It was just a simple sleepover. A slumber party Alfred had dragged him to. So why the hell did someone bring alcohol? And why didn't he remember much of anything the next morning? Arthur put an ice pack on his head and threw himself down on the couch where he'd woken up. There was a single light on in the room and it came from the cable box. The time was blinking, signaling that it had been shut off within the last couple of hours. Arthur turned his head away. The blinking made his head hurt worse.

Instead, a second light caught his eye. A little red light. On the side of a camera. Who the hell had recorded last night? And worse yet, why the hell was it still going? The Englishman got up and grabbed the camera, his fingers working faster than his brain to stop the tape, turn it all off, and take the tape out. His hands were working better than his head apparently, because before he registered what he was doing, Arthur had gone back over to the TV and put in the tape, hitting play on the VCR. It suddenly felt like he was reliving last night.

*FLASHBACK*

"Come on dude! It's gonna be awesome! Gilbert promised tonight'll be so rad!"

Why did Arthur let this happen? Oh right, Alfred had threatened him with a month of no sex if he didn't go. So Arthur had agreed. He'd worn his old punk clothes; skinny jeans and a faded union jack t-shirt, mascara and studded leather collar. Alfred had seen him and nearly reconsidered going out. Apparently, punk appealed to him far more than Alfred let on. Arthur still swore that he looked like a disillusioned angsty teenager.

Nobody told him it was a costume party.

Now here they were at the Beilschmidt house, and Arthur wanted to know how Gilbert had gotten all these people to agree to come here. The entire Bad Touch Trio, as they were known, was here of course, but had brought friends. Antonio was on the couch with his boyfriend, Lovino. But what shocked Arthur was what the Spaniard had talked his Italian lover into wearing. Lovino wore a very short black button up top and even shorter boy shorts, accentuated by leather boots that ended mid-thigh. The Italian looked uncomfortable, but Antonio seemed to enjoy it immensely.

Across the room, Francis was sitting cross legged on the floor in a mime costume, minus the make-up, talking to Feliks, who was lying across an armchair wearing drag, complete with make-up. Toris stood behind the chair in a similar get up, looking extremely nervous. Arthur imagined that spending so much time with Feliks, the Lithuanian man would be a little more at ease in a dress.

Being his older brother's party, Ludwig was there of course. But Arthur was shocked by his outfit. The usually strict German matched his wilder older brother, wearing bright red stretch pants, a wide yellow belt, and a black fishnet tank top, Ludwig showed off more skin than Lovino's racy clothes. And to add to it, he sported a spiked collar, similar to Arthur's own, though Ludwig had a thin cord leash attached to his. And when had he gotten a tattoo THERE, Arthur wondered?

Wherever Ludwig was though, true to form, Feliciano was not very far behind him. Sweet, innocent Feli was dressed similar to his brother. They could have been wearing the exact same outfit except for one key detail. Feliks always said accessories mattered. And Feli's accessories, a riding crop and a little gold badge, made him look downright dangerous. The smirk on his face and the fact that he was holding the end of Ludwig's leash didn't help the innocent case either. The twins were practically poster boys for S&M.

Arthur covered his eyes and looked away, not sure what he was seeing was real. 'What goes on in their bedrooms should stay in their bedrooms.' He thought, until he remembered that he'd walked into this party with a cowboy. Alfred nudged his boyfriend and muttered, "Ivan and Mattie said they were staying home tonight. I left them the condoms."

"You are an asshole." Arthur hissed back, crossing his arms. Alfred just laughed, "Loosen up, Dude! It's a party, not a meeting. We've all got to chill sometime or we're gonna explode or something." Alfred tipped his hat and grinned, adding in a low murmur, "Like you do every night, eh?"

Arthur shook his head and grabbed a drink that was already open on the table by the couch, downing what was left. It didn't help his mood, but it still gave him a hint of a buzz.

