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Tony Stark, as was his way, was getting steadily more drunk as the evening went on. He was flitting, distracted, drink to drink and girl to girl, unable to stay on more than one for more than a few minutes. Colonel James Rhodes watched on with amusement over the shoulder of the defence secretary, who was currently boring him half to death; he came to one of Stark's parties to relax, and more importantly to flirt, rather than chat work and politics with someone who didn't even know the meaning of the word 'party'. He nabbed a passing waitress and helped himself to another drink, only his third (whereas Stark must have been on at least his twelfth), in the hope of making the conversation move faster.
Tony could barely see. The gaggle of girls who had gathered around him all laughed in unison at something he had said – or maybe they were laughing at him, although it hardly mattered by this point – and one put her hand on his arm. He looked at her, not seeing her, some blonde bimbo who was probably hired to be there. It didn't stop his hand from skirting her exceptionally-high hemline. He caught Rhodey looking at him, over the top of his champagne flute, and something in his cold heart warmed.
Rhodes could see his eyes glaze even across the room; he rapidly excused himself from the ever-dull conversation with the secretary and crossed the room with a practised speed. He slipped through the crowd of girls which always surrounded Tony and inserted himself beneath the man's arm, his shoulder the only thing propping Stark up.
“C'mon, that's enough.” Rhodes said, more for the benefit of the girls than for Stark, who probably didn't even hear him above his stupor. The girls whined and complained but eventually dispersed, leaving him, as always, holding his best friend up against the world. His dead weight, for such a small man, was incredible. “Tony, you in there?” He tried to lock eyes with Stark but he was too busy watching the girls leave. “Tony.” He gave the man an unwelcome shake and Stark's eyes cleared, focusing on Rhodes' face.
“Sorry, I was -”
“Yeah yeah, I know what you were doing. C'mon,” He tried to take a step, with Tony's full weight on him, but the man was rooted and his effort was fruitless, “You're drunk.”
“Redundant statement.” Tony said, leaning against Rhodes but not allowing the man to walk away with him. He put one hand around Rhodes' waist, holding on as if the colonel were stopping him falling from the surface of the Earth, and wrapped the other across him to rest on his shoulder.
“Tony...” Rhodes' tone was tired as he rolled his eyes, catching the defence secretary staring at the display of affection. He tried pulling Tony's arm off of him but it just snapped back up, like a reflex action that neither of them could control.
“Dance with me.” Stark mumbled into Rhodes' neck. Rhodes pushed Stark up to standing and the man swayed with the minimal support now offered.
“If it'll make you happy.” He shrugged, and Tony grinned, “But not now.” He hissed, catching the eyes of the crowd that was beginning to gather around them. This was the last thing his career needed.
*
The benefits of Tony Stark buying up a whole hotel for one party was that everyone had somewhere to go at the end of the night, and everyone had someone to go with, so the dance floor cleared quickly after the first few people were daring enough to leave. Everyone said their goodbyes to Tony, some offered him a bed for the night whilst others looked at him wistfully and wished that they could, and Rhodes shook hands cordially with everyone he had been speaking to. When the last of the guests had said goodbye and handed their empty glasses back to the waitresses, Rhodes scanned the room. It wasn't hard to find Stark, slumped in one of the corners of the more-than-generous reception hall, his suit creased and tie lost to the ages. Rhodes crossed the hall and stood over him.
“Should I help you up?” He offered Stark a hand and he took it, climbing up Rhodes' arm to grab onto his shoulder. A weaker man than Rhodes would have buckled under the force and weight; he grit his teeth and widened his stance, putting a hand around Tony's waist. “Time for bed, Iron Man.”
“No.” Tony firmly planted himself on the floor, causing the colonel to stumble as he tried to lead him away. “You,” He put an accusing finger on Rhodes' chest, “Owe me a dance.”
Rhodes sighed and looked to the ceiling, praying that God would make Tony suddenly discount his debt. When no one answered he looked back at Tony, dark brown eyes staring him down with painful simplicity, his face the face of a man who was not joking but not pleading, either. He turned to face the man, putting his other hand around Stark's slim waist. Tony grinned his trademark grin, placing heavy arms on either of Rhodes' shoulders, fingers lacing behind his neck.
“This is silly.” Rhodes remarked, as they swayed in time to a melody only they could hear. “Why would you want to dance with me?”
“It occurred to me we never had.” Tony shrugged, never once breaking eye-contact with a burning intensity that might have made a lesser man than the colonel blush. “And it would be really rude, like, really rude, not to dance with every one of your guests at your party.”
“I'm not some...” The colonel faltered, unable to find the word he was looking for. Luckily for him Tony Stark had no shame.
“Some hooker?” He said, cocking his head and hazy eyes refocusing as the colonel dared himself not to look away, not to bend to the Stark charm offensive. “I know. I know.”
He wrapped his arms tightly around Rhodey, burying his head in his shoulder. Rhodes held him back tighter, acting on instinct, acting, uncharacteristically, without thinking. They stood, silhouetted against the house-lights which were now flickering into life, together inseparably yet so far apart that it hurt.
“This could be a problem.” Rhodes said, matter-of-factly, as if he were detailing a tactical team to an attack. He could not deny that underneath the whiskey and the cigars and the expensive cologne, Tony smelt good to him.
“Not right now, it's not.”