From the Mouths of Babes...
“Friday, for fu...”
“Language!” a giggling shout interrupted whilst preciously podgy fingers continued to smear paints of all shades across the large canvas spread out across the floor; “Dad say’s you got’s to put a dollar in the swear jar an’ I gotta tell ‘im if you don’t!”
Sighing, his shoulders slumping whilst his fingers loosed their hold on the sealed elevator doors, Clint begrudgingly turned to view the infant a few paces away from him before his gaze wandered to Phil, the alpha’s suit jacket haphazardly thrown away as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and began adding his own paint to the square.
“Fine” he breathed out. “You win, squirt, one dollar for the swear jar” he intoned blandly, his sock clad feet padding him towards the kitchen under the (weirdly, romantically dimmed) emergency light’s glow; “either of you want anything from the fridge? I’m pretty sure Aunt Tasha has some peanut-butter cups stashed away somewhere” he called, his fingers now rummaging through the chilled-chamber.
“Apple-juice, please” was the child’s response; at the silence from Coulson’s side, the omega took a deep breath, grabbed two non-alcoholic beers (thank you, pregnant Tony and the promise that no one would drink when on Steve-sitting duty), a carton of AJ and began a slow shuffle back to the pair.
“Here” he announced without ceremony, his frown softening a touch when the older man accepted the bottle with a small smile, his fingers glistening with non-toxic hues of purple, green and blue.
“Thanks.”
“Uh-hu...”
“Uncle Clint! You got’s to try this too! Papa said that he was gonna frame this and have it in his office so I want it to look really, really good” the little boy chirped whilst happily taking his own beverage, his eyes shining with determination.
“Huh, okay, well I guess I better get to work then... we all know that your Papa has a pretty exacting eye for someone who isn’t an artist... although, I suppose you could call him a pis...”
“Clint...”
“Pistol-sharp business man with artistic tendencies...” he recovered smoothly, his smile growing sheepish as Phil cocked an eyebrow in his direction and the toddler tilted his head to the left.
“Sometimes I don’t get your humour, uncle Clint...”
“Not many do, Steve, not many do” the Agent offered with a fond chuckle.
“Hey, I take exception to that” the archer sniffed, his legs folding neatly under him as took his place next to the child and directly across him the still grinning alpha. “Your Papa happens to think that I’m hilarious, you know” he added whilst swiping at a globe of aquamarine and smearing it in a sweeping arc across his part of the canvas.
“Aww, Papa loves you uncle Clint, but I think uncle Phil loves you more” the tot announced, his little form completely oblivious to the omega’s burning face or the alpha’s crest-fallen expression.
“Oh yeah” the blonde somehow managed to get out after a quick swig of his (stupidly unhelpful, bland, alcohol-free) beer; “what makes you say that, short-stuff?”
Blinking up owlishly, his right hand rubbing at his nose (and staining it bright orange) as he turned to observe the sharp-shooter, Steve shrugged his little shoulders whilst smiling.
“’Cus he looks at you the same way Dad looks at Papa” he announced confidently, his eyes glinting; “and I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen you look the same way at him” he continued, his attention refocusing on the canvas as he expertly (albeit a little messily) curved a heart shape onto the canvas.
“I’d also really like to have some cousins to play with since I haven’t got a little brother or sister yet” he added nonchalantly, his giggles the backing track to Clint’s choked, beer-laced inhale and Phil’s sudden, violent coughing fit.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if you had twins?”