The book was red leather with a blue spider emblazoned on its cover and gold-tipped pages. There was no mistake about who'd left it there, so it would be the first thing Stephen saw when he opened his eyes.

Breath. Light. Sensation. It's all back in his body again, instead of living in the astral realm, or in Peter's dreams. Stephen has eagerly awaited this moment, and now it's here, as real as the hard floor beneath his knees, and the book resting in front of him. Scarred hands reach for the book, knowing it must be from Peter. Peter, who's long since dust by now, Stephen imagines. It feels like his last visit to the man in his dreams was ages ago, and yesterday all at once. It's so difficult to tell time in dreams. So, with a deep breath to hold back the agony that threatens to well inside him, he picks up the book, immediately beginning to read it.

Dear Stephen.

I'm not going to write in this book daily, because that would be a lot of reading when you wake up, and most of it would be pretty boring. But, I am gonna write the important parts of my life. The things that wouldn't have happened without you. Because I want you to see how much you did and how grateful I am for it. Every day.

Just like I say your name. It breaks my heart a little, when I do it, but for just a second, I can almost feel you, and it's worth how much it hurts, just to have you kind of close. I miss you.

#

I took over as the CEO of Stark Industries today. There was a press conference, and then Tony threw a big party to celebrate. He says the big parties are half the fun of the job, but I was just glad I didn't throw up on a reporter during the press conference. I trained a lot with Pepper for it, and I knew all the talking points, but saying it to a room full of reporters and cameras was just... I don't know. Intense. Scary.

#

Team Stark had a big fight today. The Avengers might have helped a little bit. It was the end of the world, and I really thought we weren't gonna make it. I wished for you so hard. You would have known what to do, and we barely managed to scrape through. We lost a few, though. I can't talk about it right now. Maybe later I'll tell you everything, but not right now. Right now, I just have to focus on the fact that the world is gonna pull through again.

#

Tony found a grey hair today. Since he's technically younger than me, I've been laughing at him all day. He is not amused, but I know you would be. He's been pouting all day, and it's adorable, but I have to go give him hell again for a minute.

#

Stephen. I miss you.

#

Today was the five year anniversary of the day we came back from Mexico. The beginning of the rest of my life, and the end of the life we shared. I miss those times, and I never thought there was anything to miss. Not until you were gone. I wish we could have one more shot of tequila, ride the mechanical bull, and give Rico a hard time.

I wish for more time with my best friend. You should be here now, so we could go to the Friendly Dolphin and celebrate our time there.

#

I'm officially thirty, today. Tony and I decided that since the two years in Mexico technically didn't happen, it would be less confusing just to stick with the timeline that the other seven and a half billion people know about. Personally, I think he just likes being older than me.

So, I'm officially thirty today. Maybe I'd feel more something, if a part of me wasn't insisting that I turned thirty two. Mostly I just feel like something is missing. Something more than you, I mean. I don't know. Maybe that's what turning 30 is supposed to feel like. If you were around, I'd start pouring shots and drink until the question fell out and you could be all wise and tell me I'm an idiot. In your very nice way of never actually saying that.

#

Tony and I have been fighting on the subject of kids lately. I want them now, he wants to wait. It's the craziest fight in the world, because we both want them, and thirty two seems like a great age to start. At least to me. He thinks that we should wait five more years. Neither of us wants to budge. I guess he'll win out, since I can't very well do it without him. Well, technically I could. But, I wouldn't. I just think it's time for a new generation of Starks. Wish you were here to either talk me down or tell Tony he's being an ass on the subject.

#

We lost the battle, but we won the war. Stephen, I don't know what to do anymore. No matter what we do, there's always another threat. They just keep coming, and I keep watching my friends die. Nobody you knew this time, some younger members we recruited a few years back. Younger than me, if you can imagine it. I'm used to being the kid, and now I'm the grown up. How did that happen? How did any of it happen?

