Fill 8/?
anonymous
September 18 2011, 18:09:20 UTC
"Huh. So that's why it took you so long to bring us lunch?" Arthur said teasingly as he settled himself back down on the bed, gently adjusting Matthew over to the opposite side of the bed so that Francis could set down the second tray of food. "It's practically dinner time."
"Yes, well baby otter Alfred was particularly hungry today. I nearly emptied the pantry in an attempt to satisfy him," he explained, cringing as Arthur reached for a tissue and blew his nose. "Are you feeling any better?"
He groaned in response, tossing the tissue away and wiping his hands on his pants. "I'll be fine. How is our little semi-aquatic mammal doing? Any signs of fever?"
"None. He is perfect."
"Good," Arthur sniffed. "Where is he?"
"Downstairs sleeping off a food induced coma in his modified playpen."
"'Modified'? Modified how?"
"Do not worry," he said dismissively as he handed Arthur his bowl of chicken soup. "All you need to know is that it is secure."
"Fine. How are you?"
"I am dead inside."
Arthur snorted, then coughed, then grabbed a tissue to blow his nose. "Don't be a drama queen," he chided. "Now go back downstairs and give the baby otter a kiss on his furry cheeks for me."
Francis leaned forward to plant a kiss on Arthur's lips, but quickly came to his senses when Arthur pinched his nose and took a deep breath in order to pop his ears (Francis assumed). "I am suddenly filled with a mad, burning lust for you," he said dully.
"Yes, well you can rip my clothes off later, when I've regained feeling in my brain," Arthur huffed.
"Alfwed." The two blinked, looking over at Matthew curiously before following the child's gaze to see little Alfred standing in the doorway.
"Matt Matt! Dada!" came Alfred's excited squeals as he charged towards the king sized bed. Fortunately Francis had recovered from his shock quickly enough to intercept the child, before he could even attempt to scramble onto the infected bed.
"I thought you said he was 'secured' in his 'modified playpen,'" Arthur huffed as he wrapped his arms around Matthew, who was currently attempting to crawl across the bed and over to his twin.
"Apparently I was wrong," he sighed.
There was a look of quiet longing mirrored in both of the twin's eyes as the two reached stubby little arms towards one another. Alfred kicked at him, squirming in Francis's arms, while Matthew just sat back in Arthur's lap and allowed quiet tears to flow down his cheeks. If he didn't know any better, Francis would have thought that the two had been separated for weeks instead of just a few hours. Perhaps this was just a sign that the two needed to spend more time apart.
"Now you understand what I am dealing with?" Francis lamented, adjusting the squirming toddler in his arms. A small part of him hoped that Arthur would make some snide remark at his comment just so Francis could remind him that he had spent the afternoon dealing with the easier twin since Matthew had no doubt spent most of the day unconscious.
Arthur, however, was clearly too worn out from coughing and sneezing his way through six boxes of tissues to even muster up the brain power to acknowledge Francis's goading. "Yes, I'm sure you've had a very trying day, now will you please get Alfred out of here be he gets sick too?"
"Alfwed," Matthew sniffed, sadly waving goodbye to his brother.
"Matt Matt?" the boy whimpered as Francis carried him away. Alfred sniffled as tears began to flow down his cheeks. Francis sighed as closed the door behind them and Alfred began to wipe his damp face against his chest. "Papa?"
"Your crocodile tears will not work on me," Francis chided. "Now let us go downstairs and survey the damage you've done."
---
The playpen was dead. Somehow, Alfred had managed to tear a massive toddler shaped hole into the cloth siding and Francis had a hunch that no amount of duct tape would bring the play yard back to working order. Although that was not the worst discovery he had made that day.
Fill 9/10
anonymous
September 18 2011, 18:12:31 UTC
He had only been on the computer for a few minutes trying to find out if they made children's play pens with metal bars, only to find that such things were reserved only for dogs (but he was tempted to purchase one anyway), when Alfred -- who had been sitting contently in his lap -- began to cough.
Francis felt his heart still in his chest at the horrible sound. How could this have happened so quickly? Alfred had only been in the bedroom for a second, hadn't even managed to touch Arthur or Matthew, let alone the duvet cover that the two had spent most of the day coughing, sneezing, and sweating into, so how could he have caught their cold already?
Alfred coughed again, the sound piercing his ears like nails scrapping against a chalkboard, as he pressed a hand to the boy's forehead. He didn't feel warm, but his cheeks were flushed and, from the constant sniffling sound he was making, the child's nose was starting to get a bit runny. It seemed as if he were now going to have to juggle three sick people instead of just two.
