Communism < Crossdressing
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairing: USxUK
Rating: PG+
Word Count: 998 (w00, under 1,000!)
Worksafe: Yes
Warnings: Men cross-dressing with guns! =DDD And, since I'm American, bad British Arthurian slang.
Author's Note: HOLY CRAP, YOU GUYS, IT'S NOT KHR! BUT LOL. Look at the last four numbers in the URL. xD (Mostly) based off of evilapple513's doodle cube here! (I just kinda made it more 1950's instead of 40's, with hints of McCarthyism.... |D;) Please enjoy my first APH fanfic (amongst all the KHR...), and please treat me kindly! Crit is very much appreciated! (P.S. Kyokou, Jay... your fics are coming soon-I swear! This was just spur of the moment...!)
☽✩☾
America grinned, exhaling as he put his gun to safety mode and blew smoke off of the barrel. "And that's why you don't make me waste my time," he said, leaning forward at his waist. "I'm the United States! I can't get bogged down to let everyone start getting ahead, hm?" His grin was wide and friendly as his set his hands on his hips, the gun held at a near-threatening angle.
The fallen man beneath him looked petrified, a smoking and very fresh bullet hole not even three inches from his head. His teeth clattered loudly as he attempted a fifth time at nodding. America continued. "And I just can't have these people threatening to take over what I've worked so hard to gain. Now, what was so hard about handing over those few names? Oh, and look-you made me get dirt on my skirt. Now go so I can find these others."
America stood up straight, watching the man scramble to his feet and stumble as he ran. He sighed, wiping whatever was on his skirt off and placed the gun in his holster. "Man, I hate this," he said. "Way to go, McCarthy.... Hey, England, you still there?"
Stumbling out from somewhere behind him was England; scowl in place and holding on to whatever he could find to keep himself upright. "Fuckin'-! How the hell do you manage this?!"
America grinned as he fixed his pink blouse, and cocked a leg out to show off his easily-attained skill. "What? It's not that hard."
England glared. "Toss off."
At that America shook his head. "I dunno what you're talking about. I can't toss anything anywhere-unless you want me to toss my gun at you." He pulled his gun out for emphasis.
"Whatever, Joey."
"But that's not my name...!"
"I don't care!" England yelled. He let go of whatever he was grasping on to, tumbling into America and hanging on his arm. "Oh, bugger.... Why did you even need me here to deal with your problems? And was it truly necessary to cross-dress?!"
After helping England to stand, America shrugged it off with a grin. "Not really," he said. "I just thought it would be more fun!"
"Bloody hell, Man, this is why your country has issues!" England exclaimed. He waved his gun up and down several times.
Still America grinned. "What? You look great! Yellow is your color, and that dress really brings out your curves!" America paused to snicker to himself. "Not to mention your purse is a nice accent. You just need to learn how to walk in high-heels."
"I swear by the Queen I will shoot you-!"
"You could even pass for a nice-looking woman, if it weren't for your eyebrows...."
The next second was silent as England's eyebrows furrowed together and a very menacing growl erupted from his throat. "There is nothing wrong with my eyebrows!" His own hands flew to his hips, his purse swinging back dangerously. America kept grinning, trying not to laugh. "At least I'm not in pink, you drag queen."
"But you have one hell of feminine figure and pose; congrats, there, Iggy! I think you win the drag queen prize." While England was grinding his teeth, America ran his gun along England's jaw line and in a slightly huskier voice said, "And, besides all that, I think you have sexy eyebrows, so don't worry." He stopped the gun under England's chin, lifting his face up with it. Furious blushing aside, England glared at America with an intensity the younger hadn't seen for almost 200 years.
England stepped backwards, almost tripping on his heel but kept himself upright as his pointed his gun at America. "I AM GOING TO SHOOT YOU!" he yelled. "I AM GOING TO SHOOT YOU RIGHT NOW!"
America waved his gun, laughing. "You have no bullets, and I only had the one."
England smirked, cocking his gun. "Who said I didn't put my own in?" he asked.
Gulping, America took this moment to hold his hands up, and tossed his gun behind him with a wavering smile. "E-England, aw, come on, it was just for the heck of it! You look nice, I look fantastic-! Why can't we just play nice?!"
"Bloody hell, America! I'm not you-! I don't want to stick my nose in your business, so don't drag me in!" England threw his hands up, then stuffed the gun in his purse muttering to a questionable expression on the American's face, "It's not loaded, don't worry," and began to stomp away. America stared for a moment, watching England walk off.
"Woohoo, strut your stuff! Show it off!"
England kept walking, flipped him off, then tripped to the floor rather unceremoniously (and amusingly, but America would never admit how hard he was laughing on the inside). America rushed over (expertly, of course, in those shoes) and crouched down (lady-like, of course, in that skirt) to check him over.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," was the answer, smothered into the floor. "No I'm not. I'm stuck in women's clothing-with you-with an unloaded gun and a twisted ankle. You tell me if I'm okay."
"Guess not. Well, come on." America took the heels off of England's feet and helped him up, wrapping England's arm around his shoulders. "Just keep off it and we'll get you some help."
"Bastard. This is your fault. I hope you're happy! I thought you were the hero, huh?" Despite this, England seemed to have no trouble accepting the aid.
America grinned. "Happy as a fiddle. And I'm helping you, aren't I?"
England rolled his eyes. "You'd better help me." He went hopping along with America, muttering something like, 'how can women wear those things' and similar insults towards female-wear. Of course, it was in addition to any kind of rude comments he continued making towards America, though America took them in stride. Maybe he should have just kept to sticking his nose in others' business, and not forcing others (i.e. England) into his own. Though, he did have to admit, if he could get England to loosen up and wear women's clothing, it was all worth it.
