his mission attire.
āāScuse me, please can I book a room for tonight?ā he says, each word articulated to its fullest.
āHow many people, Sir?ā
He casts a glance towards you, rolls those pretty blue eyes of his, and looks back. āTwo.ā
āWhat kind of room would you like, sir?ā
āOne with two beds, I donāt care about the cost.ā
The boyish clerk nervously clears his throat and shuffles the papers on the desk before clicking around on his computer a fair amount. When he looks at you with that typically awkward glance hospitality workers give when they canāt give you what you want, you know exactly whatās coming.
āSorry sir, we only have rooms with one bed available. I can get you one with a couch if thatās better?ā
Stephen grinds his ridiculously defined jaw so aggressively, you can almost hear the bones crunching, grating together.
āYouāre small, you take the couch,ā he hisses, the comment directed at you before gulping down a breath, straightening his resolve, and meeting the clerkās gaze. āThatāll do.ā he says, his manner more brusque than usual.