"Alfred, you cannot get sick now," Francis sighed. "Your father will kill me if he finds out."
For one moment, Francis had a clear mental image of Arthur on top of him, throttling his hips, hands wrapped tightly around his neck as the air escaped from his throat... Francis frowned, shaking the image out of his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce about bedroom games.
A small groan escaped him as he grabbed Alfred and carried him up the steps and towards the thermometer still in the second floor bathroom. He could only hope that since Alfred did not feel warm, his fever was not a serious one. Of course, he was not exactly on a good luck streak today. He sighed, placing the boy on the counter top and tucking the thermometer between his lips. Suddenly he was having flashbacks to just this morning when he had done much the same.
Francis frowned as he pulled the thermometer out of Alfred's mouth and studied the digital numbers in front of him. "You are perfectly healthy!" Francis clucked his tongue as he looked down at the little boy whose only response was to give another cough. "I see, this is your latest attempt to go see your brother and father, but you cannot fool Papa."
Alfred didn't seem to understand Francis's words, nor did he seem willing to believe that his plan had failed. He grabbed Francis's hand in his own and pressed his palm against his forehead before giving another cough.
Francis smiled at the gesture. He had to admire his son's tenacity if nothing else. "Yes, you are a very sick boy," he chuckled as he once again lifted the child into his arms.
---
Evening couldn't come soon enough and Francis had welcomed the peaceful stillness that had settled upon the small house with open arms. The broken playpen (along with his diseased shirt) had been disposed of and Francis was going to have to figure out how to tell Arthur about it. Of course, that was not an issue at the moment as Arthur and Matthew were both fast asleep in the master bedroom, completely enveloped in a deep sleep fueled by fever and cough syrup.
Alfred, on the other hand, was wide awake and refusing to give in to the weariness that was no doubt pulling at his little body. It had been a long day, and Francis had no doubt in his mind that tomorrow would be much the same, but none of that seemed to matter to Alfred who had never slept by himself in what must have seemed like a monstrously large bedroom to the toddler.
His sweet twins had always done everything together; they ate together, they slept together, they usually got sick together, except today.
Francis yawned, interrupting the stream of tender words that had been pouring from his lips as he rocked Alfred and rubbed soothing circles into the child's back. He suddenly realized that he likely wouldn't be getting much rest himself tonight even if Alfred managed to nod off within the next few seconds. After all, Arthur and Matthew had by now thoroughly infected every inch of his bedroom and had thereby killed any desire Francis had to so much as look at the rumpled bed sheets. No, if he wanted to maintain his health, his options were limited to either the living room couch or the nursery rocking chair that he was currently occupying.
Fill 10/10
anonymous
September 18 2011, 18:14:26 UTC
A soft moan escaped Alfred's little lips as he shifted in his grasp. His blue eyes were beginning to droop, his lids struggling to keep themselves up, and Francis felt certain that it wouldn't be much longer until the boy drifted off.
"That's right, mon chou," Francis whispered as he ran a soothing hand over the boy's soft blond hair. "Just let yourself drift off. Papa is right here."
"Bunny," Alfred whispered, pointing weakly to the stuffed rabbit lying at their feet.
Francis smiled as he carefully bent down to pluck the rabbit off of the floor by its ear and deposit it into Alfred's waiting arms.
Alfred sighed, curling himself around the doll and its soft fabric and allowing his eyes to finally drift shut. "Papa," he breathed, nuzzling closer into the man's warmth.
"That's right," Francis whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the boy's hair. He decided then that it would be much more comfortable to spend the night right here, just like this, than to go downstairs and sleep on that beaten up old couch. "Papa's right here."
---
One week. That was all the time it took for Arthur and Matthew to return to normal and be well enough to move around the house again. Yet at the start of that new week Francis woke to find his body completely drenched with sweat and all four of his limbs feeling as if someone had taken a mallet to them, pounding his muscles to mush. He moaned, struggling to breathe through the fluids stuffing his nose as a hand pressed itself against his cheek.
"You're burning up," Arthur said.
"I hate you," he whimpered.
"It's your own damn fault you got sick," he snapped. "I told you not to kiss me!"
"You said you were feeling better!" Francis opened his blue eyes just long enough to take in the full extent of the scowl marring Arthur's face. "Fine, I am sick and it is my own fault," he sighed, shifting underneath the layers of sheets draped across him. "Just do me one small favor: if you truly love me, do not cook for me."
Arthur's dry laugh barely reached his clogged ears and somehow Francis could see the man roll his eyes even without looking at him. "Funny," Arthur droned. The mattress creaked slightly as Arthur stood up. "Just wait right here. I have something for you."