Antonio looked up, about to ask why his beer had just been taken. But seeing the dark glare he received from Arthur, he let it slide. It was just one drink. It was Gilbert's house after all. Alcohol flowed like water here. Antonio had turned on the sink once for a glass of water and had watched the faucet pour amber liquid instead of clear.

Arthur tossed the empty bottle and flopped down on the only empty seat, a scoop backed thing that could have been decent in a proper household. Francis leaned over from his seat on the floor and asked, "Aren't you a little young to be drinking, boy?" Arthur sniffed, kicking off his Doc Martins, "This place has no age limit, stupid bloody Frog."

The 'Frog', as well as Feliks, chuckled. Well, Francis chuckled. Feliks was already buzzed enough that he started giggling. And then the mime noticed something. "Ah, Angleterre! You paint your nails?" Arthur looked down at his hands. Indeed, he'd painted both his finger and toenails black. He'd never admit it, but he'd enjoyed getting dressed up for this. He smirked. "So What? It's not like you don't."

Feliks giggled and sipped his cosmopolitan. "He's totally got you there Francis. They don't call 'em 'French Nails' for nothing." Francis waved a hand, pretty much showing off said nails. "Say what you like, but mine are famous!~" He suddenly fell over. Yup, he was at least as soused as Feliks.

Rather than sit next to the giggling pair, Arthur got up and found the bar. He didn't really question why Gilbert and Ludwig, of all people, had a bar in their living room. That was self-explanatory. What he questioned was what exactly the albino handed him when he got to said bar. "Bloody hell is this?" Arthur slurred, holding up the pint glass of maroon liquid. Gilbert grinned, "Just drink it Ringo. Trust the Awesome Me. This is gonna be the best night of your sorry life."

Somehow, Arthur doubted that. He didn't argue though, and tipped the glass, and his head, back, downing the whole thing in one shot. Immediately he dropped the glass back on the bar and stepped away from it, gagging. "Tastes like cough syrup and sweat socks!" He coughed, wishing he could get the taste off of his tongue.

Instead of refilling the glass, Gilbert settled for passing a cold beer bottle over the counter. "You need to drink more. That wasn't half as strong as the usual stuff." Arthur took to beer and went back to his seat grumbling, "What the hell was I thinking? He's bloody insane." But when he sat down, he found that he was NOT sitting on the chair.

"Herro Arthur-san. If you don't mind, would you get off my lap please?"

Arthur stiffened and turned his head slowly. Like an idiot, he found, he'd sat down on Kiku. The Japanese man quirked an eyebrow at him, and Arthur quickly jumped off. Kiku nodded, "I am sorry we were so late. Yao-san took longer than expected." He glanced across the room to where his Chinese brother was talking animatedly with Alfred. Arthur shrugged, vaguely noticing that both Kiku and Yao were wearing very short versions of what girls wore in their countries.

"S'alright. What's with the dress though?"

Kiku looked down, blushing slightly. The short red garment, complete with black sash and cherry blossoms on it, only came up to mid-thigh on him, higher when he sat down. "It was not my idea." Arthur could tell that much. Few people would be seen in public in a dress like that. Still, he had expected something a little different. "No school girl uniform? I thought you were into that sort of thing."

Once again, Kiku blushed, "Yao asked to borrow it. Some time ago, I think." From the sound of things, he knew exactly what Yao had used the uniform for, but Arthur really didn't want to know. It was just one of those things that did not need to be said, and probably shouldn't have been said. Arthur shrugged and folded himself down, leaning on the side of the chair until he was properly seated on the carpet. This was going to be a long night.

Flash forward a few hours and no one in the Beilschmidt house was in any condition to think. Feliks and Toris had dropped behind the couch an hour before. From the sounds they were making, both of them were enjoying this. Francis had taken Felik's chair and was stretched out over the arms like a cat in a warm patch of sun. Annoyingly enough, he was awake enough to make passes at anyone who caught his attention. His plain white shirt was hanging from the curtains.

