Eurovision Song Contest
In honour to the wonderful Eurovision Song Contest. Have some after show party moments.
Some attempts on drunken!English where I pretty much failed, fluff and consoling between our this year’s losers (except for Malta ‘cause I had no idea how to write it D:), much some France/Germany fluff later on for my own selfish soul and a disturbed Norway in the last part.
*goes dying in her corner*
…last question: when you’re finished reading, should I post this on the main com?
It didn’t turn out how I wanted it to be and surely lakes some soul and love since I wanted to end it before I lost interest.
Grammar mistakes are to be sent to Ludwig since his pants entry bears the fault for all of this :D.
And yes, I called for France! And also for Lithuania. His song wasn’t that bad ;;!
Winner takes it all
Germany slumped down on a bar stool in the backstage area and winked the bar tender over.
Some nice alcoholic drinks would be welcomed after all the stress.
His shoulder felt strained and he was exhausted, all the helping built up Russia’s contest place had taken its tool on him.
Just as a beer was placed in front of him, somebody took the sit to his left.
Sweden grunted something incomprehensible, surely a greeting because they didn’t consul each other openly when they lost. That was just too depressing.
Germany nodded at him and spotted Finland who was currently making his way through the busy staff which had started to either already clean the backstage or were rushing into the big hall to help with the after show party.
The Baltic state looked badly depressed if the slumped shoulders and his absent wandering eyes were any indicator. With a raised eyebrow, Germany patted Sweden’s arm lightly and nodded into Finland’s direction as the blond nation looked his way.
In seconds Sweden was up and rushing over to his friend. Or lover. Or wife, Germany never quite got what those two had going on.
Before he could take his second sip, Sweden had managed to stir Finland to the bar and placed him beside himself, ordering something for both of them.
“Nice show, isn’t it?” Finland’s light voice broke the silence as he sent Germany a teary grin. Germany couldn’t help but smile back compassionately, knowing full well what it felt like to gain the last place.
“Yeah, it is. Your song was nice, by the way.”
“Thanks. Your’s was very…interesting.” Although out of any other nation’s mouth that would have probably sounded mockingly the smile Finland was now showing him made Germany grin back. “Well, you have to try something different each year.”
Finland laughed at that (Germany could spot a small smile on Sweden’s face) and took the glass his neighbour was offering him.
“Friends in misery, huh?”
Taking another gulp, Germany reconsidered that statement shortly. Then he shrugged.
“Sums it up pretty good.”
The following silence was a comfortable one.
Until a soft wail made them all look up in concern.
Lithuania was slowly moving over to them, a sniffling Spain clinging to his arm.
Germany couldn’t decide whom of them looked more down, Spain who was mumbling words like ‘not fair’ and ‘only because of friends’ under his breath or Lithuania who was sporting a rather crestfallen gaze.
With his last strength it seemed Lithuania sat Spain onto a bar stool before he sighed loudly and took the free one on Germany’s other side.
“Do they serve vodka here?” He asked while eyeing the drinks already on the round table.
Three eye pairs sent him a worried look - even Germany couldn’t stop himself from participating - and made Lithuania blush embarrassed in the progress.
“Hey, I need something strong! It’s not like I will drown myself in it.”
Finland was the first to answer seeing that both Germany and Sweden were still complaining if such a small and delicate nation should drink something that strong at all.
“Ah, I understand that. Should I ask the bar tender for you?”
Before Lithuania could reply, Spain had called one of the waiters over and asked for two vodka bottles. “I bet Russia has some here, either in case he is winning - or losing. …I could need some myself right now.” He added apologetically as he became aware how both Finland and Lithuania were watching him confused.
Minutes later a cheerful drinking event started.
-
Only his third glass of vodka emptied, Germany felt by now pretty light-headed and even the twenties place was getting funnier and funnier with each drop of the clear alcohol.
Finland, Sweden and Lithuania - especially Lithuania - had downed considerably more glasses than him but somehow managed to not get red cheeks or balance problems on their stools.
He should train drinking with East, Germany contemplated while watching Spain laugh happily (he had two glasses in advance which probably explained why he was singing a weird song about tomatoes).
