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Steve leans into the mirror, carefully pressing his false tooth into place with a dab of squishy denture paste and holding to secure it. After a moment, he releases and turns his head from side to side to check the effect.
“Are you ready yet?” Tony’s voice drifts in from the bedroom, followed by his head popping around the doorframe. “Ooh, rawr, sexy Dracula.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Stop that immediately, Tony.”
“That’s Major Stark to you, actually.”
He can’t help it; Steve’s eyes immediately flick to Tony’s shoulders to see if his green jacket bears the correct insignia. It does, and his spine straightens almost subconsciously.
“Only a Major?” He teases, half curious and half surprised. Tony would normally go for something more impressive - a five-star general even.
“Well, Fury heard I was going in uniform and pitched a fit, because he was a Colonel and apparently if I choose to outrank him then I’m taking my life in my own hands.”
“And you wisely chose not to.”
“Maybe I just like these little gold leaves better than some boring stars?”
“Uh huh.”
“Anyway,” Tony quickly averts the subject, “the sitter will be here around 7, so we have plenty of time to take Peter around the neighborhood and then get him settled back in before the party.”
“Oh, good,” Steve is excited about the party, sure, but if he’s being honest he’s been way more looking forward to taking their son trick or treating. “I’m sure she’s been thoroughly vetted and background checked?”
“I had Pepper run every check under the sun, and then Coulson ran a few that only our lovely government has access to.”
“Definitely not paranoid at all,” Steve smiles fondly.
“When you’re worth a couple billion dollars and met your husband while he was rescuing you from a kidnapper, you have the right to be paranoid.” Tony is frowning now, forehead creased by the little pout, and Steve kisses his brow.
“I know, I know, I’m only teasing.” He smiles. “Besides, we’ll have a large assortment of very dangerous people at the party tonight. I’d like to see any potential kidnapper get past a special ops director and his right hand lady, a former army Colonel, three highly trained spies, two foreign diplomats and their intimidating entourages, a handful of other army personnel, a tech genius with ridiculous security and his scary right hand lady.”
“Y’know out of everyone you just listed, I think I’d put my money on Pepper?”
“Her kickboxing routine is vicious,” Steve admits.
“Natasha is training her,” Tony elaborates. “You didn’t list yourself, by the way.”
“Oh, that’s a given,” Steve waves a hand dismissively. “I’d die for that little boy.”
He can see the love in Tony’s eyes at that statement, and he can actually feel the tightening in his chest through their bond. Instinctively, he reaches out to brush his fingers against the navy blue spiral peeking out from Tony’s collar, a mirror of the crimson one branded on Steve’s sternum.
Tony shivers. “Now it’s your turn to stop immediately.”
Steve pulls back. “You’re right. If I don’t stop now, we’re never going to the party, let alone trick or treating.”
As if summoned by the magic words, their son comes running excitedly into the bathroom. “Daddy! Papa!”
“Peter!” Tony chirps in response, catching the little whirlwind on his way in and hoisting him onto his hip. “Wow! Look at you!”
He giggles excitedly, clapping his pudgy little hands together. “Pider!”
“What?” Steve feigns confusion. “What are you?”
“Pider!” Peter declares proudly. “I’m a pider Daddy!”
“A spider?”
“Yeah!”
“Wow!” Steve smiles. “Did Auntie Nat help you pick that out?”
“Yeah!”
He glances at Tony. “And I guess Auntie Pepper made this costume for you?”
“No!” Peter looks offended. “I help Uncle Cosin make it!”
Blonde eyebrows arch in surprise. “Phil can sew?”
“Battlefield medic at heart, it would seem.” Tony grins. “So, Itsy-Bitsy-Spider, are you ready to go catch some sugar flies?”
“CANDY!” Peter bellows in the way that only excited three-year-olds can, squirming out of Tony’s grip and dropping to the floor. He runs out into the bedroom, human arms waving in the air and costume arms flapping at his sides as he spins in circles.
“Alright Major,” Steve grins, spinning his husband around. “Ahead, march.”
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The trick or treating is a massive success. Peter comes home with a bulging pillow case of sugary sweets (and a toothbrush from the dentist with a business card and mini-Twix attached) and for once he doesn’t fight when they try to put him to bed.
“Ninigh Papa,” he grabs Tony’s fingers and kisses them, and Steve can feel the swell of affection that bursts in Tony’s chest. He can tell it’s different from his own by the warm sensation in his soulmark, but he has to admit that he loves Peter just as much as Tony. It may have been a bizarre string of events that brought the three of them together, but every day he thanks whoever’s looking out up there for doing it.
He comes to sit on his other side, and Peter rolls over to grab his fingers and kiss them too. “Ninigh Daddy.”
“Goodnight, Peter.” Tony’s voice is soft, and when they both lean in to kiss his forehead Peter is already snoring gently. They carefully remove their fingers from his grip and rise from the racecar bed, heading into the hall and gently closing the door.
Tony leans back against the wall, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the sudden burst of love for his husband. “Come here, Major,” he murmurs, reaching out place a hand on his hip. “I think I’m…. thirsty.”
Tony can’t fight back the laugh that forces its way out at those words. Steve blushes furiously, and Tony feels the burn of embarrassment in his own chest. “No, babe, I’m sorry, that was -” he breaks off into giggles. “You tried.”
Steve laughs. “Shut up and kiss me before I bite you.”
“Oooh,” Tony purrs. “What a way to keep me talking.”
A soft chime sounds from above, and JARVIS pops over the intercom quietly. “The babysitter has arrived, Mr. Stark.”
They groan together, bumping foreheads.
“Thank you JARVIS,” Tony sighs, taking Steve by the hand and heading toward the living room. “We can finish this later. Time to greet the fresh meat and head out.”
“You don’t have to make it sound like we’re executing the poor girl.”
“Only if we need to.”
“Tony.”