Lazily, eyes still closed, Tony hummed the affirmative, only to suddenly turn around and sharply bite, "No." Glaring at Steve then, eyes strangely pale and glassy in the neon wash, Tony waved a hand to draw all attention to the length of his poorly misused body to illustrate, like the vision alone should have commanded enough respect and awe. "Don't do that anymore," he demanded, one finger pointing, then all of them wiggling in the air as that. "I'm the better dancer anyway." The determined weight with which Tony's elbow hit the roof again sounded like it must have hurt, but Tony was already pouting at the sky. He shouldn't have to worry about being taken advantage of whenever Steve knew he couldn't win a fight.
Like now, before Steve could try to argue the point and embarrass both of them, Tony polished the whole conversation away with a curt nod and a tap on the shingles under his hand. "So, what are you going to call this place? Your studio needs a pretentious name if you're going to be a proper artist. At least a codeword, so I know where to find you," he directed, all of his annoyance gone as quickly as it came and his head lolling to give Steve an innocent smile. Personal space always had room for Tony.