A/N - so here's chapter 3! I'll probably be updating this about once a week from now on, although I'm not sure how going back to school is going to affect how quickly I can write (which is super slow to begin with!) I stayed up last night until 4am to finish this because I was determined to upload it today, and I spent most of today typing it up (because I write the first drafts of my fanfics with paper and pen. I know, it's weird, but the blank screen of Microsoft Word kills my muse). Anyway, enjoy, and please review :) (Let me know if I overdid the fluffy opening. I cut out one paragraph that went overboard, but I couldn't bear to let anything else go XD) Translations for the German and English slang will be at the bottom of the page

Roderich woke up and immediately wished that he hadn't. The first thing he noticed was that his head felt as though it had been struck with Elizabeta's frying pan. He moaned quietly in pain. Even through his closed eyelids, the morning light seemed far too bright and he buried his face into his pillow to try and block it out. As a result, the second thing he noticed was that his pillow appeared to have become a living creature since the last time he had slept on it. Roderich was sure that he didn't usually hear a heartbeat or feel his pillow rise and fall in time with the soft, even breaths that he could hear.

OK, Roderich thought, taking a deep, soothing breath. Stay calm. Assess the situation. He managed to slit open one of his eyes and made out the forest green cotton of his shirt before the blinding sunlight forced him to shut it again. He moved his leg slightly and felt the fabric of his trousers rub against his skin. At least he now knew that he was fully clothed, which was always a good sign when waking up in a bed with someone else and not knowing the whos, hows or whys of the situation. Not that this was a position that Roderich found himself in often, of course. However, his relief abruptly turned to horror when he realised that he was also still wearing his shoes. Shoes in bed? If it was Roderich's bed that he and his surprisingly chivalrous companion had slept in, he would almost have preferred to have woken up naked. At least then there would be no shoes dirtying his bed.

The next question that needed to be addressed, once Roderich had wrenched his thoughts away from the outrage caused by the possibility of mud-stained sheets, was who exactly was it that Roderich was lying half sprawled across? It wasn't actually a very hard question to answer, and Roderich wondered if he should be worried that he instinctively assumed that if anyone was going to crawl into bed with him, it would be Gilbert. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to check, because Roderich's memories of the night before were rather blurry and seemed to peter out altogether sometime during the first hour when the eight nations had been sitting together around the table in the bar and the only alcohol that Roderich had consumed had been a glass of wine.

Roderich cracked his eyes open again and peered into the sunlit world that caused a whole new wave of pain to throb through his head. Apparently, as well as not removing his shoes before falling into bed, he had also failed to close the curtains last night, and so there was nothing to protect him from the rays of sunlight that seemed to be aiming themselves straight onto Roderich's face. He tried not to look directly at the window as he attempted to angle his head upwards in a way that would allow him to catch sight of his living pillow's face. The movement disturbed the sleeping nation, however, and Roderich found that he didn't need to see the intruder's face because a hand moved lazily to tangle in his hair and a familiar voice husky with sleep purred, "Guten Morgen, mein Hübscher." Roderich scowled at the term of endearment. At any other time he would have protested against it, but there were more important matters to be addressed.

"There are shoes in my bed," he said accusingly, wincing at the sharp spike of pain that speaking caused. Gilbert chuckled and idly wound Mariazell around his finger.

"I see that you have your priorities all sorted out," he remarked in an amused tone. He brought his other hand up to place it on top of Roderich's, which was lying on the blond nation's chest. Roderich watched as Gilbert intertwined their fingers and felt a fluttering in his stomach that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He suddenly noticed how perfectly he fit into the crook of Gilbert's arm and how completely natural the position felt. It was with guilt that he noted he was almost grateful for the hangover from Hell for giving him a valid reason to stay where he was instead of pulling away and kicking Gilbert out of the bed as he would have done if he had the energy. Instead he nuzzled his head slightly against Gilbert's chest to make himself more comfortable and tried not to picture the small amused smile that he knew would appear on the other's face at the movement.

"How's your head?" Gilbert asked, letting Mariazell unravel and settle back into its rightful place.

Roderich tried to think of a word to describe feeling as thought his brain was made of crushed glass, but no language that he knew had come up with anything strong enough to accurately express how awful he felt. He gave up and expressed his feelings with an emphatic "Urgh." Gilbert laughed, and his chest moved in a way that Roderich didn't appreciate. He hit Gilbert lightly with their joined hands.

"Don't do that," he ordered weakly.

