Tony's cheeks lift in a widened smile. "Eh. Bedroom, couch, floor. Wall. We'll stumble onto something," he says and stands, hand still clasped in Steve's, tugging him up. "Let's work you up an appetite so I can get more grub in ya for your long journey north."
"I don't think you have to try to work up any kind of appetite," Steve remarks dryly, letting himself be pulled to his feet. His body doesn't need encouragement to crave food or sex; it's like being a teenage boy almost ten decades late. "But you can work your wicked wiles on me anyway, I'm not gonna protest." With his free hand, he pinches a generous portion of ass, gently propelling him out of the room. "Pick a door, Stark."
The pinch startles Tony into a squeak and cuts off his next remark. Face turned aside, he wets his lips through the relentless smile, arousal already rising, and wordlessly leads Steve to another room, where Tony easily gives himself over.
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