fe_male | memeboxing

I always do. Why do you think I ran off without you?

[She tips her half-empty glass in his direction, indicating her beverage of choice and that combined with her social butterfly powers meant Angela was guaranteed a good time while Tony hobnobbed with the rest of the bigwigs. Granted, Angela's quite familiar with a few of them already through benefits at work or through connections with her father so chatting up a handful here and there wasn't really that difficult. Plus when you show up on Tony Stark's arm, there's always somebody who has a question or two for you.

Angela straightens up her drink, coming around to sip at it again, eyes on the current presenter on stage, an older blonde lady in a navy blue evening gown rambling on about engineers in need or something along the lines like that. Angela's already tuning her out.]

Will you honor us with a classic Stark speech tonight?

[ How rude. She gets a look for that but otherwise he buries his reaction behind his glass, taking a drink from it and then setting it back down to follow Angela's glance over towards the stage. He's met her before - she's nice, a little overly sincere for his tastes in terms of conversation, a little too good at staying on topic and making sure everyone at the gathering actually feels as though they're playing a moderately sized role in things, but he's simultaneously totally willing to acknowledge that there is a necessary spot for people just like her that needs to be filled, because some people need that kind of reassurance, and he's just happy to not be one of them. He is fully aware of when he is actually helping and when he is just throwing money at a problem and hoping other people will resolve it.

So it doesn't take more than a few moments of watching, catching a few words here and there, before he turns back to the table, and to Angela. ]

I just donated the equivalent of a technical college's annual sports budget for three consecutive years solely to ensure that I wouldn't have to get up and deliver a 'classic Stark speech'. [ Because some days you feel like it, and some days you just don't. ]

[Isn't that everyday for him? Still, Angela shrugs and sets her glass down on the table before crossing her arms across her chest. The topic of the event isn't really piquing her interest. Sure, there's computers and technology involved, but none of it is in her area. A little in aeronautical, some in robotics, even a dabble in weapons manufacturing. This is Tony's forte, not hers. She's here to look pretty, smile nice, and talk good. But that doesn't mean Angela doesn't have a trick or two up her sleeveless dress tonight.

She pouts at him, like she's surely disappointed in not hearing a Stark speech tonight, but the smile at the corners of her mouth give her act away.]

Too bad. I like your voice. I was hoping to hear it in surround sound.

[ More often than he'd like. Less often than the public image would imply. Tony Stark is the consummate extravert, but he needs an awful lot of alone time either way.

It's like there aren't even other people at the same table. They're just talking to each other, whispering side by side after he decides that sitting in his assigned seat is bullshit when he can move one seat over and be next to the person he actually came with. ]

I'll give you a private one later, if you're really itching for it. In private.

[The chair's empty anyway and whoever had their name on it hasn't shown their face at the table yet and probably won't for the rest of the night. Too slow, you blow. Early bird, yadda yadda yadda. Besides, it's easier for Angela to inch her foot over to Tony's ankle, toeing up the edge of his tuxedo pants leg, when he's sitting this close than when he's three more feet away.]

Don't promise things you'll get too drunk for.

[ As though Tony wouldn't have made the whole table play musical chairs until they were seated in an arrangement he himself preferred the most anyway. He resolutely pretends not to notice that foot sliding up his leg, although the twitch of a smile in the corner of his mouth would indicate something else entirely. ]

I'm actually very good at speeches while completely hammered. There's graphic proof. Whatever doesn't go into making a good speech turns into sheer enthusiasm.

[What are rules between the both of them? Just because there are charts, lists, and cards with numbers and names on them that tell them where to sit, stand, and breathe, doesn't meant either one of them are keen on listening. And she sees that twitch and is determined to make it grow by turning her foot just so so the stiletto heel of her shoe drags a trail along his leg.]

Your graphic proof could be Photoshopped. I want to see it with my own eyes.

[ Precisely. Charts and rules and lines and such are for other people. The drag gets her a direct glance, eyes a little darker but only noticeable by someone like herself, who happens to be around him often enough. He's still wearing a fairly good public face, but he's also very much not discouraging her. ]

Video, graphic. I'd need - well, I have it either way, I'm just saying it wouldn't be photoshop. I've not actually imbibed enough so far this evening to make such a memory for you. I can try though, if you want.

[Her facial is expression is neutral, almost bored looking, and damn, she's a great actress sometimes. No one would ever know Angela's playing footsie under the table with Tony at a charity event. Somewhere, it's morally wrong, but when she sees the darkening of those eyes, she really can't seem to give a damn. It's just encouragement, as if she needed any, to push her foot a little higher up his leg.]

Don't half ass it. I'd rather not if you're going to just "try".

[ For her, she's going to be able to tell as he gets a little more excited, jittery, antsy, with the path of her foot. Above the table, totally calm. Easy chatter, hardly interrupted. Below, trying to sit still, but also shifting just slightly to give her a better angle to work with, to allow her better access now that he's reasonably sure what she's doing, and that she's not likely to stop. ]

You want me to get wasted and then give a speech?

[Although his shifting should it easier for Angela to carry on her under-the-table shenanigans, it does nothing for her from this angle. Sitting alongside him isn't conducive to this at all and her foot can only go but so high. But that's okay. God made hands for a reason and she deftly drops an arm off the side of the table, looking nothing more like someone stretching their arm, and parks her hand on his thigh. There. Much better.]

Sure, why not? I'm sure it'll be much more riveting than hearing you drone on sober. Plus, the whole point of it would to see how long it would take for you to veer off subject.