"Sorry," the other nation apologised, and he started to lightly stroke Roderich's hair in an incredibly soothing way. "Is this better?" Roderich could hear the grin in his voice. Gilbert knows, he thought. He knows that I'm in far too much pain to fight back, so he's taking advantage of that and doing whatever he likes. What a jerk. But on the other hand, that did feel really good and Roderich didn't have the energy to protest, so maybe he could let it slide, just this once. But Gilbert was still a jerk.

They might have stayed that way for ten minutes or half an hour; Roderich's sense of time seemed to have stopped working and he lay with his eyes closed, listening to the faint rhythm of Gilbert's heartbeat. The rare moment of serenity was interrupted, however, when a noise floated up from downstairs. Roderich frowned.

"Did anybody else sleep here last night?" he asked warily.

"Only Arthur," Gilbert replied. "I had to rescue him from Francis," he added, in case Roderich was angry about him letting someone else stay the night. "He passed out on the couch practically as soon as we got inside, so he didn't do any harm."

This was probably true, Roderich decided, because if he had managed to get so drunk that he couldn't even remember being drunk, then Arthur must have been completely and totally wasted. Besides, if there was any damage, it would still be there when he didn't feel as though his head was being squeezed in a vice. It could wait.

Unfortunately, Gilbert had other ideas, and he shifted under Roderich, trying to slide out from under the other's body. Without meaning to, Roderich gripped their hands together more tightly and pushed down on Gilbert's chest in a feeble attempt to restrain him. He tried to ask the other nation exactly what he was doing, but all that came out was an inarticulate sound of protest. Oh, dignity, he thought, why have you forsaken me?

"I'm just going to check on Arthur," Gilbert explained, still trying to untangle himself from the limbs that were pinning him to the bed.

"Stay here," Roderich commanded, and then wondered why he had said it. Perhaps he was still drunk. That would explain why he had lost the ability to stop himself from doing and saying what he actually meant. Gilbert merely chuckled, however, and lifted their joined hands so that he could place a small kiss to Roderich's wrist.

"You're cute when you're hungover," he remarked, and thankfully Roderich was too focused on trying to hide his pink cheeks to make any more humiliating attempts to stop the other nation from slipping out from under him and removing his hand from Roderich's lax grip.

When the door had shut gently after Gilbert's departing form, Roderich tried to distract himself from his mortifying behaviour by bringing his knees up to his chest so that he could just about reach to wrestle with his footwear. First one shoe hit the floor, then the other, and Roderich felt a strange sense that justice had been served. He stretched out his legs again and rolled over so that he was no longer facing the window that was traitorously letting in more sunlight than was strictly necessary, which is to say that it was letting in any sunlight at all. If he had had the willpower, he would have gotten up to close the curtains, but it was so much easier to just stay in bed and hope with all his heart that there would be a full solar eclipse scheduled in the next few minutes. Maybe if he wished hard enough, the moon would take pity on him and move.

After a couple of moment, when it had become clear that the moon was a heartless bastard who obviously didn't understand the agonies of a hangover, Roderich's thoughts drifted to the events of last night. At least, they tried to drift there, but what they actually encountered was a thick fog that refused to lift and reveal the memories within. It was very frustrating, especially as a vague feeling that he had done something incredibly stupid was nagging at him, and the harder he tried to remember what it was, the stronger the feeling became. He really hoped that whatever it was didn't have anything to do with why he had woken up in the same bed as Gilbert. To think that he might have said something that could have given Gilbert the impression that he – that he…well, it didn't bear thinking about.

Unfortunately, it was also very easy to think about all of the horrifying possibilities. Perhaps he had drunkenly confessed that nowadays, when he let his mind wander, he would inevitably find himself caught up in memories of that day last month when Ludwig had caught them on the sofa. In fact, more often than not, those memories would lead to fantasies, and the contents of those were strictly classified information. Or maybe he had let it slip that, secretly, he thought that Gilbert had the nicest body he had ever seen. Or could he possibly have skipped the words altogether and just slammed Gilbert against the wall and started kissing him? Then again, that would probably have led to other activities, and the presence of their clothes still on their bodies led Roderich to doubt this theory. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed about this. But it seemed that he hadn't mentioned anything remotely sexual at all. Maybe that was a good thing. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe he had said something worse.

Roderich pulled the duvet up over his head, blocking out the dreaded sunlight and attempting to also block out any thoughts about the other things he could have said. Sentimental things, perhaps. Things that he definitely wouldn't have meant. Embarrassing things. These possibilities were more than he could bear, however, and it was with enormous effort that he wrenched his thoughts into a different, less mentally-scarring direction.

