“So, didn’t expect to see you back here.” The sorcerer supreme directed in the mechanic’s direction, his blackhole irises glued on the top of his foxsake mug - strengthening exercise for his hand, getting off the last step. When his cloak’s corner slapped at Stark’s hand, sharp flap made Stephen irritably sigh. “Must I print out signs for you visits, ‘Don’t touch’?” He ask, scolding that of a small child tone. Given how things clearly have gone last few times him and Stark worked together, if that is what one can call it. Were they coworkers? teammates? or was Stephen a sorcery whore that pimps out to the Avengers every once and awhile. Stephen blinked away the awry of questions in his head, standing in front of Stark and in between him and the spitting Cauldron of the Cosmos, the illusions of galaxies being spit up by the Cauldron as if something foreign was in it. “Uh, Did you need something from me?” Stephen cleared his throat, peering over his shoulder at the spitting Cauldron and back at Tony suspiciously. “You didn’t did you?” Accusing tone shot at Stark, gesturing he put something in there no matter how little.