The Vargas twins were on the couch, in the laps of their lovers. Feliciano was still sober. Or rather, he was still in the same condition as he had been when Arthur had arrived. Whether that was sober or not was up to debate. Lovino, however, was either going to pass out or he was going to start screwing Antonio right there on the living room couch. Antonio didn't seem to have any problem with that, but Ludwig, forced to sit still by Feli, was visibly freaked out.

Gilbert had probably drunk the most out of all of them, but he looked like he was perfectly fine. Minus his shirt and belt, he was still perched behind the bar. The only difference was that he'd started playing some kind of loud, bass heavy techno music. Yao and Kiku were nowhere to be seen, but Kiku's kimono was on the floor in front of the locked bathroom.

Arthur had had the decency, even while drunk, to keep his clothes on, unlike Alfred, who was down to his boxers and a cowboy hat. His glasses, along with most of his clothes, were missing. Arthur hugged his uke, partly to keep him from stripping down any further, and partly to keep Francis from getting him. One never knew when the crazy Frog would get over his lethargy and rape the first available target.

Arthur, sitting in the chair the Kiku had vacated, watched further events unfold over Alfred's shoulder. He'd briefly considered using the rope that went with Alfred's cowboy outfit to tie his hands, but even an Englishman like himself would have had a hard time restraining himself from taking Alfred to another room for some fun. You know; the kind of fun that neither of them would remember the next morning.

Lovino had apparently also had that sort of idea, because his mouth went up to Antonio's ear and his hand went down onto the Spaniard's crotch. Ludwig, on the other end of the couch, immediately tried to scoot away, but got a jerk on his leash for his troubles. Antonio stood up, cradling his Italian lover gently and left the room, telling Gilbert, "Borrowing the guest room!" Gilbert tossed them a condom.

Not ten minutes later, Feli had the same idea. Directing Ludwig with the riding crop, he was carried out of the room and down the hall. Arthur watched this, then let go of Alfred with one hand to finish off his drink. If he remembered that in the morning, he would never be able to look at Feliciano the same way again. Of course, he might not be able to look at any of these guys the same way ever again. Not after tonight.

On his boyfriend's lap, Alfred swayed back and forth with the music, obviously enjoying himself far more than Arthur was. Suddenly though, he sat up straight and said something to Arthur, but the words were lost in the music. Arthur sighed and pulled his drunken cowboy down until their faces were level. "What's the matter now?"

"I'm not feelin so good, Dude." Alfred repeated, turning a little green. Arthur's eyes widened and, with some effort, got both himself and Alfred rushing to the bathroom. The door, predictably, was locked. Pounding on the door, Arthur yelled, "Open the hell up!" From the other side of the door, a loud moan cut him off, signaling that whoever was in there was not going to come out.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur desperately dragged Alfred toward the kitchen. Once there, he leaned the ill-looking American over the sink and ordered him, "Toss in there. At least we can wash it down the bloody sink." But after what seemed like an hour of waiting on him, Arthur was almost afraid he was going to have to take him to the hospital. Alfred had been trying to suppress his gag reflex for a while now…

But with a jerking heaving, the cowboy leaned further into the sink and opened his mouth.
And he burped.

It was one long, loud, stinking belch that made Arthur step back. With that out of his system, Alfred stood up, smiling triumphantly despite his lack of clothes and, as far as Arthur could tell, a total lack of inhibitions. "That's better! I'm good now!"

Arthur wanted to strangle him so badly right now. He settled for flipping the bird and went back to the living room. How that Americans mind worked was beyond him. Throwing himself down on the couch, Arthur tried to block out the noise. Maybe the beer was starting to affect him already? No, chances were it was that nasty concoction that Gilbert had given him earlier. "Everyone here is insane." He muttered to himself, covering his eyes.