So what exactly had driven Roderich to get drunk in the first place? This was an intriguing question, and maybe if he could figure out the answer then the rest of the details would also fall into place. Roderich fought through the fog in his brain, trying to remember something, anything. Slowly, an image started to solidify in his mind, lifting hazily out of the mist. It took the shape of a glass filled with something…green? Roderich frowned. He had strong moral values that dictated against drinking anything that appeared to be radioactive. And yet, the recollection of a taste was accompanying the visual: the taste of something strongly alcoholic and weakly fruity…damnit, he had drunk the nuclear waste. No wonder he was suffering so much now. Another vague memory was prompted by the first. There had been only four of them around the table and he had been very, very angry about something. But what had happened to make him so –

Roderich bolted upright, flinging back the covers. He then instantly regretted the sudden movement as his head swam and he felt rather queasy, but there were more important things to worry about than if he would throw up vomit that glowed in the dark. He could remember Arthur leaning towards Gilbert, the distance closing between them, and then, and then – and then what?

At that moment, the bedroom door opened again and Gilbert entered, holding a glass of water and looking surprised at seeing Roderich sitting up. He then must have noticed the other nation's expression because he grinned and asked innocently, "Is something wrong?"

"Did you – last night – and Arthur…?" For some reason, the words didn't want to arrange themselves into the question that Roderich was trying in vain to ask. But it seemed that Gilbert understood.

"Did we make out, you mean?" Gilbert asking, looking highly amused at Roderich's incoherency as he crossed the room to sit on the bed. "No," he answered himself. "Arthur was just winding you up." He handed over the glass and held out two tablets in the other hand. "Here, take these, they'll help with your headache." Roderich swallowed the pills and tried to ignore the relief that flooded through him at Gilbert's words. Then he realised what the words had actually said.

"Why would I get wound up by something like that?" he asked, trying to look offended at the very suggestion and hoping beyond hope that he hadn't tried to do anything embarrassing and possibly violent last night to suggest that, actually, he had been very wound up. Such as trying to burn off Arthur's eyebrows, for example. Roderich didn't get drunk often, but he had experienced it in the past and knew exactly what he was capable of when incensed and intoxicated. But then again, Francis had deserved it, and his beard didn't suit him anyway, in Roderich's opinion. It was just a pity that it had grown back so quickly.

"I don't know," Gilbert replied, "but you stormed off so I guess it worked. You weren't jealous, were you?" He grinned rather smugly. Well, at least everybody's facial hair had remained intact, even if Roderich had made it obvious to the world how he really felt when it came to Gilbert. Still, ancient instincts to deny everything kicked in and Roderich was powerless to resist.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said stiffly. "I don't care who you decide to kiss; it's nothing to do with me." As long as the person that you're kissing is me, he added silently, and wondered with vague horror why he was being so honest with himself.

"That's not what you were saying last night," Gilbert retorted, and there was a gleam in his eye that Roderich didn't care for. "Then again, that might have been because your mouth was too busy doing something much better than talking." Roderich's heart skipped a beat and he froze. Oh God, no.

"I don't believe you," he managed to say, searching desperately for something in Gilbert's expression that would point to a lie. Gilbert merely leered at him.

"Don't you remember?" he asked, and there was an almost evil glee in his voice. "When we got back to the house you expressed your undying lust for me and gave me a blow job. You were very good at it." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip in a way that made Roderich shiver, and only partly in horror.

"But – I – no –" he stuttered. It was all the more awful because it was believable. He stared at Gilbert pleadingly, begging him with his eyes to take it back, say it wasn't true…

Gilbert's expression finally cracked and he burst out laughing. "Just kidding!" he managed to say when he had calmed down. "But," he added, moving closer so speak in a low voice near Roderich's ear, "if you wanted to give me one, I wouldn't say no."

Without even stopping to think about what he was doing, Roderich lifted his glass and tipped the water over Gilbert's head. He felt very satisfied when the other nation gasped in shock and stared at him half in outrage and half in total disbelief. Roderich smirked.

"Oops," he said softly. "My hand slipped." He stifled a laugh as Gilbert glared at him, his hair plastered to his head and droplets of water running down his neck to soak into his shirt.

"That was uncalled for," he said sulkily.

"Accidents happen," Roderich replied, not even trying to keep the smug tone from his voice. He leaned across Gilbert to set the empty glass down onto the bedside table, then climbed over the other nation's legs to get out of the bed.