Tony decided he doesn't want to wait for kids, after all. I guess that means the two year feud can come to an end. He says he doesn't want to leave a world without something of mine in it. Right now, I can't imagine bringing another life into this mess But, it'll take months to find a surrogate, and then most of a year after that for the baby to come. Maybe I'll change my mind again.

#

Our baby is going to be a boy. We just found out today. We're going to name him Stephen, because what else could we call him? It was Tony's idea, not that I wasn't already thinking it. But, he blurted it out first, so it's officially his idea. So, you have a namesake coming soon, and I wanted you to be the first person I told. I miss you, Stephen.

#

So, I'm not going to bore you with all of little Stephen's milestones, but his first word was Daddy, and he was looking at me when he said it. Tony's proud and jealous, and I have never been happier than I am right now. Thank you.

#

It's Stephen's first day of school, and I'm a wreck, waiting for him to come home. Dropping him off and leaving him there was seriously the hardest thing I've ever done. He didn't even miss us, when we left, at the end of the parent orientation. He's such a big little man. Tony made over, even if he looks like me.

#

Graduation day. It feels like yesterday we were dropping Stephen off at his first day of kindergarten, and now he's valedictorian of his class, and heading to MIT, just like his dad. I'm so proud, and so old. Older than you were when you stopped aging. Old enough to have an adult son. Where does the time go, Stephen? On one hand, I want to go back and relive every single one of those days, but on the other hand, I know that you're a day closer to freedom, and I wish they could go a little faster.

#

Another graduation. The big one, this time. Stephen's going to be a Doctor, after today. It feels good, thinking about how the baby named for Doctor Stephen Strange grew into a man called Doctor Stephen Stark. There's a sort of poetry to it, really.

#

Sixty-one, and I'm taking an early retirement from Stark Industries. Young Stephen is more than ready to take on the mantle of CEO, and it'll be good to spend some downtime with Tony. We haven't fought with Team Stark in years, leaving that to the little man, too. He's such a good leader. Every inch Tony, but softer. I think he gets that from me. So, now, the Misters Stark are off to retire to a tropical paradise, where the world can forget about us, and I can spend every day on the beach, with a bottle of Dos Equis.

#

I guess I'm getting old. The milestones are fewer and further between. We have grandkids now. Twins. Stephen married a nice girl a few years back. She reminds me a little bit of Pepper, rest her soul. I'm seventy-five tomorrow, and I'm starting to get scared of how few days I may have left. I want to be as close to you as possible, before I go.

We tried working on the tech that Tony used to age himself down, but it's just not very stable. There's too much radiation, and we theorize that the arc-reactor absorbed enough of it for Tony to survive the procedure in the first place. We thought maybe... Well, it doesn't matter what we thought, does it?

#

I lost Tony today, Stephen. He was ninety-seven, so it wasn't completely unexpected. I just woke up, and he was gone. Like you. But, you'll be back soon, and you'll know that you bought me seventy five years of love and adoration, while you slept. I can't complain, but I can see my days dwindling when Stephen and the twins look at me. Everytime they talk to me, they think it'll be the last, and it was frightening, but now there's a comfort to it. It's a day closer to him, I suppose. I just have to think of it that way, or I'll go crazy.

But, some days, I remember what it was like to swing through New York on a web, and wear the suit and fight with you and Tony by my side. Those were the days I lived. Now, I'm just alive.

#

Dear Stephen,

You're going to be awake in twenty-five years, and I'm going to be there waiting for you. Or, I'll be a pile of radioactive dust. Either way, I suppose this is my last entry in this book. I'll be there to tell you the rest in person, or, well... I won't. Wish me luck.

I love you, old friend.

#

Scarred hands gently close the book, Stephen listening to the noises outside the Sanctum. What world did he wake up to? And could Peter truly still be a part of it?

It would seem unlikely, given the lack of Peter standing before him now. Well, his friend certainly lived a rich, long life. He would have been a shadow without Tony. Stephen would have never been able to make him happy the way Tony Stark did.

Then, there's a knock on the front door, the magic of the house carrying the sound throughout the building. Frowning, Stephen rises from his kneeling position, the old red blanket falling from his shoulders, while the cape that had found its way over his civilian clothing gives a pleased shiver.

