Steve Rogers Imagines

Soft Kisses

I needed some cute Dad Chris with his  baby boy.  This is just a quick thing . It's got errors, but the concept is nice, so...? Forgive the errors

"Sticking to me?" Chris asks the wide-eyed baby on his chest. "Stickin' to your daddy?"

Baby babbles are the only response he gets and you grin a bit when your son reaches for his daddy's necklace.

"No, no," Chris says, bringing the chain  from him. "It's not for babies. Had this talk, haven't we?"

A sharp, high pitched whine cuts through the air but Chirs isn't swayed.

"It's mine, not yours. I'd like to see you live to adulthood."

"You shouldn't wear them around him," you remind him. "He just gets upset when he can't have them."

"How's he goin' to know who his daddy is if he doesn't see me in my usual attire."

You fix him with a flat look. "And this is your usual state?"

Chris is on the couch next to you in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, legs sprawled open and endless expanses of abs on full display. His son – your son – is on his chest in a diaper and nothing else. The weather in Boston has been uncharacteristically warm and sticky as of late, and it's left you all with little choice but to strip down. Outings are reserved for dawn and dusk where you can again wear as little as possible in the last gasps of any temperature that is remotely tolerable. The rest of the time you're in your underwear – a fact, which Chris quite enjoys and has been vocal about in relation to you.

"Ouch," Chris mutters as his baby wriggles, their skins pulling against each other. "Careful there, little bugger." He looks at you then. "When was the last time you saw me wear a shirt?" he reminds you. "This isn't as far removed from my usual state of dress as you'd think. Besides," he grins sleazily. "Think I kinda like the dress code around here now."

"He's going for the necklaces again."

Chris's eyes snap to his son and he grips his baby firmly and lifts him up. Sharp cries fill the air as the baby is denied his goal and you wince when they get shrill.

"Hey, hey, hey," Chris says above them. "What's this about? Not my happy boy, right?"

Chris brings the squirming, wailing baby down again and settles him farther up his chest before landing a few smacking, puckering kisses to the tiny tummy above his diaper. They're loud, and they get the baby's attention, and you smile a bit as the tickling of them and the few raspberries that Chris mixes in makes the angry shrieks shift and dissolve into giggles and tearstained eyes slowly dry while wet, chubby cheeks pull back in a smile.

"You're going to give him a rash," you warn him when Chris makes no sign of letting up.

"No, m'not. I wouldn't do that, would I?" Chris looks up at his bright-eyed boy. "Would Daddy do that to you?" He lands another kiss to his son's belly. "Would I? Hmm?"

There's more puckering kisses that have your son squirming and gurgling happily from his father's attention and two little hands slap at Chris's forehead in satisfaction. "Its so soft, love," Chris remarks between his short kisses. "C'mere, feel."

"I'm not going to. I don't want to give him a rash," you retort. Inwardly, though, you ache to cuddle your baby close and give him as many kisses as Chris is giving him. He'll be gone in two weeks, though, and you don't have the heart to steal him away just now – not when they're both enjoying themselves so much.

"He won't have one, honest," Chris promises you. "Am being careful." Chris nuzzles his nose. "He's just really soft! S'amazing," he remarks. "I know they say smooth as a baby's bottom, love, but I think it's just smooth as a baby all over."

"You have stubble," you remind him. He'd recently finished shooting for Captain America and his full beard hadn't thankfully grown back......yet!

"S'just a bit," Chris argues with you. "If your thighs can take it—"

"Chris," you say, anything but amused. "Look, he's already getting irritated, he'll be crying later."

"We'll put a bit o' cream on and he'll be fine," Chris swears to you. There's a few more puckering kisses before he pauses and stares at his son's stomach. It is a little different than when he'd started, and he frowns with a heavily crinkled forehead and a lip that juts in thought as he considers the idea of his boy wailing and being itchy and unable to help himself.

"Oi," Chris addresses him, nearly offended. "You're not gonna get a rash, are you?" Chris asks. "Wouldn't do that t'me an' prove your mum right, would you? Us boys have gotta stick together, yeah?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you squawk.

"Nothin', angel love," he soothes you. "Only that you're in charge an' I need all the help I can get."

His green eyes are wide and innocent but they hold a sparkle of mischief.

"Hmph," you sniff, shifting on the couch and grimacing from how your thighs peel stickily away from each other.

True to your word, your baby son is whimpering in discomfort later that night from all his daddy's kisses, but Chris, to his credit, is the one to put the cream on his tummy.

"Sorry, little bugger," he sighs as he rubs the cream onto the soft stomach. "S'your own fault, tough, you know? Had to go and be all soft. Just like your mum."

You smile a bit as you listen to him on the baby monitor.

"She's real soft, yeah? I like that, and you like it, too, I'd reckon. No one snuggles like Mumma. I do it every night. And I'd bet you'd like her kisses on your belly better than mine, cause she hasn't got any whiskers."

"I'll kiss yeh sometimes, though," Chris promises. "An' in the meantime...."

Happy gurgles crackle through the monitor along with puckering kisses that you know are now being pressed into a chubby baby cheek that is all too happy to receive the attention from the man giving it. 

Should I update again today, as a Christ,mas present, hmm???? Am feeling festive today...good vibe ya'll...and I spent a shitload of money on buying presents for people who'll probably forget me after Christmas...