France.
Austria.
One bed.
Roderich was a proud man, but he never regret it as much as he did now - though the thought of sharing a bed (sharing anything!) with the Frenchman was repulsive, his pride would not allow him to sleep on the floor, not unlike a common street urchin, or England after a few too many drinks.
"You first," Francis invited, smiling like a snake. (He, of course, did not have to put so much thought into the matter; he would happily share a bed with anyone.)
"Keep your clothes on," Roderich instructed curtly, "and if you tell anyone we've slept together I'll - "
"What a filthy mind!" Francis chastised. "I wouldn't dare!"
"I'm sure." Roderich slipped beneath the covers, and made himself comfortable as near to the edge of the bed as he could manage.
Austria went to sleep quickly (despite how uncomfortable he was in such close proximity to France), though he did not seem to sleep soundly, frequently mumbling to himself and turning in his sleep, more than once coming very close to falling off the bed. Francis stayed awake, distracting himself with something that might have either been a novel or pornograhy. Roderich lay silent for a while, but then Francis heard rustling, and felt weight shifting on his side of the bed - and wandering hands.
He looked to his bedmate, whose eyes were open, but strangely glazed over (or perhaps it only appeared that way since Francis had never seen the Austrian without his glasses before), and his face was expressionless - he recognized it as that of a sleepwalker, and he sighed in frustration at the thought of having to chase him and ensure that he stayed out of trouble in his current state.
"Roderich?" he asked, setting his book beside him.
Then Austria's palms set themselves firmly against his crotch.
"Roderich?"
He only watched in numb amazement (and probably something else) as Roderich's hands (skilled with a piano, Francis thought to himself, and a few other things) slid Francis's pants down to around his knees, and lowered his head.
France was completely unsure of what to do in such a situation (really, what would be the proper etiquette for such things?) so he threw his hands into the air and exclaimed:
"Mon dieu! What devil's tongue is this that has the audacity to dine upon my flesh? Oh, treachery! Oh, scandal! Oh, woe, that I should be taken so crudely before the night of my wedding!"
He paused, noting that Roderich did not stop or hesitate (indeed, he seemed not to have heard him at all). He looked around to ensure no one was watching, then, with a contented sigh, settled his hands in the Austrian's hair and let him continue his business.