Francis waited (because he had no choice... and no power over his limbs) fighting against the urge to drift back to sleep and stay unconscious until he was back to perfect health. He did not have that luxury, however, as the sudden dip in the mattress alerted him to Arthur's return.
Peeling his eyes open, he looked up to see his husband sitting beside him on the bed, cradling a red nosed and cranky Alfred in his arms. "Say hello to your new bedmate," Arthur announced, giving the boy's back a good pat as he released a shaky cough.
A weak smile crept onto Francis's lips as he struggled to sit upright despite the protests from every inch of his being. "Ah, so you are sick as well, I see," Francis croaked.
"Yes, this is what he gets for stealing food from his brother's plate," Arthur said sternly as he gave Alfred's cheek a quick kiss before depositing the feverish boy into Francis's awaiting arms. "I'll go get you both some medicine."
"Don't I get a kiss too?" he pouted.
"Kissing is what got you into this situation." Francis only continued to pout, waiting patiently for the man give in to his pathetic disposition and his wide blue eyes. It took less than a second for Arthur to heave a weary sigh before leaning in to give Francis a peck on the cheek. "Enjoy that. I won't kiss you again until you're better."
"So cruel." Francis smirked as Arthur got up once more and walked out of the room. Alfred gave a loud sniff then, grabbing a fist full of Francis's silk pajama top and wiping his drippy little nose with it. "Disgusting," Francis chided, as he detangled his silk top from Alfred's tight grasp. "You are still Papa's little piggy."
"Papa," Alfred moaned, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Francis's chest.
He sighed, running a hand over the boy's head. "Yes yes, Papa's here. Papa's here."
Re: Fill 10/10
anonymous
September 18 2011, 20:34:03 UTC
/explodes from cute
Ah man, I kinda want to read about Arthur and Matthew's adventures as they try to nurse Francis and Alfred. I feel like Al and Fran would be tres demanding when sick and Matt and Artie would have to team up and tackle all of their demands 8D
Re: Fill 10/10
anonymous
September 19 2011, 00:37:52 UTC
This is just adorable on every level. I love everything about this fill, the descriptions of baby Alfred's antics, Francis' thought processes. So sweet and cute and perfect, except for the fact that they both got sick, haha. Poor sweeties.
Re: Fill 10/10
anonymous
September 19 2011, 01:34:11 UTC
This is the first time I've read France being fatherly towards America and now I want more. This was all kinds of awesome and so fuzzy cute. Defintely my favourite on this meme.
Re: Fill 10/10
anonymous
September 19 2011, 01:43:16 UTC
Oh, darling, darling authoranon, you've successfully managed to render me speechless with this fill. I love this family, so, so much. Really, the amount of love I have for this family (and this fic) cannot be healthy. I love that it's Francis and Alfred instead of the more conventional Francis and Matthew, Arthur and Alfred. And Alfred, oh, man, is there a more adorable baby in the world? With his brute strength and being Papa's little piggy.
"Yes, well baby otter Alfred was particularly hungry today. I nearly emptied the pantry in an attempt to satisfy him," he explained, cringing as Arthur reached for a tissue and blew his nose. "Are you feeling any better?"
He groaned in response, tossing the tissue away and wiping his hands on his pants. "I'll be fine. How is our little semi-aquatic mammal doing? Any signs of fever?"
"None. He is perfect."
"Good," Arthur sniffed. "Where is he?"
"Downstairs sleeping off a food induced coma in his modified playpen."
"'Modified'? Modified how?"
"Do not worry," he said dismissively as he handed Arthur his bowl of chicken soup. "All you need to know is that it is secure."
"Fine. How are you?"
"I am dead inside."
Arthur snorted, then coughed, then grabbed a tissue to blow his nose. "Don't be a drama queen," he chided. "Now go back downstairs and give the baby otter a kiss on his furry cheeks for me."
Francis leaned forward to plant a kiss on Arthur's lips, but quickly came to his senses when Arthur pinched his nose and took a deep breath in order to pop his ears (Francis assumed). "I am suddenly filled with a mad, burning lust for you," he said dully.
"Yes, well you can rip my clothes off later, when I've regained feeling in my brain," Arthur huffed.
"Alfwed." The two blinked, looking over at Matthew curiously before following the child's gaze to see little Alfred standing in the doorway.
"Matt Matt! Dada!" came Alfred's excited squeals as he charged towards the king sized bed. Fortunately Francis had recovered from his shock quickly enough to intercept the child, before he could even attempt to scramble onto the infected bed.
