A/N: This takes place after the season 5 finale.
The light of the morning sky slowly streams across Arthur's face, causing his eyes to flutter slowly. There is a weight on his chest, not entirely restrictive, but noticeable that it causes his breath to labor, somewhat. He shifts slightly and is jarred by a pain in his lower groin, quickly dashing the remnants of sleep from his body.
"Bloody hell!" he swears as he bolts upright.
The weight rolls to his side and Arthur examines it through sleep-heavy eyes. A mop of tousled, caramel curls falls away to reveal a set of brown eyes, broad grin, save one missing front tooth.
"Morning, Dad."
"Thomas."
Arthur sighs, reluctantly greeting his son's cheery expression with a chuckle of his own.
He stands, grabs his pillow off the bedroom floor and lightly tosses it at the youngster, who responds with an exaggerated "Oomph."
"Mum, Dad hit me."
"Serves you right," calls a voice from distance.
"He hit me first," retorts/replies Arthur, mimicking the child's tone. Sticking his tongue out playfully, he ducks just as the pillow sails past his head.
"Missed," he teases. "You should really work on your follow-through," he adds, sidestepping a second pillow launched in his direction. It skirts the chest of drawers behind him, knocking over small bottles of perfume, before joining its twin on the ground.
"Arthur, really?"
Gwen enters the room, picking the pillows from the bedroom floor. Slightly frustrated at the antics of her husband and six-year-old, but not surprised.
With sun-kissed skin, Thomas may share some of her features, but he is definitely his father's son. She hoped he would inherit more of her temperament, but the precocious lad proves as excitable and impetuous as the young Arthur.
"Go get ready or you'll make us both late," she swats Thomas on the bottom as he hops from the bed. Despite having a room of his own, Thomas often finds his way in bed next to his parents—much to the discomfort of his father.
"Ouch. That hurts," he turns to face her, hands folded across his chest; sporting a pout she's seen countless times on his father's face.
She bends down to his level, hands on hips. "Not nearly enough," she replies.
"Now hurry up and get dressed." She scoots him out the bedroom door and returns to face his father, hands folded across her chest.