Sixty seconds turned to three hundred, five glorious minutes, perhaps more had a seagull not decided to drop in for an unwanted visit as it clambered against the edge of his window. Now. Stark was known to be a hospitable man; when one invited a mad scientist (emphasis on the mad) to stick around, it was a reasonable title he would uphold—on any other given day. Obscured irises averted their current occupation of glaring into the overgrown gas mass’ direction. Note to self: add blind to current mood, right beside sleep-deprived and starving. By its own accord, his left hand shot out to the farther side of the bed, met by the unruffled, cool absence of another’s body; namely Pepper’s. 

"What, you mean that’s not his name?" Feigned awe cascaded about his countenance in practiced measure, left brow arched sharply above his forehead at the later comment, “Didn’t know you were affiliated with Alcoholics Anonymous. All that trouble for me? Complete with an alien space invasion, tantrums— you don’t skip a beat. Why don’t I show you how we say thank you back on Earth?"

"Give Thunder Thighs a shout out for me, will you? In regards to my house, still fixing it up. Thanks by the way. Really appreciate the new project." 

"I don’t remember having a threesome; must have been a pretty good night. I’ll let him know. How’s royal punishment going for you?" 

I usually just tag the person back and leave it into the hands of anyone who feels like doing this, by all means, go nuts.