Genre: Sitcom-ish H/C

Notes: First fic in the fandom I was persuaded to adore with delightful results. Hah. This one is entirely for (LJ)mr_x_indeed who got me head over heels in the fandom and also helped with a good beta and britpicking. Thank you, darling. Started as a fill for a href=".?thread=43224#t334040"This Prompt/a over on the (LJ)cabinpres-fic kink meme. Got a bit out of control, but I hope it still works!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.

Even from the outside, the hotel looked horrible… especially from the outside. While Arthur may have found the mangy-cats by the skip aesthetic attractive he was alone in it. For outer Moscow it was unseasonably warm, which is to say it was just warm enough to consider making a go at the numbers above naught.

"Right then. I'll go check in." Douglas sighed, stepping out of the warm car, having drawn the shortest straw hours before while safely back on the warm plane.

"How long are we in Moscow, again?" Arthur asked quietly from a bundle of blankets in the back of the hired car.

"Only twelve hours." Martin answered from the driver's seat. "I don't know that we are technically still in Moscow… if we are, this may well be the smallest hotel I've yet to see." He paused, hearing a soft sigh from his friend, "As long as it doesn't snow too badly tonight we'll be back with Gertie by eight."

"Right-o." Arthur sighed again, snuggling into an unnaturally green afghan wrapped up around his head. "Terribly cold, isn't it?"

"In Russia, yes – it's cold in Russia, Arthur."

"I wonder why that is."

Before Martin could stumble out an answer that didn't either come off as horribly annoyed or necessitate more questions he didn't particularly want to answer, Douglas returned with a trio of room keys and a person of indeterminate gender in the largest anorak they'd ever seen.

They were escorted into what passed for a lobby where their carry-on and collection of coats and blankets were shed onto a luggage cart that had seen better days, thankful that at least this time there was heating. "Rooms?" The figure questioned, pulling off a layer of outerwear. Definitely a girl; a girl who happened to have long dark hair and lovely skin… and big dark eyes. She led them to their rooms with the cart in tow. "I bring food?" She asked, her accent thick, but lovely.

"Yes! Yes please." Douglas smiled, rubbing his palms together before gathering his things. "Hot food, please."

"Thank you." Martin smiled, "We're famished."

The girl shook her head slightly, mostly indicating she had no idea what he was on about. "And for handsome pilot?"

"Oh, I think he means to say 'yes'." Arthur smiled.

"She means you, halfwit." Douglas interjected. "She thinks you're a pilot also."

"Oh! Oh no, I'm not a pilot! "Arthur stumbled, blushing slightly. He pointed to Martin, "He's the Captain… and and and… Douglas is first officer." He beamed wider, hitting stride, "I'm just the steward… uh, in an officially unofficial official capacity that is."

"She barely speaks English, Arthur. Just smile and say 'yes, please'." Martin cut in, eager to get a belly full of hot food and a good night's sleep.

"She thinks I'm handsome. I want to talk to her." Arthur forced an even larger smile; "Erm yes, please. I'm sure you've got something extra special for us, brilliant!"

"Also astounding and astonishing." Douglas added.

The girl nodded quickly, a large smile spreading across her face. "Yes, yes. Special dinner for the handsome pilot."

"See, a special dinner." Arthur beamed towards Martin, collecting his blankets. "I think she likes me."

The food was actually delicious. When it came to international cuisine, Martin had learned that much like what Arthur brought in from the galley it was best not to ask questions pertaining to the contents or preparation. Much better still was a warm bed, moderately fluffy pillow and a blanket that did its job despite a lingering smell that may have been fish at one point.

He was mostly asleep, balled into a nice tight cocoon, when the pounding at the hotel room door roused him. "What? What is it?" He grumbled loudly, falling out of bed only to scramble up from the floor and open the locked door. "Arthur, why are you pounding on my door at this hour?"

"Hiding." Arthur whined, closing the door behind them and locking the deadbolt. "I think she's going to kill me." He made a run at the bed, diving under the covers.

"Arthur…" Martin looked quizzically from the door to the bed, and then got back into bed only somewhat more confused than he normally was when Arthur ended up in his bed. "Wait, what? Who's going to kill you?"

