Soldier dripping all over the place is... better than Tony had expected, actually. After dropping trou with him still in the fucking room, no shame whatsoever, Tony had been mentally preparing himself for the possibility that their new resident would walk out of the bathroom ass naked. Or in just a towel, which would at least be decent, but not by much. So a loose shirt and shorts combo (like Pepper used to wear to bed or after her showers, wait no, don't think about that--) is... yeah. Manageable. They can work up to the concept of drying off with a towel.
"Yup," Tony exaggeratedly pops the p sound. Soldier took long enough in the shower that it gave the delivery time to arrive. He'd arranged all of it out on the coffee table ahead of time. Tossing one of the couch's cushions on the floor in front of the table, Tony gets himself comfortable. "Open stuff and have at whatever looks good. I know you super soldiers need a lot of calories to keep up with your metabolisms, so, eat up! There's plenty."
He hadn't bothered with plates, Tony has always been a eat it straight from the carton guy, but he did grab Soldier a fork. Just in case, right? Who is he to assume that dexterous assassins know how to use chopsticks? Tony hands a pair of chopsticks and the fork over, then breaks open his own. Then, without further ado, he eats.
If there's one benefit to sharing a meal with Tony Stark-- a real, proper meal, not any of those stuffy charity or gala dinners-- it's that he doesn't give it any time to be awkward. There's no attempt at clumsy small talk, no prolonged eye contact-- none of that. He just turns back to his phone, resting screen up on the wood, and talks science and engineering jumbo with FRIDAY like he would in the workshop.
"Pull up a hologram for me, would you, babygirl? Thank you." Tony twirls it this way and that with the back of his chopsticks in between bites.
It's not a disrespect thing. Tony's brain is just constantly running at one hundred miles per hour, he needs to get it out, have something to do with his hands, all of that. Logically, he understands the point, socially, of things like small talk, but it doesn't appeal to him and why bother, when you can get straight to the point? The eye contact thing is similar-- it doesn't come naturally to him, and staring someone in the eye for too long makes him all squirrelly and uncomfortable. He's also, frankly, just bad at it. When do you look? When do you look away? Where is the balance of the two? There's no concrete formula to spell it all out. Taking stabs in the dark and always doing it wrong is beyond frustrating. So, whatever. Being branded as a flighty mess and shocking people when he's actually listening is better than a reputation for staring people down unwaveringly and creeping them out until they're the ones not listening. Okay, that approach still has its uses, but still.
All this is to say, Tony thinks he and Soldier will get along well in this area. Maybe it would be better if Tony could shut up for more than two seconds at a time, but that's just an unfortunate given with him.
"I know the answer to this is probably a resounding no," he starts, suddenly, and this is actually aimed at Soldier, "but I'd be a jerk if I didn't at least offer: if there's anything about that arm that's bothering you, I can fix it up for you." It doesn't really need saying which arm he means, but he gestures at the metal one with his chopsticks anyway. "If you know anything about maintenance or upkeep, I can give you some tools for the smaller stuff."
no subject
"Yup," Tony exaggeratedly pops the p sound. Soldier took long enough in the shower that it gave the delivery time to arrive. He'd arranged all of it out on the coffee table ahead of time. Tossing one of the couch's cushions on the floor in front of the table, Tony gets himself comfortable. "Open stuff and have at whatever looks good. I know you super soldiers need a lot of calories to keep up with your metabolisms, so, eat up! There's plenty."
He hadn't bothered with plates, Tony has always been a eat it straight from the carton guy, but he did grab Soldier a fork. Just in case, right? Who is he to assume that dexterous assassins know how to use chopsticks? Tony hands a pair of chopsticks and the fork over, then breaks open his own. Then, without further ado, he eats.
If there's one benefit to sharing a meal with Tony Stark-- a real, proper meal, not any of those stuffy charity or gala dinners-- it's that he doesn't give it any time to be awkward. There's no attempt at clumsy small talk, no prolonged eye contact-- none of that. He just turns back to his phone, resting screen up on the wood, and talks science and engineering jumbo with FRIDAY like he would in the workshop.
"Pull up a hologram for me, would you, babygirl? Thank you." Tony twirls it this way and that with the back of his chopsticks in between bites.
It's not a disrespect thing. Tony's brain is just constantly running at one hundred miles per hour, he needs to get it out, have something to do with his hands, all of that. Logically, he understands the point, socially, of things like small talk, but it doesn't appeal to him and why bother, when you can get straight to the point? The eye contact thing is similar-- it doesn't come naturally to him, and staring someone in the eye for too long makes him all squirrelly and uncomfortable. He's also, frankly, just bad at it. When do you look? When do you look away? Where is the balance of the two? There's no concrete formula to spell it all out. Taking stabs in the dark and always doing it wrong is beyond frustrating. So, whatever. Being branded as a flighty mess and shocking people when he's actually listening is better than a reputation for staring people down unwaveringly and creeping them out until they're the ones not listening. Okay, that approach still has its uses, but still.
All this is to say, Tony thinks he and Soldier will get along well in this area. Maybe it would be better if Tony could shut up for more than two seconds at a time, but that's just an unfortunate given with him.
"I know the answer to this is probably a resounding no," he starts, suddenly, and this is actually aimed at Soldier, "but I'd be a jerk if I didn't at least offer: if there's anything about that arm that's bothering you, I can fix it up for you." It doesn't really need saying which arm he means, but he gestures at the metal one with his chopsticks anyway. "If you know anything about maintenance or upkeep, I can give you some tools for the smaller stuff."