[ Oh, okay, hands now. He stills a little more, a little more visibly, but he keeps talking anyway, with a turn to look over at her, eyes bright but dark despite himself. ]

I'm pretty sure I'll be more useful to you not drunk out of my mind, unless you just really enjoy taking advantage of me in lesser states. [ Picking up his wineglass. ] I'll do it just for you, babe.

[Fingers clasp gently against his thigh, gathering up the fabric of his tuxedo between them. She goes no higher nor lower; Angela is taking her own sweet time with whatever plan she hasn't fully decided on just yet.]

What a hero. [She rolls her eyes, clearly amused.] I really can take advantage of you anytime I feel like it. It's not like I have to booze you up to make you useful. [A pause to let the second meaning of what she just said sink in a little deeper.] For a speech. It's not rocket science, which I know you are capable of sober and intoxicated.

[ To which he studiously yet still shows no reaction. The woman on stage wraps up her speech, and applause begins - he claps a couple of times because auto-pilot, the announcer comes back on to begin introducing the next speaker. ] No but at least you let me pretend sometimes that I have rules. [ The applause for the next speaker coming on stage begins to roll higher, and he reaches out to finish the rest of his wine, gestures for a little more from whichever waiter passes by next. ] Actually sometimes I'm better at either after a little boozing.

[She doesn't applaud and no one really notices. It's a good thing.]

Yeah, sometimes I feel like being nice, sometimes I don't. Sometimes you feel like a nut...

[Is that a double entendre somewhere? Who knows with this woman now that her hand is slowly on the move north after she waves the waiter off from refilling her glass. Creeping, creeping.]

I'll be the judge of that, thank you.

[ It's not hard to feel through the thin fabric of the dress pants that his undergarments are starting to get a little confining with the movement and placement of her hands. ]

You're allowed to be the judge of that. In fact I think you have to be, given that I'll be prone to unfair bias. [ Ooh, look, more wine. Excellent. ]

[Well, that's just fantastic. Exactly the reaction Angela was going for. Time for her to skip ahead a few steps and inches and cup him through said pants, squeezing lightly. Her visual attention isn't on him, but on the male speaker now, the one with his arms waving around like one of those wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tubemen and saying something about a presentation.]

I'm always the judge. Jury and executioner too if we really want to lay it on the table.

[ Oh, see, actual sort of contact puts this on a whole new level. His face is more controlled now, easy smiles more practiced, and the grip he has on his cutlery - oh right, food - or glass seems to be oddly correlated to the pressure of her fingers. ]

I don't mind leaving it under the table for now. Do we need lawyers in the metaphor now?

[The center's lights dim suddenly, dark enough that everything becomes a shadow but the exit signs and any cell phone screens from somebody who isn't paying attention can still be seen. It's the perfect moment for Angela to make her move, something that would definitely give her away if anybody was watching, but in the dark, no one can see her tugging on his zipper.]

I wasn't aware you wanted to make this a group thing.

Metaphor. [ Oh, excellent - he'd not been paying enough attention to the speakers to realize that was the last one prior to the actual demonstration video. What fortunate timing, because then he doesn't have to work so hard to disguise the look on his face at the added pressure her pulling at his zipper from his angle is producing. ] Lawyers in the metaphor. This part is clearly for private consumption.

Too bad. I was hoping you were being literal. [Private consumption in a public arena. The math doesn't quite add up here, but it's probably a classic Tony Stark formula with a sum of Angela Montenegro. With his zipper down, she can easily slide between the fly of his pants and the outside of his boxer briefs, the heel of her hand pressing and rubbing.] There you go, ruining some of the fun already.

Who's ruining the fun? This is fun. I'm having a ball. [ That whole private vs. public and when is either one actually not the other eventually thing is something he's quite familiar with, in general. He's not too bothered one way or the other, beyond where there are thrills to be had in one direction and not so much vice versa. ] I mean, I guess we could go around the table, everybody's got a helping hand, it is a charity event after all.

Oh, I see, I see. So you want the chubby hands of Walden to help you out. Very giving of you, Tony. There's the philanthropist I know.

[Angela's one hundred percent sure Tony doesn't want Eric Walden, some pharmaceutical engineering rep who seems to be out of place here at the event and across from them at the table, with his hands on him. Especially replacing hers with the soft skin and the gentle touch that knows exactly how he likes it. Certainly, he's not going to trade her to untucking him from cage of his underpants for that guy.]

Mm, no, not particularly. I'd have to rearrange the table seating charts. [ There's no doubt he's a little free and liberated in his ideas about sex as a whole, but sometimes there's just a certain person you don't want to find near your own person. Eric Walden happens to be one of those people. Tony just gets vibes from the guy. Bad vibes. ] My philanthropy comes across in more subtle, broad strokes.

[ But no, he wouldn't have traded her for him at all. Not before she did that, and definitely not after, fully hard by this point and having a somewhat more difficult time stifling his reaction. As it is, he's got both hands on the table, they were trying to cut up food on the plate, idly moving just for the sake of it, but now they're still, sitting almost on the edge. ]

[Subtle, broad strokes, he says? Angela takes that as an instructional hint, setting a slow, wide pace with her hand. No fancy twist at the top, no generous gripping. Just a languid fondling from root to tip.]

I see. I guess I was mistaken on how you work. So what do you do? Just throw money at a problem and accept the accolades or do you actually put in some work sometimes?

[As if she really gives a shit. She just wants to keep him talking, moving, under her teasing touch like nothing is going on in the dark.]

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