That Sexy Sheer Nightie We Shall Never Ever Speak Of
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia nor make any money by writing stories for it.
Authors Note: Aiiie! The FIRST Hetalia fanfiction I've ever written. I've been into Axis Powers: Hetalia for a few months now, and was lassoed (gratefully) into joining a lovely community called Cracktalia. This was a Christmas present for our comm's France, and I loved the little drabble so much I decided to repost it on my FF for you all.
Warning: I haven't roleplayed or written as France NOR England, so they might be a little OOC. They're also a little drunk and a little crackish anyhow so I think it turned out well.
I decided to make it in 500 words or less-- this is in 431 words. I'm actually to writing fiction this short, but I hope you like it nonetheless. I know I did!
"Isso sexy, Iggy, come now, you lost, oui? Put it on now, mon petite chouchou...~" France's slightly slurred voice was Arthur's only warning before the Frenchman brought in the complete monstrosity that mutilated his eyes.
Francis Bonnefoy's flamboyant self sauntered into the room, and he held up a bright cherry-red sheer see-through nightie. White fluffy feather piping lined the edges and a barely-there bra and thong hang, neatly assembled there as well. In his other hand he held a tall-stemmed wine glass full of dark purple liquid that sloshed around within haphazardly. France himself wore a loose lavender robe that covered what he was wearing, but the Englishman's mind was on the clothes and the sheer horror of them.
Arthur's mind died. "Wh-what the bloody hell is that? And what the fuck did you call me, you idiot drunk?" England's eyes were wide and his exceptionally bushy eyebrows rose so far up into his bangs you could hardly see them. A blush spread across his face as he spluttered furiously, before his jaw went slack in utter shock again.
France shook his head as he slinked into the room, wiggling the lingerie he was holding 'enticingly' in front of Arthur's sitting position. The man took a sip from his spiked eggnog (that he'd tried to 'spruce up' and now resembled Green Eggs and Ham) and glared venom and daggers and morbid curiosity at the getup and his rival. "You--"
"Non, non!" The blond romantic cut him off with a quick toss of the "clothes" at England's face. Before the Englishman could say another word, France slipped off his purple robe with a swift flip of his wrist.
England stared.
France posed.
Vibrant green fabric covered his groin in the form of a very, very revealing thong--if it even resembled one, it was designed for a woman without bulging parts in thatarea. A string-bikini style top covered his nipples--stretching flat against his taut chest. The nightie had bright red feather piping, and the thong and top had "Your", "Sexy", and "Elf" in silver lettering adorn it. The Frenchman began to converge on England with a gleam in his eyes. "You lost the bet," He reminded with a predatorial smirk.
Poor Arthur felt a scream begin to well up in his chest.
What a Christmas this would be.