Harry Styles Imagines

His Genes

Carl has asked to swim in the pool nearly everyday since you'd been sentenced to unofficial house arrest, waking Harry up at the ungodly break of morning to beg his dad to put his arm floaties on so that he can jump in and splash around. Harry doesn't mind though as he's made it quite that he loves feeling the sun on his face as much as possible these days. Plus, there isn't much else to do anyway. You two sit out on the patio with bubs while he swims — you on a lilo trying to get a tan and Harry in one of the loungers reading a book. Occasionally, you or Harry toss the a beach ball back and forth to your bubs to keep him entertained, but he mostly enjoys keeping to himself and playing his own make-believe water games.

You think Carl's  gotten out of the pool to waddle over in his dripping wet swim diaper (no sense in dirtying a swimsuit when it's just the three of you) to grab a sip of juice from his cup, so you didn't worry when the sounds of splashing water that filled backyard had suddenly come to a halt. Harry on the other hand, had actually seen Carl trot over to the patio table for his sippy cup, so his eyes averted back to his book without another thought. It was when neither you or Harry never heard his tiny, albeit still pudgy body hurl back into the pool in cannonball position (his newest skill, thanks to Harry) that both of your heads turned at the same time to try and location where he must have gone.

On the opposite end of the pool is a sight that sends both of you in hysterics. Carl's floaties and diaper are folded over and pool water is oozing from the padding in a puddle, discarded in a pile near the patio table where his juice was. The ground marks a clear wet trail of small feet that leads to your bub, who is naked and lying on his tummy and as it appears, nearly conked out with his arms folded into a makeshift pillow.

"Oi! What are ye' doin over there? I can see ye' bum!" called Harry, nearly double over in laughter.

Carl just turns his head away from Harry, clearly not interested in anything his dad is saying and more into basking in the feeling on the rays beating down on his sunblock-slathered back and the sun-baked pavement warming his belly.

You shush Harry quickly.

"Leave him he, Harry. He's not hurting anything," you try to reason with him.

"'Cept his willie! How is tha' not uncomfortable t' him? He's butt arse naked on the concrete," Harry asks, or more so exclaims.

All you can do is continue to chuckle lightly as you wade over to the edge of the pool where your son is lying. You reach your hand over the ledge of the pool to run your hands through his unruly chocolate curls, only lulling him further and further into a nice afternoon nap.

"M' sleepy baby,' you whisper as your fingers wrap further around his clearly inherited locks.

"Christ," Harry mumbles, resting his head in his palms that are held up by his elbows digging into his bare thighs.

"What?" you asked, still in hushed tones as to not disturb the nearly sleeping boy beside you.

"I did this t' him didn't I? Wi' me walkin' round naked all of the time? Taught him 's okay not to wear clothes."

"Oh, most certainly," the confirmation falling from your lips as natural as breathing.

"We've raised a nudist," Harry sighs, admitting his defeat.

"We!?" you scoff, almost offended, "That's all you, baby"

Harry panders over to where your son is lying and where you're resting your upper half out of the pool, abandoning his book and comfy chair to be with his family. When he's bent down to run circles into his baby's bare back as he snoozed away with his bum cheeks out for the world (but really just you two) to see and feels just how warm and enticing the pavement actually is, he realized his son might be on to something.

He stands up abruptly, slinging his loose button up shirt (which was ironically buttoned all of the way down to his naval) down his shoulders and ridding himself of the bright yellow swim shorts he'd put on earlier that morning. The stark tan line left by his shorts from wearing the same pair nearly every day makes you want to burst out laughing again, though you're distracted by the fact that he's literally now naked in your backyard, balls out and proud. Thank god for your penchant for gardening and the tall shrubbery that guards your fense and keeps away prying eyes.

He ignores your qualms of, "What the fuck are you doing?" with a flick of his wrist.

"Carl's got the right idea. Think 'm gonna have a nap right here too. Pavement's so warm," he declares before plopping down on his belly in a similar fashion to his son and relaxing into the slab.

"Are you kidding me? Did you not just clearly express your worries that your son is a nudist?"

"Ehh, we've got time t' break him out of it. Not goin' anywhere any time soon. Plus, it's not as uncomfortable as I thought. Y' should join us, darling. N' lemme see the goods," he finishes with a wiggle of his brow.

You dismiss him with a gentle shove to his shoulder that's littered with jet black and charcoal colored ink.

"Well it's quite clear who he got his bum from," you mumble before rolling your eyes and hiking your legs back onto your lilo to go back to your tanning regime.

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