A/N: After a good game this morning/afternoon, here's the second and final chapter to this little FIFA fic. Enjoy! And once again, nothing is mine.

After two more rounds of drinks and a stumbled-walk back to his hotel during sunrise, Arthur woke up with a pounding headache two hours before his boys were set to play. He scrambled out of his bed and dressed in a hurried mess, banging into walls and getting caught up in clothing and hangers. But thankfully enough, he made it to the stadium in time for the game.

…and by the end of the match, Arthur regretted ever waking up that day. Before his head dropped into the cradle of his palms, he saw that ominous white glow bolt through the stands towards him. That fucking bet.

"FUCK YES, FREE DRINKS," he heard that piercing voice yell before behind pummeled by it to the ground. "THAT WAS AWESOME. WEST WASTED YOU, MAN!"

Met with friendly punches mixed with suffocating hugs, Arthur slightly hoped this entire day had never happened. "Gilbert. Get off," he groaned, pushing the Prussian away and not even daring to make eye contact with the overjoyed albino.

Standing up with that signature pride, Gilbert brought out the infamous clipping from the previous night, waving it in front of Arthur's face. "So, I take it you're a medium, right? Because," Gilbert started before his eyes narrowed into deep red slits, "because I bought it this morning."

"YOU WHAT?"

"Well," Gilbert choked, his neck now tight in the clutches of the raging Briton. "I figured…y-you had no chance, holy fuck Arthur, I can't breathe!"

Arthur could feel his body shaking, his desire to kill Gilbert at an all-time high. "You figured I'd lose?"

"A-arthur! I…"

"Bruder," the deep voice of Germany said beside the duo, returning the air to Gilbert's lungs and the calm to Arthur's blood. Ludwig turned to Arthur, a proud yet humble smile on his lips. Outstretching his hand, he mimicked the same sportsmanship of his players. "Good game," he said.

In all honesty, Arthur couldn't say no to a bout of manners such as this. He set his previous rage aside and returned Ludwig's gesture, giving the match's winner a well-deserved handshake. "Good game, Ludwig."

"Now let's head out to the bar," the blonde added with a smirk, and Arthur once again felt his dignity plummet as Gilbert's laughs rocked the stadium harder than an army of vuvuzelas.

Arthur and Gilbert were the first two at the bar, for preparation's sake. Of course, their first stop was to the restroom where Gilbert revealed the teal, baby doll style top with its little-to-the-imagination lace trim and matching thong. Arthur shuddered, but there was no turning back now, Gilbert out in the bar reserving the entire tavern to the German team. He held his lingerie out in front of him, taking a deep breath before completing the first step of the bet. "It's just for tonight, Arthur. You can do it," he said, stripping down and slipping on the thread of underwear.

Fully "dressed", Arthur waited in the stall before Gilbert's return which, of course, happened with a pungent scent of liquor.

"Hey Artie, you ready yet?"

"Jesus, Gilbert, are you drunk already," he said, stepping out of the stall to an obnoxious wolf-whistle.

Gilbert laughed under his breath, one hand preoccupied with holding a beer, the other outstretched for Arthur. "Lookin' sexy, Kirkland. Now get out there and help our boys celebrate."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur slipped on the matching teal heels (and he knew he wouldn't last long walking in them) and cautiously took Gilbert's hand. "I take it they're in the bar already?"

Gilbert nodded and as Arthur stepped out of the bathroom, slapped an excited hand upon the Englishman's revealed bottom. "HERE'S YOUR BARMAID, BOYS!"

Cheers mixed with laughter and twenty-five full glasses of beer lifted into the air. Another joined as Gilbert raised his glass and joined his brother's victorious team.

Arthur merely stood by the door, his hands cupped over his groin, awkwardly bulged in the lacey panties. "I see that…everyone already has their drinks, yes?"

Another round of cheers illuminated the bar and Arthur took another deep breath; he had gone this far in this ridiculous get-up. It couldn't hurt to start drinking. Puffing out his decorated chest, Arthur found a grin and stepped forward. "Alright, alright, but I'm cutting you off at three, Neuer," he said, a pointing finger of disapproval at the German team's goalkeeper. Arthur figured the team knew his identity by this point, many of them joining in on the joke of England's second-but-not-counted goal.

By his third beer, Arthur had forgotten about the match, his revealing display a successful part of the night's entertainment. He danced upon the counter and joined in tempting drinking games and eventually lost his frilly top and glossy shoes. He was able to, once again, congratulate Ludwig on a game well played and before passing out on midfielder, Mesut Özil's lap, paid for well over 100 drinks. It was indeed a good game, with an even better after party.

THANKS FOR READING! I hope you all enjoyed the fic AND today's game. Because I know I did. ;D

~erbby