Stooping to a matching immaturity made it harder for Tony to control that smile, so he let it be a sunny one like he was accepting the accusation as a compliment. Watching York cut himself off, and the slightly distant then frustrated look was innately familiar, but not in a way that Tony could easily recognize in a mirror, leaving him looking quizzical, trying to place it. He couldn't see that his focus landed on a similar middle distance as he scanned through his own databank of images to make a connection.

He didn't try to stop York, releasing the bottle easily with only slightly raised eyebrows for the aggression, letting him drop his hand onto his popped hip. Which one of them was reading the oblique name probably wouldn't make much difference. "It's anesthetic. Us fleshbags can't put in the bodywork without some foreplay," he answered.