"Is Arthur still downstairs?" he asked as he gathered an armful of clean clothes from his drawers. The reply he got was muffled and he turned to see that Gilbert had pulled off his t-shirt and was drying his face with it. When he moved the material up to his hair, he must have noticed Roderich's blank expression because he repeated himself more clearly.

"I said no, I sent him out on an errand." Something in his tone made Roderich pause and stare at him sternly, although from this distance and without his glasses, Gilbert looked too blurry for Roderich to make out his expression.

"What kind of errand?" Roderich asked suspiciously. Gilbert waved his hand airily.

"He's just gone to pick something up for me." He laughed suddenly. "You really don't remember anything from last night, do you?"

"I remember some things," Roderich protested, somewhat confused about the relevance of his memories to Arthur's errand. The feeling that he had done something stupid hammered at his brain again, but he tried to ignore it. "I'm going for a shower. Try not to break anything while I'm in there." Gilbert's eyes lit up.

"I'll join you," he offered, getting to his feet.

"No," Roderich replied flatly. "You won't." He shut the door on Gilbert's disappointed face and headed into the bathroom, hoping that the soothing warmth of the water would help to ease the pain in his head, since the tablets didn't seem to be having any effect.

When Roderich finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes and not feeling any better, it was a good half hour later. Gilbert was no longer in the bedroom when he went to collect his glasses. The rest of the house was very quiet – suspiciously so since Gilbert was only ever quiet if he was plotting something that would result in even more noise than usual. As Roderich descended the stairs to search for him, the front door opened. He was about to ask Gilbert where he had been, but then realised that it was Arthur, carrying a large, opaque plastic bag. He looked up and saw Roderich, giving him a smile that somehow managed to look innocent and sinister at the same time.

"Good –" he checked his watch, "-afternoon. How're you feeling?"

"Terrible," Roderich replied, wondering if he would win some sort of prize for understatement of the century. He noticed that Arthur was looking surprisingly fresh and cheerful. "Don't you have a hangover?"

"Not really. A bit of a headache, but that's to be expected after a night out on the piss." Roderich stared a little blankly at the expression, supposing that it was another slang term for going out and getting drunk. It was amazing how many terms the British population came up with for the state of being intoxicated. Sometimes it seemed to Roderich that every month somebody, possibly Arthur, let the dictionary fall open and pointed to a random word to turn into a new slang word for getting drunk. Arthur hadn't noticed his confused expression however, as he was trying to peer through the open door of the living room. "Is Gilbert around?"

As if on cue, the kitchen door opened and Gilbert sauntered out, eating the remains of some sort of cake and, for some unfathomable reason, still shirtless. Arthur's eyebrows shot up at the last fact, no doubt drawing the entirely wrong conclusion, but Gilbert just waved at him as he licked the crumbs from his fingers. Roderich frowned in exasperation.

"You better not have made a mess of my kitchen," he said threateningly. "And why are you wondering round my house half naked?"

"The kitchen's still there," Gilbert replied vaguely, not exactly filling Roderich with confidence. "And somebody threw water over my shirt."

"Then go and get another one. You're always leaving clothes here – I have a whole wardrobe full of your things," Roderich replied, gesturing vaguely towards the stairs. Gilbert looked astonished.

"Really?" he asked, as if he hadn't noticed that he had somehow misplaced an entire wardrobe of clothes.

"Go see for yourself. The amount of times you've left things on the bedroom floor after you've stayed the night –" Roderich broke off at a noise from Arthur that sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Gilbert was also snickering to himself. Roderich looked blank for a moment, then realised exactly what he had said. He flushed. "I didn't mean it like that!" he protested. "He sleeps in one of the guest rooms!"

"Of course he does," Arthur said soothingly, succeeding in making Roderich even more flustered. He turned to Gilbert. "You go get dressed and then I'll give you this." He held up the carrier bag. Gilbert's eyes gleamed at the sight of it and he glanced at Roderich in a way that would have made the other nation very uneasy if he wasn't still mortified over his poorly-phrased comment. He didn't even notice Gilbert's eagerness as the topless nation climbed the stairs two at a time.

"Don't get the wrong impression," he almost pleaded with Arthur. "There's nothing between Gilbert and me."

"I believe you," Arthur replied sincerely before letting the amused smirk back onto his face. "If he was already shagging you then he wouldn't've had to get you drunk before you'd agree to this." To emphasise 'this', he held up the bag and Roderich, blushing slightly from the English nation's crudeness, looked at it curiously.