"Hello, old friend," Stephen murmurs, scritching the collar of the cape affectionately before making his way down the stairs, and opening the front door of his home.

"Hello. Sign, please," the apparent courier says, pulling up a holographic display in the air between his hands.

Stephen hesitates, then takes a guess and just signs with his finger. That seems to be right, because the courier nods and gives him an envelope, before leaving for a car floating near the sidewalk.

The sorcerer closes the door and opens the letter, reading what's written carefully.

I'm waiting for you on the beach. Come find me, if you'd like.

There's no signature, but who could it be from, if not Peter?

Hope soars in Stephen's chest, and the man throws a portal up into the air, stepping through and onto their favorite beach in Mexico. Multicolored eyes look around, and try to see if he can spot Peter.

Then his eyes light on a man, sitting beneath the shade of a beach canopy, a Dos Equis on one hand and a book in the other. He's older than Peter was, but he would be, wouldn't he? Even if Peter managed to make himself twenty, that was twenty-five years ago. He'd be in about his mid forties, not his mid twenties.

Stephen's cape gently flutters in the breeze as he makes his way to the man sitting with a book and reading. The sorcerer hopes this is Peter. With his heart in his throat, he swallows hard, and stares at the man when he rounds the canopy.

"Peter…" is gasped out.

Familiar dark eyes look up from a face that's sporting a few crow's feet. The little lines are more apparent, when Peter breaks into a wide, relieved smile. "Yeah, Doc. It's me," he stands and throws his arms around the other man, clasping him tightly. "I missed you, Stephen," he rasps out in an emotion thick voice.

Stephen hugs the man that looks to almost be his age, but he knows he's been on this planet for much longer than that. The lump in his throat just gets bigger as he tries to imagine waiting so very long for Stephen to come back to him. A hundred years…

"I missed you, too, Peter," Stephen says hoarsely. Time had not passed in a blink for Stephen, not with his magical awareness. He'd visited Peter's dreams as the years passed, and read. So much reading. All things done to try to keep his mind active, to try to keep from going insane. Now that he's walking again, and fully experiencing the world, it's almost overwhelming. "Thank you for being here when I came out of stasis."

"I was too close, not to see it through," he jokes, without letting the other man go. He might never let him go, at this rate. "I mean, I was ninety-seven, give or take a year. What was another twenty-five for my best friend? I've spent them all here, in Mexico, remembering our time together. Thinking about how much time we could have here, on this beach, if you wanted to. Mexico hasn't really changed. It's still like home."

Stephen can't seem to bring himself to let Peter go, either. It's holding someone, and being held, when he hasn't done either in a century. Not really. The dreams don't feel nearly as tangible as this. He wets his lips, and lets out a rough exhale, eyes shut tightly as he just drinks it all in. "That's a relief. Mexico being like home. You, waiting all this time for me? I'm so very grateful."

"I was afraid you might not come," Peter says solemnly. "A hundred years is a long time to wait," and Peter knows, on instinctual level, that the time hadn't passed for Doc the same way it passed for Tony. He could just tell the difference when he was near. Doc was still, but not lifeless, whereas Tony had just been empty. "I'm sorry I didn't have the nerve to be there when you woke up. I thought you might need some time, and I thought you deserved the chance to decide if you wanted to see me."

"I've wanted nothing more than to see you again," Stephen assures Peter, finally loosening his arms from around the other man, so he can lean back and stare down into his eyes. Reverent, scarred fingers card through slightly shaggy hair, noticing the bit of grey at the temples. He wants to kiss this man, but he doesn't want to make any assumptions, either. Having him in his life at all is enough. He doesn't want to push for anything Peter might not like. "Is Rico's club still standing?"

"The building is, but it's not Rico's anymore. Well, of course not. He's been dust for a long time. But, it's still there. Kind of run down, but it's where I go to unwind from a long day of sitting on the beach," Peter smiles up at the taller man. He can see the desire to kiss him is still there, but there's time for figuring out what kind of relationship they might come to. No need to rush, at this point. "You want to go grab a drink there, or just stay here in the shade?" he motions to the previously unnoticed empty chair beside his and the ice chest between them.

