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“Mi-yons o peashes, peashes fo’ meeeee,” Peter sing-songed as Steve straightened from picking up the plushy he’d thrown on the grown once again at the grocery store. “Mi-yons o peashes, peashes fo’ fweeeeee.”
“Hungry for some fruit there bud? We’re almost at the produce aisle,” Steve told him enthusiastically as he handed back the blue puppy he cherished so. Peter actually wanting fruits and veggies would be nothing short of a miracle, so Steve would look like this was the best thing since sliced bread if he had to right now.
“No, Papa! I sings!”
“Ah,” Steve replied as he went back to comparing ingredients on name brand versus store brand Cheerios and keeping the fact that the prices were ludicrous to himself. “What song is it?”
“Dunno. Daddy sings it lots. ‘Specially when you’re picking things up.”
Steve froze for a second then turned beet red when he heard the woman he’d noticed enter the other end of the aisle at the same time as him walk by them at just that exact moment. Peter had already started a lengthy discussion were her pre-schooler – a deep conversation about who the best Mighty Pup was.
“Don’t worry too much,” the woman told him as she picked up a box of Golden Grahams from the shelf. “We had my partner’s boss over one day, and this guy ran out of our bedroom with some very skimpy bra tied around his head as a mask or something. They still have a job today and we can laugh about it.”
Steve chuckled as he placed the box of store brand Cheerios back on the shelf. “It’s one thing when he does it around our friends, but I’m still not used to the no-filter thing out in public.”
“I’m sure they’ll stop someday, right?” She pointed to the cereal and lowered her voice. “Pro tip? Keep that box after you’re done with it, and then buy the no name brand. They won’t complain as long as they recognize the box. That one tastes exactly the same. Doesn’t work on everything, but it does for those.”
“Thanks. Let’s see if I can fool my husband though.”
They departed from the cereal aisle before the kids’ conversation got too heated, Steve grabbing a few snacks in the chips aisle before they made their way to the produce section, but not before two more renditions of Peter’s less than appropriate lyrics.
“Does Daddy sing any other songs I should talk to him about?” Steve teased as he picked up some apples, eyeing the peaches on the other side of the aisle.
“Mmm… no. He sings lotsa songs, but no other fruit songs,” Peter answered solemnly, and Steve couldn’t help but smile and kiss the top of Peter’s hair.
“Well, since you two are obsessed with fruit, how about we try eating some, huh?” he told his son as he grabbed a few peaches and headed to the cash.
This would be a fun conversation with his husband tonight, no doubt.
“Honeybunches of awesome, I’m home,” Tony called as he walked in later that night.
“Kitchen,” Steve replied.
He’d just put Peter to bed and was cleaning up the kitchen after a hectic dinner. On nights when they were alone with him, Peter seemed to be infinitely clingier and harder to get to agree to anything. He was still too little to understand what his parents did and why sometimes they had to come home much later than his bedtime. His dads also hated being away from him.
Steve was wiping the last of the utensils when Tony’s arms snaked around his waist from behind, hands splayed against the skin of his stomach under his shirt. Steve couldn’t contain his smile at Tony’s lips and nose grazing along his neck. He never thought he’d crave the absolute domesticity of their life, but he loved every second of it.
“How was your day?” he finally asked, turning his head to place a kiss to Tony’s temple.
“Terrible. I hate people.”
“That bad, huh? Are we gonna have to have the retire and move to the cabin talk again or is this just usual levels of people hating?”
Tony grumbled a bit but didn’t say more, which Steve knew meant regular levels of general annoyances. And possibly an impromptu board meeting (with Pepper out of town, no less). He threw the dish towel on the counter and managed to turn around in Tony’s arms until he could wrap his own arms around him.
“Hungry?”
“It’s cute that you think I’ve learned self-preservation skills in the ten years we’ve been together. Let alone since yesterday.”
