Iron Man, Rhodey/Nick Fury, badass
Not a whole lot of guys intimidate James Rhodes. It's not that he's particularly badass himself (although he likes to think he can hold his own): it's that after years of dealing with Tony Stark, he's learned that no matter how smart someone is, how rich, how built, how good in bed, he's going to have his flaws. There's always something.
He hasn't figured out Nick Fury yet. He's starting to think he won't. That's intimidating.
He's sparred with Fury, though not often. He's pretty sure Fury went to the mat with him just so Rhodey wouldn't think Fury was a figurehead. Sure, he's got the shaved head and the goatee and the presence that takes up an entire room, but can he put his money where his mouth is?
He can put Rhodey flat on his back five falls out of six. That's money in the bank.
He's a good shot, too. That surprises Rhodey some; he'd have expected the eyepatch to screw with things a little. Maybe there's some kind of technology built into the eyepatch that compensates for lost depth perception; Rhodey's seen weirder things. But shooting's like a natural part of his motions, not something he does to show off or prove himself. Most firearms aren't sexy to Rhodey anymore, not any more than a hammer or a level. It's not the gun, not really. It's Fury.
Rhodey comes home from work one night--the work he's supposed to be doing, not the cloak-and-dagger stuff he's been doing with S.H.I.E.L.D.--and he's not surprised to find Fury sitting in his living room. He's a little pissed off at himself--he should've known someone was here, should've come into the living room ready to fight; it wouldn't be the first time someone's forced entry--but he tries not to show it. He nods. "Sergeant Fury."
Fury stands up, and it's like the air in the room rushes out of his way. Rhodey holds his ground, waits for it.
He's not surprised when Fury kisses him.
They do it standing up, Rhodey's back to the wall, layers of clothing shoved off shoulders and down hips so Fury can get his hand around both their dicks. Rhodey doesn't beg, won't beg, won't let himself do that for anyone ever again, but he clutches at Fury's shoulders and growls out, "c'mon, man, come on," and they both know it's not an order.
Fury lets go of his own dick to focus on Rhodey's, and he licks the side of Rhodey's neck while he twists his hand, twists just right, perfect, like that, yeah, fuck, c'mon, hell goddamn yes--
He can barely get his eyes open once it's over, but when he does, Fury's smirking down at him. He pins Rhodey to the wall even harder and rubs up, dick sliding up against Rhodey's hip. It should be awkward, but somehow it isn't. Somehow, even with clothes half-off and Rhodey just about collapsed between Fury and the wall, it's like Fury's got him right where he wants him.
The sound Fury makes when he comes is almost enough to get Rhodey hard all over again, but not quite. Not quite. He stays resting against the wall when Fury pulls away, letting Rhodey catch his breath. Fury gets dressed and nods, and if it weren't for the fact that the man smells like sex and sweat and leather, nobody'd ever know what just happened.
He's gone in seconds, and Rhodey lets himself slip to the floor. Whatever the hell that was, he doesn't think it was a one-time deal.