The problem with this game, and it was always one Tony happily played, his eye shamelessly following that movement from start to finish like he might shiver if it went on a second longer, was that it was difficult to pinpoint if she wanted him or just wanted something from him. Tony, his tongue pressed behind his teeth as he smiled, wouldn't say if at all, and didn't have a problem accepting it was always a muddle of both. He was difficult to resist, after all, and it wasn't all because he was so finely crafted from birth; he had a lot that people wanted. That was exactly how he liked it.
She leaned in and he relaxed back with a sigh, tucking into the curved wing of his seat, splayed like she was more than welcome to follow into his lap. "I don't build bombs to blow up anyone's babies anymore, sweetheart," he explained. "You can't appeal to the war monger, he's dead. You could dance with me, though." It was innocently offered, but followed by a boyish grin. She couldn't possibly have expected that to work. Tony didn't like words like inevitable, it made it sound like Tony couldn't do anything about it.