Work Text:
Another press conference with the team had left Bruce a bit of a mess – that much, Tony could see. The flashes, the crowd, the noise; those would all be enough on their own to put him on edge. That much would have been manageable. It was the questions that got to him.
They never wanted to know about Dr. Bruce Banner – the projects he worked on that kept both the team and civilians safe, the technology he helped create that made the team more effective, his extensive research and activism. At best, that man was treated like a footnote. The journalists only ever wanted to know about the Hulk. It was better when those questions were accusatory – things like, “Why do you continue to go out into the field, in spite of the danger you present to civilian lives?” as much as they stung, were at least well-intentioned. But there was always at least one journalist who went too far, who tried to upset him, who asked questions specifically intended to set him off. Those people weren't well-intentioned. They wanted a dramatic story about the Hulk decimating a room full of journalists and a shiny close-up photo to plaster all over the front page of whichever rag they worked for.
At this press conference, there had been three of them.
So, after things had wrapped up, Tony had followed after him into the hall, where, as soon as the door shut behind them, it was blessedly quiet.
“Hey, Banner,” he called out from a few steps behind. “Don't run off. I'm going down to the lab, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”
It worked. At least temporarily. Bruce stopped, turned around, and seemed to consider it. “I don't know, Tony. I'm pretty tired.”
“You're not tired. You're pissed. And you're going to stay pissed unless you do something to get your mind off of that three-ring circus we just walked out of.”
“I'm not-”
“So,” Tony continued loudly. He sensed that Bruce was about to walk away, so he put an arm firmly around his shoulders and guided him toward the elevator to the lab. “I think that you and I should go downstairs, sit very quietly, and engineer the pain away. I'll order us Chinese.”
Bruce let out a long sigh, and his shoulders relaxing the fraction of an inch that told Tony he'd won. “Okay,” he said. “I guess I've got some things I could work on.”
In the lab, Tony put on some music, although he adjusted the volume down quite a few decibels from his usual level out of respect for his colleague's inner zen. From there, they settled into their normal routine – both working; Bruce steadily; Tony, manically – without interruption for several productive and silent hours, until Tony finally spoke up.
“Hey.”
Bruce didn't look up even a fraction from the carefully-measured test-tubes in front of him.
“Banner...”
Christ, he didn't even blink. He was mouthing a formula to himself as he combined two of the tubes in a single beaker, his full attention on the reaction. Smiling to himself, Tony gingerly pushed back his chair and crossed over to Bruce's side of the lab practically on tip-toe. He paused less than six inches from Bruce's back, holding his breath so as not to give himself away, and waited for Bruce to put the test-tube in his hand back onto the rack.
Tony hadn't fully formed a plan when he crept up on him. He had meant to make a loud noise, or jab him in the side with the shock-pen again. One of his usual friendly office pranks that he knew Bruce could handle – that he knew Bruce appreciated, because it meant that Tony wasn't afraid to be as much of a dick to him as he was to everyone else.
He hadn't meant to reach out and grab Bruce by the shoulders. He hadn't meant to spin him around, hadn't meant to hook one hand around his hip and pin him against the work table, hadn't meant to thread the other into his hair. He certainly hadn't meant to kiss him.
But he did. He took advantage of how Bruce's mouth had opened in surprise to slide his tongue past the other man's lips and kissed him deeply, frantically, and for a split second, Bruce leaned into the kiss, returned it.
Then, he went stiff and tense.
“Fuck,” he gasped into Tony's mouth. “Heart rate.”
“Huh?”
“Heart. Rate.”
Tony pulled back reluctantly to see Bruce's eyes, wide and growing greener by the second.
He tried his very best not to laugh as he grabbed the amiodarone injection from the drawer and jabbed it into Bruce's arm. Once the antiarrhythmic took hold and the color came back to Bruce's face, he couldn't hold back a chuckle.
He knew the thought would be on his mind for the next several weeks at least:
I kissed Bruce Banner, and it excited him so much he almost turned into the Hulk.
It was worth the paperweight Bruce threw squarely into his solar plexus.