Tony didn't agree -- the universe owed him nothing. He didn't do what he did for attention or thanks -- he did it because it was right, because things had to be fixed and one compared to trillions was nothing. Steve might not completely agree, but he understood. That was enough.
"You know me. The dial's got to be turned to eleven or else I'm not happy," he said, just as wry. He loved this about Steve: he was more sarcastic than most gave him credit for, funnier than most people could imagine. And always at the best times. Even if the best times were the worst times. Which was how Tony liked it.
He nosed against Steve's pecs -- wonderful things, Steve's muscles, Tony wouldn't lie. "But somewhere the work is done. Sorry. You're mine, no take backs from Simon."