Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Specifically, this story contains references to underaged drinking and sexual activity between a minor and an adult. There's also a lot of references to less than stellar care for a child. I would classify it as implied verbal and emotional abuse with heavy possibility of physical abuse from at least one caregiver. Please exercise understanding of personal sensitivities before and while reading.

Summary: James Rhodes had only intended to get drunk & forget about things for a while. Tony, just being Tony, changed everything. That was just how Tony was & James really wouldn't have him any other way.

Author's Note (Words of Interest): Jizz (as related to birding) is the indefinable quality of a particular species, garnered from things like its shape, posture, flying style, or physical characteristics combined with habitat and location. Iron is Air Force slang for bombs & missiles. Also Air Force slang (very briefly & only roughly): pigeon (member of the Air Force); the Zoo (Air Force Academy); conehead (Zoo student); zoomie (graduate of the Zoo); barn (hanger); sprog (pilot in training).

Author's Note(s): I just want to be clear about that from the beginning: this is a bromance fic. There's moments when the potential for the relationship to be something else comes up. This is not intended as ship-bait but is a natural consequence of what is going on with both Tony and Rhodey. There's a lot of factors that go into both why they don't and why they wonder about it. If you've never had a relationship where the normal boundaries are skewed beyond recognition, it's going to seem more than a bit like the setup for a slow burn. It's not. Of course, it's also not quite just friendship or even familial either, but it is definitely not romance. So, go into this fic understanding that some relationships defy classification and are simply vital.

Song Recommendation(s): "Breakdown" by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

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Iron Jizz
Chapter 01: Fledgling
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"Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance."
– Rabindranath Tagore
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James Rhodes had exactly one reason to be there that night when he really should have been studying for midterms or working his thesis. Maybe a frat party with its cheap beer and loose girls wasn't the best way to deal with a breakup, but he had to be sure, right? For science, he had to test the parameters and… oh, who did he think he was fooling? He just wanted to get smashed and find someone who was distinctly not the kind of girl that one took home to Mama—especially not his Mama, who was going to be disappointed enough to find out that Erika had decided that they were over.

She hadn't liked Erika, exactly. What she had liked was the concept of grandchildren to spoil rotten and to maybe fill some of the hole should he get shot down while flying over hot zones around the world. Now that possibility was distinctly gone. There was not any way of salvaging a relationship there. He did admire Erika's efficiency in destroying it. Declaring a pending marriage to another guy out of the blue after two years of dating had to be the romantic equivalent of a nuke.

Ugh. Maybe Mama had a good reason not to like her.

James was coasting on the pleasant side of buzzed when he stumbled into a bathroom for a piss only to find it already occupied. He would have stumbled back out—the party was crowded but there had to be another bathroom, one without a person scribbling on the mirror with a marker—but he made the mistake of looking at the equations the kid was writing out. A fraction of a second later, he realized that said kid had practically been marinated in alcohol for all that his handwriting was perfectly legible, a perfect font with crisp edges and no blending between letters. It was the font that gave away what had to be the kid's major. Only architects and engineers had that precision in their handwriting, and frankly, people didn't get into college at what had to be a rather stunty sixteen on the outside for architectural design.

"Aren't you a little short for a college student?"

"Just piss and piss off," the kid snapped without looking at him. He shifted his perch on the counter to reach a blank portion of mirror. His gaze was focused both intensely and completely on whatever he was seeing in his head and regurgitating through the dry-erase marker in his hand. James got lost for a moment in the hypnotic sight of the kid's reflected face, barely noting the puffy bruises beneath his eyes.

Since obviously the kid didn't mind, James took him up on the first part without protesting. It was his reason for being in the room in the first place, after all. After flushing, it took barely a nudge to encourage the teen to shift away from the sink so that he could wash his hands. James lingered afterwards, checking over the equations with growing awe. If he was reading it right, the equations were actually procedural coding of some sort.

"Holy fuck," he cursed as the implications hit him. That was a learning algorithm, one that should be able to learn indefinitely without procedural decay even with a limiter on subject focus. The kid was looking at him now, his brown eyes squinting suspiciously. James pointed at the mirror while holding eye contact. Something that sounded like his Mama's voice told him that it was important that the kid believed what he was about to say. "That's fucking beautiful, man."

"You're not just saying that," the kid replied, drawing out the words with a hesitant uncertainty, "are you?"

"I don't know what kind of assholes you usually hang out with, but no, I'm not 'just saying that'. For fuck's sake, you may have the solution to all of the ontology issues and you're drunker than a skunk at a party hosted by Nu Delta. I'm watching the less-kinky conception of a lifeform in the bathroom of a jock frat, man. Do you understand how beautiful this moment is? If I ever seen my fucking ex, I'm gonna thank her for fucking me over enough that I came to this party in the first place."

"I could make it more kinky if you really want," the kid offered like it was nothing. That ease bothered James, even through the buzz. Having gotten a better look at him now, James would have to say that his previous estimate of sixteen was generous. James knew that teenagers were just as capable of having sex as adults, but they usually did it with other teenagers, which there was a distinct lack of on campus. The kid really shouldn't be so ready to jump into bed with people in their twenties. Something of his discomfort must have shown on his face because the kid huffed out a breath before rushing out more words than James had known could be said in a single breath.

"Or not, if that's your thing. Whatever. No skin off my nose. You just seemed disappointed about the lack of kink involved in the situation, so I thought I'd offer to rectify that. If you don't wanna, I'm not gonna force you, so you don't have to look so worried about it. Though you should know that appreciation for decent language skills is definitely my kink and it may be the foul-tasting rotgut the Delts are handing out, but you definitely look like you shouldn't be alone. This ex of yours? Is she fucking blind? You've definitely got a Hottie McHottie thing going for you plus you speak English. I'd fuck you in a New York minute if you were into that, which you probably aren't. Say, which branch are you headed into? I'm guessing either Air Force or Navy, judging by your recognition of behavioral procedures."