"Mon ami, it is not that bad is it?" Francis said, laying himself on top of Arthur's body and getting quite close to his face. Arthur immediately tried to shove him off, but he was somewhat smaller than the Frog, and didn't have the weight to force him off. "Get lost, you bloody Burk!"But no matter how hard he pushed, Francis was not moving.

Well, he wasn't getting off. He suddenly sat up, straddling Arthur's hip, and started pulling off his t-shirt. Arthur frantically tried to stop him but the alcohol slowed his movements, while Francis' hands seemed to go faster. Great, he was about to get raped by a guy who usually hated his guts. Dammit, why did Frenchmen have to get so bloody horny when they were drunk?

A foot came out of nowhere and connected with Francis' face. As the Frog was kicked to the floor, Arthur struggled to keep up through the haze of beer. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. Foot connected with face. Leg followed foot. Boxers followed leg. Boxers being worn by Alfred. Alfred landing on his lap. Alfred smiled brightly to Arthur and hugged him around his neck. But turning to Francis on the floor, he hissed like an angry cat, "MINE!"

Alfred took a full minute to glare at the Frog, then turned away and nuzzled his face into the crook of Arthur's neck. "Stupid Frenchie. Nobody gets the hero's girl. The hero's too epic to let that happen." And with that he passed out on top of his seme, in nearly the same position Francis had been in earlier.

Arthur let the girl comment slide. He wouldn't remember it tomorrow anyways so why let it bother him now? Besides, it wasn't like he was going to do much. He may normally top the lovable blond 'hero', but Alfred was still bigger than he was. Now that he was effectively pinned to the couch, there was nothing he could do. Not without waking Alfred up again and he really did not feel like doing that right now. Blocking out the painfully loud music, Arthur closed his eyes. It took a minute, but he drifted off to sleep as well.

*END FLASHBACK*

Groaning, Arthur stopped the tape. Now he knew what his hangover had blocked out. So that explained why Alfred was on the floor in front of the couch, and why Toris and Feliks were behind the couch stark naked in each other's arms. At this point, Arthur was quite glad he'd slept through the rest of the night.

Smelling strongly of sex, Antonio came striding from the back hallway in naught but his leather pants, looking quite pleased with himself. When he saw Arthur, he gave a cheerful, "Buenos Dias, Arthur! Hey you found my video camera!" Handing the Englishman a bottle of aspirin, he scooped up the camera from the couch and deftly checked the inside. "It's empty? Oh you started watching it already!"

The Spaniard dropped onto the couch, careful of the still passed out bodies that littered the floor. Taking the remote from Arthur, he started rewinding the thing. "I always set one of these up. It's so much fun to see what our friends like to do drunk, no?" Arthur shrugged, popping a couple of aspirin and dry swallowing them. It was a strange feeling, getting the tablets suck in his throat, but he didn't have much of a choice right now. There were worse things. Like the headache he was getting.

Antonio finished rewinding the camera tape and retrieved it from the VCR, "So why'd you come to the party anyways, Arthur? You usually hate these things." Arthur looked down into his hands, seeing the black nail polish and, vaguely, seeing Alfred's red and white striped boxers though his fingers. There was something. Why HAD he gone to the party? There was an answer, but he wasn't sure anymore.

"That's a bloody good question."

Disclaimer: If I owned Axis Powers Hetalia, things would be very different. The yaoi wouldn't just be implied, it would be canon. And Belarus would not be so freakin creepy!

Author's Note: I'm sorry if some of the characters are OOC. I do my best, but epic fails do happen, so please tell me. This was a bitch to write though! I apologize for the strange POV confusion and the other pieces of the rules of writing I broke in writing this. I don't know where they are, but I know they are broken.

Author's Note the Second: Please leave a review! I got motivated from the last ones on Ivan's Heart to finish this one. I LOVE reviews! (Hell, I enjoy flaming reviews! It means someone was nice enough to read my work, even if they hated it!)