[APH] Fathers, Be Good [FACE]
Title: Fathers, Be Good
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: FACE family; minor FrUK
Warnings: AU; massive amounts of FLUFFY FLUFFY FLUFF
Summary: Arthur Kirkland reflects on the most important times that his twin sons have said 'Daddy' in their five years as part of his life.
Comments: This was written in honor of Father's Day! ♥ I ADORE the FACE family WHY SO CUTE. Anyway, this is based on breagadoir 's FACE family AU Not Necessarily Cause For Alarm, which is about Arthur and Francis's first night with their new (adopted) twin boys. Enjoy the adorable.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look what I did!” Arthur sat up from rummaging around in the cooler, water bottle in hand, and turned to the almost-five-year-old who was standing before him.
“What did you do, Al?” Arthur asked, leaning back and opening the bottle. Alfred, the little boy standing in front of him, was dripping wet from sunny blonde head to tiny toes, and he threw his arms in the air.
“I dumped a bucket of water on my head!” Alfred declared. His cheeks were pink and he pushed his hair from his eyes. His bright red swimming trunks were clinging to his skinny thighs and he gave a toothy grin to his father. Arthur chuckled at the sight, pushing his heels deeper into the sand. It was an unusually busy day at the beach for a Sunday in mid-June, but Arthur didn’t mind. He was being entertained by the antics of his adopted twins.
“Now why would you do that?” Arthur asked. Alfred couldn’t seem to contain himself; his cheeks were turning pink and he was squirming and suddenly he threw himself into his father’s arms, transferring the salty ocean water from his little body to his daddy. Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and buried his head into Arthur’s shoulder, as Arthur reacted to the sudden cold and wet.
“Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy, get off of me!” Arthur cried, and with a delighted giggle Alfred fell back into the sand, kicking some up as he ran away. Arthur sat up straight, attempting to squeeze out the ocean water from his shirt. He looked up in time to watch Alfred give Francis a tiny high-five only a few feet from them; the two of them looked devious together in the sand.
Matthew was sitting beside Arthur, sitting on a blue blanket, quietly chewing on a piece of watermelon. Suddenly Alfred came running over, ducked into the cooler, picked up a piece of watermelon, took a big bite, and then dropped it back into the cooler and ran back to Francis. Arthur cringed as he watched Alfred attract sand all over him. Francis laughed, leaning back, extending his arms and taking Alfred into them, covering them both in sand. Arthur just watched as Francis began tickling Alfred, his sides turning pink, Alfred shrieking with laughter.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, Papa is tickling meee!” Matthew chuckled from beside Arthur and continued eating the watermelon, a big grin on his face. Arthur’s smile matched his other son’s. He would honestly never, ever tire of that word. ‘Daddy’. Him. “Dadddddddyyyyy!”
”Da!”
The exclamation nearly made Arthur drop the knife he was holding. Francis was sitting at the kitchen table, hand poised with a spoon to Matthew’s mouth, but his attention was held by Alfred. Alfred, little Alfred, who just said ‘da’.
Alfred looked from one man to the other, happy as possible, barely one and a half years, and repeated himself.
“Da!” He reached out, all pudgy fingers and kicking toes. “Da!”
“A-Arthur,” Francis said, turning slightly, “...your son is calling for you.” Arthur was frozen at the kitchen counter, stuck where he was cutting up a loaf of bread for the family to eat with their dinner. Matthew was sucking at his sippy cup, his peas abandoned in his plate, as Francis had lowered the spoon. Alfred grinned.
Finally, Arthur lowered the knife and walked across the kitchen where he crouched at Alfred’s high chair.
“Who’s that, Alfie?” Francis asked suddenly, pointing to Arthur. Alfred turned and kicked his legs again.
“Da!” he exclaimed.
