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Coulson looked up from his coffee to find Stark staring at him. This was a little off-putting because Stark was supposed to be safely confined to his workshop, and Coulson should have been alerted the moment that changed. He made a mental note to have words with the agent on duty, raised an eyebrow and said, "Is there a problem?"
"My brain," Stark said.
Coulson waited.
"The way it works is, I fill it up with ideas - well, not fill it up, it's too big for that, but you get the concept - and then I go do something else and let the ideas percolate until my brain goes 'ding!' and spits out something useful."
There was something fascinating about the way Stark illustrated nearly every word with a gesture.
"And you've cut off all but one of the things I usually do, so you're going to have to provide that if you want the 'ding!' and the useful stuff. I'm guessing you want the useful stuff. People usually do."
"The thing in question is?"
"Sex," Stark said, with a very loud, if unspoken, of course hovering at the end.
He really should have expected it. Coulson sighed. "I'm sure you'll find your right hand still works, Mr. Stark."
"That's not distracting," Stark said. "That's just taking care of a physical need. I need another person. At least one. More's usually better, but I'm guessing that's not going to happen here."
"Not even one person is going to happen here, Mr. Stark," Coulson said. "My agents are here to contain you, not distract you."
"You're not doing anything," Stark said.
Coulson knew enough about Stark that few things were unexpected. That, however, was unexptected. Coulson wasn't the sort of person who got propositioned by billionaire playboys. Not even very bored ones. "No," he said automatically.
"Oh, come on," Stark said, looking coquettishly up from under his eyelashes in a way that should have been ridiculous but somehow... wasn't. "You'd enjoy it. A hundred Playboy cover models can't be wrong."
"I'm not a Playboy cover model," Coulson said.
"And at least twenty Playgirl cover models."
"Only twenty?" Coulson asked, despite himself, and Stark shrugged.
"Most of them are straight. And extremely unadventurous." He grinned, a somewhat predatory expression. "You can't be unadventurous though." Coulson automatically leaned back a little to keep Stark in view as he walked towards him. "You work with superheroes. That's the definition of adventurous."
"I work with SHIELD," Coulson said mildly. "Only a small proportion of our resources are focused on 'superheroes'."
Stark was now close enough that his crotch was level with Coulson's eyes, and Coulson was going to get a crick in his neck from staring up at him.
"It's still more than most people," Stark said, and reached down for Coulson's mug. Coulson clung on grimly, even as Stark tried to peel his fingers off. Stark sighed, pushed Coulson's hand and mug to the side, and straddled his lap.
Stark was heavier than he looked, Coulson noted, and wondered how much of it was the arc reactor and how much was just unexpected muscle.
"If you want the 'ding!'," Stark was saying, "I've got to have some dong." He stopped and looked to the side, frowning. "Wow. I can't believe I said that." He looked back to Coulson. "In my defence, it sounded a lot better in my head."
"I imagine most things do, Mr. Stark."
Stark sighed. "Seriously. This isn't part of an escape plan - I've got a suit of armour in the basement that would let me blast out whenever I want. I just... I need something to distract me, okay?"
Coulson narrowed his eyes and looked up at Stark.
"Seriously. You can ask Pepper. Ask JARVIS. Hey, JARVIS, don't I work better after sex?"
"Don't answer that," Coulson said.
"I was merely intending to request a timescale on the 'after'," the artificial voice said. "Also, a definition of 'better' in this context."
"My own house is turning against me," Stark said. "That's the bad influence of all your agents cluttering up the place."
"If I have sex with you," Coulson said, "will it make you shut up?"
"Definitely not."
Coulson stood up, toppling Stark to the floor. "Let me rephrase that," he said, and rested one perfectly polished shoe on Stark's chest. "I will only have sex with you if you shut up."
Stark ran one hand over Coulson's ankle and, silently, raised an eyebrow.
It was the longest he'd kept his mouth shut since Coulson had met him.
It was still daylight when Coulson woke up in Stark's bed. He was aching, slightly sticky, and not at all surprised to discover he was alone. Hopefully, Stark was down in his workshop, putting his infuriating brain to some practical use.
He reached out for his communicator. "Report on Stark's status."
There was a long pause before an agent replied with, "He's... gone."
Fuck.