Anthony Edward Stark

Bruce has had far fewer "dalliances" with men: one, in the name of "science" (and horniness but science sounds better.) He kisses Tony like he would kiss anyone he cares deeply about for the first time after more years of abstinence than he wants to think about.

He even lets himself imagine, for a split-second, that they don't stop with a kiss. It's a nice thought until the screaming starts in his imagination.

It is a retreat. He allows himself a moment of satisfaction for the sight of Tony's smile, knowing they'll both be feeling this for the rest of the day, then he boosts himself out of the tub and stands up, looking for something to use as a towel. He's naked, wet, and well aware of Tony's attention, which is why a towel is an urgent priority. He's old enough not to have the physical responses of a teenager to a couple of kisses, but it's been a long time and it's better safe than having to listen to Tony talk about how he really is a grower.

The hot tub's relaxation doesn't disappear all at once, but he can feel it draining away. "We have got to figure out how it does that," he mutters while he pounces on a basket near the hot tub and pulls out a rectangle of cloth that shows that they might be on an alien world, but towels are universal.

"Are you sobering up?" He tosses another towel in Tony's direction and gets to drying off. "Because you were three sheets to the wind when we got in."