“Yes!” Francis replied. He rubbed a bit of potato from Alfred’s cheek; Alfred giggled with joy. “Good job, Alfie. Now, who am I? Can you say ‘Papa’?” Francis asked. Alfred licked his lips, his big blue eyes darting from one parent to the other. He pursed his lips, as if to say ‘Papa’, but instead of forming syllables, he just buzzed his lips and descended into gibberish, shrieking with joy and flailing his arms. Matthew also started laughing, his hands falling into his bowl of peas. Francis smiled, and Arthur had to turn away-he thought he was going to cry.
Alfred continued making ridiculous noises, sticking out his tongue and reaching onto Matthew’s tray, taking peas out of his bowl and dropping them onto his own tray. The laughter reverberated around the small house in the cool evening, and it was infectious.
“Oh, that’s my boy, Alfred,” Arthur said, running a hand through his hair. Alfred smiled up at his father, who kissed the top of his head.
“Da! Da!”
“...Papa.” A soft voice broke into the chatter, and both Arthur and Francis turned to little Matthew, who was sitting, cup in hand, looking apprehensive. “Papa,” he repeated, staring straight at Francis with big violet eyes. He turned slightly and looked at Arthur. “Da,,” he said. “Da... da. Dada.” Matthew smiled, looking proud of himself. Alfred stared at his twin, and Matthew turned to him. A moment passed between them; one shared only by children-brothers, and they both started giggling, kicking their legs and reaching out to their parents, calling out “Da!” and “Papa!” interchangeably. Arthur smoothed their hair and kissed the tops of both their heads, giving Francis a look that said everything.
“Daaaaaaddddddyyyyyy!” Alfred cried again, and he was on his back, kicking sand in the air, and Francis finally let him go. Alfred squirmed in the sand but then hopped back up, plopping down on the ground beside Francis. Matthew took another wet bite of his watermelon, his white stuffed polar bear sitting in his lap.
“Would you like to go build a sand castle with Papa and Alfred?” Arthur asked the little boy. Matthew seemed to consider it, and then shrugged and continued eating. He was getting watermelon juice all over his belly, which was protruding just over his blue swim trunks. Both twins were starting to gain some height and slim out, but they still had those stores of baby-toddler fat that left them round and pudgy at their tenderest of places.
“Here, Matthew, your face is getting all sticky,” Arthur said, and he took a piece of paper towel, wet it with his water, and wiped it around Matthew’s mouth and nose. Matthew blinked and squirmed and groaned at the contact but Arthur was able to get his face clean. Matthew dropped the watermelon rind and clutched his bear, digging his feet into the sand. Arthur ran a gentle hand through Matthew’s blonde curls, and Francis came over, bending down and lifting the boy up.
“Come, mon petit chou, Alfie wants to show you something,” Francis said, and he hoisted Matthew into the air, putting him over his shoulder and walking down the beach. Matthew nuzzled Francis’s neck, reaching for the ponytail at the nape of Francis’s neck.
“Bye, Daddy,” Matthew said, waving to his father. Arthur just waved after him. Francis looked over his shoulder and blew a kiss to Arthur; Arthur waved it away.
”D-daddy-“
“Hush, Matthew. Let it all out.” Matthew’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the toilet bowl, his little head ducked inside. He had upchucked most of, if not all of the little food he’d eaten that day, and every time he looked up, all Arthur could see was how pale his face was and how much he was sweating, and how tired he looked. His eyes were stained with tears and he was coughing, sputtering into the bowl. Arthur was kneeling beside him, rubbing his back, wiping his forehead.
Matthew breathed heavily into the toilet for a few moments, and then allowed Arthur to pull him up into his arms, wiping his face with a warm cloth. Matthew avoided Arthur’s gaze as his father washed his face clean and ran the cloth through his soft curls. There was a gentle knock on the door and Francis appeared, looking just as haggard as Matthew. Alfred was hovering by Francis’s leg, clinging onto his pant leg and looking up at Arthur with a terrified look. Arthur closed the lid and placed Matthew on the toilet, pulling his shirt off and throwing it in the hamper. Matthew sniffed and coughed, trying to contain his tears but failing.
