Summer Camp 2013 Day 6
Title- A Short Explanation
Rated- T for cursing and vague sexual references
Word Count- 1,017
Summary- America wants to dress England up as Indiana Jones- or well the closest thing
a/n- idk man, idk
|A Short Explanation|
"America, whatever this idea of yours is, I am vehemently against it."
America jutted out his bottom lip like a petulant child and wrung his thumbs into his belt loops. "What's new there," he replied with a feigned exasperated sigh. "You never even give me a chance to explain my plans to you. You always just dismiss them."
"Not always," England argued, looking down at the items in his hands with disdain, "Only when they involve- what the hell even are these?"
"It's a belt!" America said, chiming lightly like his voice was some sort of sing song. "One for holding pistols and stuff really."
"Yes but why?" he questioned, real exasperation on his face.
"For you to wear?" America said, shrugging his shoulders. England was so hard to get through to some times.
The belt was made out of some sort of leather material and was quite thick. Right enough, there were holders on each side of it to store pistols, not unlike ones that were used during America's glory days in the Wild West. The belt buckle was some sort of fake gold metal but still looked fairly sturdy. It was a proper belt to say the least.
"Why on earth would I wear this?" England asked incredulously, holding it out away from him and shaking it a little to enunciate his point. The war was long over, decades prior, and he no longer even carried a pistol with him. The belt was next to useless.
"Because I gave it to you," America said, pouting once again, "And I'm a wonderful boyfriend who gave you a present and you should thank me and wear it and love me forever because I did, right?"
England groaned, bringing his hand up to drag it down his face, using the wrong hand however and dragging the blasted belt down his face too. "Alright, fine then, I'll play along," he said and dropped the belt on to the floor.
He stepped into the circle it created and bent down to drag it up himself. It was set to big for him so it slipped on nicely but then needed to be tightened in order to stay up. The peculiar metal made it hard for him to open it and it was a few minutes of tightening before it stayed up.
"There you go," he said, furrowing his eyebrows when he saw America making an unimpressed expression. "Oh what now?"
"I just don't think it works," America hummed, cocking his head to one side.
"It doesn't work?" he retorted, his voice a low rumble as America sighed and nodded.
"Yeah, it doesn't look right with your outfit."
In all honesty, America had a point. The sweater and suit pants combination did not do the leather pistol holder much justice at all. It caused the sweater to bunch up unflatteringly and it hung close to his knees with the slacks. "You are right, but it can't be helped," England replied, "This was your blasted plan after all."
"I think you should wear these!" America chimed suddenly, flinging some new clothes at England's face so they hit him and slid down into his open hands, revealing the death glare behind them. It was almost like America had planned this all along.
"Might I ask what the hell these contraptions are?" England asked menacingly, holding the offensive garment away from himself with a look of what could only be described as pure and utter disgust. America smiled.
"The clothes I got you," he said happily, "They'll work much better with the belt because- well they just will!"
"I meant," England hissed, "Why the hell on God's heavenly earth would I ever wear something as atrocious as these?"
Naturally he had zoned in on the shorts. America thought they were quite nice shorts, a brown and khaki coloured leather material. They weren't even all that short and they had much shorter ones America could have gotten. He was being considerate in letting them go down to his mid thigh. Any longer would've been just ridiculous because, he was no fashion expert but he was pretty sure the belt length and the short length would clash.
"Because you'd be like Indiana Jones!" America insisted. England scowled.
"Indiana Jones does not wear bloody, what do you call it, booty shorts, America!"
"Hey, not everyone can pull them off, alright," America said, holding his hands up in protest. He was pretty sure Indiana Jones could pull off hot pants if he tried hard enough but it was quite a disturbing sight to think of, unlike the thought of England in those pants.
"Are you sure you're not getting your archaeologists mixed up," England asked, his anger subsiding from fury to serious distaste, "Because these look more like something one of your video game girls would be getting out in."
"Lara Croft is cool, okay," America pouted. The games were cool, full of archaeology and badassery. The short shorts were only a bonus. "Is she even an archaeologist?"
"I don't give a shit!" England spat, "I'm not wearing this- this thing!"
"Please!" America said, pulling England's arm as he refused to look the other in the eye, "It'll be so cool!"
"How about no!" England retorted.
"Please England!" America wailed, dropping his entire weight to the ground and bringing England down with him. He severely underestimated his strength and weight once again.
"You Goddamn oaf!" England said, his voice coming out more of a squeal than he intended as he bashed his forehead into America's on impact. America's hands tightened around the small of England's back and he buried his face into his neck. "What are you doing now?"
"Please England!" he whined, "I'll make it up to you!"
"Why do you even want this," England sighed in exasperation. He seemed to be permanently exasperated.
"Because," America said, "I think you would make a very good explorer person."
England let out a huff and pushed his forehead against America's once again. He brushed his nose and braced either of his hands against the sides of America's head to brush their lips together.
"No."
