It's Avengers fic, and reasonably short at 2370 words, but it has a dry charm about it. Tony, hungover, is trying to make sense of the night before, with Bruce's long-suffering help. It's labeled Tony/Bruce but it's only slash if you squint; sure, Tony talks about sex with Bruce but it's just Tony running off at the mouth.
It's also quite funny. A sample:
Bruce is a blurry, purple-ish shape, closer than Tony's expecting. He's pulled one of the expensive chairs over to the side of his bed, and really any night where someone has to make sure you don't die in your sleep is probably one that didn't go well for you. He's also holding a steaming mug, and peering at Tony over the top of his glasses. He doesn't look as though he spent the night drinking suspicious liquids and making bad decisions, because Bruce is the designated driver. He does look like he spent the night rolling around on the floor, but he always looks a little bit like that. Even when there's no danger of Hulk his clothes always look as if they're on the verge of falling off of him, in a dejected sort of way. Bruce is like an unhappy clothes horse. Which is a shame because Tony thinks Bruce would look good in clothes which hadn't already lost the will to live.
If that whet your appetite at all, go read. Beware of Dragons, by entangled_now