“How’s he doing?” Francis asked, stroking Alfred’s head as he spoke. Arthur leaned forward and drew Matthew’s head to his chest, speaking softly to him.
“Papa, whassa matter with Matt?” Alfred asked. He pulled on Francis’s pant leg, blue eyes wide and threatening tears. “Papa, I’m scared, what’s happenin’?”
“Get him out of here,” Arthur muttered. “Francis, please, look how upset he is.”
“Come now, mon trognon en sucre,” Francis said as he started ushering the boy from the room. “You must go back to bed-“
“No! Daddy! Tell me Mattie will be okay!” Alfred pleaded, and Arthur bit his lower lip at the sound of his other son’s cries.
“Alfred-“
“Daddy!” Alfred was still clinging to Francis’s leg, refusing to move. Arthur gave his son a sad, tired smile. The look of abject fear in Alfred’s eyes pierced right through his heart.
“I promise,” Arthur said gently, “that Matthew will be fine.” Alfred stared from Arthur to Francis, swallowed, and allowed Francis to lift him into the air and carry him out of the bathroom. Arthur turned back to Matthew, whose eyes were lidded and appeared dazed. “How are you feeling, love?” Matthew groaned in response and Arthur scooped him up into his arms.
“Daddy...” Matthew moaned and he laid his head against Arthur’s shoulder, whimpering slightly. Arthur just rocked his son gently, shushing him and stroking his head.
“It’s alright, Mattie,” Arthur cooed. He reached onto the edge of the sink and grabbed the medicine, and then gently lifted the boy into the air as he stood, heading out into the living room. Francis was sitting on the couch with Alfred beside him, speaking in quiet French to him.
“... être un bon frère, mon trognon en sucre,” Francis said as Arthur sat down beside them.
“Pourquoi est-il si triste?” Alfred inquired, but he perked when he saw Arthur and Matthew and nearly fell off the couch as he scrambled across Francis’s lap. “Mattie!” Matthew popped his thumb into his mouth and smiled at Alfred as he perched in Francis’s lap. He pulled a little white stuffed bear from beside Francis and handed it to Matthew. “I gotcher bear, Mattie.”
Matthew took the bear in his free hand and buried his face in Arthur’s night shirt. Arthur laid the back of his hand against Matthew’s forehead, sighed, and sat back into the cushions, handing the bottle of medicine to Francis.
“Here-open this, and help me pour it,” he said. He sounded fatigued. “He’s still feverish.” Francis obeyed, opening the bottle and pouring some of the dark liquid into the spoon.
“Alright, Matthew, open up,” Francis instructed, but Matthew didn’t move. “Come now, it will make you feel better, yes?” Matthew looked up at Francis, eyes wide, but he finally removed his thumb from his mouth and allowed Francis to put the spoon in instead. Francis tipped the spoon up and Matthew coughed and sputtered, the bitter medicine burning his tongue, but he swallowed, coughed, and laid his head back down. Through the entire ordeal, Alfred was just staring at his brother, eyes wide.
“I think,” Francis said, standing up from the couch, “it’s time for us all to go to bed. Come, you can both sleep in our room. It’s two a.m.” Alfred seemed hesitant at first, but complied with the suggestion, and wiggled his hand into Francis’s as he led the toddler down the hallway, Arthur following with Matthew in his arms. It was probably going to be a long night.
Arthur watched as Alfred began splashing both Francis and Matthew in the shallow tide. The water was hitting some other children nearby, and Francis stooped down to Alfred’s level and seemed to scold him quietly while Matthew kicked at cresting waves. Alfred bowed his head for a moment, but then ran up and pounced on Matthew, splashing a pretty young woman with long curly hair beside them. Naturally, Francis immediately charmed the woman, who was playing with an auburn haired little boy in the water. Arthur watched her blush form as Francis spoke; he was a ladies man, regardless of his sexual orientation.
