This reaction went against all of the centuries' worth of magic and mystery of the mistletoe, and Tony fully committed to the only proper level of deep wounding. Jaw slack in surprise, brow knit with his pain while he rubbed his ribs with the mistletoe jerked away and palmed, he countered defensively, "That's because he's been over there playing with the dog." The act was completely gone by the time he finished speaking, flicking the sprout out again to wiggle it and ask with a self-satisfied grin, "Good trick, though, right?"
Before Pepper could abuse him again, his stocking was pushed aside to spill out over the couch cushion and Tony was bouncing across the room, bells on his reindeer ears jingling joyfully and the belt of his robe trailing in his enthusiasm, making Socrates bark and bound after it. In moments, he was draped in Happy's lap twirling his volatile holiday rubric. "Mistletoe?"
This time he wasn't so confident. Tony looked closer to a rat flirting with a trap, knowing the consequences but intoxicated by the faint possibility of success.