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valmoraamerica, england, pg-13, use of slang for humorous purposes, slight sexual references, 283 words, a very different track from the canon strip on the same subject.
“What’s your tax rate, again?” England asked, over a pile of paperwork, a scone he’d brought with him, and a cup of tea he’d made from a tea bag scrounged from deep inside a cabinet in America’s kitchen.
“It changes, depending on a lot of things – who are we talking about here?”
“John – bugger! Have you got a rubber?”
“What, already?”
“Yes, already.”
“I think there’s some in the bathroom over there.”
England shoved his chair back from the table and stood. “Why in God’s name would you keep them there?”
“…it’s closer than the bedroom.”
“Dear God, why do I put up with you.” England stomped over to the bathroom and started rummaging through the drawers next to the sink. There weren’t any there, as he announced, loudly, to America as he emerged.
Only to find America shirtless, trousers unbuttoned and half-off.
“What are you doing?” England snapped. “You take a simple request as an invitation to sex? I knew you enjoyed it, but not that you were so repulsively enthusiastic. Put your clothes back on or get out and wank elsewhere.”
“Wait, what? You’re the one who brought it up! You wanted to know where the condoms were!”
England opened his mouth, closed it, put his face in his hand. “You,” he pronounced, “commit crimes against my language and I do wish you’d go make Spain vomit every time you spoke, instead of me. Rubber. For rubbing out mistakes.”
America looked down at his bald-eagle print boxers. “Um,” he said, and pulled his trousers up.
England sat back down at the table, glared at his paperwork. “I still need one.”
“An eraser,” America said, no little desperately. “I’ll go get one.” He fled.
“What’s your tax rate, again?” England asked, over a pile of paperwork, a scone he’d brought with him, and a cup of tea he’d made from a tea bag scrounged from deep inside a cabinet in America’s kitchen.
“It changes, depending on a lot of things – who are we talking about here?”
“John – bugger! Have you got a rubber?”
“What, already?”
“Yes, already.”
“I think there’s some in the bathroom over there.”
England shoved his chair back from the table and stood. “Why in God’s name would you keep them there?”
“…it’s closer than the bedroom.”
“Dear God, why do I put up with you.” England stomped over to the bathroom and started rummaging through the drawers next to the sink. There weren’t any there, as he announced, loudly, to America as he emerged.
Only to find America shirtless, trousers unbuttoned and half-off.
“What are you doing?” England snapped. “You take a simple request as an invitation to sex? I knew you enjoyed it, but not that you were so repulsively enthusiastic. Put your clothes back on or get out and wank elsewhere.”
“Wait, what? You’re the one who brought it up! You wanted to know where the condoms were!”
England opened his mouth, closed it, put his face in his hand. “You,” he pronounced, “commit crimes against my language and I do wish you’d go make Spain vomit every time you spoke, instead of me. Rubber. For rubbing out mistakes.”
America looked down at his bald-eagle print boxers. “Um,” he said, and pulled his trousers up.
England sat back down at the table, glared at his paperwork. “I still need one.”
“An eraser,” America said, no little desperately. “I’ll go get one.” He fled.
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no subject
Date: 2009-07-29 05:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-29 06:02 am (UTC)If it amuses you at all, there is a similar piece with America and Japan here (http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10456.html?thread=14799832#t14799832), only sex actually does happen (mostly off-screen).