Arthur picked at his t-shirt. It was still damp from when Alfred jumped on him. He’d take it off but he hated showing his chest in public; it was covered in old scars and faded tattoos, reminders of a disjointed past.
”Whassat say, Daddy?” Alfred asked as he touched Arthur’s chest. Arthur had finally removed the gauze from his left pectoral and was sitting on the couch shirtless, since the newest ink still had twinge of pain. Alfred had climbed up into his lap, and was soon joined by Matthew.
“That? That says ‘Alfred’,” Arthur said, and he took Alfred’s hand and ran it over his own name, inked into his chest. Right over his heart. “And that says ‘Matthew’.” The two words were side-by-side, separated by a small, ornate rose. Underneath was the date that the twins had come home to him and his husband. Alfred stared at his own named, written in cursive, his eyes following every swoop of a letter and curl of a line. Matthew was standing with his hands on Arthur’s knee, also observing the designs on Arthur.
“An’ whassat?” Alfred asked, putting his hand on the older tattoo just above. Arthur chuckled.
“That’s your Papa,” Arthur said, placing his own fingers on the tattoo. It said ‘Francis’ in the same font as his sons’ names, with a background of a fleur-de-lis. Francis had made fun of him when he’d gotten it, right after they were married, but it was one of Arthur’s favorites. Much better than the ones on his lower abdomen, his shoulders, or the backs of his legs; remnants of his teenage years.
“So it says ‘Papa’?” Matthew inquired. Arthur laughed.
“It says ‘Francis’, that’s your Papa’s name.”
“Arthur!” Francis was calling his name “Arthuuuur, I’m sending Matthew to you!” Arthur nodded and stretched. Matthew waded through the throngs of people back to their little setting and smiled at his father, dripping from head to toe.
“Daddy!” he called happily.
”Da!
“Dada!”
“Come here, you,” Arthur said, and he picked up a navy blue towel with white stars (Alfred’s towel) and wrapped the little boy within its fibers. He ruffled Matthew’s curls and pulled him into a hug. Matthew nuzzled Arthur’s neck and clutched his shirt, closing his eyes. It wasn’t long before Matthew had fallen asleep in Arthur’s arms. His father’s arms.
And it wasn’t long until Alfred joined them, insisting on also nesting in his father’s lap and sleeping against his chest, like they did when they were babies. With their heads over his heart, safe and secure within his grasp.
"They're asleep," Arthur said, his voice full of awe. "They're asleep in my arms."
"They feel safe with you.” Francis tilted his head. "They know their Daddy."
“Oof, you’re getting too big to do this with Matthew, Al,” Arthur commented, but Alfred didn’t seem to care. He just snuggled into the crook of Arthur’s neck, regardless of the fact that he was all wet. Arthur leaned back against the cooler to balance with both boys, their legs tangled together in his lap, each of them clutching his shirt in their slumber. Francis was lumbering around, picking up various toys and discarded juice boxes and preparing to leave the beach for home.
“Are they asleep?” Francis asked softly as he knelt down beside Arthur and his sons. Arthur nodded.
“All tuckered out,” he murmured. “All angelic-like.”
“Yes, that’s something we don’t see often,” Francis commented. He snaked an arm over Arthur’s shoulder and drew closer, dropping a lingering kiss to the crown of Matthew’s head. He lifted his head and found himself mere inches from Arthur’s face; he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s lips, more of a peck than anything, noses and cheeks and lips pressing together, the sand on Francis’s cheeks rubbing against Arthur’s. Francis pulled away and moved over to place a hand on Alfred’s head and give him a kiss as well. Arthur smiled.
“Happy Father’s Day, Francis.”
“Happy Father’s Day.”
--
NOTE: I am a diehard USUK shipper, BUUUT I like FrUK when it involves the FACE family because HOW CUTE IS THAT.
