Cut Ties (Paultryck Mpreg)

Part 6

The breeze pulled at Paul's stocky form, making him pull his pale knit sweater closer, warding off the chill. The gentle hiss of the waves around him, the spit from the lake in his face - he had never felt anything like it. A land lover at heart, his place on the boat felt unfamiliar.

"Cold, babe?" A voice came from in front of him, honey sweet, and he nodded with a soft smile.

"How could you tell?" He glanced at Patryck, slender form wrapped in a vibrant wool blanket. He was positively glowing, his dimples punctuating his warm smile.

"Storm's coming in," he replied simply, pointing above them with two fingers. The clouds were swirling, a dark ocean above their own small lake. A quiet rumble of thunder trailed behind the cape of clouds. "We should get back on land."

Paul kept his eyes on it, the wind picking up a bit more. He blinked through the first soft patters of rain, shaking his head with that same soft smile.

"Nah, I think I'm alright."

The boat's rocking picked up, waves lapping at the wood desperately. Patryck chuckled, pulling the blanket over his head to protect his hair. Always a looker.

"Are you sure?"

Paul stared into the storm for a moment more before sitting to properly face Patryck. His legs were sprawled for security, slender body exposed as he pulled the blanket higher above his shoulders. The Polish man was still smiling and laughing despite himself, a true ray of sunlight through the inky sky.

"Yeah...yeah I'm sure." The wind and rain picked up, truly able to be called a shower. Neither of them were phased. "I don't mind the rain when you're in it with me."

Patryck laughed at that, almost snorting. "You're so chees-"

"Paul, wake up." A voice harshly cut through the storm, slowly reeling him back to reality. "Paul." He groaned in annoyance, shifting his weight and squinting as the pictures of Patryck faded from his memory. "I need to talk to you."

He rubbed his eyes, realizing that the weight on his chest was lifted - Clara must have gotten up. His eyes snapped open, scanning the room for his daughter - the figure in front of him standing motionless as he did so.

It only took a second to find Clara, drifting in and out of sleep on Patryck's cot, her chubby arm draped across his chest. His heart sank at the sight of Patryck still asleep, his smile from the dream lingering on his mind. Paul sighed curtly before glancing at the person before him.

He closed his eyes, tensing as he registered who it was. "What."

"I'm sorry I woke you up, I just-"

"Hold on," Paul kept his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What time is it, Tord?"

"1600. You've been out for eight hours, and I need to talk to you."

Paul sighed, sitting up unenthusiastically as Tord nervously wrung his hands. "Did you find a cure for your treatment?"

Tord's face tensed and he shook his head. "I really wish I did, but that's not it. That's not why I'm here."

"Then why? Don't you have some other soldier to drag around? Why do you have to bother me? Wh-"

"I wanted to stop by and apologize." Tord cut in, his arms up in defense.

Paul's eyes blew wide in shock, though it only lasted for a moment. "I'm not the one who needs the apology..." Paul muttered, shirt shifting as he crossed his arms. Patryck was the one that received the brunt of Tord's anger, the one who had to endure years of Tord's carelessness. Sure, Paul deserved an apology, but Patryck deserved ten times that. Paul let his eyes meet his leader's, half lidded and tired. "Come back here when he wakes up, I'll have someone get you."