Anthony Edward Stark

Tony’s not the type to blush, but he does right now, heart pounding in his chest. His body, this body, isn’t used to feeling touches like this anymore. His skin has turned more elastic, more supple, capable of holding more moisture, and it’s also revived much of the touch receptors that had died away as youth once had too. He can’t help but respond to Banner, to the naked guy with full, kissable lips and knowing, capable hands standing in front of him.

He swallows and turns too big eyes away from the other man, placing an uncalloused (so strange!) around Bruce’s wrist.

“So you’re saying we need to colonize Mars immediately so we can move there?” It’s a romantic thought, Stark and Banner against the world. It’s the reason they’re here together in the first place. Tony’s decided that he doesn’t need anyone else, ever, in his life. And that’s rash. Stupid. He knows. He’s just used to moving quickly with the things (and people) he wants.

He’s wanted Banner for the better part of a decade, before he ever met him, and it’s worse now.

“We’re so screwed.”