Francis' Sweet and Spicy Buffet
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I just write stuff like this for my own perverse amusement.
A/N: This was co-written by my friend Letty.
A drop of sweat slid down Francis' temple, mirroring the rain on the windowpanes outside. Four gentlemen were gathered in his kitchen. They were currently engaged in a brutal power struggle. Matthew trembled as he faced imminent defeat. Arthur and Francis smirked at each other from across the table, glaring daggers. Alfred's face was emotionless, the very definition of a poker face. This was appropriate seeing as the nations were at the climax of a poker tournament.
"What's the matter, frog?" taunted Arthur, "Afraid of losing?"
"Honhonhon, you wish," the French man cackled.
Alfred and Matthew had pretty much given up any chance of winning. After a quick rock-paper-scissors over who would choose the game for their tournament, Alfred had decided on a game of Texas Hold 'Em. Thinking he would be the best at this game, he had gone through the shame of winning only two games of the twelve they had agreed on; Matthew had only won a single game. Arthur and Francis were currently tied at four games apiece and were counting on this final game to reveal the winner.
"C-can we just turn the card already?" stuttered Matthew, upset by the tension in the room.
Arthur, the current dealer reached over to the deck of cards. He laid a finger on the top card, furthering the suspense as he directed another smirk at Francis. He turned the river card and set it beside the others. The four players revealed their cards in turn.
"Oh, maple," A meager pair of twos was all Canada had to show.
"Whatever," Alfred scoffed at his useless hand.
"Ohonhon~! It seems I am the champion this time," The Frenchman crowed.
"Shut up, frog!" Arthur scowled.
"So dude, what's the punishment game?" the American inquired, regretting it immediately.
"I'll be right back," A terrifying grin spread over Francis' face.
The other nations waited anxiously at the table while Francis scurried out of the room and up the stairs. They heard him rummaging about for something and soon he was heard prancing back down the stairs. He entered the kitchen, grinning like a Cheshire cat, holding something behind his back. Arthur gulped as he caught a glimpse of lace. The tournament's victor revealed what he was holding with a dramatic flourish. He whipped his arm around to reveal three very frilly and very short maid uniforms.
"Well," he taunted, "What do you think of you new uniforms~?"
"Dude, seriously? Not cool, man."
"Bloody frog! Why would you even have such a thing?"
"Erm, those skirts are kinda short, aren't they? I-I mean maybe you could've picked something else..."
"We agreed that the winner can do whatever he wants to the losers for 24 hours. I won and I want you three," He looked them over, "to be my maids."
Reluctantly, the losing parties each took a uniform and headed to their rooms to change. The costumes fit well, to the surprise and disgust of the wearers, but were somewhat difficult to put on. Matthew was having trouble with the lacing in the back of his dress, so he went to ask Arthur for help. Alfred had been sharing a room with him, but he didn't want to risk being accidentally strangled by his unusually strong roommate, so he sought help from the British gentleman.
"Hey Arthur. Can you help me with this?"
"Hm? Oh, it's you. Come here, then, and I'll help," Arthur neatly tied the silk ribbon, "Now let's get Alfred and get this damn game over with."
"Al, are you ready?" Matthew knocked on the door and opened it.
The two stepped in, but Alfred wasn't there.
"Maybe he needed to go to the bathroom..."
Arthur groaned as he noticed the empty wardrobe and open window, "Bloody fool. He's escaped and left us to deal with that pervert Frenchie."
Making a mental note to beat some sense into that kid later, he stomped down the stairs followed by Matthew. The two returned to the kitchen where Francis sat sprawled over a chair enjoying a glass of wine.
"I see you have returned, my little maids," He set down his wine and stood up, "But where is Alfred?"
"He ran away," Matthew answered.
"What a coward! I'll deal with him later, I suppose," Francis frowned.
"Now what?" Arthur was almost afraid to ask.
"It's late, so I'm going to sleep. I'll start playing with you in the morning," he grinned, "I made a list of chores for you to do when you wake. Oh, and Arthur-"
"What, frog?" the "maid" spat.
"Let Matthew cook breakfast. I don't want you spoiling my appetite," Francis dodged the shoe thrown at his head.