You woke up with a pounding headache – your mouth was dry and it felt as though a five-ton elephant was sitting on your skull. You groaned, clutching your head in agony. What the hell had you DONE last night? You couldn't remember a damn thing.

Sighing, you decided that you had better get an aspirin to get rid of the damn headache. You weren't even sure if you had work that day or not, seeing as you had no clue what day of the week it was.

You shifted to get up, but a weight on your waist held you firmly in place. You froze, looking down at the source of your confinement. A tanned, muscular arm was wrapped around you, holding you against a warm, rock-solid body. You coloured brightly, eyes widening as you followed the arm back to the person it belonged to.

Tousled chocolate-brown hair, sun-kissed skin… you felt your stomach do a few little flips. The first for seeing the gorgeous man-hunk lying next to you, and the second for realising that it was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo – a regular at the bar you worked at.

Ho-ly crap, you thought to yourself as you stared at the slumbering Spaniard. Now you really wanted to know just what on Earth you had gotten yourself into the previous night. You looked around the room – you assumed it was your apartment, seeing as you recognised the faded wallpaper and the cheap ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead – and wished you could simply just close your eyes again and pretend it was all a dream.

Your clothes were strewn everywhere – hanging off of your door, draped over your standing lamp in the corner, littering the floor. Your gaze drifted around the room, stomach sinking. There were at least ten beer bottles scattered over your coffee table, some empty and others half full. Wait a second…why the hell were you sleeping in the living room?

You looked down at where you were laying – somehow or other, your mattress had been dragged from your bedroom and dumped rather haphazardly on the floor next to the couch. Your eyes travelled up the sofa and you yelped when you saw a rather obscenely-dressed blonde passed out half over the arm of the rather beat-up piece of furniture. How the heck had Francis even managed to get that maid's outfit on in the first place?

Taking a deep breath, you managed to manoeuvre out of Antonio's hold without waking him up. You stood unsteadily, the room tilting for a few moments and your blood rushing through your ears as your hangover made itself forcefully known. Once your head had stopped spinning, you glanced down at yourself.

You had on a large dress shirt - smelling strongly of French cologne - that certainly wasn't yours, and seemed to have Toni's tomato-printed tie wrapped around your upper thigh. You blushed furiously at the thought of how it had gotten there in the first place. Glancing down at the other leg, you saw the words 'Property of Awesome' scrawled along the back of your calf in what looked like permanent marker. You sighed. That was not going to be easy to get off.

Turning around, you decided to make your way to the kitchen for those bloody aspirins. Maybe when you got rid of the headache, you would remember what had actually happened to land you in this mess. You stepped cautiously over various other cans of beer and bottles of alcohol and… a certain snowy-haired East German passed out cold on the floor behind the couch with a pair of boxers on his head. Whose boxers, you didn't even want to know.

You groaned, running a hand down your face in exasperation. How many more damn people were you going to stumble upon in this bloody apartment? And what in heaven's name were they DOING there?

Muttering a few choice curses under your breath, you entered the passageway leading from the living room to your hopefully-drunk-free kitchen. Pausing in the dim doorway, you grumbled as you leaned against the doorframe, untying the tomato-themed accessory from your leg. Ripping it off and holding it up triumphantly, you smirked at the offending article and chucked it over your shoulder.

Before you could start walking again, you were deftly caught from behind by a pair of far-too-capable hands. You squeaked when they wound themselves around your waist, trapping you.

"Where are you going, mi amor?" a sultry Spanish voice drawled in your ear, sending chills racing across your skin.

"Um, the kitchen?" you answered with a sheepish smile, looking over your shoulder.

Your (e/c) eyes met with Antonio's smouldering green ones. If he hadn't been holding onto you, you were pretty sure you knees would have buckled already.

"But it's so much better back there," you felt him smirk against your skin when he pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, sliding the dress shirt halfway down your arm in the process.

Blushing redder than you'd ever thought possible, you stopped the shirt's progression from your torso to the floor, clutching the silky material to your chest to keep some semblance of dignity. "I really need an aspirin," you laughed nervously, trying to edge towards the kitchen. "My head hurts like a bitch."

But Toni held you firmly in place, planting a trail of soft kisses from your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "You know, they say that hacer el amor helps relieve pain," he chuckled.

Trying valiantly to catch your breath, which seemed to have up and deserted you at the moment, you looked over your shoulder, past Antonio and at the other two slumbering drunkards passed out in your living room. You knew enough Spanish to know what the Spaniard was implying.

"One question," you muttered, turning around and lacing your arms around Toni's neck. "What are your buddies doing in my apartment?"

"Mi amor, I don't think you want to know," Antonio laughed, pulling you closer.

Despite your blush, you smirked, rolling your eyes. Toni was right… maybe it was best not to remember.

You yelped as he swept you off your feet and carried you bridal style to your bedroom. "They won't be a problem, si?"

"Not if they're still passed out cold," you giggled. As the two of you passed the doorway to your bedroom, you noticed the distinct lack of the mattress – which you now saw that Francis had managed to fall onto after rolling off the couch. "What about the other half of my bed?"

Antonio shot you a flirtatious look. "That didn't stop you before."

Blood shot to your face, colouring your cheeks brightly. "Amor, you look just like a tomato!" Toni laughed, kicking the door shut behind him.

In the living room, Francis groaned and pushed himself onto his elbows. He looked over his shoulder at the closed door, and noted Antonio and your absence from the room. He scowled.

"Why does that Spaniard always have all the fun?" he grumbled, pulling the odd maid's cap off his head and tossing it under the coffee table.

"Ksesese, she obviously likes him best," Gilbert's disembodied voice floated over the couch.

"Ah, mon ami, that's not what she was saying last night!" Francis chimed with a self-satisfied smirk.

Gilbert snorted, his head popping up over the back of the couch. "I'm pretty sure she called me the MOST awesome."

"Keep dreaming, petit garcon," the Frenchman laughed. He glanced up at the East German giving him a scowl.

"Mon ami, why do you have my underwear on your head?"