Maybe it was the height she had on him at that moment, instinctually compromising his equality in this conversation and leaving him in quite a vulnerable position when she could just leap over that couch and put her fist through his teeth if she didn't get her way, but Tony wasn't often so expertly railroaded into silence. His mouth even opened, only for his lips to press together again and roll under his teeth, chin tucking to his chest and eyebrows raised impatiently while Major Carol Danvers, United States Air Force, First Class Something or Other, Awarded for Bravery and Fantastic Jawline, clipped on.
"Are you going to sit? I feel like I'm being interrogated here," he finally got to add, one arm still draped along the back of the couch to flick just his finger out towards the couch that Danvers was treating as though she expected it to stop bulletfire. Or maybe just Tony getting too close to her finding out that she liked it. Deliberately, he sipped from his glass, remaining otherwise unmoved to press ahead with the meeting until he was sated and quite comfortable enough himself, which was a difficult thing to achieve with the Major looking so hawkish. He was determined to show that it was quite possible, no matter how uncomfortable she thought they needed to be, and eventually leaned forward to tap what looked like a simple glass coffee table before him to life. Within seconds, a scale model of the jet in question was projected from the center, shimmering as it gently rotated to display glimpses of what the projection was capable of like it was as overenthusiastic as Tony was when he was designing it; a halved parts display, hollow blueprints, selected components expanded with thorough notations to be perused. "Major," he invited again, hand fanned now towards the seat, obviously not about to continue until she was on his level.