"I thought you said he was 'secured' in his 'modified playpen,'" Arthur huffed as he wrapped his arms around Matthew, who was currently attempting to crawl across the bed and over to his twin.
"Apparently I was wrong," he sighed.
There was a look of quiet longing mirrored in both of the twin's eyes as the two reached stubby little arms towards one another. Alfred kicked at him, squirming in Francis's arms, while Matthew just sat back in Arthur's lap and allowed quiet tears to flow down his cheeks. If he didn't know any better, Francis would have thought that the two had been separated for weeks instead of just a few hours. Perhaps this was just a sign that the two needed to spend more time apart.
"Now you understand what I am dealing with?" Francis lamented, adjusting the squirming toddler in his arms. A small part of him hoped that Arthur would make some snide remark at his comment just so Francis could remind him that he had spent the afternoon dealing with the easier twin since Matthew had no doubt spent most of the day unconscious.
Arthur, however, was clearly too worn out from coughing and sneezing his way through six boxes of tissues to even muster up the brain power to acknowledge Francis's goading. "Yes, I'm sure you've had a very trying day, now will you please get Alfred out of here be he gets sick too?"
"Alfwed," Matthew sniffed, sadly waving goodbye to his brother.
"Matt Matt?" the boy whimpered as Francis carried him away. Alfred sniffled as tears began to flow down his cheeks. Francis sighed as closed the door behind them and Alfred began to wipe his damp face against his chest. "Papa?"
"Your crocodile tears will not work on me," Francis chided. "Now let us go downstairs and survey the damage you've done."
---
The playpen was dead. Somehow, Alfred had managed to tear a massive toddler shaped hole into the cloth siding and Francis had a hunch that no amount of duct tape would bring the play yard back to working order. Although that was not the worst discovery he had made that day.
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Francis felt his heart still in his chest at the horrible sound. How could this have happened so quickly? Alfred had only been in the bedroom for a second, hadn't even managed to touch Arthur or Matthew, let alone the duvet cover that the two had spent most of the day coughing, sneezing, and sweating into, so how could he have caught their cold already?
Alfred coughed again, the sound piercing his ears like nails scrapping against a chalkboard, as he pressed a hand to the boy's forehead. He didn't feel warm, but his cheeks were flushed and, from the constant sniffling sound he was making, the child's nose was starting to get a bit runny. It seemed as if he were now going to have to juggle three sick people instead of just two.
"Alfred, you cannot get sick now," Francis sighed. "Your father will kill me if he finds out."
For one moment, Francis had a clear mental image of Arthur on top of him, throttling his hips, hands wrapped tightly around his neck as the air escaped from his throat... Francis frowned, shaking the image out of his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce about bedroom games.
A small groan escaped him as he grabbed Alfred and carried him up the steps and towards the thermometer still in the second floor bathroom. He could only hope that since Alfred did not feel warm, his fever was not a serious one. Of course, he was not exactly on a good luck streak today. He sighed, placing the boy on the counter top and tucking the thermometer between his lips. Suddenly he was having flashbacks to just this morning when he had done much the same.
Francis frowned as he pulled the thermometer out of Alfred's mouth and studied the digital numbers in front of him. "You are perfectly healthy!" Francis clucked his tongue as he looked down at the little boy whose only response was to give another cough. "I see, this is your latest attempt to go see your brother and father, but you cannot fool Papa."
Alfred didn't seem to understand Francis's words, nor did he seem willing to believe that his plan had failed. He grabbed Francis's hand in his own and pressed his palm against his forehead before giving another cough.
Francis smiled at the gesture. He had to admire his son's tenacity if nothing else. "Yes, you are a very sick boy," he chuckled as he once again lifted the child into his arms.
---
Evening couldn't come soon enough and Francis had welcomed the peaceful stillness that had settled upon the small house with open arms. The broken playpen (along with his diseased shirt) had been disposed of and Francis was going to have to figure out how to tell Arthur about it. Of course, that was not an issue at the moment as Arthur and Matthew were both fast asleep in the master bedroom, completely enveloped in a deep sleep fueled by fever and cough syrup.
Alfred, on the other hand, was wide awake and refusing to give in to the weariness that was no doubt pulling at his little body. It had been a long day, and Francis had no doubt in his mind that tomorrow would be much the same, but none of that seemed to matter to Alfred who had never slept by himself in what must have seemed like a monstrously large bedroom to the toddler.
His sweet twins had always done everything together; they ate together, they slept together, they usually got sick together, except today.
