Anthony Edward Stark

The smile he gives her is the same a cat who's gotten his cream. He rolls over onto her and strokes her cheek, eyes bright under the dark fringe of his mussed up bangs. "I still like hot messes," he assures her. "Got my eye on one in particular." He kisses her nose, a bit moist, but still closed lipped. No need to gross her out with his breath.

Banner's still in the back of his head, rubbing his chest, but that's neither here nor there at the moment.