Pairing: USxUK
Rating: PG+
Word Count: 998 (w00, under 1,000!)
Worksafe: Yes
Warnings: Men cross-dressing with guns! =DDD And, since I'm American, bad British Arthurian slang.
Author's Note: HOLY CRAP, YOU GUYS, IT'S NOT KHR! BUT LOL. Look at the last four numbers in the URL. xD (Mostly) based off of evilapple513's doodle cube here! (I just kinda made it more 1950's instead of 40's, with hints of McCarthyism.... |D;) Please enjoy my first APH fanfic (amongst all the KHR...), and please treat me kindly! Crit is very much appreciated! (P.S. Kyokou, Jay... your fics are coming soon-I swear! This was just spur of the moment...!)
☽✩☾
America grinned, exhaling as he put his gun to safety mode and blew smoke off of the barrel. "And that's why you don't make me waste my time," he said, leaning forward at his waist. "I'm the United States! I can't get bogged down to let everyone start getting ahead, hm?" His grin was wide and friendly as his set his hands on his hips, the gun held at a near-threatening angle.
The fallen man beneath him looked petrified, a smoking and very fresh bullet hole not even three inches from his head. His teeth clattered loudly as he attempted a fifth time at nodding. America continued. "And I just can't have these people threatening to take over what I've worked so hard to gain. Now, what was so hard about handing over those few names? Oh, and look-you made me get dirt on my skirt. Now go so I can find these others."
America stood up straight, watching the man scramble to his feet and stumble as he ran. He sighed, wiping whatever was on his skirt off and placed the gun in his holster. "Man, I hate this," he said. "Way to go, McCarthy.... Hey, England, you still there?"
Stumbling out from somewhere behind him was England; scowl in place and holding on to whatever he could find to keep himself upright. "Fuckin'-! How the hell do you manage this?!"
America grinned as he fixed his pink blouse, and cocked a leg out to show off his easily-attained skill. "What? It's not that hard."
England glared. "Toss off."
At that America shook his head. "I dunno what you're talking about. I can't toss anything anywhere-unless you want me to toss my gun at you." He pulled his gun out for emphasis.
"Whatever, Joey."
"But that's not my name...!"
"I don't care!" England yelled. He let go of whatever he was grasping on to, tumbling into America and hanging on his arm. "Oh, bugger.... Why did you even need me here to deal with your problems? And was it truly necessary to cross-dress?!"
After helping England to stand, America shrugged it off with a grin. "Not really," he said. "I just thought it would be more fun!"
"Bloody hell, Man, this is why your country has issues!" England exclaimed. He waved his gun up and down several times.
Still America grinned. "What? You look great! Yellow is your color, and that dress really brings out your curves!" America paused to snicker to himself. "Not to mention your purse is a nice accent. You just need to learn how to walk in high-heels."
"I swear by the Queen I will shoot you-!"
"You could even pass for a nice-looking woman, if it weren't for your eyebrows...."
The next second was silent as England's eyebrows furrowed together and a very menacing growl erupted from his throat. "There is nothing wrong with my eyebrows!" His own hands flew to his hips, his purse swinging back dangerously. America kept grinning, trying not to laugh. "At least I'm not in pink, you drag queen."
"But you have one hell of feminine figure and pose; congrats, there, Iggy! I think you win the drag queen prize." While England was grinding his teeth, America ran his gun along England's jaw line and in a slightly huskier voice said, "And, besides all that, I think you have sexy eyebrows, so don't worry." He stopped the gun under England's chin, lifting his face up with it. Furious blushing aside, England glared at America with an intensity the younger hadn't seen for almost 200 years.
England stepped backwards, almost tripping on his heel but kept himself upright as his pointed his gun at America. "I AM GOING TO SHOOT YOU!" he yelled. "I AM GOING TO SHOOT YOU RIGHT NOW!"
America waved his gun, laughing. "You have no bullets, and I only had the one."
England smirked, cocking his gun. "Who said I didn't put my own in?" he asked.
Gulping, America took this moment to hold his hands up, and tossed his gun behind him with a wavering smile. "E-England, aw, come on, it was just for the heck of it! You look nice, I look fantastic-! Why can't we just play nice?!"
"Bloody hell, America! I'm not you-! I don't want to stick my nose in your business, so don't drag me in!" England threw his hands up, then stuffed the gun in his purse muttering to a questionable expression on the American's face, "It's not loaded, don't worry," and began to stomp away. America stared for a moment, watching England walk off.
"Woohoo, strut your stuff! Show it off!"
England kept walking, flipped him off, then tripped to the floor rather unceremoniously (and amusingly, but America would never admit how hard he was laughing on the inside). America rushed over (expertly, of course, in those shoes) and crouched down (lady-like, of course, in that skirt) to check him over.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," was the answer, smothered into the floor. "No I'm not. I'm stuck in women's clothing-with you-with an unloaded gun and a twisted ankle. You tell me if I'm okay."
"Guess not. Well, come on." America took the heels off of England's feet and helped him up, wrapping England's arm around his shoulders. "Just keep off it and we'll get you some help."
"Bastard. This is your fault. I hope you're happy! I thought you were the hero, huh?" Despite this, England seemed to have no trouble accepting the aid.
America grinned. "Happy as a fiddle. And I'm helping you, aren't I?"
England rolled his eyes. "You'd better help me." He went hopping along with America, muttering something like, 'how can women wear those things' and similar insults towards female-wear. Of course, it was in addition to any kind of rude comments he continued making towards America, though America took them in stride. Maybe he should have just kept to sticking his nose in others' business, and not forcing others (i.e. England) into his own. Though, he did have to admit, if he could get England to loosen up and wear women's clothing, it was all worth it.