"What is it?" he asked warily. "I don't remember agreeing to anything." Arthur laughing, unnerving Roderich even more, but before he could say anything, Gilbert came back down the stairs, wearing a t-shirt and an expression that wouldn't have been out of place on a child's face on Christmas morning. Something stirred uneasily in Roderich's clouded memories, lurking just below the surface but not quite rising out of the fog.

"You do know that he doesn't remember?" Arthur asked Gilbert who nodded impatiently. "Maybe you should refresh his memory first." Gilbert sighed, but turned to Roderich.

"Remember that I said you got pissy and stormed off after Arthur pretended to make a move on me?" he asked. Roderich was about to instinctively deny everything again before realising that both of the nations in front of him had witnessed his anger and that lying would be pointless. He grudgingly nodded. "Well, you came back with a really strong drink and you must have had something at the bar because you weren't quite sober." That would be the green drink, Roderich thought, and he could remember sitting opposite the other two, furious at them both. "You were having a go at me," Gilbert continued, looking rather hurt, as if none of Roderich's accusations had been justified in the slightest. "So I challenged you to a drinking contest –"

"Oh shit." Roderich's eyes widened as the conditions of the competition came flooding back to him. It wasn't like him to use such a strong profanity, but he could remember everything now. "Shit," he swore again, to try and make himself feel better. It didn't work. Gilbert and Arthur both looked half shocked at his language, because it was him who was using it, not because they weren't overly familiar with curses, and half amused. Well, Arthur looked amused, but a more accurate word for Gilbert's expression would have been 'evil', which is certainly how Roderich thought he looked at that moment.

"I take it you know what's in the bag now," Gilbert said gleefully. Roderich looked at him pleadingly.

"I don't have to go through with this," he argued desperately. "You can't make me. I refuse!"

"OK," Gilbert replied, shrugging and looking deceptively unaffected by this outburst. "But I don't approve of people breaking their agreements. If you refuse to be my maid for the next week then I will set Francis on you." Roderich paled.

"You wouldn't," he said, but Gilbert looked totally serious.

"It would give me great pains," he admitted, "but I will do it. And I'll give him your outfit too," he added, gesturing towards the bag. Roderich felt his headache, which had eased off a little without him noticing, return with a vengeance. He massaged his temple, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. Eventually he had to give in and admit that there wasn't one, or at least not one that he could think of. So he had to choose between Gilbert, who would probably molest him at every chance he got, or Francis, who would definitely molest him and, a small voice at the back of Roderich's head added, didn't have Gilbert's amazing abs. It wasn't a hard decision.

"Fine," Roderich grudgingly accepted. "I'll do it." Gilbert's face took on an expression of such joy that it was frightening. He grabbed the bag from Arthur and held it out.

"Try it on!" he commanded. "I won't make you start until tomorrow since you're a lightweight and have a hangover, but I want to make sure it fits." Roderich hesitantly took the bag. Glancing inside, he saw black fabric folded at the bottom.

"If I must," he conceded, not able to make out exactly how bad the outfit was. It was probably a dress, he realised resignedly, but he had seen maids – he had employed plenty of them through the years – and their uniforms hadn't been revealing in the slightest. In fact, they had been quite plain and boring. He had always wondered what all the hype about maids was, because none of the ones that he had ever seen had been anyone's definition of sexy.

"I hope you don't mind if I hang about for a bit longer," Arthur said, smiling innocently.

"Of course we don't," Gilbert replied, not giving Roderich a chance to respond. He grabbed Roderich's arm and tugged him up the stairs before pushing him into the nearest bedroom, one of the guest ones. "Get changed," he ordered before shutting the door. Roderich stood still for a moment, listening to Gilbert whisper excitedly to Arthur on the landing. How could he have been so stupid? Because agreeing to this humiliation was definitely the most idiotic thing he had ever done in his whole life. If there was a world record for the largest amount of stupid achieved in one night, then Roderich had not only beaten the former record holder, but had also robbed him, beaten him and left him sobbing in the street.

Numbly, Roderich tipped the contents of the bag onto the bed and sorted it out so that he could see what the outfit would look like. He stared. No maid in the history of – of forever had ever been caught dead wearing a uniform like this, Roderich would bet his life on it. His heart plummeted even further into despair. What had he done?

