AN: Hello, still alive! Still working on "Icarus" and "Tight Rope"! Also writing a soul-consuming one-shot! I'll update eventually! :'D
This is a very quick one-shot (pretty much a drabble) that I just HAD to write. Explanation on the end notes. Hope you like it!
Based on a real story.
RED AND BLUE
France is throwing a costume party.
Well, 'costume' is generous. If it were an actual costume party, England would just buy a cheap costume on the internet and be done with it. He'd have to fight with Spain over it, of course, because they'd agree to go as a couple, which Arthur would understand as matching costumes, but Antonio would interpret as a horse costume for two people. And he'd want to make England be the hind legs.
Even that fight would be preferable.
But no, France isn't throwing a usual costume party. He's throwing "an old-school costume party" — and England wants to give him an old-school neck-twisting. Why does he have to be so fucking posh? If it were up to him, he still wouldn't bother further than purchasing a cheap costume on the internet.
The problem is, Spain takes this very seriously. He won't settle for anything cheap, and neither will allow England to do so. The moment he suggested not bothering too much, Spain gave him one of his chilling death-glares and stated that no, they were going to get themselves the absolute best vintage costumes and win the contest.
Is there even a contest? England wonders once again as he browses through all different sorts of websites. And what even is 'old-school'? Is 1960's old enough or are we talking fifteenth century?
France, of course, hasn't been very precise with his instructions. Well, he supposes that leaves the choice up to them.
Up to Spain, to be precise.
Although if England gets a say in the final decision… he'd go for late eighteenth, early nineteenth century fashion. Not for any reason in particular. He just feels Spain looks absolutely stunning in that kind of clothing.
He starts searching with renewed purpose.
And oh, does he find something interesting…
Spain is more than happy to leave his paperwork aside when he receives a text message from England.
Actually, since it's not a matter of work, the message is not from 'Stupid Bitch-ass England'—that was his contact name before they became a thing, and Spain has never bothered to change it—but from 'Arturito~'. The text reads: "What do you think about these for your friend's party?"
Curious, Antonio opens the attached pictures.
The first one shows two mannequins that display matching outfits. On the left, a voluptuous skirt heavy with frills, the fabric a rich crimson with a detailed pattern all over it. It's accompanied by a white shirt, delicately crafted if the collar is any indication, and a garnet jacket with golden embroidery and black cuffs. The outfit is crowned by a hat, its colour a rich scarlet and adorned by a bow. The second mannequin seems to wear a masculine version of the first outfit: the skirt is replaced by simple trousers, but the shirt and jacket are virtually the same. The hat is darker, not as big on decorations as the first one but still impressive, and yet the crowning touch for this outfit is the cloak that rests on the shoulders: a bright garnet cape that reaches all the way to the knees, the black hem decorated with golden patterns. All in all, a rather elegant piece.
The second picture shows very similar outfits, only these are blue and silver instead of red and golden.
Spain shifts between the two pictures a few times, studying the outfits with a critical eye.
Then he dials England's number.
"Did you see the pictures?" comes Arthur's voice as soon as he picks up.
"Yes. I love them," Spain smiles. It seems England likes them too, which makes everything much easier. He hadn't expected they'd agree so quickly. "I like the red."
"Yes, I had the feeling you would," he chuckles. "Are we going with these, then?"
"Uh…" Spain hesitates for a second. "Are they expensive?"
"Nothing I can't afford."
"Okay. It's settled, then!"
"Yes. I was thinking, you go with the first one and I'll take the second."
"Perfect! Are you going to order both?"
"No, it'll be better if each orders his own. If you ask for an invoice, email it to me and I'll refund you."
Spain chuckles. "You're spoiling me," he teases. "Exactly what kind of favours are you going to ask for in return?"
He hears Arthur choke, surprised by the far-from-innocent comment, and he can easily picture the violent blush on that pale face. Oh, how he loves provoking that kind of reaction… England is far from being innocent, but it'll never not be funny to see him get flustered at Spain's malicious flirting.
"Shut up," he growls back. "I'll send you the link; make sure you order the right size."
"Yessir!"
"I have to hang up. See you at the party."
"Okay. Love you. Bye."
Spain snickers. England has cut the call so abruptly after the easy confession that he doubts the last word has been heard. Allergic to affection, France called him once, and while Spain thinks that's an overstatement, it's not too far from reality.
Luckily—unluckily?—for Arthur, dating Antonio means getting a daily dose of shock therapy to help with the allergy — and for free!
With the call finished but the phone still in his hand, Spain opens the first picture again. The red outfits are seriously beautiful.
He's going to look absolutely superb.
The day of the party, the British siblings are the first to arrive at France's place.
France greets them at the hall, complimenting Scotland's kilt so much that England is certain he's doing it just to piss him off. But then the blue gaze finds him and a stubbled jaw falls as the world capital of fashion takes a good look at him.
