A/N: Drabble challenge written in 20 minutes for Middletails who gave me the prompt of "beer."
Beer
For Middletails
"This beer is warm!" America whined as he slammed the pilsner glass down on the bar and glowered at England, some of the dark liquid sloshing out in the process. "Disgusting!"
"It's Guinness, you wanker," the other man replied. "It's supposed to be warm!"
"Why?"
"Because it is!"
"It's still gross!" America said with a scowl.
"Really," France drawled, swirling his wine in his glass as he sat next to them. "Are you so uncultured and crass that you show disdain for anything that isn't considered normal to you?"
"I wasn't talking to you," America scoffed, still glaring at the offending drink in front of him. After a few moments, he stood up and walked away, but not before sticking his tongue out at the two other men.
England normally wouldn't side with France, but couldn't resist the chance to bully his former charge. Shouting across the bar, he cared not if America was even listening. "No one would be able to tell who you're talking to since you seem to say everything at the top of your lungs!"
France didn't want to give England any satisfaction of thinking he had an ally in this fight, at least not yet. "He is right, mon ami. Your beer shouldn't be something that requires chewing. It does taste terrible."
"I thought you were on my side!" England yelled, slamming his palm onto the bar top.
"Ohohohoh," France laughed, running a hand through his beautiful, thick hair. "Then you thought wrong. But perhaps I can get our young friend to enjoy the drink you offered."
"Really? What will it cost me?"
"You will have to marry me if he likes it," was the response which followed a flirty wink.
If England's eyebrows could've fallen off his head in surprise, they would've, as he answered, "Absolutely out of the question!"
"But where is your sense of adventure, mon ami?" France said before taking another sip of his wine. "I wouldn't just sleep with anyone, you know."
"Yes you would!"
"No, I would not," France answered. Pointing at America, who was now across the room attempting to hit on a redhead, he shook his head. "He smells like fried potato and overcooked meat. I would not sleep with him."
England considered this all for a moment. It seemed like a risk, but if it meant watching America choke down some of the beer he had ridiculed, it might be worth it. "Very well."
France grinned and waved to the bartender before calling America over. When the younger man sat down next to him, France put his arm around him. "I'm going to offer you a special drink. Tell me what you think. Be honest."
America watched with wide eyes as France dropped a shot—glass and all—into the Guinness he had abandoned earlier.
"Drink it quick," France said, giving a grin to England. "Before it curdles."
Wasting no time, and determined to show these fools that he was open to new experiences, America gulped the drink down as if it were one of his precious Cokes. Licking his lips, he smiled at France. "That was awesomely delicious, man! What was it? I gotta know!"
"Guinness, Jameson, and Bailey's." France laughed as he glared at England, whose face now betrayed his horror at not only the loss of the bet, but how his old enemy had managed to dredge up ugliness in his past. "It's commonly called an Irish Car Bomb."