"Anna." Arthur whispered, uncovering only his face. "She has a very pointy table knife."

"Okay, let's try this again… who is Anna and why would she be trying to kill you with a table knife?"

"The girl!" Arthur sighed, and then whimpered. "She brought dinner and I told her it was lovely and she was lovely and asked if she wanted to have dinner with me since I'm not so used to eating by myself." He spoke with a quick, clipped tone – eyes darting nervously from Martin to the locked door. "And then halfway through pudding she took her blouse off and… and…" He whined, blushing bright pink, "I think we may have had sex."

"May have?" Martin was enthralled by the tale, if not somewhat confused still.

"It wasn't really much like the films, only a little like the ones Douglas sometimes lends me when I get a bit tetchy." He covered his face again, save for the mouth, and whispered even more softly. "I don't think I did it right."

Martin chuckled, "It's never like the films, Arthur. Especially not the sort I imagine Douglas would be lending out." He reached out, uncovering Arthur's face and offering a polite smile, "It's hardly a reason to kill someone with a table knife."

"Well, I may have… I think I may have broken a rule." Arthur turned away, once more burying his head in the blanket.

"Which one?" There were very specific rules Carolyn had laid out in order of importance for the proper care and handling of Arthur when she was not present, and despite committing them to memory Martin had taken the liberty of also keeping a copy neatly tucked behind his trip sheet.

"The one that says I'm not supposed to be left alone with girls who may be of a certain profession."

"Oh no." Martin sighed, "Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't know she was a prostitute, I thought she was just a baggage girl!"

"Why would an eight room hotel have a baggage girl? Generally speaking, the asking for money for sex is a big tipoff on that one."

"She didn't ask for the money until after she put her clothes back on." Arthur whined, a hitch in his breath.

"But you don't have any money. None of us has any money."

"I wouldn't have if I'd have known what she was talking about!"

"I've told you a hundred times don't trust someone you can't understand."

"I know…" Arthur sobbed softly, "She was just pretty and said I was handsome…"

Before Arthur could continue the lock predictably opened, the door flung back hard. Sure enough, the girl stepped into the room with a much larger brute of a man accompanying her. "Where is he?" The man asked in a thick baritone, apparently much better at English than she was. "Where is your stupid friend?"

"He isn't stupid." Martin slid out of bed, straightening his pyjamas as he slowly stepped closer. "He's here, but I think there's been a big misunderstanding that I'm sure we can work out without need of a… a table knife or other potential weapons."

"This is not your fight; he owes money for Anna's services."

"Look, okay, he's my responsibility and I want to deal with this situation but… we don't have any money." Martin stopped, still at least two feet away. "I think, yes… my trousers are on the rack there – there's probably a couple coins but hardly what this sort of thing runs – even with the exchange rate."

"Three thousand!" The girl yelled, giving Arthur a dirty look as he dared to poke his head out from under the blanket. "He give three thousand ruble."

Martin blinked, trying to do the calculation in his head. "That's… that's actually quite reasonable, but we just don't have that much."

"Perhaps handsome pilot come work for me to pay off debt?" The large man chuckled loudly.

"He's not a pilot!" Martin grumbled loudly, "Why on earth would anyone think he's a pilot?"

"I meant pilot with the fancy hat and Captain's stripe." The large man gestured to Martin's jacket uniform neatly hung by the door. "Since you are so eager to take his debt."

"Let's… let's be reasonable, now…" Martin squeaked, and the swallowed the lump rising in his throat. "There's certainly a way we can work this out without… without… that."

"Yes, you give money now."

"I already told you, we haven't got any." Martin paused, scrambling for any shot at all. "He honestly didn't know! He's… he's innocent, he saw a pretty girl that seemed to like him and can you blame him for going along with it? It was his first time!"

"No more talking." The large man growled, pacing across the room much more quickly than one would think a large man could. "If you won't pay, he will pay. Simple." He reached into the blanket ball and yanked Arthur out by the oversized collar of his pyjama shirt – wrenching the young man's arm hard.

"Don't you dare harm him!" Martin took a bold step forward, sure to keep the bed between them.

The brute sneered and drew back his free hand, and then much to the sinking feeling in Martin's stomach punched Arthur square in the face, dropping him to the floor. "What will you do about this, skinny little pilot?"

