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Erik woke slowly, rising into consciousness in a slow incline that gently rose him from a pleasant, hazy dream. He rolled over, body searching for the warmth of his husband and reaching out across an empty bed. He was frowning before he was fully awake, running his hand over the cool sheets with an ever-growing pout and wondering how he hadn't noticed Charles leaving their bed.
God, he must have been tired.
Grumbling to himself, Erik rolled onto his back as he cast his metal-sense out through the mansion, a smile curling his lips when he felt the ever-familiar shape of Charles' chair next to ever-familiar shape of his daughter's crib. It had only been weeks since young Lorna had come to them, and Erik, far, far more often than not, was the one who attended to her during the nights. He didn't mind—would never mind the time he got to spend with the beautiful baby girl that was his daughter— as it was much easier for him to get up and go to her than it was Charles.
Seeing that Charles was with her now meant Erik was much more tired than he'd thought. Despite often napping in the afternoon when Charles watched her, he hadn't slept a full night since he'd first been called by his daughter's maternal grandmother to advise him that he had a child. Clearly, it was wearing on him more than he wanted to admit.
With a deep breath, Erik tried closing his eyes but knew immediately he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. He had a hard enough time sleeping as it was, but he hadn't slept without Charles beside him in nearly three years, and he wouldn't be able to fall asleep until he came back to bed. Instead of lying around and waiting for sleep to come when he knew it wouldn't, he pushed himself out of bed and wrapped his housecoat around his waist, shuffling through their suite to the adjoined room that housed their daughter's nursery and would become her bedroom.
Lorna's crib—which was made of metal bars and placed only an inch above the floor so Charles could get her in and out easily, was empty. Beside the crib sat Charles' chair, taken up by his husband who had his eyes closed and Lorna in his arms. Charles was singing a German lullaby, one he must have found in Erik's memories. His pronunciation was terrible, but his voice was a low, soothing rumble from his chest. Erik recognized the tune somewhere deep in his heart, knowing it in a way that made him ache. The words seemed foreign, but the longer Charles sang, repeating the lullaby as he rocked Lorna in his arms, the easier it became for him to begin mouthing along.
Erik's eyes began to burn as he watched the man he loved sing to their daughter. Charles’ face was smoothed out of all the stress lines Erik had grown accustomed to seeing etched across his face, and his lips were curled up in a soft smile. His legs were bare, dressed in a pair of underwear and one of Erik's own sweaters that Charles had stolen from his side of the closet ages ago and claimed as his own, and in that moment Erik was sure he'd never been more attracted to him in all their years together.
Leaning against the door, Erik allowed the tears to fall as he watched his husband rock his daughter to sleep, heart aching wonderfully for how very full of love it was.