Francis yawned, interrupting the stream of tender words that had been pouring from his lips as he rocked Alfred and rubbed soothing circles into the child's back. He suddenly realized that he likely wouldn't be getting much rest himself tonight even if Alfred managed to nod off within the next few seconds. After all, Arthur and Matthew had by now thoroughly infected every inch of his bedroom and had thereby killed any desire Francis had to so much as look at the rumpled bed sheets. No, if he wanted to maintain his health, his options were limited to either the living room couch or the nursery rocking chair that he was currently occupying.
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"That's right, mon chou," Francis whispered as he ran a soothing hand over the boy's soft blond hair. "Just let yourself drift off. Papa is right here."
"Bunny," Alfred whispered, pointing weakly to the stuffed rabbit lying at their feet.
Francis smiled as he carefully bent down to pluck the rabbit off of the floor by its ear and deposit it into Alfred's waiting arms.
Alfred sighed, curling himself around the doll and its soft fabric and allowing his eyes to finally drift shut. "Papa," he breathed, nuzzling closer into the man's warmth.
"That's right," Francis whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the boy's hair. He decided then that it would be much more comfortable to spend the night right here, just like this, than to go downstairs and sleep on that beaten up old couch. "Papa's right here."
---
One week. That was all the time it took for Arthur and Matthew to return to normal and be well enough to move around the house again. Yet at the start of that new week Francis woke to find his body completely drenched with sweat and all four of his limbs feeling as if someone had taken a mallet to them, pounding his muscles to mush. He moaned, struggling to breathe through the fluids stuffing his nose as a hand pressed itself against his cheek.
"You're burning up," Arthur said.
"I hate you," he whimpered.
"It's your own damn fault you got sick," he snapped. "I told you not to kiss me!"
"You said you were feeling better!" Francis opened his blue eyes just long enough to take in the full extent of the scowl marring Arthur's face. "Fine, I am sick and it is my own fault," he sighed, shifting underneath the layers of sheets draped across him. "Just do me one small favor: if you truly love me, do not cook for me."
Arthur's dry laugh barely reached his clogged ears and somehow Francis could see the man roll his eyes even without looking at him. "Funny," Arthur droned. The mattress creaked slightly as Arthur stood up. "Just wait right here. I have something for you."
Francis waited (because he had no choice... and no power over his limbs) fighting against the urge to drift back to sleep and stay unconscious until he was back to perfect health. He did not have that luxury, however, as the sudden dip in the mattress alerted him to Arthur's return.
Peeling his eyes open, he looked up to see his husband sitting beside him on the bed, cradling a red nosed and cranky Alfred in his arms. "Say hello to your new bedmate," Arthur announced, giving the boy's back a good pat as he released a shaky cough.
A weak smile crept onto Francis's lips as he struggled to sit upright despite the protests from every inch of his being. "Ah, so you are sick as well, I see," Francis croaked.
"Yes, this is what he gets for stealing food from his brother's plate," Arthur said sternly as he gave Alfred's cheek a quick kiss before depositing the feverish boy into Francis's awaiting arms. "I'll go get you both some medicine."
"Don't I get a kiss too?" he pouted.
"Kissing is what got you into this situation." Francis only continued to pout, waiting patiently for the man give in to his pathetic disposition and his wide blue eyes. It took less than a second for Arthur to heave a weary sigh before leaning in to give Francis a peck on the cheek. "Enjoy that. I won't kiss you again until you're better."
"So cruel." Francis smirked as Arthur got up once more and walked out of the room. Alfred gave a loud sniff then, grabbing a fist full of Francis's silk pajama top and wiping his drippy little nose with it. "Disgusting," Francis chided, as he detangled his silk top from Alfred's tight grasp. "You are still Papa's little piggy."
"Papa," Alfred moaned, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Francis's chest.
He sighed, running a hand over the boy's head. "Yes yes, Papa's here. Papa's here."
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Ah man, I kinda want to read about Arthur and Matthew's adventures as they try to nurse Francis and Alfred. I feel like Al and Fran would be tres demanding when sick and Matt and Artie would have to team up and tackle all of their demands 8D
This was an awesome story <333
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ilusm right now ♥
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While reading this fic, I had a lot to say, but then I got to the end and I couldn't remember anything I wanted to type about this.
So I guess I'll just leave you with my incoherent keysmash and hope that gets the message across about how adorable this was.
awopiecthpweojtvpoerjtpvoejypoejryoiawjoithse;roihyawe;royibh;woieht;WJTBQPE9YUJQPIHER;TIKHA4W;IHB;OIHEY;AOIHR;OAEIYHRkwehtcoqihw5to`vh4E5VYOQ3JH5YB;J;OIH35;ith;45i
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