Arthur's plan was foolproof.
Matthew – or Matilda as he would be known for a few weeks - would compete with Alfred on the little Mister and Miss Polar Bear circuit for the grand prize of $50,000. They would wear matching outfits. They would have a cute choreographed routine. They would smile and maintain perfect eye contact with the judges! By the end of it, they would be the ones holding that trophy and accepting the check for the prize money.
Of course, he forgot one important element to this foolproof plan.
Francis was worse than a fool.
He was an idiot.
Don't get him wrong; Arthur suspected that Francis would have some concerns about –essentially- committing fraud. He even suspected the Frenchman to disagree with his son being exploited. Turns out, his concern wasn't any of that. No, the frog's concern was Arthur's lack of taste buds being passed down to his child. It's not that he expected anything different from the moron. He knew Francis would want to tag along. What he didn't expect was for the flamboyant man to insist he tag along as his husband.
His husband.
As in, Arthur would have to pretend that he liked the other man. He might even be required to touch him. For a few minutes, the Englishman contemplated nixing the whole project. He didn't know if $50,000 was worth the humiliation of being fake-married to the frog. His skin crawled at the very thought!
The part of Arthur that remembered the massive debt lurking in his past and the growing expenses of raising a child alone reminded him that he needed this money. He needed it to make them comfortable.
Which is why Arthur was currently attempting to look pleasant and 'in-love' as his 'husband' chatted with the white-haired woman at the hotel front desk about their sixth year anniversary. He really deserved some kind of academy award for not barfing as Francis reached out to tenderly touch his cheek. (If his cheeks turned red, it was from anger, not embarrassment or desire.)
He was just happy the children weren't there to correct the Frenchman. (They were currently playing near the fountain and probably getting water everywhere.) Alfred was fiercely protective of his father – which tickled him to no end, really – but it caused an issue when the little one insisted his Daddy wasn't married. Arthur had no intentions of telling him about 'white lies' just yet. Good thing his son enjoyed playing a good game of 'pretend'. (Of course, that meant Alfred wanted to be an elephant and violently protested when Arthur attempted to explain he couldn't pretend to be an elephant.)
"Isn't that right, darling?"
Arthur blinked rapidly as he stared dumbly at the Frenchman and the hotel worker. He hadn't been paying attention to a word they were saying. If that condescending smile was any indication, the damned frog knew it too. He grit his teeth before nodding his head and giving his most convincing smile to the man. "Yes," he chirped with faux-happiness, moving forward to tuck himself into Francis' side. "That's right." He dug his fingers into the space underneath his ribs until he heard a soft groan of pain. Only then was he managed a true smile. "Are we almost done checking in?"
"Of course," Francis ground out, forcibly reaching back to retract his 'husband's' hand.
Arthur's eyes were twinkling as he gave the woman a cheery wave before guiding Francis towards the elevator. A quick whistle had his son dragging Matthew towards them, too. (He may have learned that trick from a puppy-training book. He'd never admit it out loud, but he had to find something to curve his child's behavior. He certainly didn't need anyone judging him for it, fuck you very much.) Alfred was all smiles now, but he hadn't been a few hours ago.
His child had a severe case of motion sickness. It didn't matter what type of vehicle or how long they were traveling, he always got sick. What made matters worse was the medicine to combat the motion sickness never failed to make him irritable. For the first thirty minutes of the ride, his darling little boy turned into an absolute little hellion. He whined and cried at every little transgression. Arthur knew it was miserable for him, so he couldn't imagine how terrible it was for Francis.
It was probably the only time Arthur ever felt bad for the frog. He even dared to apologize once Alfred settled down enough for a short nap. In a surprising turn of events, the Frenchman insisted that his Matthew 'wasn't always a little angel.' Arthur doubted that. Throughout the entire fit his child pitched, Matthew only tried to distract him with toys or treats. He was an angel and a perfect complement to Alfred's rambunctious personality.
"Daddy," Alfred gushed out in one breath as he collided into Arthur's legs, "Mattie and I want to have a sleepover, please?"
"You're already having a sleepover, love." He answered as he lifted the boy into his arms. "Matthew and his Papa are staying in our room this weekend." To his surprise, Matthew tangled his hands into his jacket and looked up at him with these big, pleading eyes that just about tore his heart apart. Arthur used his free hand to ruffle those soft curls.
"No, Daddy," his child whined, "We wanna make a pillow tent like we do at home. You know, on the bed," Alfred tugged on his collar a little, "with the blankets as a ceiling and-and the pillows as walls."
