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The model—a man, someone Tony vaguely recognizes from his pre-Iron Man days—looks Stephen up and down and sniffs. “Don’t let him,” Tony, the man means, “fool you into thinking there’s something special about you. Everyone had a piece of him back in the day.” The model cuts his gaze over to Tony and sneers. “It wasn’t even a particularly good piece.”
Stephen stares at the man, his expression so icy that Tony slips an arm around him, as if that could ever be enough to hold Stephen back. Tony doesn’t care about this asshole, but they are in public: if Stephen smites him the PR is going to be a nightmare. And, well, no one deserves to die for a mean comment.
Suddenly, Stephen smiles, though it doesn’t warm his expression one bit. He raises a hand and a mandala blooms. With a flick, it sails toward the model and strikes him right in the chest, where it glows for a moment before sinking into him. “That’ll last until you learn to be kinder to your lovers,” Stephen says coolly.
Tony quickly steers them away before the situation can escalate. “Do I want to know what you did to him?” he hisses.
Stephen smirks. “Let’s just say that tonight he’s going to find something rather different in his pants than he expects. And again tomorrow. And again, until he’s learned his lesson.”
Maybe it’s mean, but Tony can’t help laughing.