"Let's just stay here in the shade, for now. I'm not certain how I'd handle an entire room full of people at this moment," Stephen murmurs, moving to sit in the empty chair. The cloak gets comfortable behind him, and he probably looks altogether bizarre, wearing it on a beach with clothes instead of swimming trunks.

Oh well. He's a hundred and fifty years old now, so what damn does he give about impressing strangers?

Scarred fingers reach into the ice chest, and take out a Dos Equis, pleasantly surprised their brand is still around. He removes the top with the bottle opener, and has a drink, staring out at the ocean before them. "It tastes a little different, but close enough," Stephen decides.

"Yeah, they changed the recipe, forty, maybe fifty years ago," Peter tells him, lowering a pair of sunglasses onto his face to cover his eyes. He tips his head back, like he might be napping, but his eyes are open and alert behind the lenses. "A lot's changed over the years, but a lot of stuff has stayed the same, too. I'm excited about discovering the differences with you. Everything just seems normal to me. It'll be nice to see the world with fresh eyes." he sounds like an old man, now. And he is old. Unfathomably so, at a hundred twenty-some odd years.

"I'm excited, too," Stephen murmurs, despite how very calm he sounds. He reaches in the air, and conjures a pair of sunglasses, putting them on, to complete his beach look. "Excited, and hungry for actual food," he rumbles after a moment's thought. "Do you still make those amazing street tacos?"

"I do. And, I anticipated that you might say that. I have the meat already marinating, at home," he tells Stephen, giving the man a wide smile. "I bought a little place on the beach, not a half mile from here. I usually stay a little closer to home, but I've been on this end of the beach, so you could find me, all week."

An appreciative groan sounds at the mention of the marinating meat. His head turns toward Peter's in time to catch that wide smile, and he finds himself smiling back. "Thank you for making it easier to find you," he murmurs. "Also, you carrying all this stuff a

half a mile? It's a little impressive."

"The canopy is super light and folds up into a backpack. The ice chest has a shoulder strap, and the chairs fold down pretty small, too. I designed then myself, a few years back," Peter explains, shifting a little in his seat and reaching out to pat the back of Doc's hand, just to prove to himself that he can. "You want to head up now, or wait a while?"

The little pat makes Stephen swallow heavily. He stares down at the hand over his, and turns his, palm up, to touch the man's hand in return. It's a very light brushing motion, giving him a moment to swallow the lump in his throat again. "I'd like to see your home," he manages thickly.

Peter wraps his hand around Stephen's, and squeezes it softly. "Our home, if you want. I already had Eric - he's the sorcerer watching over the Sanctum these days - send some of your things down. Not all of them, in case you didn't come, but enough for you to be comfortable."

"Our home," Stephen chokes out the words as emotions overwhelm him. He squeezes Peter's hand in return, and wills himself to get his shit together. Nobody likes a mess, and Stephen feels like one, in this moment. "Thank you, Peter. I'd like that," he manages after a few seconds in a steady tone.

"Well, let's go get you some tacos, then," Peter says, standing and tugging Doc to his feet by their joined hands. He raises his sunglasses to perch on the top of his head, then reaches for Doc's shades and pulls them away, looking up into those pale multicolored eyes. "I'm so glad you're here, Stephen. I missed you more than I could ever tell you. Having you back with me... It feels better than you know." For some reason it had felt important to say that, and he'd wanted to look into his eyes while he did it.

A careful hand moves to cup the back of Peter's head, and then Stephen's head bows, brushing gentle lips to the other man's. "I kissed you so many times in your dreams," he breathes out across his mouth, teeth briefly closing over a soft lower lip, before he seals his mouth to the other man's. Lips coax lips to part, and his tongue slips inside, tasting the sweetness he's imagined for so long. A low rumble of arousal sounds in his chest, and fingers clench in Peter's hair.

