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Summary
"What's this?" France finally asked, his voice low as he hooked his index finger beneath the lace, experimentally tugging on the thin, delicate band wrapped around England’s hip bone.
Squirming slightly under the touch, England knitted his brows. "What’s what? You’re—" He froze mid-sentence as the horrifying realization hit him.
Shit.
or
In which England finally decides to wear the pair of panties France had bought for him.