"Captain." Martin grumbled, forcing himself to stare down the large man. "I am the Captain of a very important aircraft with a very important crew that you have just assaulted."

Arthur sobbed something that may have been an apology, but it was hard to tell with the blanket pressed to his face.

"I'm just… I'm afraid I'm… I don't want to hurt you." Martin stumbled, attempting in vain to gather his nerve. "Don't make me hurt you."

"I am not afraid." The brute stepped forward, making eye contact somewhere above Martin's head as the girl mumbled something quietly well out of Martin's range of care.

"Well, you should be. I'll have you know that I am quite dangerous."

"Really?"

"Yes." Martin's eyes narrowed and he licked his lower lip. "Yes, I am."

Suddenly the girl, Anna, shouted something in Russian – and the brute looked away. "You are very lucky, Captain." He spat, stepping tight enough to reach Martin easily with his massive arms. "Had your credit not cleared you would be much worse than your stupid friend now."

He didn't wet himself, but considered crying long enough to turn around and see Douglas standing in the doorway – barely moving to let the pair pass. Once they were gone, he muttered; "Don't say a word, Douglas. I know that look, and I have no desire to hear what you have to say."

"Is he all right?" Douglas asked, quite contrary to what Martin had assumed he'd say.

Martin didn't answer; instead he went right to Arthur's side and tugged aside the blanket – not at all liking the look of the blood on it. "Arthur… say something…"

"This really, really hurts." Arthur sobbed quietly, still holding a corner of the once green fabric to the lower half of his face. "He hit me!"

"I know he did, Arthur… I'm sorry." Martin sighed, hesitating a moment before putting an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "I… I need to see it and make sure you don't need a medic."

Arthur nodded slowly and then winced, letting down the bloody blanket to show a large red welt, already rising around his upper lip and the right side of his obviously broken and bleeding nose. For the most part, he actually didn't look horrible… not the worst Martin had seen by far. "Didn't break anything, I don't think… my mouth hurts – and my nose." He slurred as best he could, mostly understandable.

"Not so bad, you've seen worse." Douglas stepped forward, only cautiously looking on. "Looks fine."

"I wouldn't say fine." Martin grimaced, pushing up to retrieve a towel. "Broke your nose I think."

Arthur nodded again, leaning back against the blanket.

"Well then, I'll leave you boys to it. Enough excitement for one night." Douglas quietly excused himself, locking their door as he left.

Martin tended to Arthur's injury in silence, actually quite surprised that until his make-shift cold pack was applied Arthur remained quiet. Also quite surprised he'd only cried a little bit.

"Ooh, that's chilly." Arthur winced slightly, leaning back against the freshly made bed – nuzzled up against Martin's pillow.

"It's snow in a carrier bag, Arthur." Martin replied quietly, sitting beside him on the somewhat smaller seeming bed. "The cold will help the swelling. I know it isn't much, but did you take the Paracetamol from the kit?"

Arthur nodded slightly against the pillow, letting out a soft groan.

"Just relax, Arthur. We'll get some sleep and tomorrow we'll fly back to Fitton." He sat with his back to the younger man for a long moment, and then stretched out on his side – not entirely surprised to find Arthur's arms worming their way around his waist. He'd had a long day, best not to worry about something so simple. It wasn't exactly the first time they'd ended up have a bit of a cuddle after a particularly bad day.

"Thank you for sticking up for me, Skip. Nobody ever stuck up for me like that before." Arthur spoke quietly with a bit of a raspy, swollen lisp. "I didn't mean to do it, honest."

"I know, Arthur. These things happen."

"They do? Did you lose your virginity in a Moscow hotel room to a woman you did not know was prostitute who tried to kill you?"

Martin chuckled slightly at the sheer absurdity of it all. "No. no." He paused, considering actually letting slip the tale of his first of far too many sexual misadventures. Of course, it wouldn't be appropriate given the circumstances. "If I may ask… what exactly happened?"

"What do you mean?" Arthur let out a panting breath against his neck, rather distractingly.

"Nothing, no matter. Let's just get some rest, shall we?"

