Canada loses a bet and must serve Russia and America. In his innocence, he misunderstands what they mean by "serve". Kink meme de-anon. AmeCan and RusCan, there will be smut in the end.
Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.
Canada held a carpet cleaner spray bottle in each hand, studying them like a man trying to choose between two engagement rings. After a long moment, he selected the one that was on sale and added it to his half-full shopping cart, returning the other to the shelf. He studied the contents of his cart, then glanced at his shopping list.
A feather duster! He hadn't picked up one of those yet. Canada pushed the cart down to the next aisle of the supermarket's cleaning section.
He froze, blinking in surprise. "What are you doing here? The last meeting was two days ago."
"I could ask you the same thing," France said with a wink. Interestingly enough, he was also picking out a feather duster.
"I'm staying in New York for a while. Hanging out with America."
"Apparently doing a lot of cleaning." France peered into the shopping cart.
"Yeah, well, his place is messy..." No need to tell him all the details. "Are you cleaning, too?"
"Oh, this?" He held up the duster. "Ah, no no! It is for a costume." France's grin widened. "If you are going to be cleaning, you should get one, too. You would look lovely in a French maid dress."
Canada smiled indulgently. "Thanks, France, but I'm not a girl." He selected a duster, and a few other things, before turning to go. "Have fun at your costume party."
"Ah... merci."
As Canada waited in line, he reflected on how he had ended up in this situation. A stupid hockey game, his team had been ahead, he thought for sure he would win... So he and America had made a bet. America had decided that whoever would win would have to serve the other for a week. Russia had been there as well, and he wanted in, and since Canada had been so certain of victory he had agreed to the two-against-one thing. So Canada supposed, along with cleaning America's house, he would cook for both of them, fetch things for them, and other helpful tasks along those lines. Hopefully Russia wouldn't insist on having his own home cleaned, that was such a long trip just for a lost bet. Those two sure did seem excited about the whole thing, the way they kept winking and nudging each other and giggling. But it was nice to have someone wait on you, Canada could understand their enthusiasm.
On the way home, Canada made another stop to pick up something to wear. He bought a nice black suit, and on a whim, a white apron. He may be a man and not wearing a maid dress, but the frilly apron was cute, so he indulged.
And then he found himself at America's front door. He let himself in, because one thing America had taught him was that brothers don't need to knock. Humming, Canada set his bags of cleaning supplies down in the living room, rummaging through. He knew America had a vacuum cleaner somewhere, but he would probably have to rent a carpet shampooer. What to tackle first, though? As he pondered, the sun peeked in, illuminating the dust that coated absolutely everything. That answered that.
"Hey, you're here!" America hurried down the stairs, grinning, wearing only jeans and a tank top. "Glad you made it. And in costume, too!" He scratched his head. "Though why isn't it a dress?"
Canada rolled his eyes. The other nations were being especially dense today. "I'm not a girl."
"Er, I know, but..."
"We have been waiting for you." Russia joined the brothers, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. "This will be a fun day."
Canada wasn't sure if he would describe it as fun, but whatever. "Well, I'm gonna get started."
"You're just gonna jump right in and get to it, huh?" America winked.
"Well yes, it's going to take a while." Canada rolled his sleeves up.
"Oh? Think so?"
"Yes." Canada looked around at the expansive living room. His brother did not go for cozy little homes. "Yours is huge! This'll take forever."
America beamed, and Canada could have sworn he turned a bit red. "Gosh. Thanks, bro!"
Russia cleared his throat, and Canada was quick to compliment the nice place he had in Moscow. "And Russia's is even bigger!" Good thing he didn't have to go there and clean as well.
Their expressions swapped, and Russia was the one grinning, while America frowned. "So uh... you've seen Russia's...?"
"Of course." Canada tilted his head. What an odd thing to ask, all of the nations had been to each other's homes many times. "Hasn't everyone?"
Russia's smile fell. "What are you implying?"
"Well, go sit down." Canada made shooing motions toward them. "On the couch."
"The couch! Right!" Giggling, the two nations hurried over to sit on the plush sofa. They sure seemed to find something amusing! Maybe they had planted booby traps for Canada to find. He would have to keep an eye out for whoopee cushions and fake vomit.
Canada resumed digging in his bags, finding the bottle of maple syrup and being struck by a great idea. It was early still, may as well bring them a nice breakfast before getting down to the cleaning! If he was going to serve those two, he was going to do it right. Canada shuffled into the kitchen, automatically plucking out ingredients and pots and pans. The batter was whisked up, the pans heated and buttered, and soon he had several perfect circles cooking away. The uniform pancakes were layered on a plate one by one until he had an impressive stack. They were plated up along with a pair of glasses of juice, and it was time to serve.
First thing first, Canada set the bottle of syrup down on the coffee table. The duo on the couch eyed the bottle with broad grins.
"Maple syrup?" America expression brightened, like a kid on Christmas (which he still was, really, come holiday time). "Now we're talking! This is gonna be good."
Feeling pleased, Canada fetched the trays of food, carrying them out one at a time. "There you are. Breakfast!"
Their eyes landed on the trays. Their smiles seemed to grow strained. "Breakfast?" his southern brother said. "We're having breakfast?"
"That's right." Canada leaned closer to Russia. "Would you like a screwdriver?"
The large nation giggled, eyes sparkling. "That sounds delightful."
Canada picked up the other bottle he had brought, pouring some of its clear contents into Russia's orange juice. "There. I know how you love your vodka."
"Ahh." Russia stared into the glass. "Yes. That is a screwdriver. Thank you."
They began to eat, and Canada returned to the kitchen, feeling pleased. So far so good! He got to work cleaning up the dirty pans, humming another tune. He supposed this wasn't all that bad for a lost bet, really.