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: FACE family; minor FrUK
Warnings: AU; massive amounts of FLUFFY FLUFFY FLUFF
Summary: Arthur Kirkland reflects on the most important times that his twin sons have said 'Daddy' in their five years as part of his life.
Comments: This was written in honor of Father's Day! ♥ I ADORE the FACE family WHY SO CUTE. Anyway, this is based on breagadoir 's FACE family AU Not Necessarily Cause For Alarm, which is about Arthur and Francis's first night with their new (adopted) twin boys. Enjoy the adorable.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look what I did!” Arthur sat up from rummaging around in the cooler, water bottle in hand, and turned to the almost-five-year-old who was standing before him.
“What did you do, Al?” Arthur asked, leaning back and opening the bottle. Alfred, the little boy standing in front of him, was dripping wet from sunny blonde head to tiny toes, and he threw his arms in the air.
“I dumped a bucket of water on my head!” Alfred declared. His cheeks were pink and he pushed his hair from his eyes. His bright red swimming trunks were clinging to his skinny thighs and he gave a toothy grin to his father. Arthur chuckled at the sight, pushing his heels deeper into the sand. It was an unusually busy day at the beach for a Sunday in mid-June, but Arthur didn’t mind. He was being entertained by the antics of his adopted twins.
“Now why would you do that?” Arthur asked. Alfred couldn’t seem to contain himself; his cheeks were turning pink and he was squirming and suddenly he threw himself into his father’s arms, transferring the salty ocean water from his little body to his daddy. Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and buried his head into Arthur’s shoulder, as Arthur reacted to the sudden cold and wet.
“Alfred Kirkland-Bonnefoy, get off of me!” Arthur cried, and with a delighted giggle Alfred fell back into the sand, kicking some up as he ran away. Arthur sat up straight, attempting to squeeze out the ocean water from his shirt. He looked up in time to watch Alfred give Francis a tiny high-five only a few feet from them; the two of them looked devious together in the sand.
Matthew was sitting beside Arthur, sitting on a blue blanket, quietly chewing on a piece of watermelon. Suddenly Alfred came running over, ducked into the cooler, picked up a piece of watermelon, took a big bite, and then dropped it back into the cooler and ran back to Francis. Arthur cringed as he watched Alfred attract sand all over him. Francis laughed, leaning back, extending his arms and taking Alfred into them, covering them both in sand. Arthur just watched as Francis began tickling Alfred, his sides turning pink, Alfred shrieking with laughter.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy, Papa is tickling meee!” Matthew chuckled from beside Arthur and continued eating the watermelon, a big grin on his face. Arthur’s smile matched his other son’s. He would honestly never, ever tire of that word. ‘Daddy’. Him. “Dadddddddyyyyy!”
”Da!”
The exclamation nearly made Arthur drop the knife he was holding. Francis was sitting at the kitchen table, hand poised with a spoon to Matthew’s mouth, but his attention was held by Alfred. Alfred, little Alfred, who just said ‘da’.
Alfred looked from one man to the other, happy as possible, barely one and a half years, and repeated himself.
“Da!” He reached out, all pudgy fingers and kicking toes. “Da!”
“A-Arthur,” Francis said, turning slightly, “...your son is calling for you.” Arthur was frozen at the kitchen counter, stuck where he was cutting up a loaf of bread for the family to eat with their dinner. Matthew was sucking at his sippy cup, his peas abandoned in his plate, as Francis had lowered the spoon. Alfred grinned.
Finally, Arthur lowered the knife and walked across the kitchen where he crouched at Alfred’s high chair.
“Who’s that, Alfie?” Francis asked suddenly, pointing to Arthur. Alfred turned and kicked his legs again.
“Da!” he exclaimed.