Peter's chest feels full to bursting when Stephen seals his mouth to his and kisses him in earnest. He'd had his lifetime with Tony, and it had been a great lifetime. One he is thankful for every day, but this lifetime? This is the one he gets to spend with Doc, and it's just as precious to him. He's breathing heavily by the time Doc raises his head, and he smiles as he nuzzles the other man. "I've waited over a hundred years for that kiss. Every since the night you told me you love me, really." He presses another kiss to Stephen's mouth, before he adds, "It was worth the wait."

Multicolored eyes stare down at Peter's, happiness shining in them. He's forgotten all about how he feels like a mess, and now he's just… Thrilled. "I'm going to kiss you enough to make up for a hundred years," he rumbles, pressing a small kiss to Peter's mouth afterward, fingers smoothing the man's hair. It takes effort to pull away, but he manages it, before closing the ice chest and lifting it to carry it back to their home.

Peter collapses the canopy and fits it into its bag with shoulder straps, sliding it on, then picking up the two chairs. They fold automatically, once they've been picked up, and Peter leads the way up the beach to a small house. It's nice, without being too fancy; a wealthy man's getaway, only he's lived here for years now.

Much of the house is covered with the things that had been in their Mexican apartment. All of it had, after all, been shipped to Sanctum Sanctorum. Doc apparently hadn't gotten rid of any of it, so Peter found it when he went to collect some of Doc's things. It's all antique, now, but he won't know that, and hopefully it will make the place feel welcoming.

"Let's get you some tacos," Peter says, setting the canopy and chairs down near the door, and taking the ice chest from Stephen to carry it into the kitchen. "I hope you're good with carne asada today. There's some guacamole in the fridge and chips in the pantry. Help yourself. You're home."

Stephen shrugs off his cloak, motioning for it to go hang itself up on the coat rack. Then he moves behind Peter, wrapping an arm around his waist, before rumbling to the back of his ear, "Carne asada is delicious." His hand rests flat and low on Peter's stomach, and his head bows to ply an open mouthed kiss to the side of Peter's neck.

Peter groans and tips his head to the side, the ice chest set on the counter, forgotten in the moment it no longer occupies his hands. He raises a hand to trace at the back of the hand pressed to his abdomen, while his other arm wraps around Stephen's neck, keeping him close. "You're making up for lost time already, huh?" he asks, melting into Stephen's arms, his eyes closing to savor the sensation of the other man's mouth.

"Yes," Stephen murmurs across Peter's neck, liking the way the other man melts into him and keeps him close. "Should I slow down? Do you like slow?" The hand that's not on Peter's abdomen reaches to touch the man's chin, turning his head just enough to make it easier to kiss along his jaw.

"We've been waiting a century, Stephen," Peter chuckles richly as he turns his head. "This is plenty slow enough. And to answer your question: yes, I like it slow. I like it every way, but I want to savor you." He turns his head further, so he can reach Stephen's mouth with his own, kissing him deeply as he presses back against him, memorizing the feel of his broad chest and his narrow hips against his back.

There's the beginning of an erection to be felt, with all that pressing back against Stephen, combined with the kissing, and the utter perfection of this moment. Then, the sorcerer is turning Peter in his arms to face him, and kissing him again, a hand fisting in his hair as he repeats the man's words in his head. He wants to savor this moment. He wants to savor Stephen. Don't get impatient. As he thinks those words, his tongue thrusts again and again into that sweet mouth, laced with the flavor of beer. When he lifts his head to break the kiss, the hand not in Peter's hair presses to the man's heart, feeling the steady thump of it. "You are so beautiful," he whispers across the man's lips, as if trying to comprehend just how very much so he is.

"I am yours, Stephen," Peter breathes out against saliva damp lips. "I have been for so many years. Yours and waiting for you to come home to me." Peter is a lucky man. He's found true love not once, but twice in his extraordinarily long lifetime, and he's going to do everything he can to protect it. He wraps his arms around Stephen's neck, fingers diving into the salt-and-pepper strands, so he can grip the back of his head and offer up another kiss to the man he loves.

