At the sound of clattering jars, Tony slowly let himself peer over his shoulder to watch Steve hidden head first in the fridge. Immediately distracted, he didn't think to respond for a moment, staring with one finger tugging at his lip and eyebrows raised with intrigue. It was only when Steve stepped back, shoulders dropping and shirt falling back into place over the perfect sliver of skin just above the waistband of his jeans that Tony turned abruptly back to the coffee maker, eyes still wide and fingers curled under his chin. Maybe he should stick his head in the fridge. It was just Raven leaving and all of these people in the Tower making him itchy all over, so inappropriate, he would get over it.
Belatedly, he remembered that Steve had asked him a question, and he cleared his throat to buy himself extra time to recall what it might have been. "Why do you think I was at breakfast?" he could confidently reply, more bitter than his greeting, like Steve shouldn't have been asking him such a foolishly inappropriate question, didn't he see how invasive that was? Keeping his attention rigidly on the achingly slow coffee, Tony straightened, brow furrowed in confusion at his own tone then pouting with determination. It was kind of invasive, in a way. Sort of.