"Angleterre! If you are free, would you like to go for a drink?"

England turned to France.

"Alright, but I won't have anything too strong, you know how I get when I'm drunk."

France pretended to pout.

"Eet is a shame. You are so fun when you are drunk, mon ami."

Later, at the pub, England sat next to France at the bar, drinking his one pint of beer. France had a very complicated cocktail and had just ordered a shot glass of vodka.

"So, how was your week England?"

"Awful. Thank God we have a week off, Alfred was driving me crazy last week."

"Reeeally?" France replied. He knew England could never resist the chance to have a nice long rant about America. As England launched into a furious tirade, he lent forward and surreptitiously poured the contents of the shot glass into England's beer. Hiding a smirk, he lent back and prepared to watch the fun.

"...and he's a complete moron, it's a wonder he's still alive, one of these days I'm going to..." England paused to take a sip of his drink (not noticing the change in taste) and continued. "...absolutely no respect, he'll get on the wrong side of a powerful country one of these days..."

A while later, France looked over at the tipsy country sitting next to him.

"Are you in the mood for a leetle drinking competition Arthur?"

England frowned.

"I meant it when I said I was only having one pint, Francis."

France huffed.

"Maybe you are afraid that I could out-drink you."

England raised himself onto France's level.

"Hah! I'm the mighty British Empire. I could beat you in any contest!"

"Prove eet."

"Fine!"

France smiled.

"If you are so confident, then how about we bet on it? How about... the loser has to be the winner's servant for the next week - and do whatever the winner wants - starting on Monday. There aren't any meetings scheduled then, anyway."

England hesitated. His common sense screamed to him that this was an awful idea, but his pride (and the spiked beer) spurred him to speak.

"Deal!"

The two countries shook hands and ordered their first round of drinks.

As the evening went on, both countries became more and more intoxicated. By the time they reached their fifth round, England was swaying dangerously on his stool and France was just giggling at nothing. England put his glass down.

"You won't beat me, f-frog! Another one h-here."

France knocked back his drink.

"You are soooo pretty, Angleterre. I need another... one, too."

"Y-you can't beat the great... great..."

England paused.

"Who am I again?"

France thought about it.

"The great person, who wears green?"

England frowned.

"No, it's not that... another one please."

France waved his finger in an attempt to indicate that he too would like another drink. The barman got the idea and put another drink down (it was lucky England often went down there for a quiet drink and had a tab open).

France took a long drink before putting his glass back down, then watched England do the same. France raised a hand in front of his face. He could still see the basic shape of it, so he decided he was fine and drained his glass. He turned around to England in time to see him finish his drink... and collapse backwards off the bar stool.

"Ha! Sir France 'as triumphed!" exclaimed France. He waved a finger in England's general direction.

"You start work on Monday."

On Monday morning, England stood on the steps in front of France's house, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

What a humiliating experience he thought to himself.

Stupid bet. Stupid frog. Stupid me.

He cringed as he thought back to the events of the night before. He didn't dwell on the painful memory for long, though, as France opened the door and looked at him with a smug look on his face.

"Oh good, you are 'ere" he smirked.

"Do I have to sleep here? I brought some things in case." England muttered.

France laughed.

"But of course! How else will you cook me breakfast in the morning? Though, that may not be the best idea now that I think about eet."

France laughed again.

"Please, come in."

With a feeling of resignation England stepped through the door.

France walked through another doorway and waved a hand, indicating that England should follow.

"Please, sit." He said as England entered the room. When they were both seated, he looked over at England's rather red face and smirked in an annoying way.

"Well, while I 'ave never managed to conquer you, Angleterre, at least you have to do what I say for the week."

England turned a deeper shade of red.

"All right, there's no need to rub it in, you git."

France wagged a finger at him.

"Non non, you are not allowed to insult me. You have to do everything I say or break your promise, and Englishmen don't do that, do zey Arthur?"

England gave him an angry look but said nothing.

"That is better. Now, let me show you where you'll be sleeping. For now, anyway. I have a spare guest room upstairs."

England tried not to think about where he would have slept in the absence of a spare room, but failed.

England climbed the stairs. They were, he realised, the exact same colour as France's hair. When he reached the room, France showed him where he could keep his things and where the bathroom was.

"After you have settled in, go back downstairs and make me a cup of tea." France ordered. Then he left the room.

A short while later, England walked down into the kitchen. He put the kettle on, found the tea and began searching through the cupboards for the cups. He finally located them, but as he bent down to the lowest cupboard to reach them he heard a voice behind him.

"Why 'ello."

England straightened up so fast he almost smacked his head on the counter. He turned to see France right there.

"It ees a shame, I was enjoying the view." France practically purred, before reaching over and squeezing England's butt. England pushed him away very fast and retreated to the other side of the kitchen in a flurry of embarrassment.

"You- you-"

France winked at him.

"You do 'ave a nice ass-"

He ducked to avoid the cup England threw at him and it smashed on the wall behind him. France straightened up, tutting.

"You can clear zat up, and then I will have to theenk of a punishment." He said. England was very irritated to see that he was still smirking. Thankfully, he then left. England cleared up the broken shards and started making tea in another mug. His mind was churning angrily and he felt more than a little embarrassed. He resolved to punch France as soon as the week ended. Yes, he could take necessary revenge when he was free. Meanwhile, he could plot exactly how he would screw things up for that bloody git after his hours of servitude.