"Oh come on!"
|END|
Rated- T for cursing and vague sexual references
Word Count- 1,017
Summary- America wants to dress England up as Indiana Jones- or well the closest thing
a/n- idk man, idk
|A Short Explanation|
"America, whatever this idea of yours is, I am vehemently against it."
America jutted out his bottom lip like a petulant child and wrung his thumbs into his belt loops. "What's new there," he replied with a feigned exasperated sigh. "You never even give me a chance to explain my plans to you. You always just dismiss them."
"Not always," England argued, looking down at the items in his hands with disdain, "Only when they involve- what the hell even are these?"
"It's a belt!" America said, chiming lightly like his voice was some sort of sing song. "One for holding pistols and stuff really."
"Yes but why?" he questioned, real exasperation on his face.
"For you to wear?" America said, shrugging his shoulders. England was so hard to get through to some times.
The belt was made out of some sort of leather material and was quite thick. Right enough, there were holders on each side of it to store pistols, not unlike ones that were used during America's glory days in the Wild West. The belt buckle was some sort of fake gold metal but still looked fairly sturdy. It was a proper belt to say the least.
"Why on earth would I wear this?" England asked incredulously, holding it out away from him and shaking it a little to enunciate his point. The war was long over, decades prior, and he no longer even carried a pistol with him. The belt was next to useless.
"Because I gave it to you," America said, pouting once again, "And I'm a wonderful boyfriend who gave you a present and you should thank me and wear it and love me forever because I did, right?"
England groaned, bringing his hand up to drag it down his face, using the wrong hand however and dragging the blasted belt down his face too. "Alright, fine then, I'll play along," he said and dropped the belt on to the floor.
He stepped into the circle it created and bent down to drag it up himself. It was set to big for him so it slipped on nicely but then needed to be tightened in order to stay up. The peculiar metal made it hard for him to open it and it was a few minutes of tightening before it stayed up.
"There you go," he said, furrowing his eyebrows when he saw America making an unimpressed expression. "Oh what now?"
"I just don't think it works," America hummed, cocking his head to one side.
"It doesn't work?" he retorted, his voice a low rumble as America sighed and nodded.
"Yeah, it doesn't look right with your outfit."
In all honesty, America had a point. The sweater and suit pants combination did not do the leather pistol holder much justice at all. It caused the sweater to bunch up unflatteringly and it hung close to his knees with the slacks. "You are right, but it can't be helped," England replied, "This was your blasted plan after all."
"I think you should wear these!" America chimed suddenly, flinging some new clothes at England's face so they hit him and slid down into his open hands, revealing the death glare behind them. It was almost like America had planned this all along.
"Might I ask what the hell these contraptions are?" England asked menacingly, holding the offensive garment away from himself with a look of what could only be described as pure and utter disgust. America smiled.
"The clothes I got you," he said happily, "They'll work much better with the belt because- well they just will!"
"I meant," England hissed, "Why the hell on God's heavenly earth would I ever wear something as atrocious as these?"
Naturally he had zoned in on the shorts. America thought they were quite nice shorts, a brown and khaki coloured leather material. They weren't even all that short and they had much shorter ones America could have gotten. He was being considerate in letting them go down to his mid thigh. Any longer would've been just ridiculous because, he was no fashion expert but he was pretty sure the belt length and the short length would clash.
"Because you'd be like Indiana Jones!" America insisted. England scowled.
"Indiana Jones does not wear bloody, what do you call it, booty shorts, America!"
"Hey, not everyone can pull them off, alright," America said, holding his hands up in protest. He was pretty sure Indiana Jones could pull off hot pants if he tried hard enough but it was quite a disturbing sight to think of, unlike the thought of England in those pants.
"Are you sure you're not getting your archaeologists mixed up," England asked, his anger subsiding from fury to serious distaste, "Because these look more like something one of your video game girls would be getting out in."
"Lara Croft is cool, okay," America pouted. The games were cool, full of archaeology and badassery. The short shorts were only a bonus. "Is she even an archaeologist?"
"I don't give a shit!" England spat, "I'm not wearing this- this thing!"
"Please!" America said, pulling England's arm as he refused to look the other in the eye, "It'll be so cool!"
"How about no!" England retorted.
"Please England!" America wailed, dropping his entire weight to the ground and bringing England down with him. He severely underestimated his strength and weight once again.
"You Goddamn oaf!" England said, his voice coming out more of a squeal than he intended as he bashed his forehead into America's on impact. America's hands tightened around the small of England's back and he buried his face into his neck. "What are you doing now?"
"Please England!" he whined, "I'll make it up to you!"
"Why do you even want this," England sighed in exasperation. He seemed to be permanently exasperated.
"Because," America said, "I think you would make a very good explorer person."
England let out a huff and pushed his forehead against America's once again. He brushed his nose and braced either of his hands against the sides of America's head to brush their lips together.
"No."
"Oh come on!"
|END|