It was that smile that finally seemed to gross Tony out, and he shuddered with a scowl, trying to shake off the mental image. The next obvious move was probably not to get any closer to the man that defiled his mother's honour (okay, even she might laugh at the thought), but it wasn't really Nick that Tony was inching towards; it was the flask. He reached to pluck it from its pouch, then withdrew quickly to take a more graceful sip of the scotch than he had before. He earned that.
"You, stop blushing, it's embarrassing," he instructed as he capped the flask, trying his best to move out of mother-fucking territory. "Trust me, you're better off without the tragic history of regrettable partners behind you. Marry and butt-fuck the alien prince for the rest of your romantically boring lives if you can, because once you start it's like a sick addiction and you can't stop finding new lows to sink to." After a beat, Tony added like he knew he was supposed to and it was some kind of burden, "I'm sure your romance is as exciting as a donkey on roller skates."
Finally, after another sip from the flask that Tony didn't feel the need to hand back, he offered his response to the matter at hand: "I've had some seriously messed up encounters that turned out to be plots on my life, corporate espionage, attacks on or attempts to steal the Iron Man, kidnapping, you know, the usual ways picking up a chick in a bar end. My worst crimes against survival are probably that I thought sleeping with a lot of these people another time couldn't possibly end badly. Shame on me, it's a self-restraint problem, I tell people I'm working on it. Really, though, it's a general type that I find is deeply regrettable on many shameful levels so I'll share my wisdom: anyone who agrees to have sex with you in a bathroom or closet or shadowy alley where you just met is bad news. It may sound like a great time then, but I guarantee you you're going to be waking up with an itch and there goes your week. Second of all, you also agreed to fuck them in a bathroom, so you're really no better. Take that to your grave. Now tell me who your childhood idol was because this theme is starting to get bad for my self-image. 'The guy your mother warned you about' feels less like a badge of honour than an STD pamphlet."