Bruce aces his part of the test. And when a little knot of something hard and painful in his chest unravels, Tony realizes it’s because he didn’t know if he would. But he does, and that means he isn’t lying. He trusts him even when he doesn’t know if he’s going to turn into an insane, fangy monster and rip out his throat, and that means something. It means everything.

And Tony? The jury’s still out. Bruce’s skin feels like silk under his lips, and smells like something he’s never smelled before. It’s intoxicating and heady and he thinks that if he never smells anything else but this scent, he could die – again – happily. So he kisses him again, and parts his lips to lick the skin he’s just kissed. There’s no itch in his teeth, no uncontrollable urge to bite down. Third time’s the charm, and when even that doesn’t provoke a slavering beast, Tony lifts his head.

“I didn’t want to bite you. I mean, more than I ever do.” That still sounds wrong. “I mean, you know what I mean.” His eyes track back to his throat, but there’s no hunger on his face, just a kind of fascination. “I just… I think I know how cats feel.”