Iron Man, Tony/Rhodey, protect you from yourself (2/2)
Jim wakes up to the unpleasant and not-unfamiliar sound of Tony puking his guts out. He winces as he pushes himself out of the armchair, walking into the bathroom and digging the aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. He leaves two pills on the counter and goes out to the mini-bar, where he pours Tony a glass of Fiji water and brings that into the bathroom, too.
"Thanks," Tony says hoarsely. He's done throwing up now, and he swallows the pills dry, using the water to rinse his mouth out. He looks at Jim in the mirror. "Last night. Did I...?"
"You didn't go anywhere. Get out of that thing; you're not going anywhere now, either."
Tony nods and peels himself out of the bodysuit; Rhodey starts up the shower. Tony takes a few minutes to brush his teeth and rinse his mouth out again--this time with Listerine, which he doesn't spit out. Christ, the man's a lunatic; thirty-four-year-old Scotch on the minibar, and he swallows his goddamn mouthwash? After all that, he takes his shower. He comes out looking vaguely human, and Jim leans up against the wall, aching and stiff and jealous of the aspirin and the toothbrush and the shower. "I can't keep doing this, man," he mumbles. "I want to fucking sleep in a bed once in a while."
"Okay." Tony comes up--he hasn't bothered to put clothes on--and he wraps his hand around the back of Jim's neck. "So do it."
Jim pushes Tony away, but he's gentle as he does it. "That's not what I mean," he says softly. "I mean I want you to stop this. Don't make me act like your conscience, because that's a 168-hour-a-week job, and I've only got one life. There's not enough of me to go around."
"C'mere." Tony pushes past Jim's resistance and presses his body up against Jim's--easy contact, light pressure, gradually getting closer and closer until Jim can feel the outline of that fucking battery in Tony's chest. It's not the only thing he can feel, either, and Jim sucks in a breath. It's too early in the morning for that; his body hasn't shaken off the lack of sleep and the typical morning wood.
And you've never been immune to Tony Stark. Don't leave that out while you're making your excuses.
"I don't want you to be my conscience," Tony murmurs, "because then we'd never do things like this."
Tony tastes like Listerine, a little bit of mint, a little bit of alcohol. Jim kisses him anyway, wraps his arms around Tony's waist. Tony's right; Jim should be backing him off, saying no.