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There are snippets in Tony's life he will remember forever, that he can play on command in his mind, like gif videos.
He does have a photographic memory after all. Although videographic memory might be a more apt description here.
Some of these moments he wants to hold in his palms and turn into holograms. Others he tries to erase but can't.
Anything that features Bruce falls in the former category, of course. This moment he is currently capturing is a little over-produced and somewhat cheesy. But it's alright, the cinematography is in his mind only.
Pristine sand and glimmering shoreline of Malibu. (Draws back.)
The beach is behind a glass, no, a floor-to-ceiling window. (Draws back.)
The setting is indoors, polished marble flooring enters the bottom of the frame. (Draws back.)
In the expansive room sits a grand piano.
(Draws back for the big reveal.)
In front of the piano, off-center, is Bruce. In a lovely suit. Bruce is frowning slightly in concentration, fiddling intently at stubborn cufflinks that won't come off.
One guess for what makes Tony the happiest in that slow-reveal sequence.
And just because he can, because this is real-life right now, and because Bruce is his, Tony walks up to hug Bruce from behind.
The gif will end with a fade-to-black, the black being Bruce's suit jacket that his face nuzzles against.
Bruce returns to the kitchen a little after Tony, dressed leisurely in a pink sleep-worn shirt that hugs his pecs and checkered shorts.
Bruce is irresistible in such a different way than a little while ago.
Tony can't tear his eyes away. His heart swells and at the same time it stutters, afraid this sight might not be here tomorrow.
Tony has changed out of his own tux into something comfortable as well, though what he himself is wearing isn't important.
Good to be back from that charity luncheon, fully relaxed in their home.
Bruce grins earnestly at Tony in his shy way, then moves to pour himself a glass of water.
Seeing Bruce surrounded by all the state-of-the-art appliances in the metallic kitchen, Tony thinks, he doesn't care about all of this, isn't impressed by wealth.
Bruce has spent a lot of time, alone, in far-flung places across the globe. Places with no running water, let alone ice-makers.
Bruce could walk away from this Malibu mansion without missing for a second its hedonistic comforts, could assimilate back in third-world locations within days.
Bruce doesn't need him.
They are unwinding on the couch and Tony is in the big spoon position, which by the way, is a jargon taught to him by Pepper a lifetime ago.
Tony nuzzles the back of Bruce's neck and plants a kiss there, squeezing Bruce's torso protectively. He still revels that this sweet man in his arms, and in his life, is his.
Bruce squirms with pleasure in the fortified embrace, whimpering contently. It is Tony's favorite sound.
Bruce likes CSI reruns, because to him they are not reruns, and Tony is only watching to get to cuddle him. He is bored already and his gaze drifts around the room.
If Tony concentrates on any smooth surface that is large enough, he can superimpose over it the exact Loki-shaped crater the Other Guy pounded.
There is no evidence of that in Malibu, and not even in the Tower penthouse anymore, except for the memory photographed by Tony's mind.
Tony didn't mind the renovations. He minds that Bruce still carries the guilt.
Bruce doesn't care for opulence and riches, because he knows how easily the Other Guy can hulk-smash and wreak millions of dollars in damages.
The way Tony sees it, but Bruce never will, is that Bruce is dissociated from the Hulk's destruction.
How can Bruce be blamed for something he isn't aware of doing? Done by a form that looks nothing like his beloved puny Banner?
It troubles Tony that Bruce might feel more comfortable, more confident in his own skin, if he were living in a less palatial place.
Tony never dares to ask him.
Tony is mashing sweet potatoes for dinner by hand, careful to leave in some pea-sized lumps the way Bruce likes it.
Bruce has already finished whipping up egg whites to soft peaks, so he pads over to Tony's side, kissing his temple as he caresses Tony's back.
The sweet potatoes are getting cold, but Tony is never too busy for Bruce and his affections.
Every day that Bruce still wants to be with him, he clings to. So Tony pivots to clutch at pink fabric that stretches over warm skin, renewing the kiss with his own lips.
Tony knows he is difficult to live with, even in a house that is as sprawling as it is luxurious.
Bruce, by his nature, is not materialistic. Bruce is soulful, and gentle, and one of a kind.
Even if they were both two carefree 18 year-olds, and Bruce didn't have the Other Guy in him, and they both didn't have enough baggage combined to load a cargo plane, Bruce would still be the only person not won over by the Stark fortune and what it can buy.
Tony isn't sure what he brings to the relationship, or what he can offer Bruce that he will treasure. But every day he tries to give Bruce a reason to stay.
He thinks there is no end to his love for Bruce Banner, and hopes that the other guy might feel the same way.
(By the other guy, he means Bruce. Although Hulk should know that Tony cares deeply for his well-being too.)