Stephen takes in those words, in awe of them. His. His Peter. It's almost too good to be true, but now he's kissing Peter again, and that anchors him to this reality where Peter really is his. Finally. After all this time. Stephen is a lucky man. He loves Peter, and he is loved. A sharp breath sounds as the sorcerer kisses Peter deeply, fingers curling in his hair. He can't seem to get enough of these kisses, now that he's really allowed to have them.

Drinking in that kiss, Peter steps back and slides onto the counter, pulling Stephen with him. He parts his knees for the sorcerer to stand between them, and breaks the kiss to stare into Stephen's eyes, now that they're about level. "I love you, Stephen Strange," he says, focusing on one eye and then it's differently colored mate, memorizing the difference between them.

Scarred fingers stroke at Peter's hair as he watches the man study his eyes. "I love you, Peter," he says solemnly. He almost says his last name, too, but he wonders if that would only remind him of his late husband. Selfishly, Stephen doesn't want to share this moment with Tony. No more than he already is, bringing him up in his mind right now. Fingers smooth Peter's hair, and trace along his jaw, the sorcerer steadily staring into dark eyes.

"Strange. When I did the time trick, I left everything else behind. And, I needed a new name. It felt fitting, at the time, but I'll admit that right now? It feels a little bit egotistical." He'd planned well enough to have a nest egg for himself, but he's no billionaire, not anymore, and he hasn't seen his family in years. He just couldn't look them in the eyes, though he'd gone back for young Stephen's funeral and he supposes he will for the twins, too, when it's time. Nobody had spared a second glance for the young man in the back, not among the world leaders that were in attendance. After his moment of introspection he turns nervous eyes back to Stephen. "I can change it."

"Why does it feel egotistical?" Stephen asks him quietly, even if his heart jumps at the prospect of Peter being Peter Strange. Fingers smooth along Peter's jaw, then push back into his hair, stroking the strands again. Lips brush Peter's mouth, just a brief exchange, before he's kissing along his jaw, wanting to give him a chance to answer.

"Because I took your name. Without asking you first. Or, you asking me." Peter looks incredulous that anybody could see it any other way. "Of course, it's all kind of a moot point, if you don't mind that I did it, isn't it?" He doesn't seem to mind, not unless it comes to him later that he does mind. Right now, he seems pretty at peace with it.

Stephen chuckles, leaning his head back to stare into Peter's eyes. "Perhaps I appreciate your willingness to take what you want." Fingers curl in the man's shaggy hair again, and he presses a brief kiss to his lips. "You wanted my last name…" is rumbled thickly, scarred fingertips tracing down the back of Peter's neck. "Peter Strange…"

"Yes. I wanted to feel closer to you. To remember why I was still here. That I was waiting for you," Peter murmurs against his lips, leaning his forehead to press against the other man's. "There were days that I needed the reminder to get me through," he admits, silent a moment, just thinking and letting the once-familiar scent of his best friend wash over him.

"It must have been very difficult," Stephen breathes out, brushing another soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you for waiting for me, all this time. Thank you for being here with me, now. Thank you for the home you've given me," he whispers, touching a hand over Peter's heart again. "Thank you for loving me back."

"It was," Peter says honestly, his left hand coming up to rest over Stephen's chest, in return. "But this? This moment right here? Makes up for all of it. And every moment you give me after this? That's just a bonus, Stephen. The whole rest of our lives is a bonus."

Stephen. Peter keeps saying his name, and the sorcerer wonders if he'll ever get used to it. Ever think it's common, or something less than extraordinary to hear. His hand slides up from over Peter's heart to cup his face, thumb brushing just under his lower lip. "I'm up for all the bonus I can get," Stephen says with a soft laugh.

"You wanna start with tacos, or you wanna start with bonus?" Peter rumbles out, chuckling as the hand resting over Stephen's heart clenches in his shirt, dragging him closer for another kiss. This one is hungrier than the others, his tongue tasting Doc before retreating, so that he can be tasted in return.