“I think the kiddo is rubbing off on you. Grumpy much?” Steve tilted his husband’s head to give him a kiss. “Hi.”
Tony laughed softly. “Hey yourself,” he replied before kissing Steve back.
Steve patted the counter besides him before extricating himself from Tony’s grip to reach the refrigerator. Tony hopped up to sit on the counter, picking up a bowl of cut up fruit that was by the sink.
“These yours?” he asked Steve as he popped a piece in his mouth.
“No, they were for Pete. Valiant effort. Epic fail.” Steve placed the leftovers he’d saved for Tony in the microwave then propped himself against the counter, looking back at Tony with a playful smirk.
“Why did you think he’d eat fruit? There’s a bigger chance of us failing against Loki than this kid eating fruit.”
“He’s the reason I bought peaches. Couldn’t shut up about them at the store.”
“He asked you to buy fruit?”
“No, more like humiliated me in aisle 5.”
“Were you taking forever to pick a box of Cheerios again? Just buy the name brand! It’s not like we can’t afford it,” Tony told him, a conversation they’d had at least once a week since they’d moved in together.
“It’s the principal of the thing, and you know it.” The microwave beeped and Steve poked and mixed and re-started it, making sure the food was warm enough for Tony’s liking. “But no, it had nothing to do with price gauging beliefs. I was picking up Fluffer Pup and he started singing a song about peaches. Made another parent in the aisle laugh quite a bit.”
Tony stopped chewing the fresh piece of peach he’d just popped into his mouth and just stared at his husband. He resumed chewing slowly, as if taking longer before answering would make Steve forget about the conversation altogether.
It really didn’t.
“Why was our kid singing a song clearly dedicated to my ass, Anthony?”
“I have no idea why I’d know about this,” Tony replied as innocently as he could muster.
“I doubt he decided to ask JARVIS to deviate from his usual Disney jams repertoire to find this.”
“I can assure you, Captain, I would not let Master Peter listen to music outside what we’ve convened without first verifying with you both,” JARVIS chimed in.
Steve just tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and gave Tony a little smirk.
“Hey, he knows the songs to Hamilton ‘cause you wouldn’t stop listening to the soundtrack!”
“Really? We’re going to compare Hamilton to Peaches?”
The microwave beeped again, and Steve took the plate out, grabbed the utensils and made his way to the table, leaving Tony to trail behind him. Which, he should have known would result in Tony humming along to the beginning of the song they were discussing.
“Ugh, seriously?” Steve asked with an exasperated laugh as he set Tony’s plate down, turning so his assets weren’t in view.
Tony closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck. “It’s not my fault! Your ass is perfect, okay? It makes me want to sing its praises. If I could write my own songs, there would be a whole album dedicated to America’s Ass.”
“God, please don’t.” Steve sighed.
“I just really like that ass, baby. Some Grade A peaches on ya.” Tony proved his point by letting his hands roam down so he could squeeze Steve’s ass.
“You are ridiculous.”
“But you love me anyways.”
“Damn right I do,” Steve leaned in for a kiss. “Now eat so I can go play with my favourite peaches.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Petey Pie of my heart,” Tony replied as he pushed a cart down the dairy aisle a few weeks later.
“Can we has milkshakes next time we go to the lake?” Peter asked as he made his beloved puppy dance around the cart handle.
Tony picked up the coffee creamer Steve liked, remembering Steve had said he couldn’t find it last time he was there, and some milk. “We can have milkshakes here too, you know. But sure, we can buy stuff to make them next time we go up. Weather should be nice enough soon.”
“Papa was singin’ something about milkshakes in backyards though. We don’t have a yard in New Yo’k. I don’t think we can have ‘em here,” Peter informed his dad, who was looking at him with his jaw hanging. Trying extremely hard not to let the words running through his brain come out, as a young couple next to him giggled.
“Pick up your own f’ing creamer, Rogers,” he muttered as he put back the item on the shelf, knowing full well he should have expected retaliation from his husband.