“Yes!” Francis replied. He rubbed a bit of potato from Alfred’s cheek; Alfred giggled with joy. “Good job, Alfie. Now, who am I? Can you say ‘Papa’?” Francis asked. Alfred licked his lips, his big blue eyes darting from one parent to the other. He pursed his lips, as if to say ‘Papa’, but instead of forming syllables, he just buzzed his lips and descended into gibberish, shrieking with joy and flailing his arms. Matthew also started laughing, his hands falling into his bowl of peas. Francis smiled, and Arthur had to turn away-he thought he was going to cry.
Alfred continued making ridiculous noises, sticking out his tongue and reaching onto Matthew’s tray, taking peas out of his bowl and dropping them onto his own tray. The laughter reverberated around the small house in the cool evening, and it was infectious.
“Oh, that’s my boy, Alfred,” Arthur said, running a hand through his hair. Alfred smiled up at his father, who kissed the top of his head.
“Da! Da!”
“...Papa.” A soft voice broke into the chatter, and both Arthur and Francis turned to little Matthew, who was sitting, cup in hand, looking apprehensive. “Papa,” he repeated, staring straight at Francis with big violet eyes. He turned slightly and looked at Arthur. “Da,,” he said. “Da... da. Dada.” Matthew smiled, looking proud of himself. Alfred stared at his twin, and Matthew turned to him. A moment passed between them; one shared only by children-brothers, and they both started giggling, kicking their legs and reaching out to their parents, calling out “Da!” and “Papa!” interchangeably. Arthur smoothed their hair and kissed the tops of both their heads, giving Francis a look that said everything.
“Daaaaaaddddddyyyyyy!” Alfred cried again, and he was on his back, kicking sand in the air, and Francis finally let him go. Alfred squirmed in the sand but then hopped back up, plopping down on the ground beside Francis. Matthew took another wet bite of his watermelon, his white stuffed polar bear sitting in his lap.
“Would you like to go build a sand castle with Papa and Alfred?” Arthur asked the little boy. Matthew seemed to consider it, and then shrugged and continued eating. He was getting watermelon juice all over his belly, which was protruding just over his blue swim trunks. Both twins were starting to gain some height and slim out, but they still had those stores of baby-toddler fat that left them round and pudgy at their tenderest of places.
“Here, Matthew, your face is getting all sticky,” Arthur said, and he took a piece of paper towel, wet it with his water, and wiped it around Matthew’s mouth and nose. Matthew blinked and squirmed and groaned at the contact but Arthur was able to get his face clean. Matthew dropped the watermelon rind and clutched his bear, digging his feet into the sand. Arthur ran a gentle hand through Matthew’s blonde curls, and Francis came over, bending down and lifting the boy up.
“Come, mon petit chou, Alfie wants to show you something,” Francis said, and he hoisted Matthew into the air, putting him over his shoulder and walking down the beach. Matthew nuzzled Francis’s neck, reaching for the ponytail at the nape of Francis’s neck.
“Bye, Daddy,” Matthew said, waving to his father. Arthur just waved after him. Francis looked over his shoulder and blew a kiss to Arthur; Arthur waved it away.
”D-daddy-“
“Hush, Matthew. Let it all out.” Matthew’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the toilet bowl, his little head ducked inside. He had upchucked most of, if not all of the little food he’d eaten that day, and every time he looked up, all Arthur could see was how pale his face was and how much he was sweating, and how tired he looked. His eyes were stained with tears and he was coughing, sputtering into the bowl. Arthur was kneeling beside him, rubbing his back, wiping his forehead.
Matthew breathed heavily into the toilet for a few moments, and then allowed Arthur to pull him up into his arms, wiping his face with a warm cloth. Matthew avoided Arthur’s gaze as his father washed his face clean and ran the cloth through his soft curls. There was a gentle knock on the door and Francis appeared, looking just as haggard as Matthew. Alfred was hovering by Francis’s leg, clinging onto his pant leg and looking up at Arthur with a terrified look. Arthur closed the lid and placed Matthew on the toilet, pulling his shirt off and throwing it in the hamper. Matthew sniffed and coughed, trying to contain his tears but failing.
