"Don't remind me of that when I'm trying to drive us somewhere," he says with a low chuckle. "Unless you don't mind a slight delay."

A breath in and out.

"Though you're not wrong. I like you alive. And yes, pretty."

He reaches over a hand and settles it half on Tony's shoulder but also, somewhat, on Tony's throat. Around the side of his neck. Possessive. His, in languid, confident sort of way.