There wasn't any single winner in this game, Tony did know that, but he barely stopped himself from sighing, "Yeah," because that would mean Pietro was winning. Maybe not at Seven Minutes in Heaven, but at something, and Tony wasn't that easy. Depending on the tabloid. Instead, he forced his fluttering eyes to open and frowned, deep breath, and moved his hands up just over Pietro's hips where he could press his thumbs to the defined cut of his muscles, holding him steady. "Actually, I think you missed a few steps," he said, because pedantry might have been the only move he had in a game with no real rules. "If you're going for an authentic experience, you know, get some real American flavour."