Perfectly Suited

[st_arkravinghazelnut]

Tony Stark was too old to play games. Every time he ran hot and cold with his partner was never a calculated power play so much as a deeply embedded habit built around mitigating whatever anxiety he’d built up. Even the old days full of ninja crawling out of bed just to avoid the morning after spiel were motivated by the intimidation (in part) of having them at all.

He’d gotten better at that part, though. Far better. Tony was curled up on the side of the long-suffering pink couch that wasn’t bearing a warped arm rest caused by some make-up rapporto sessuale from earlier in the evening, followed by a shower and the ceremonial poptart.

“You know—“ Tony brushed off some crumbs from his dark sweater, “You are terrible for my diet.”

Comments

[st_ormbreaker]

"The diet where you eat very little or the diet where you don't eat anything at all?" Thor asks, chomping away on his second Pop Tart. If he had any shame at all, he might have been ashamed to admit that Pop Tarts were easily in the top five things he missed while he was away from Earth.

But Thor was born shameless and would probably die shameless.