Cut Ties (Paultryck Mpreg)

Part 3

"Clara! Clara Josephine Duncalfe, get back here this instant!"

Ah, what a wonderful screech to wake up to.

Paul's eyes shot open, his gaze searching the room for any loose end, or preferably, his boyfriend and their two year old daughter.

Clara had grown so fast, the years seemed to slip through Paul's fingers before he could catch them. It seemed like just yesterday she was born, the memories all mashing together like a clump of wet clay. She could walk, say names, jump, and laugh. She was as bubbly as bubbly came, all smiles and giggles and bouncing brown curls. Turns out, her hair was darker, much closer to Paul's, and she thankfully didn't inherit his godawful eyebrows.

"Clara, no!"

There was reality again.

Paul grappled with his covers, pulling on a shirt before unceremoniously stumbling out of their shared quarters in his boxers. The sight in the hall was truly....something

"You'll never take us alive, copper!"

Tord had Clara in a giggling frenzy on his shoulder, a stupid grin on his rosy face as he pointed a finger gun at Patryck. Tord had child sized hair ties strangling his horns of hair, Clara's hair was given a similar treatment, though she also had a pair of her own shorts as a hat. Patryck was staring at them from a few feet away, tapping his foot on the concrete. The soldier's arms were crossed, though the smile pulling at his lips made it clear that his facade was about to shatter into a billion pieces.

"You'll never win keep-away, soldier, she thinks I'm more fun!"

Patryck groaned, laughing escaping shortly after as he put a hand on his face. He snorted while he laughed, a sound that made Paul's chest warm with an overwhelming love that seemed to overtake him at every waking moment.

Tord had come around to the idea of Clara, but it had taken him a full year. He was strict with his "no crying" rule for about a week before he realized Clara was absolutely impossible to reason with, and let it go. Tord never spoke with her parents about boundaries - it was a silent battle between a grown man and an infant, something out of a dated comedy.

He used war tactics to try and subdue her. He tried sweetening the deal with presents, determined to win her obedience. His first gift to her was pacifiers to shut her up, eventually shifting to real toys once she could handle them. She truly won their silent war when she said his name for the first time, a simple "Tor'." that made him melt into a puddle of his former self. He still held his callused exterior high, of course, but not for Clara. The pair were practically inseparable.

"I'm more fun than you are," Paul piped up, both men in the hall flinching at the sound of his voice. Clara's eyes hit Paul and her whole face lit up.

"Daddy!" She started squirming against Tord, who carefully set her to the floor, plucking the shorts from the top of her head before letting her run free. She held her arms out wide, her tiny feet carrying her as she charged at her father's knees. She crashed into him with a laugh, wrapping her arms halfway around his legs.

"Hey, pumpkin! I see you're up early."

"Not tired," She said simply, muffled by the spot where her lips met Paul's bare leg. This would have been disgusting if it hadn't been the first time. "Papa an' Tor' here!"

"Yeah I know baby, I can see them." Paul beamed, looking up at his boyfriend. "Morning, beautiful." He smiled at Pat, who immediately looked away in embarrassment, smiling like an idiot.

"Oh God, barf. I'm right here, soldier." Tord mimed a gag as he laughed, a sound that hardly dulled the heated red of Patryck's cheeks. Even after two years of an outed, open relationship, Pat was still blushing as if their relationship was something taboo.