“How’s he doing?” Francis asked, stroking Alfred’s head as he spoke. Arthur leaned forward and drew Matthew’s head to his chest, speaking softly to him.
“Papa, whassa matter with Matt?” Alfred asked. He pulled on Francis’s pant leg, blue eyes wide and threatening tears. “Papa, I’m scared, what’s happenin’?”
“Get him out of here,” Arthur muttered. “Francis, please, look how upset he is.”
“Come now, mon trognon en sucre,” Francis said as he started ushering the boy from the room. “You must go back to bed-“
“No! Daddy! Tell me Mattie will be okay!” Alfred pleaded, and Arthur bit his lower lip at the sound of his other son’s cries.
“Alfred-“
“Daddy!” Alfred was still clinging to Francis’s leg, refusing to move. Arthur gave his son a sad, tired smile. The look of abject fear in Alfred’s eyes pierced right through his heart.
“I promise,” Arthur said gently, “that Matthew will be fine.” Alfred stared from Arthur to Francis, swallowed, and allowed Francis to lift him into the air and carry him out of the bathroom. Arthur turned back to Matthew, whose eyes were lidded and appeared dazed. “How are you feeling, love?” Matthew groaned in response and Arthur scooped him up into his arms.
“Daddy...” Matthew moaned and he laid his head against Arthur’s shoulder, whimpering slightly. Arthur just rocked his son gently, shushing him and stroking his head.
“It’s alright, Mattie,” Arthur cooed. He reached onto the edge of the sink and grabbed the medicine, and then gently lifted the boy into the air as he stood, heading out into the living room. Francis was sitting on the couch with Alfred beside him, speaking in quiet French to him.
“... être un bon frère, mon trognon en sucre,” Francis said as Arthur sat down beside them.
“Pourquoi est-il si triste?” Alfred inquired, but he perked when he saw Arthur and Matthew and nearly fell off the couch as he scrambled across Francis’s lap. “Mattie!” Matthew popped his thumb into his mouth and smiled at Alfred as he perched in Francis’s lap. He pulled a little white stuffed bear from beside Francis and handed it to Matthew. “I gotcher bear, Mattie.”
Matthew took the bear in his free hand and buried his face in Arthur’s night shirt. Arthur laid the back of his hand against Matthew’s forehead, sighed, and sat back into the cushions, handing the bottle of medicine to Francis.
“Here-open this, and help me pour it,” he said. He sounded fatigued. “He’s still feverish.” Francis obeyed, opening the bottle and pouring some of the dark liquid into the spoon.
“Alright, Matthew, open up,” Francis instructed, but Matthew didn’t move. “Come now, it will make you feel better, yes?” Matthew looked up at Francis, eyes wide, but he finally removed his thumb from his mouth and allowed Francis to put the spoon in instead. Francis tipped the spoon up and Matthew coughed and sputtered, the bitter medicine burning his tongue, but he swallowed, coughed, and laid his head back down. Through the entire ordeal, Alfred was just staring at his brother, eyes wide.
“I think,” Francis said, standing up from the couch, “it’s time for us all to go to bed. Come, you can both sleep in our room. It’s two a.m.” Alfred seemed hesitant at first, but complied with the suggestion, and wiggled his hand into Francis’s as he led the toddler down the hallway, Arthur following with Matthew in his arms. It was probably going to be a long night.
Arthur watched as Alfred began splashing both Francis and Matthew in the shallow tide. The water was hitting some other children nearby, and Francis stooped down to Alfred’s level and seemed to scold him quietly while Matthew kicked at cresting waves. Alfred bowed his head for a moment, but then ran up and pounced on Matthew, splashing a pretty young woman with long curly hair beside them. Naturally, Francis immediately charmed the woman, who was playing with an auburn haired little boy in the water. Arthur watched her blush form as Francis spoke; he was a ladies man, regardless of his sexual orientation.
