Eric the Pink

Chapter 3-2

Erik wanted to hold his daughter.

He was a toucher. He’d spent the better part of a year teaching Andreas to enjoy being touched all the time—if it didn’t lead straight to s*x, the Andreas he’d met that summer evening wasn’t interested—and he’d spent the whole pregnancy touching the growing bump. Hugging it, stroking it, tapping it, petting it, the works. Now the baby was here, Erik wanted to spend the whole day cuddling her.

Only—

Only she was nestled against Andreas’ stomach, and Andreas was asleep.

He’d been napping on and off constantly since they’d come home from the hospital. Erik couldn’t blame him, but it meant that the only one of them who knew exactly how to handle a newborn baby was out of action.

So Erik wanted to cuddle her.

He was just terrified of picking her up.

Hence he was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, chin resting against Andreas’ elbow, just watching her. Her feet were pressing lightly against his beard, and he was carefully stroking one little hand with his index finger.

And she was looking at him.

Well, her eyes were open. He couldn’t remember what newborn babies could see, but those big brown eyes were staring in his direction. He liked to think she could see him.

“Remember me?” he whispered, trying not to wake Andreas. “I know you’re in your favourite place right now, but don’t forget me, eh?”

He waved her hand gently between finger and thumb, and she blinked owlishly, tightening her grip.

“You’re just too small,” he said. “And I’m a Viking. There’s a reason they don’t show Vikings crossing the seas carrying babies, you know. We’re not very suited to it.”

She squeezed his index finger tightly, then her face began to screw up.

“Uh-oh—”

The first whimper was astonishingly loud from something so small, and just like that, Andreas was awake. His head came up off the cushions, his arms tightened around the bundle, and he shifted forward as though he was going to get up. Erik caught his shoulders and slid in behind him, kissing the side of his neck.

“Want a hand?”

“You take her,” Andreas mumbled sleepily—but the whimper had already quieted, and the flailing limbs had tucked themselves back around the chubby body. Daringly, Erik wrapped his arms around his partner, and slid them right under their daughter.

“She’s so heavy,” he marvelled.

Andreas relaxed back into him.

“Is this you still scared to pick her up?”

“I’ll get used to it,” Erik whispered reverently.

Slowly, Andreas slid out his own arms, and left her resting entirely in Erik’s. Erik beamed. He’d never held anything that felt like her before. Her warmth felt different, her weight felt new. She settled with one last grumble, snuggled on Erik’s forearm but against Andreas’ belly, and Erik bit his lip.

“Christ,” he mumbled.

“Mm?”

“She’s amazing. You’re amazing. It’s—everything’s—”

His throat closed up and he sniffled, burying his face against Andreas’ neck. The chuckle and mocking croon were offset by the hand that reached up to stroke his hair. And to hell with it. Erik didn’t care if he looked a bit bonkers, having a cry while holding his baby and hugging his partner. He’d wanted her for his entire life—he was allowed a bit of a meltdown now she was actually here.

“I’ve got a family,” he mumbled into Andreas’ skin.

“Already had that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Andreas hummed, ruffling his hair before dropping his hand and stroking Beatriz’s cheek. She squirmed in Erik’s hands, prompting a fresh wave of tears.

Chosen family were one thing—Erik had had them for a long time—but they weren’t anchors, the way Beatriz felt like an anchor. They weren’t part of his DNA in the same way. They weren’t for better or for worse the way that a blood family was. They didn’t have his nose, his partner’s eyes, their life all bound together in their very existence. Jo might be like a sister, Mike might be like a brother, but Beatriz was his daughter.

Erik had never thought it would matter to him so much until the second hospital scan, when they’d been able to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. He’d spent his childhood wanting to be adopted. He’d spent most of his adult life firmly thinking of Jo as a sister, irrespective of their lack of blood relation. He’d never thought it would matter so much that his daughter had his nose.

Yet somehow, it did.

And somehow, it made calling Andreas his boyfriend seem ridiculous and too light. They had a baby. They were a family.

“You’re my partner,” Erik mumbled hoarsely.

“What?”

“You. You’re my partner.”

“Ye-es…”

“I mean, instead of my boyfriend. Seems daft now. Now she’s here.”

Andreas chuckled. “If you say so. Personally, I prefer it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Less ambiguous than partner.”

Erik grimaced. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Husband’s even better though,” Andreas continued, tapping Erik’s wrist. Beatriz closed her eyes at the flicker of movement, and snuffled sleepily. “Now we can tick baby off the bucket list, where’s this wedding, eh?”

Erik laughed. He tightened his shoulders so they squeezed Andreas’ in lieu of a hug.

“Now she’s here, can we put her in a puffy dress and make her a flower girl?”

“She’s a bit small…”

Erik laughed, rubbing the last of the tears away on Andreas’ shoulder before peeking down at their daughter. She’d dropped off to sleep again, and Erik didn’t dare to move.

“You’ll have to get used to holding her yourself, you know,” Andreas said.

Erik smiled so wide that it hurt.

“Yeah,” he said. “In a bit.”