If Iron Man had ever truly lost a fight, Tony would be standing there to be manhandled, would he? Not one to trot out a tired phrase so he kept it to himself, but Tony had to wonder: did she even know who he was? Maybe that was the frustration talking after having his face shoved against the door and his shoulder wrenched painfully, the door handle leaving a door-handle shaped bruise on his hip. Frustration not from the pain, but that fucking familiarity that had all the mystery and consuming allure of deja fucking vu anymore. He needed to look her in the eye again. There was something in the way she said that...
He didn't have the balance pressed against the door, but he knew he had a few dozen pounds on her and he could have the leverage if he planned it right. He could feel her soft breast against his back and with the twisted arm behind him he could easily grab the front of her shirt to hold as he shoved back in the narrow hall of the room's entrance and slammed her into the wall in kind, planting his foot against the door to keep her locked despite the ache in his shoulder.