Normally, he would have no problem with building his famous 'pillow-tent' for the children. They loved pretending to be outside camping. (Arthur had neither the knowledge nor the desire to go camping in the wild. With his luck, they'd attract bears or bees or anything else that could potentially kill them.) He enjoyed making his son happy, but if he made a pillow-tent for the children, that meant he would have to share a bed with Francis.
The elevator seemed eerily quiet as Arthur's brain exploded at the idea of being forced to share a bed with the damned frog. No. He already regretted the one time they slept together. It had been terrible enough that he didn't want a repeat. (Or so he told himself and he certainly didn't stroke himself to the memories of that time.) He certainly wasn't going to give the man a chance to corner him into doing something he didn't want to do. Like, you know, talking about their failed relationship.
No. If he allowed this to happen, he'd have to man up with Francis. He was perfectly content just ignoring the big, festering wound of their relationship until the metaphorical limb fell off. "Alfie," he cooed to his son, shifting him onto his hip as the elevator slowly ticked to their floor, "I'm sure Matthew wants to sleep with his Papa. It's a strange, unfamiliar place! You would both be more comfortable with us than all alone, right? It'll be so dark and we didn't bring your nightlight." He certainly wasn't proud of it when he played on his own child's fear of the dark, but sacrifices had to be made in this instance.
He thought his plan was working when his son's face clouded over with fear. In the end, it was little Matthew peeping up with an enthusiastic 'I wanna sleep with Al, Papa' that crumbled all of Arthur's carefully laid plans. Francis – the weak, cowardly frog – caved rather quickly to the demands of his child.
Not for the first time that day, Arthur wondered if this entire operation was worth the money. In the end, he relented. They had a busy morning the next day and he'd rather not spend his evening corralling upset children. They'd already have to get up early the next morning. The competition was being held in another hotel across town, but they'd decided to stay away from the main action so Matthew wouldn't have to spend extra time as 'Matilda'. That meant they would need to fix 'Matilda's' hair and make-up before ever leaving the hotel. It was going to be an interesting morning.
Arthur was in charge of getting the children's outfits ready for the next morning. He parked himself in the corner with the ironing board and a small sewing kit. Normally, this would be one of the most challenging parts of the competition because Alfred wasn't very good at waiting patiently. Except this time, he had Francis. The Englishman found himself shocked (and a little impressed) when the other man volunteered to take the boys to the pool. That little reprieve gave him nearly two hours of quiet time to put the final touches on their outfits.
It was fucking perfect.
Not only did he manage to get the outfits finished, but also he constructed the 'pillow-tent' on the second bed. By the time the boys returned, Arthur had supper waiting for them. (He ordered pizza for himself and the little ones, but broke down for a nice salad for Francis. The frog did deserve a reward, after all.) Once all had showered and ate, Arthur realized with growing dread that sharing a bed with Francis was an undeniable reality. There was no escape, unless he decided the floor was a better option.
Looking at the floor (covered in dirt and filth, mind you), well, there was no way that was going to happen. In the end, after the boys were snoring softly and the lights had been turned off, Arthur found himself hugging the edge of the bed. He could feel Francis' warmth close to him. Every sigh and turn of his body sent Arthur's nerves tingling. Ugh, he wasn't going to be able to sleep like this.
"Why are you so tense?" Francis' whisper cut through the silence. "It's like sleeping next to a board."
Arthur grumbled as he rolled onto his side and as far away from Francis as possible. "I don't want any part of you touching me." The exasperated sigh was almost enough for him to crack a smile. Even in this, he loved causing the Frenchman trouble. "Just stay on your side and fall asleep."
Francis continued to shift, which only further drew Arthur's ire. He responded with a sharp kick to the man's shin. "Fuck," the Frenchman cursed. Arthur may have thought he'd won, but quickly he felt the back of the man's elbow jammed into his shoulder.
The motion started a strange fight between the two. Arthur boldly flopped over with as much strength (and silence) as he could muster in order to grasp the man's shoulders. They wrestled in the bed. Both grunting behind tightly sealed lips and concealing hisses of pain as sharp knees and elbows hit tender places.
Arthur wanted to end it with swift headlock, but as his hands grabbed the back of the man's head his body seemed to react the exact opposite of his brain. Instead of pressing the air out of his throat, he stole his breath in another way. He tugged Francis into a particularly heated kiss.
When they both finally pulled away, neither had words for each other. In fact, Arthur flopped back on his side and ignored the soft sigh of the man behind him.
It was too late for this bullshit.