Both hands end up in Peter's hair, Stephen kissing him deeply, with excited thrusts of his tongue. Fingers clench in his hair to pull it gently, tipping his head back as he breaks the kiss, and kissing down the front of his throat. "Bonus," he mutters against his skin, giving his throat a gentle bite, before hands go to the man's shirt, and move to lift it up and over his head.

Beneath his Hawaiian print shirt, Peter is still hard, wiry muscle under smooth skin, and those muscles ripple as he raises his arms, then lowers them to start opening the buttons of Doc's shirt. It's been a hundred years since he put it on, but now, finally, Peter gets to take it off him, baring his broad chest. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, before he opens his mouth to nip at his clavicle, sucking lightly afterward.

Stephen shrugs off his shirt, dropping it to the floor, before both hands go into Peter's hair and hold his head as the man lightly sucks at his skin. "I want so many unreasonable things right now," the older man says softly, pressing a kiss into his hair. "I want to marry you. I want kids with you. I want to work as a doctor again and have a nice, normal life for awhile. I know I can't have the last one, because I'm Sorcerer Supreme and keeper of the Time Stone. I know I probably can't have the second one because our life won't be normal enough for kids because of the last one. And the first one is unreasonable because we're only just starting to discover each other in this way. But I love you, and you love me, and we've waited for so long…" His quiet voice trails off, and he nuzzles Peter's hair gently.

"I want all of those things, Stephen," Peter reassures him in a thick voice. "We'll have kids, whenever you want them. And, I'll marry you whenever you want me to, and the Order has been getting along without you for a century. If you want to take time away, you can do that, too," he reasons out before he leans back and smiles up at Doc. "Marry me. I don't want to wait. I want to be a Strange because you made me one, not because I decided to steal your name."

"Did you just hijack my marriage proposal?" Stephen asks him, arching a brow. "Because I most certainly want to marry you, and now you're making demands, and those demands happen to coincide with my wants." A soft kiss is collected, the man thoughtful, and joyous all at once. "I probably need paperwork of some kind, unless no one pays attention to how old a man is on his identification anymore." Now he's just babbling about boring bits. Great.

"Wasn't stealing your thunder, Doc. Just giving you a sneak peek at my answer," Peter chuckles, sliding down from his place on the counter and stepping around Stephen to go into what is, presumably, a bedroom. He comes back with a lockbox and uses a fingerprint to open it, showing a collection of things too important to Peter to be left outside of this little fire safe. Atop an assortment of papers is his wedding band from his marriage to Tony, but he doesn't really seem to see it as he reaches to the bottom of the stack and hands the sorcerer a passport, birth certificate, and Social Security card. "I had these made up at the same time I did mine. Yours all have you name... You weren't exactly running away from a trillion dollar family or anything, so there was no need to change it." Peter thought of everything, when he was trying to make life easier for Doc, upon his awakening.

"So long as I'm older than you," Stephen says with a slight sniff, looking at the documents. He eyes Peter, then thinks about it. "I say I have at least five years on you." Then he's grinning, and holding the documents in one hand while his other cups Peter's cheek, so he can tip his head just right to kiss him. He just can't stop smiling, even against his lips. "Thank you, Peter."

"There's nothing to hold you back, Stephen. You can do anything you want with the rest of your life, now," Peter mutters against his lips, smiling back and wondering what sort of adventures they may find for the rest of their days. "The only question is: what do you want to do first?"

The documents are carefully placed back in the box they came from, which is then closed, and set aside. Then hands go to Peter's hips, and his mouth tastes the side of his throat. "I think we should discuss that, in detail, without clothes on and in bed."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Peter says, grinning as hard as he ever has. He lets his hands slide from Stephen's shoulders down to his hands, before lacing their fingers and leading him away from the kitchen to their bedroom. Their bedroom. Where they're going to start the rest of their lives.

He feels lighter, freer than he has in decades and he squeezes Stephen's hand. "I think we should start by talking about how great our life is going to be," he says with a chuckle, closing the door behind them as he seals them into their new little world.