"Right." Arthur responded quietly. A long silence stretched between them before he asked, "You sleeping yet, Skip?"

"No." Martin sighed.

"Oh." Another long pause, followed by, "She did a thing, with her mouth. You know, down there."

Martin swallowed hard, "I see."

"You did?"

"No, not what I meant."

"Oh."

Arthur grew silent again and Martin asked, not without a hint of lechery; "Was that all that happened?"

"No, actually." Arthur sighed, letting out a bit of a strangled breath as he moved the snow pack. "That's sort of the bit where things didn't go quite so well."

"Ahh."

It seemed as though he was about to fall asleep when Arthur muttered, "I think I may have missed a part, though because that thing that's supposed to happen at the end, you know…" He let out another strangled breath with what sounded like it may be a nervous chuckle behind it. "It didn't happen."

"It didn't happen?"

"Not really, no. I mean, I told her it did because I didn't want her to feel bad, you know…"

"I'm sure she knew, Arthur." Martin attempted to sound reassuring when he was only particularly feeling puzzled and a tiny bit horrible for being interested in the discussion at all.

"Oh." He paused, shifting up closer to pull the blanket he'd been wrapped in over Martin as well. "Is that a normal thing, you think?"

There really was no answer for that sort of question. "Sure, why not."

"That's good." He whimpered slightly, attempting a smile that tugged at the split in his upper lip. "It never happens when I'm by myself." He paused, once more attempting to adjust the covers until Martin gave in and pushed closer against him as the room took on a chill. "Does that ever happen to you?"

"What?" Martin yawned, closing his eyes.

"You know… not… finishing."

"Oh! Oh, no… no." Martin chuckled, "God no."

"Ah."

"I mean, sure… maybe occasionally but it's not a problem or anything." Martin lied, "We should get some sleep, Arthur. It's getting late."

"Right-o." Arthur closed his eyes and hesitated, then gently let his forehead rest against Martin's shoulder, squeezing the arm around the thin man's middle tight. "Goodnight, Skip."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

Martin finished his pre-flight in near record time, still a bit exhausted from their Moscow adventure. "I don't believe there was enough money on the expense account to cover the… eh, fee."

"There wasn't." Douglas answered.

"But they said that it had cleared…"

"Yes, imagine that."

"You didn't, Douglas."

"Somebody had to."

"I had it under control…"

"Of course you did, while your ward bled out on the duvet."

"It wasn't a duvet, it was a bedspread."

"I stand corrected." Douglas shook his head, "You can pay me back when the funds are available. Unless you expect to take it out in trade."

"In trade?" Martin lifted an eyebrow, "Surely you don't mean…"

"No, of course not. Martin. Really?"

"Sorry, just…"

"I have some things I need moved. Preferably in a van."

"I see." Martin nodded slowly. "So, about sixty-five, then?"

"We'll say fifty, considering the juicy bit of information this scenario has offered."

Martin considered the offer, "You wouldn't use it against Arthur, would you? He honestly had no idea she was a prostitute."

"Oh, I don't doubt it." Douglas shook his head again, smiling in that fashion that tends to make everyone just a bit nervous. "However, I was referring to the rather compromising position you were in this morning."

"What?"

"When I opened your door at promptly six o'clock this morning you were in a rather enthralling embrace with someone whose mother would take great interest to know what you've been up to."

"You wouldn't."

"Perhaps." Douglas lifted an eyebrow, cracking the top off a bottle of water. "You never really know, do you?"

"Nothing happened, Douglas. It was purely platonic."

"Was it, now? I'm not so certain…"

"I was comforting him!"

"As you have been comforting him on multiple occasions…"

"We room together, at your insistence I may add. That does not imply that anything improper is happening."

"No, but the look on your face…"

"Means absolutely nothing!"

"Nothing, really?"

"Yes, nothing. Absolutely nothing at all."

"Are you sure?"

Martin thought it over a long moment, trying not to consider Arthur's motives which were perhaps a bit more questionable than his own only somewhat questionable motives. In fact, nothing had actually happened at all. "Yes, quite sure."

"Damn."

"Right, so sixty-five then?"

Douglas waited until they were ready to taxi safely out of Moscow to respond, "Next Thursday, four o'clock. Bring your lift belt."