On the other side of the door, Gilbert was fidgeting impatiently, wondering what was taking so long. He had been looking forward to this moment for such a long time and now it was taking all his willpower not to just fling open the door. If Roderich wasn't fully decent then, well, he would get over it. Hell, Gilbert would happily help him into his new uniform, although it was true that he would much rather help him out of it.

"You seriously want me to wear this?" asked Roderich weakly from the other side of the door.

"Do you have it on?" Gilbert demanded, his hand on the door handle.

"Yes, but –" Gilbert didn't bother to wait for the rest of the sentence and opened the door. Roderich flushed an even deeper red and looked down at the dress unhappily. It was made up of a white, short-sleeved blouse, the edges of the sleeves and the low cut neckline lightly frilled. Over this was a black dress, corseted with white lace over the torso and filling out into a rather poofy skirt with a small white apron at the front. The ends of the skirt were edged with white lace that ended about halfway down Roderich's thighs.

"Wow," Arthur said, looking impressed. "You know, you're not my type at all, but even I have to admit that you really suit that outfit. I mean, you really suit it." Roderich stared at him in disbelief.

"No I don't, it looks awful," he protested. "I feel stupid. And –" he tugged desperately at the skirt in a hopeless attempt to make it longer, "-it's too short!" He looked up and warily gauged Gilbert's reaction. Surprisingly, the other nation hadn't tried anything inappropriate or even said anything inappropriate…yet. Gilbert was standing in the doorway and staring at him with an expression of dazed bliss, as if all of his dreams had unexpectedly come true. It was kind of creepy. Roderich resumed his futile attempts to adjust the skirt to hide more of his thighs, unwittingly revealing more of them in the process.

"It's meant to be short," Arthur explained. "This is what we call a French maid uniform." Oh. Now it all made sense, if Francis was somehow connected. Arthur nudged Gilbert, who snapped out of his trance. "You did good." Roderich frowned.

"But aren't you the one who went out and bought this?" he asked Arthur.

"Yes, but I didn't choose it," the English nation replied. "I just picked it up from the shop."

"I ordered it," Gilbert chipped in, his voice sounding distant. "Two weeks ago." Roderich started.

"Two weeks?" he asked dangerously. "Then you – you planned this whole thing?" Gilbert finally seemed to realise that he was, in fact, still awake, and that the scene in front of him wasn't going to dissolve into a dream. A huge grin appeared on his face.

"I'm a genius," he crowed. "Everything went just as I planned it. And now you're mine." That was going a bit far, Roderich felt.

"Only for a week," he reminded the other nation. "And not today. I'm taking this off."

"I'll help you," Gilbert immediately offered, advancing purposefully. Roderich hurriedly backed away.

"Well, that's my cue to leave," Arthur remarked with an amused tone, turning and heading for the stairs. "You two have fun, and remember to use protection!" He was like some embarrassing older relative, Roderich mused, but somewhat distractedly because he was concentrating most of his energy on wishing that a meteor would strike the house and put him out of his misery.

"We're not sleeping together!" he yelled after Arthur, trying to fend off Gilbert.

"Maybe not yet," Arthur's voice rang up from the hall, "but I bet you ten quid that you will be by the end of this week." The front door slammed before Roderich could protest, so he turned his attention back to escaping molestation.

"Will you stop that?" he snapped, trying to prise one of Gilbert's hands from where it had settled firmly on his behind. Gilbert smiled at him innocently.

"Sorry," he said, "my hand slipped." Roderich suddenly regretted throwing the water over him earlier. He hadn't realised that Gilbert might try to take revenge. With difficulty, he managed to disentangle himself from Gilbert's arms and pushed him backwards onto the landing.

"Stay here," he commanded, then shut the door on Gilbert's heartbroken expression, leaning on it in case the other nation hadn't given up. However, there were no attempts from outside to regain entry, so Roderich let himself relax and sigh heavily. Looking up, he caught sight of himself in the full length mirror on the other side of the room and shifted uncomfortably. He thought back to Arthur's bet and sighed again. Now he was probably going to owe money on top of all his other problems. Great. Because although he would never admit it, Roderich also thought that whatever there was between Gilbert and himself would come to a head sometime during the next week, for better or for worse. It was time to clear the tension in the air.

Translations

Guten Morgen, mein Hübscher - Good morning, beautiful (thanks to prussiablue from LJ for the German because I don't speak a word of it myself)

A night out on the piss - basically just a night out getting drunk

Shagging - having sex with

Quid - pound, as in English money

English slang has some very funny sounding words and phrases, don't you think?