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Tony sat on the couch, legs up on the chaise portion, as he took great pleasure in a new favourite Saturday afternoon activity: sorting through piles of single socks to find matches.
Retirement sure could change a man.
As he compared three different black socks in an attempt to determine if they went together or not – was that one more faded, or possibly longer than the other two maybe – he heard Steve make his way into the living room.
“I’m about to pack these three socks together. A sock threesome sounds fun, no?” he asked his husband without looking up.
Steve didn’t give much by way of an answer, just a half-hum half-groan situation that could mean a number of things. He did crawl his way onto the chaise and up Tony’s body before collapsing (gently) against him with a sigh.
“Seriously though, how do we have so many single socks? I could swear we always throw in pairs and it’s a crapshoot what comes out. And then three months later, socks magically reappear after I’ve ordered new packs of them.”
Steve squeezed Tony a little harder and laughed. “Obviously our washer can’t digest whichever socks it decides to eat and gets excited when you buy new ones, and then rejects the old ones in a vicious cycle of sock indigestion.”
“That’s the most plausible explanation I’ve ever heard, come to think of it,” Tony mused, impressed by Steve’s reasoning. He kissed the top of his head, resting on his chest, which made Steve tilt his head back for an actual kiss. “The plight of the modern-day house husband. Tragic, I tell you.”
“We’ll contact the Ghostbusters equivalent to washing machine sock monsters.”
Tony put his hand over what he could reach of his chest and sighed. “My hero.”
He grabbed a few more socks, analyzing their various shades of gray and line patterns, letting out a small whoop when he found yet another matching pair.
“Know what I miss?” Steve mumbled, still plastered onto Tony.
“My pre-retirement, pre-learning to make bread physique,” Tony joked, earning himself a playful poke from Steve.
“You know I think you’re hot as fuck regardless of how much carbs you insist on learning to make yourself,” Steve answered, and Tony could hear the smile in his voice even if he didn’t see it. “Was just remembering how much I liked when Pete was a newborn. And I’d lie right here with him just sleeping away on my chest, all milk-drunk after a bottle.”
It was Tony’s turn to smile at the memories. “Gosh, I forget he was ever that little sometimes.”
“Me too.”
Tony abandoned his quest for matching foot coverings and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “What brought on the wave of nostalgia?”
“I just miss my sweet, loving, cuddly little boy,” Steve groaned. “If this is what having a ten-year-old is like, I do not want to think of his teenage years.”
“You got a dose of the hormone fueled rage too, huh?”
“I just asked him to pick up the god damned Legos in the hallway. How are there Legos everywhere in the penthouse? I found one in my shoe yesterday!”
Tony made a sound of commiseration, having stepped on a few himself over the past few weeks. “It does feel like they just replicate and explode everywhere. Maybe the washer monster busters have buddies in the Lego monster buster business.”
Steve snorted a laugh, and Tony kissed his hair again. “I just asked him to clean up. And I know I was short with him, I didn’t mean to be. But I’ve asked him fuck knows how many times this week, and he picks up like three and calls it quits, and his room is a disaster, so I mentioned he should clean that too while he was at it and he blew up at me, and I blew up, and we were both crying in frustration, and he can’t tell me what he wants or needs.” Steve stopped talking and took in a deep breath. “He said I was a horrible dad.”
“Oh, honey. You know he doesn’t mean that right?”
“I do. I know. It still sucks. He never says shit like that.” Steve buried his face in Tony’s neck for a few moments, letting himself be held. “I just miss our little guy, you know. The little kid that’d cuddle on the couch and beg us to watch Frozen until our ears bled. And who’d go steal Nat’s nail polish so we could all paint our toes together. I just miss my chill, easy going kid. He wasn’t perfect but he wasn’t this little ball of raging pre-pre-teen hormones.”
“Oh god, remember that time at the mall? When he threw a tantrum ‘cause we wouldn’t go to the toy store or something?” Tony laughed.
“Fuck,” Steve let out, elongating the word as he toppled sideways in the nook between Tony and the arm of the couch. “I had to carry him back to the car, literally kicking and screaming help me, help me! While people kept looking at me. I don’t miss that day.”
“Yeah, that was not a do-over day, that’s for sure.” Tony ran his hand down Steve’s face, cupping his cheek and pulling Steve in for a kiss. “You are an amazing papa.” He kissed him again. “And an amazing husband.” He kissed him a bit longer this time. “And my favourite Captain America, just don’t tell Sam. I told him he was my fave last week.”
Tony let himself slide down the chaise, so he was flush with Steve, and therefore got easier access to kissing him as much as he wanted. Which wasn’t quite as long as he’d hoped, unfortunately.
“Ew, are you two kissing again?” Peter replied with the indignation only a ten-year-old could possess.
“Yes, I was very much enjoying kissing your dad,” Steve answered him with a tinge of annoyance. Tony gave his waist a squeeze and told him it was fine just loud enough for only him to hear.
“Pete, we’ve talked about this. Papa and I don’t do it to annoy you. We thought you were in your room.”
“Sorry,” Peter mumbled in the least apologetic tone known to man.
Steve buried his face in a pillow and Tony thought he heard him say give me strength to some undecipherable deity.
“What can we help you with, munchkin?” Tony asked Peter as he sat back up.
“Can we- would it be okay if we watched a movie? Please,” Peter asked in that tone he’d started using where he felt almost shy or guilty for asking something that he felt he shouldn’t want.
Steve’s head popped up from beside Tony, and he smiled sweetly at their son. “Of course, we can watch a movie.”
Peter’s face lit up and he ran, jumped on the couch, and let himself crash in the miniscule spot between Tony and Steve on the couch. His arms flew around Steve’s neck, and he held on tightly.
“Thanks, papa.”
Steve didn’t answer right away, just looked at Tony with wild astonished eyes. Tony mouthed I know to him, because he did. He’d felt the same as his husband lately. That sense that they were losing their sweet baby boy, but not quite. And moments like these were where the not quite feeling kicked in.
“I love you, squirt,” Steve finally told him.
“Love you too. Can we watch Nemo?” And there was that apologetic tone again. Tony reminded himself to have that talk with him again, and cursed children for being assholes to each other.
Steve agreed quickly, and he and Peter snuggled together to watch the movie in a pile, while Tony scootched over just a bit and continued sorting his socks.
Before the opening credits where done, Tony felt Steve’s hand scratch at his shoulder. He looked over to see Steve smiling at him, mouthing an I love you his way. Tony smiled and responded by kissing the top of Steve’s hand.