It was France who prevented him from reaching Spain’s level.
The nation rushed in the backstage, an accomplished smile on his face and an even happier looking England following him.
“Ludwig, Ludwig!” His name was called in a sing song voice before arms wrapped themselves around Germany’s back, resting lightly on his chest as a chin was propped onto his head.
“I was look for you. Neither your singer nor that truly lovely lady could tell me where you were!” France huffed accusingly.
Placing his lifted glass with care - well, he tried; some of the liquor swapping over wasn’t his fault, now was it? - Germany patted France’s hands good-naturedly.
“’m taking a drink with friends.” He babbled out after sorting the words in his head, making a showing gesture to the other nations at the table.
Finland’s head was now leaning against Sweden’s arm, a relaxed grin on his face.
Lithuania downed another glass - Germany had stopped counting after the tenth - and had a lively expression instead of his earlier gloomy one.
Spain didn’t seem to be interested in drinking anymore; instead he had one leg on the table and was balancing with the other still on the wobbly chair while loudly performing his song.
England who had watched the spectacle until now some metres behind France’s back rushed forward and steadied Spain through gripping one arm of him which nearly caused Spain to fall into England’s direction.
“Yeah, I can see that.” France muttered, sounding a bit worried. “And smell.”
Germany sniffled onto his suit with some difficult but was unable to recognize more than a faint odour of vodka. “’s not that bad.” He said feeling a bit offended.
France laughed softly which Germany felt all the way better since the other didn’t even think of lifting his head while doing so.
“No, it isn’t. But maybe you should stop for tonight and instead come back with me to the party? …And ‘no’ isn’t an option, I have promised your brother, Austria and Italy that I will look after you!”
Hearing France’s demanding tone, Germany sighed, eyed his glass a bit reluctant and finally stood up, not wanting to cause his neighbour problems with either his crazy brother or a worried Italy. They could become rather fanatic sometimes.
Next to them England had gained control over a drunken Spain and was now pulling the other down from the table.
Steadied by France at one side, Germany pulled them both near the Englishman before he - tipsy, feeling pretty much okay with the world and his life - gripped England’s hand which wasn’t occupied with holding Spain down on the chair and gave it a swift kiss.
“Danke for sev’n points.” He proclaimed happily, dismissing England’s and France’s shocked faces. He should have done that right the moment he received the points.
Before England could even say anything in return, France snapped out of his blank stare and tugged Germany with him, hissing something about island nations that were trying to steal husbands away.
Not feeling guilty in the least, Germany waved back at a slowly blushing England (he was screaming some insults after France Germany didn’t understand because England’s deep British accent made it hard to listen).
The only sentence he understood was “I have more points than you, French frog!” but then music flittered in since France had dragged him more into the direction of the hall where the party was hold.
“Seriously, he’s annoying me all night long with that sentence!” France huffed, a firm grip on Germany’s arm. Giggling stupidly - France’s complain sounded so funny! - Germany gently stroke France’s hair as if to consol a moping child.
“I would’ve done the s’me if was m’ winning.”
France stopped abruptly, nearly sending Germany flying over his own two feet since he didn’t pay attention to the floor but was relying on France’s guidance.
Something different than just England’s joy seemed to bother him. Germany struggled to find a steady stand while watching France knit his brows with patient.
Asking was unnecessary; he would get to hear it anyway.
“It’s nice and all that he gave you seven points but what about me?,” came the accusing and slightly whiny question finally bubbling out of France’s mouth.
Germany hip cued surprised, raising an eyebrow to signal that he wasn’t sure what France meant.
“Oh, don’t do as if you don’t know what I’m talking about! I gave you three points, didn’t I?”
Germany nodded since that was the truth. “But I gave you also three points.” He answered astonished as to why France made such a big deal out of it.
France only groaned at him instead of saying anything.
“By the way, I think I should go and thank Denmark and Norway too,” Germany pondered while observing the crowd of dancing people only some metres away with awe.
When he had already thanked England and France that was only proper, right?
