Tony has never been concerned for his own safety, as really ought to be evident by forty odd years of near suicidal genius. He’s still taken by surprise when the cooling space between them translates into absolutely no space between them. There’s just wet skin against wet skin, droplets clinging to Bruce’s chest hair squeezing to the nearly invisible scar where the arc reactor had once been and now artificial bone replaced the smashed area where Cap’s shield had cracked his chest plate.

Tony can’t even get in a breath but he doesn’t need one. Those light touches to the back of Bruce’s neck strength to a desperate, clinging desire to hold onto something real. Bruce is about as real as they get.

He’s never been kissed quite like this before. Women are more demure and on his brief dalliances with men, he’s tended to go for those that might behave a bit more like women than err towards dominant.

Save for Rhodey. But that was a very one sided kiss that each decided to chalk up to Tony’s drinking because Rhodey very definitely didn’t ‘chill’ that way and each still wanted a friendship with the other.

Tony doesn’t feel for a pulse. He doesn’t melt and he doesn’t yield and there’s a click of teeth from two men getting all they can out of a situation that is irresponsible and unsustainable. Tony will have bruised lips and a knowing, pleased smile when Bruce finally retreats.

“I think I like alien hot tubs.”