When Tony suggested you 'show him what you've got'—with that smug look on his considerably punchable face—and go a few rounds with him in the compound training room, he didn't expect to lose.

Something something, ego, something something, underestimating one's opponent.

He hits the ground with an oomph, and a foot is on his chest, right under the arc reactor, to keep him there.

This is what he gets for trying to show up a trained former assassin.

He lays splayed and defeated on the mat, your foot a not entirely unwelcome weight.

Despite this not being entirely what he expected to result from the sparring match he himself had initiated, he tries not to get too annoyed.

"Not bad."

Tony comments, more than a little winded; looking up at you.

Not bad? That's an understatement.

A bit of a blow to his pride, actually.

You hum, flashing him a flirty, dangerous smile. The kind that would have wolves backing up with their tails tucked.

"Mm, you make it too easy for me."

You quip, moving your foot and holding out a hand to help him up.

"Too easy for you?"

Despite being knocked on his ass, and now accepting your help in being hauled to his feet, he still manages to sound arrogant, scoffing the words with a raised brow.

As soon he's on his feet, he straightens out his shirt with a smirk on his face.

"You just got lucky."