{{First of a series of fairytale themed stories I have planned, a little taster so to say.
Would it be best to upload them all separately or under one big fairytale story? I'm not sure, since they all have different characters and pairings they focus on...}}
" It's just not my day today, Artie. ~ "
" It will never be your bloody day, frog." Arthur leaned over his cauldron, dipping his ladle into the boiling green goo. He raised it slowly, observing the liquid for a moment before turning it over into an earthenware cup. Carefully, like handing something of high value, he took the cup with both hands, blowing on it. " You want some tea too?"
Francis didn't have to hop any closer to see that he, in fact, did not want it in the least. "I'll pass, mon cheri."
Arthur shrugged, taken a long deliberate sip, looking down at Francis with some degree of amusement. "I told you not to use your froggy words around my house, frog. ~"
"Je vais 'ribbit' autant que je veux jusqu'à ce que vous me revenir en arrière, matelot anglais.~ "It was somewhat impressive, Arthur thought, that there was still nearly sing song quality about his voice still, despite the fact he had to croak every word. If only he wasn't so… French, perhaps he'd actually nearly be bearable to listen to.
Nearly. Nearly.
"Every time you talk like that you're just getting stuck like this for longer. ~" Arthur eyed the former Frenchman. He looked a lot cuter like that. Not to mention a lot more manageable.
It wasn't that he wasn't a little cute before, which was partly the reason he had taken him in back then when he was wandering lost in the woods. He had been charming to say the least. Right down till the point when he had mistaken his courtesy to invite him inside as an invitation to drop his pants and try to get inside in quite a different way.
Arthur had already uttered his spells before the other had gotten the time to confess he was deliberately looking around for the 'naughty, evil witch in the woods'. By the time that came to light the Frenchmen was green, on four webbed paws and croaking rather than speaking.
"I actually found a princess today.~" Francis hopped nimbly from the table to Arthur's shoulder, clinging to his shirt as he started walking. The witch had kept him around, if only if the company had been strangely amusing and in a forest you didn't have many people to talk to.
Curiously enough, the frog had actually stuck around, rather than ran off and tried to find as many princesses to kiss as possible, as might've been expected from him.
"How did that go then?"
"Excellent to a point," Francis stealithly crept closer, subtly trying to sneak underneath Arthur's cape and, subsequently, his shirt.
"Same point as before, frog?" Arthur poked the frog, just to see him stumble, regain his balance and start the journey again, fully aware of what the other was trying.
"Princesses are tres compliquéthese days." Francis complained, slipping back underneath his cape, slowly making his way again. "I'm sitting by the pond, non? And this young princess stops by.~" Francis started his story, resting in the same place for a moment, patting his sticky paws against Arthur's shirt to get more comfortable. "So I wait there, but the princess does not play with the ball, let alone drop it, you see?"
"I hope you didn't offer your own balls like last time." Arthur interupted, grinning as he relished that memory.
"Non, I have more originality than that, sorcière.~" Francis continued, darting his long, wet tongue playfully over Arthur's cheek.
Arthur slapped the animal for that, nearly sending him scattering off his shoulder. "You're disgusting, frog."
"If you would let me finish my story this time." Francis scrambled back up, hiding under the cloak though, only his head popping out. "So I tell her, I'm a magical frog, and, the princess, ahh, she replies."
"I'm not allowed to speak to enchanted frogs." The brunette knelt next to the spring, washing her hands neatly with the water, all the while giving Francis no more than a sideways glance.
"Pardon?"
"Mom and Dad said they heard that were dirty frogs in the forest now, " She shook her hands dry, slowly brushing through her hair then, despite the fact it was already parted into two neat ponytails.
"Dirty frogs?" Francis wasn't entirely sure if he was supposed to be offended or somewhere flattered that the word was spread. Also, what was the point of sending princesses unguarded to play near springs if they weren't allowed to kiss frogs anymore? "Mais, princess. If you were to listen to me I could turn into a real prince."
"I'm already marrying a real prince." She wasn't doing too great of a job not talking to frogs so far.
"Word of you spread already? You're getting notorious, frog." Arthur smirked. "You're not making it easy for yourself."
"And so I got rejected again," Francis sighed, having made his way nearly into his shirt during the story. "Sad but true, I even offered her a feel around if she was having doubts still, but even my charm was futile against this one." He pawed inside the shirt then, pressing against Arthur's bare skin.
Arthur shuddered with the cold, slimey feeling, lifting him out by one of his legs, rolling his eyes. "Who'd want to touch a slimey frog like you? You're hopeless.~"
"You're touching me, Artie."
"Hopeless. Disgusting." Arthur put him down again on the table. Sometimes it made him wonder if Francis was even really trying with those princesses.