Oh, that's… That's delightful. Arthur already knew he looks good in the blue suit—disgustingly good, judging by his brothers' envious stares—but to have rendered France speechless? That's absolutely priceless.
Just you wait until Antonio gets here, he thinks.
Even though they received their costumes a few days ago, they agreed not to share any pictures with the idea of saving the impression of seeing each other in such wonderful clothing for the day they could finally meet in person. So England still hasn't seen Spain in his red suit, but he doesn't doubt that he'll outshine everyone else in the party.
And sure enough, suddenly France's gaze leaves him to look somewhere at his back, and there's a strong emotion in his voice when he says: "Spain…"
England's lips curve into a shit-eating grin. He's dying to turn and look at Spain—has been dying to see him in those clothes for the last few days—but observing France's flabbergasted (defeated) expression happens to be extremely entertaining.
But then:
"Uh, Arthur…" comes Spain's confused chuckle, and England instantly knows something's amiss. "I thought we agreed on red?"
What?
England swirls around.
Spain is standing there and, as expected, he's wearing red.
A red hat, and a red jacket, and a full, bright red skirt.
What?!
"Didn't we agree on red?" Spain insists. "Blue looks really good on you, but we're not exactly matching."
"We so did not agree on red!" England exclaims when he can finally find his voice.
"But we did? I said, I like the red, and you said, Let's go with those. We totally agreed on red!"
"You… You got that completely wrong."
"No, no," Spain stubbornly shakes his head. "I said I liked the red, so you said we'd go with those, and then told me to wear the first one because you'd wear the second. And the first one of the reds was this," he motions at himself, "so I'm right and you messed up by ordering the blue suit instead of the red."
"Antonio, sweetheart."
"Yes?"
"You are a moron."
"Hey!"
"When I said we'd go with those, I meant the suits."
"… ah?"
"You said you liked the red, so I picked the red suit for you and the blue for myself. When I told you to wear the first one, I meant the suit in the first picture. You were supposed to order the red suit, you dumbass!"
Spain considers it for a moment. "I guess that makes sense," he concedes. "But it was confusing. You could have been clearer."
"I thought it was obvious! Why would I ever ask you to wear women's clothes?"
"Are you implying I don't look good in a skirt?" Spain snaps, offended.
England's jaw drops. That last retort has taken him completely by surprise. "I-I—That's not—" he stutters.
There's a loud, unbearably amused laugh behind him then, and why the fuck is France still there? God, has he witnessed everything?
"I can't believe this," France breathes out between fits of laughter. There are tears in his eyes and he seems to be having trouble breathing. "The party hasn't even started yet and it already can't get any better."
"You," England hisses at him, feeling his whole face heat up from both anger and embarrassment. "Get fucking lost."
To his surprise, France obeys without protests. Still laughing, he waves at them and makes his way to the ballroom, from time to time bending over with laughter and mumbling to himself under his breath.
"Asshat," England grumbles. Then he turns his attention back to Spain and: "You do look good in a skirt," he admits. "You're stunning."
Spain's beautiful smile eases back into his face.
"I do, right?"
"I suppose there's no harm in you going around like that. I mean, Scotland is parading around in a kilt, so…"
"Is he?" Spain pretends to glance over England's shoulder, even though he can't possibly see the ballroom from there. He just wants to mess with him by feigning interest in his brother — and he's successful.
"Stop that," he complains, smacking him on the shoulder.
"That's no way to treat your date, sir," Spain pouts, offering a new game.
England is more than happy to play along.
"My apologies, ma'am." He bows as much as his body will allow, his hat in one hand and the other behind his back. When he straightens, he's pleased to see Antonio's green eyes completely focused on him, amused and loving and no longer upset by the misunderstanding. "Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to this ball?" he asks, offering his arm.
Spain doesn't lose a second, immediately wrapping his arms around England's.
"It will be my pleasure." His words are playful, as is the kiss pressed to England's cheek. "You know," he adds as they make their way to the ballroom, "I think I'd look even better in the red suit."
"Absolutely."
"And it wouldn't have taken me so long to get dressed."
"Did you have trouble with the skirt?"
"A little," he admits easily. "Truth be told, these clothes were a pain to put on." His grin is mischievous when he presses closer to England and pretty much whispers in his ear: "I might require assistance to take them off."
They enter the ballroom then, and well…
If nothing else, Spain's skirt matches England's face.
FIN
AN: Okay, so I was browsing Twitter, as you do, and suddenly pictures of the outfits described here showed up. I thought they kinda fit SpUK, so I forwarded them to a friend with the accompanying text: "Spain in the first one and England in the second." She said, "Yes! I'll draw them later!" And well, you can probably see where this is going: I meant Spain in the first suit and England in the second, but she understood it as Spain in the first outfit (i.e. skirt) and drew them like that.
We laughed a lot at the misunderstanding, and the I wrote this :P
Thanks for reading! Comment? n_n
PS. Here's the tweet with the pictures, if anyone's interested: https: / / twitter. com (slash) LolitaWardrobe/status/1329691411227107328