The Bikki Debacle Part 1
anonymous
May 29 2009, 19:00:51 UTC
"Give it back!" America said swiping in the air with her arm. England tried to ignore how her chest moved up and down as he shook his head, keeping the disputed item behind his back.
"No. If you and your people dress like trollops, my girls will start doing it. I can't allow that."
"Come on England! Don't be a douche."
"Bah. It's unladylike to use such words. Not that I wouldn't expect that of you."
"Everyone saying it." She pouted adorably, and England smiled slightly almsot dropping his guard. But then she looked at him determinely and his body tensed. "I'll tackle you for it."
"Fraid not." England said rushing out her door, past Canada's home and all the way to his own house. He locked the door, then locked the windows for extra security.
He finally looked down at the two pieces of material (he refused to call them clothing!) in his hands. It was a biniki. Strings on the sides barely held the bottom together, and top was attached in the back by a very small string and had a plunging halter neckline. It had an American flag pattern, which was also typical.
He sighed trying to calm down as he heard her pounding on his windows and door. It had all started when he had went over to America's house to make sure she was bringing sunblock (because he didn't want her to come crying to him if she got sunburned) to the post world meeting beach party (another stupid idea that he had been dragged into) when he had saw...that horrid thing hanging out of her suitcase.
There was no way America could wear that to the beach party in front of all the nations. It wasn't because he thought she would set a bad fashion example. America...was a very attractive girl with um...ample mountain area. Putting her half naked infront of those perverts was just a disaster waiting to happen. He wouldn't trust France alone with a fully clothed anything and some of the others were...No doubt America could take care of herself, but he still always felt a twinge of worry for her, a holdover from the colonial days he told himself, though he knew he had never really stopped caring about her.
There was a darker reason too, which he held down with all his might. He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to control his own urges if she dressed like that. God knows it was hard enough when she wore short skirts to causal gatherings or even when she looked at him with her deep, deep blue eyes and smiled her most radiant smile.
He slid his back down across the door and groaned.
"No. If you and your people dress like trollops, my girls will start doing it. I can't allow that."
"Come on England! Don't be a douche."
"Bah. It's unladylike to use such words. Not that I wouldn't expect that of you."
"Everyone saying it." She pouted adorably, and England smiled slightly almsot dropping his guard. But then she looked at him determinely and his body tensed. "I'll tackle you for it."
"Fraid not." England said rushing out her door, past Canada's home and all the way to his own house. He locked the door, then locked the windows for extra security.
He finally looked down at the two pieces of material (he refused to call them clothing!) in his hands. It was a biniki. Strings on the sides barely held the bottom together, and top was attached in the back by a very small string and had a plunging halter neckline. It had an American flag pattern, which was also typical.
He sighed trying to calm down as he heard her pounding on his windows and door. It had all started when he had went over to America's house to make sure she was bringing sunblock (because he didn't want her to come crying to him if she got sunburned) to the post world meeting beach party (another stupid idea that he had been dragged into) when he had saw...that horrid thing hanging out of her suitcase.
There was no way America could wear that to the beach party in front of all the nations. It wasn't because he thought she would set a bad fashion example. America...was a very attractive girl with um...ample mountain area. Putting her half naked infront of those perverts was just a disaster waiting to happen. He wouldn't trust France alone with a fully clothed anything and some of the others were...No doubt America could take care of herself, but he still always felt a twinge of worry for her, a holdover from the colonial days he told himself, though he knew he had never really stopped caring about her.
There was a darker reason too, which he held down with all his might. He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to control his own urges if she dressed like that. God knows it was hard enough when she wore short skirts to causal gatherings or even when she looked at him with her deep, deep blue eyes and smiled her most radiant smile.
He slid his back down across the door and groaned.
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