Arthur picked at his t-shirt. It was still damp from when Alfred jumped on him. He’d take it off but he hated showing his chest in public; it was covered in old scars and faded tattoos, reminders of a disjointed past.
”Whassat say, Daddy?” Alfred asked as he touched Arthur’s chest. Arthur had finally removed the gauze from his left pectoral and was sitting on the couch shirtless, since the newest ink still had twinge of pain. Alfred had climbed up into his lap, and was soon joined by Matthew.
“That? That says ‘Alfred’,” Arthur said, and he took Alfred’s hand and ran it over his own name, inked into his chest. Right over his heart. “And that says ‘Matthew’.” The two words were side-by-side, separated by a small, ornate rose. Underneath was the date that the twins had come home to him and his husband. Alfred stared at his own named, written in cursive, his eyes following every swoop of a letter and curl of a line. Matthew was standing with his hands on Arthur’s knee, also observing the designs on Arthur.
“An’ whassat?” Alfred asked, putting his hand on the older tattoo just above. Arthur chuckled.
“That’s your Papa,” Arthur said, placing his own fingers on the tattoo. It said ‘Francis’ in the same font as his sons’ names, with a background of a fleur-de-lis. Francis had made fun of him when he’d gotten it, right after they were married, but it was one of Arthur’s favorites. Much better than the ones on his lower abdomen, his shoulders, or the backs of his legs; remnants of his teenage years.
“So it says ‘Papa’?” Matthew inquired. Arthur laughed.
“It says ‘Francis’, that’s your Papa’s name.”
“Arthur!” Francis was calling his name “Arthuuuur, I’m sending Matthew to you!” Arthur nodded and stretched. Matthew waded through the throngs of people back to their little setting and smiled at his father, dripping from head to toe.
“Daddy!” he called happily.
”Da!
“Dada!”
“Come here, you,” Arthur said, and he picked up a navy blue towel with white stars (Alfred’s towel) and wrapped the little boy within its fibers. He ruffled Matthew’s curls and pulled him into a hug. Matthew nuzzled Arthur’s neck and clutched his shirt, closing his eyes. It wasn’t long before Matthew had fallen asleep in Arthur’s arms. His father’s arms.
And it wasn’t long until Alfred joined them, insisting on also nesting in his father’s lap and sleeping against his chest, like they did when they were babies. With their heads over his heart, safe and secure within his grasp.
"They're asleep," Arthur said, his voice full of awe. "They're asleep in my arms."
"They feel safe with you.” Francis tilted his head. "They know their Daddy."
“Oof, you’re getting too big to do this with Matthew, Al,” Arthur commented, but Alfred didn’t seem to care. He just snuggled into the crook of Arthur’s neck, regardless of the fact that he was all wet. Arthur leaned back against the cooler to balance with both boys, their legs tangled together in his lap, each of them clutching his shirt in their slumber. Francis was lumbering around, picking up various toys and discarded juice boxes and preparing to leave the beach for home.
“Are they asleep?” Francis asked softly as he knelt down beside Arthur and his sons. Arthur nodded.
“All tuckered out,” he murmured. “All angelic-like.”
“Yes, that’s something we don’t see often,” Francis commented. He snaked an arm over Arthur’s shoulder and drew closer, dropping a lingering kiss to the crown of Matthew’s head. He lifted his head and found himself mere inches from Arthur’s face; he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s lips, more of a peck than anything, noses and cheeks and lips pressing together, the sand on Francis’s cheeks rubbing against Arthur’s. Francis pulled away and moved over to place a hand on Alfred’s head and give him a kiss as well. Arthur smiled.
“Happy Father’s Day, Francis.”
“Happy Father’s Day.”
--
NOTE: I am a diehard USUK shipper, BUUUT I like FrUK when it involves the FACE family because HOW CUTE IS THAT.