"Don't be shitty," Tony snapped, riding a peak in his rush of affront and batting that silver nail polish out of the air with enough force to send it smashing onto the door behind him. Her barb hit home and stung, not because of her invocation of his least favorite confederate (well - maybe a little), but because it was hard, at the moment, not to feel that her accusation had some merit: there was a chance that he was standing here getting pelted with grooming products because he'd followed his cock. There was a chance that the reason he'd thought it seemed like a good idea to sidle up to her in the sweet, steamy haze and warn her against the lurking danger had been that he was still under the very pleasant influence of their time together in the now-stripped bed that lay just around the corner. He shouldn't have been so annoyed: that was a more favorable narrative than the alternative, really. Better to follow your cock than your heart. He bumped back against the doorframe as he fumbled behind him for the handle, peering out from behind his towel to glower at her with more than a little pique of hurt. "I am doing just fine."
The door clicked open behind him and he made his escape, slipping out into the hall and slamming the door to immediately - he stood there, one foot braced against the wall, hanging on the outside handle with most of his weight to keep her shut in for a few moments, at least, while he decided what to do. The back of his arm was covered with sparkling blue lacquer; he was silver between his shoulder blades. Shit.
He shouldn't stay here long - she wasn't likely to cool down while penned up - but he couldn't resist the opportunity to get a few words in during this momentary safety. "I'm not doing this for him. You know what - I'm not that much of an idiot. I don't do that. I don't put myself in harm's way for people for no fucking reason, do I, Natasha." Honestly, the nerve on her - to show up at his house insisting it was fine that Barnes had done a number on her, to insist she'd put up with it because of some kind of sentiment, and then to turn around and accuse him -
He swore; he let go of the door handle, and he stumbled down the hallway, flinging the towel around his waist and knotting it as he went, and grabbing a large, framed map of some kind off the wall just in case she decided to bring the rest of her arsenal out with her. "So don't throw those goddamn stones at me," he shouted over the edge of it, not entirely sure where he was going - just away. "I'm just giving you a tip. You want to take it and shove it, you be my guest."
For fuck's sake - you tried to do something good, for once.