“And Belgium, Turkey, the Netherlands and Albanian, Ireland, Portugal and Bosnie-“
France cut him off through throwing an arm over his shoulder and yanking him close, closer than Germany usually liked to be in public.
“Seriously, you don’t have to go and thank every nation who gave points to you!”
France whispered low and still a bit angry but at the same time in a tone that Germany suddenly found his pants rather tight and his heart beating way too fast for his liking.
Damn vodka, messing his body up!
“And with those trousers I don’t think I can let you go walking around in the open. Not speaking of this weird shirt.”
Fingers tugged softly at said shirt, wide open and rolled up over the elbows, making Germany wonder why he had forgotten to button it up again.
The nations who could support their actors did that through wearing the same outfits or - when it was impossible like in France’s and England’s case - wore something similar in colour and cut.
Tonight’s outfit had been rather embarrassing, Germany remembered as he recalled how he had earned some weird and truly frightening looks when he had first walked around, changed into his actor’s clothes.
Having nations (and even people) whistling after him was a totally new experience.
America who had come to visit since Germany had invited a star from his nation couldn’t stop from laughing every time he eyed those pants, all sparkling and quite distracting.
His female accompany made the matter even worse as she flirted lightly with him, taking away his last sanity before the big event had even started.
Now aware of his almost naked upper parts, Germany blushed and pulled the shirt close, too nervous to have the patience to button it up.
“Aww, nothing to hide, my dear. Although the pants are not very fashionable you don’t have to feel ashamed for your nice chest.” France smirked and lovingly kissed Germany’s cheek.
Blushed harder, Germany felt rapidly exposed but didn’t even think of telling France to shut up. Mocking each other was one of their daily rituals - more coming from France than from him.
So he was used to jokingly comments when his clothes were concerned although France would always offer his help and advice only seconds after telling him how bad a suit looked on him.
“Didn’t have a choice,” was the only defence Germany could offer, too riled up to keep a clear head.
A hand was placed on his back and slowly made its way downwards.
“What do you think if we go somewhere quiet and get ride of that ugly piece of cloth?”
France murmured huskily, at the same time intertwining his other hand with one of Germany’s who was still holding firmly onto the material of his shirt.
“…Here?”
“Why not?”
“Uncomfortable. And I d’n’t think we can find a sl’nt place here.”
France stepped closer, cuddling up to him. “Please?”
Oh god, not that look! Inwardly, Germany groaned but couldn’t stop himself from putting his arms around France’s warm body, pulling him against his chest and relished in the calmness the other nation brought over him - even though that hand on his ass was damn distracting.
“When we get home? I don’t want Russia or someb’dy else stumble over us.”
France pouted at him. Not good. Definitely not good.
“Uhm…I promise? I’ll even make those three points up to you?”
An eyebrow was lifted. Germany waited some eternal seconds, knowing that sometimes it was best to keep his mouth shut.
He could practically see how France thought the idea over, absently patting his ass.
Then a beam spread over the other’s face and Germany allowed himself to breathe again.
He hated it when France was angry or disappointed in him nowadays.
“Accepted. But you have come dancing with me now. That silly outfit may not be good for public use but this once it will do.”
Germany groaned, this time loudly. “Do I have to?”
France only winked at him, pulling him into the crowd.
Helplessly devoted, he rolled his eyes and followed France wishing that he had drunken more vodka.
-
Over the other end of the hall, Norway was currently having a problem. A big one.
Winning the Eurovision Song Contest was wonderful, ecstatic and made him proud of his actor but having almost all other nations after him gave the whole thing a bitter aftertaste.
He eyed the crowd suspiciously, having to flee only some minutes ago from the side of Denmark because Russia had spotted him. And the looks he had gotten sent more than just cold showers up and down his spin.
Accompanied by both his sisters and some more nations Norway was sure who had never shown interest in him before, Russia had been a frightening picture.
Excusing himself from Denmark - who also couldn’t keep his fingers to himself and had been casually touching him all night long - Norway had taken the first open route which presented itself to him to sprint through the dancing crowd.
He swore to himself that he never, ever would participate in a Song Contest without having at least an axe or a sword with him.