“I’m going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else.”
Tony’s head is just visible between bruce’s fingers, and that’s about all of Tony that Bruce wants to see right now.
“Tony, it’s eight in the morning, I stayed up all night with… Hulk problems, and what you so euphemestically call your actuator arm is not the thing I need to see before my morning tea.”
“It’s like a billion degrees in here Bruce, do you really want me to die of heat stroke before my true genius is realised?”
Bruce can actually hear the pout in Tony’s voice. It’d be pretty impressive if he wasn’t trying to navigate the electric kettle half-blind.
“You should have thought of that before you pissed off Rhodey enough to break your AC.”
Tony retreats back to behind his workbench, which at least means that Bruce can uncover his eyes and focus on doing something about his Hulk-sized headache.
“He’s not going to win, Bruce.”
The kettle sings, and heat shimmers off the worktop. Maybe Bruce should have worked from home today.