"I have a commission with the Air Force—and of course I speak English. I'm from Philly."

"A pigeon," the kid replied without missing a beat. Then he flashed a grin that was full of teeth. It reminded James of an animal snarling out a warning despite its apparent geniality. "Been to the Zoo yet? Or you still a conehead?"

"Technically, I'm a full zoomie, since we're using the slang like idiots. I'm here to finish my Master's in Aeronautics, then I get to go back to my barn. You're a military brat, I'm guessing?"

"You don't know who I am?"

"A mouthy brat with an incredibly large ego stuffed into a pint-size package?" James countered without thinking. They both froze, staring at each other. Even as he could hear his Mama berating his rudeness, James could practically watch as the kid's mind whirled with increasing speed. It was as fascinating as the coding equations on the mirror behind him. The grin grew toothier, still sharp but less defensive, a warning more than a threat.

"I'm not pint-size. I'm compact. That's how the newer models come, sourpatch."

"Pocket size for convenience?"

"You!" The kid emphasized the accusation by pointing his marker at James. His grin had turned into something between a smirk and a smile. He wobbled from the force of the gesture, reminding James of just how drunk the kid had to be despite the lack of slurred words. That was just as worrisome as the easy proposition, speaking of too much practice for any kid to have. "Not everyone can be some gigantic mass of muscle, you know. Some of us have better things to do than compete with the Empire State Building for height."

"Like breaking the known limits of science," James commented drily. He ruffled the kid's hair like he would one of his younger siblings. The kid froze at the touch before ducking away just like his siblings would have. The smile had a shy edge to it now, like it had been born from that initial uncertainty. James had a feeling that the kid didn't smile like that very often.

"Yep," the kid agreed instantly, making the word pop. He flicked the fingers of his free hand at James before pointing the marker to the door. He was already turning back towards the mirror, the softened smile starting to fade like he didn't have the energy to sustain it and keep going at the same time. James wanted to punch whoever had taught the kid that he wasn't allowed to be genuinely happy for longer than a moment. "So you best leave me to it, sweetpea. Gotta do this thing. Science waits for no man."

James watched the kid fold into himself as he forced himself to return to working. His mind did a quick turn and jump through everything he had seen since entering the room and spotting the kid. It was the same thing that made him such a good pilot while other sprogs had washed out and he knew better than to fight the conclusion he made. Whoever the kid was, there was no way that James was leaving him here alone. He was obviously vulnerable and the next person to stumble across him might be unscrupulous enough to take advantage of that.

"Uh-huh, yeah, no," he declared. The kid looked over his shoulder at him, confusion stamped on his handsome features. "I'm not exactly a genius, but I'm pretty sure that sciencing drunk and sleep deprived is probably a recipe for disaster. That's how B-Grade science fiction gets its plots, man. So, I'm gonna go grab a notebook from one of the Delts, and we'll copy the coding for your bouncing baby boy. Then I'm dragging your ass out of here and putting you to bed somewhere."

"Aw, you do want to take me to bed! You know you could have just said so, honeybunch."

"Don't look so excited. I have no plans to fuck you."

"Bor-ing."

"What-ever," James replied, echoing the kid's sentiment from earlier. Sensing resistance, he changed tactics. "Look, you said I shouldn't be alone and I may not be a genius, but you are, right? I'd be a complete idiot if I didn't listen to an actual fucking genius, even if he's apparently an idiot sometimes. So I need to split and I need someone to keep me company. You aren't gonna let me be all alone and shit, are you? On the very night that my girlfriend broke up with me because she's marrying another guy? That's just cold, man."

"That's just wrong—I didn't know what your ex did. I wouldn't—that's not what I was— Wait a minute. Are you—? You are. You're manipulating me, you absolute platypus. That's—that's diabolical. I'm a poor impressionable child, defenseless and alone in the world. What kind of evil bastard are you that you'd lure a kid to your den of intrigue?"

"Second Lieutenant James Rhodes, at your service," he answered, grinning at the kid's sputtering. His posture automatically straightened as he used his full title but he managed to refrain from saluting. "And I get the feeling that you're about as defenseless as an iron."

"Well, good ol' Dad always did say that Starks were made of iron, so you may be on to something there, Rhodey-bear."

"I'm doomed to a lifetime of nicknames, aren't I?"

"Yep," the kid said, popping the end of the word again. He was grinning like he was going to burst into sparks of light. James just shook his head and ruffled the kid's hair again. The kid responded by tapping the marker against his nose. "You promised me a notebook. No fondling the Tony with no plans to follow through if you're not gonna keep your promises."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," James agreed, throwing his hands up in the air in surrender to the craziness he had just invited into his life. "I'll get you the damn notebook. Be here when I get back, and completely unfondled, if you don't mind. I'm really not in the mood to punch one of these drunken idiots."

"Would you really punch someone to defend, what, my virtue? My honor?" Tony shook his head. Then he became deeply interested in his knees. His next words were soft and fragile around the edges. "That's ridiculous, and like, totally not worth it. I don't have either."

"Hey, look at me," James commanded. He reached out to cup Tony's cheek, using the pressure to tilt his chin back upwards. Once Tony met his eyes again, he spoke with stubborn conviction. "In your defense, I would punch out Captain America himself. You know why? Because anyone who honestly believes that 'platypus' is an insult is fucking worth it, and guess what? You're the only idiot who thinks it is, which makes you one of a kind."

"Captain America? Really?"

"In a New York minute."

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To Be Continued in Chapter 2
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