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James Rhodes is not a cuddler. Or, rather, he wasn’t. That was before he met Tony Stark, and like most of James’s convictions - including being called James - Tony broke right through all of them.
“Rhodey, come cuddle me,” Tony whines from the couch, Rhodey’s hoodie sleeves trailing down his fingertips and hiding his hands completely. He’s a whining child, and Rhodey shouldn’t encourage that behavior, but he smiles anyway, picks Tony up off the couch anyway, hauls the other boy into his lap anyway. Tony’s last exam of the semester this morning, and Rhodey’s was this afternoon, so they’re free for the summer, cut free of the MIT drag.
“Alright, I’m cuddling you. What do you want?” Rhodey asks, settling Tony more comfortably in his lap. Tony hums indecisively, taking his chin between his finger and thumb in a faux thinker pose before apparently reaching a conclusion.
“Let’s watch a movie,” he suggests, nodding decisively. Rhodey hums back, following his pattern, but raises a question.
“What movie?” he challenges, jostling Tony a little, and Tony groans, slumping against him in overdramatized defeat. Rhodey chuckles, just a little bit, and Tony moves up just enough to glare at him a little; he tucks him back down and the other boy sighs.
“I chose what we’re doing, you choose,” Tony insists, whining. Rhodey capulates, but not entirely.
“Something animated,” he says, providing one thing, but not choosing entirely just to rile Tony up. He has to hold his laughter (even though he knows Tony can feel his chest shaking) when Tony groans once again. He’s just so easy.
“Ugh, choose one thing, not a category,” Tony huffs, pressing against Rhodey’s chest. James grins, fondness blooming in his chest. He loves Tony so goddamn much; he’s the best friend he’s ever had in his life, sure, but there’s something else and he knows it. Even if he doesn’t always wanna deal with it.
“I narrowed it down to animated. You choose,” Rhodey says, teasing. Tony purses his lips, looking everyday like he was raised by Roberta Rhodes’s ornery ass, not Rhodey. He shakes Tony a little, shakes out the answers. The other boy rolls his eyes, but he also laughs, which was really the goal, and he does settle down and think for a second. Rhodey can tell when he makes his decision, because that’s when he gets a little insecure about it; it must be one of Tony’s comfort things. It breaks Rhodey’s fucking heart when he gets insecure about needing things, but it also makes him wanna resurrect Howard Stark just to beat the motherfuck out of him. Anyway.
“Aristocats, I guess. If you want,” Tony says, looking down at the floor. It’s Tony’s favorite, Rhodey knows, and the nervous picking at the bottom of his hoodie (it’s Rhodey’s hoodie, but it’s not been Rhodey’s hoodie for months, and it’s never gonna be his again, probably), and between the hoodie and the movie, Tony must have been hit harder by finals than he guessed. He had three written finals this semester, which always hit him harder than the ones that are just tests he can breeze right through, so he nods. Tony smiles at him and gets up to put the VHS in the player, not even having to wind it back up because somebody - definitely Rhodey, because Tony always forgets - remembered to wind it back up last time.
This movie is a fever dream, but Tony loves it, so James’ll watch it. He likes that Tony is in his lap more than anything, tucked against Rhodey’s chest where Rhodey can run his hand down his back and play with his hair and make sure that he’s okay. As much as Rhodey isn’t the cuddling, caretaking kind - wasn’t - he is now. Tony has made him into something he wasn’t, and he doesn’t mind him so much. Call him Thomas O’Malley, without all the kittens. Even if Tony does wanna act like a baby sometimes. Twenty minutes or so into the movie, Tony pipes up with something.
“I want a dog like Lafayette. A stupid lil fat, long boy. With the long ears. A good boy,” Tony says fondly, looking at the basset hound on screen. Napoleon and Lafayette are the hunting dogs in Aristocats, the only dogs in Aristocats as far as Rhodey knows - he’s been paying more attention to the puddle of cute boy in his lap, sue him - but at least he can identify a fairly typical dog off of sight.
“You want a basset hound? Because of the Aristocats?” James asks, just a bit of teasing making his way into his tone, and Tony purses his lips.
“Yeah.” His tone is a teensy bit defensive, like he’s already expecting to be made fun of relentlessly for this, so James buckles beneath the feather fingered pressure.
“Then we’ll get a basset hound,” James agrees, because how could he disagree when Tony wants a basset hound, and he’s the easiest person to please that James has ever met? He’s always wanted a dog anyway, and he’s not picky about breeds. Tony makes a tiny noise, and James looks down at him with an eyebrow raised, asking silently.
“We?” Tony says, looking up at James with those big brown eyes, so disbelieving and yet so obviously desperate to believe that someone wants to stay. James gathers Tony closer against his chest, tucks the other boy against his shoulder, and nods. He doesn’t say all of the sappy shit that he should, he’s not gonna be communicative or do things in any of the things he knows that he’s supposed to do, but one day, he’s gonna get a basset hound with Tony Stark, and knowing that is enough.
“Yeah, Tony. We,” he says, and he kisses the top of Tony’s head for good measure, and that’s enough for now. Later, he’ll kiss Tony for real, and Tony will kiss him back, and then he’ll freak out and they’ll have to have that talk about being more than friends, but that’s for later. For now, they’ll finish Aristocats, and then he’ll carry Tony to bed, and that’ll be enough.