[Olympics Fic Sprint] Race You!
Title: Race You!
Genre: General
Word Count: 1021
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Summary: England challenges America to a bicycle race, but gets in over his head.
This time England was going to do it. He had been training like crazy, and he was in top condition. Now he was most definitively going to show up America once and for all. After that previous incident with his car, he had been a bit discouraged, naturally. He hadn't fully realized the extent of America's physical strength, and seeing it like that had been a bit shocking. But nothing to be worried about. His problem had been allowing himself to think that America's strength was abnormal, too much beyond the natural limitations of man for anyone else to dare compete.
But muscles are still muscles. Limitless strength or not, there were still considerations of stamina and flexibility. Having considered this new venue of thought, England looked through several different sports before having found the ultimate equalizer. Cycling! A bicycle didn't care if you could bench press a buffalo or not, only how fast and how long you could go. Not to mention that too much force, especially the abnormal levels that America could exert, would be more likely to break the pedals. A perfect sport to measure stamina, that super strength wouldn't help at all with.
“Come on, slowpoke!” America jeered as he looped around England. “It's not that steep.”
England would beg to differ if he had breath enough to spare. It had been going well, if not quite as much as he had expected, up until this point. Sure, they hadn't been quite as evenly matched as he had hoped, but he had been holding his own. Only to now discover that America had been holding back, as he saw him make an actual effort to slow down to England's pace, before giving that up to literally run circles around him.
“Hahaha, what's the matter, England? You're the one who challenged me to this race. We still have another 7 miles up ahead.”
“I... know...” England got out between heavy gasps.
America looked up ahead at the crest of the hill.
“Hey, do you mind if I go ahead a bit? I think there might be a McDonald's further on.”
“You... just... wait.... I... second... wind...” No more talking. His chest was burning and his throat was sore. Just ignore the ridiculously lively idiot next to him.
“Want me to get you something? My treat.” A scowl and a glare was all the reply he received. “Yeesh, try to do a guy a favor. See ya later, I'm dying for a milkshake right now.”
And with that America sped away, leaving England in the dust. But the British man would not complain, though he mentally swore a bit. Sure, it was a hot day, and a steep hill, and his throat was so scratchy that every breath felt like a chore. But he had personally perfected the stiff upper lip mentality, and it had gotten through a lot worse scrapes than this.
America sat by the road, his bike next to him, as he sipped a vanilla shake. It was his favorite flavor, though he wouldn't admit to anyone. Something plain like that wasn't generally his style, but when it came to milkshakes there was no better flavor on a really hot summer day. He'd bought one for England too, but it would surely melt long before he came around. But still, gotta admire the guy for sticking with it. Surely he realized that there was just no way he was going to beat America now, but that didn't stop him from trying. Of course, that just showed how incredibly stubborn he was. Tell tale slurping sound told him that he had reached the bottom of his super-sized shake. Frowning, he looked at his watch.
England had been slow going up the hill, but he hadn't been far from the crest when America left him, and after that it was all downhill. And thinking about it, he hadn't kept track of the time when he stood in line at McDonald's. Throwing his shake away, he pulled up his bike and practically flew back to the hill.
“Hey, England! You here?” America was panicking. This was the hill, and he hadn't seen England or anyone else for that matter, between here and where he was. Had England gotten past him while he stood in line? The oddly relieving mental image of England standing at the finish line and laughing about how he outsmarted him, came immediately to his mind. But he remembered timing himself between the hill and McDee, and he just hadn't spent enough time inside the restaurant for England to get past him, even at top speed, unless he had been right behind the whole time. He looked around, when the sight of something golden made his stomach double flip. Pouncing upon it, he found England, unconscious but breathing.
“Hey, wake up.” A voice suddenly thundered into England's mind, giving way to a great big headache.
“Ugh.” England muttered, painfully forcing his eyelids open, to see America leaning over him. As conscious was returning throughout his body, he became aware that he had been propped up against a tree, and that something wet was on his forehead.
“You've really gotta unstiffen that upper lip of yours,” America said as he stretched out his water bottle. England gratefully accepted the bottle and drank greedily, while America dabbed at his forehead with some sort of wet cloth or something. “You can't go and overexert yourself on a day like this, shouldn't you know better than that?”
England stared at his former ward. If he wasn't already flushed from the heat, he would have certainly blushed at how embarrassingly contrary this was to the usual situation between them.
“Thanks,” he said, the moment that his desperation for water and air quieted down enough. “Glad you came back.”
“Pffh,” America scoffed. “I was just coming back to get you to pay for the shake I got ya.”
“Really?” England wistfully smiled. “So where is it?”
“Drink your water first, shake later.”
Genre: General
Word Count: 1021
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Summary: England challenges America to a bicycle race, but gets in over his head.
This time England was going to do it. He had been training like crazy, and he was in top condition. Now he was most definitively going to show up America once and for all. After that previous incident with his car, he had been a bit discouraged, naturally. He hadn't fully realized the extent of America's physical strength, and seeing it like that had been a bit shocking. But nothing to be worried about. His problem had been allowing himself to think that America's strength was abnormal, too much beyond the natural limitations of man for anyone else to dare compete.
But muscles are still muscles. Limitless strength or not, there were still considerations of stamina and flexibility. Having considered this new venue of thought, England looked through several different sports before having found the ultimate equalizer. Cycling! A bicycle didn't care if you could bench press a buffalo or not, only how fast and how long you could go. Not to mention that too much force, especially the abnormal levels that America could exert, would be more likely to break the pedals. A perfect sport to measure stamina, that super strength wouldn't help at all with.
“Come on, slowpoke!” America jeered as he looped around England. “It's not that steep.”
England would beg to differ if he had breath enough to spare. It had been going well, if not quite as much as he had expected, up until this point. Sure, they hadn't been quite as evenly matched as he had hoped, but he had been holding his own. Only to now discover that America had been holding back, as he saw him make an actual effort to slow down to England's pace, before giving that up to literally run circles around him.
“Hahaha, what's the matter, England? You're the one who challenged me to this race. We still have another 7 miles up ahead.”
“I... know...” England got out between heavy gasps.
America looked up ahead at the crest of the hill.
“Hey, do you mind if I go ahead a bit? I think there might be a McDonald's further on.”
“You... just... wait.... I... second... wind...” No more talking. His chest was burning and his throat was sore. Just ignore the ridiculously lively idiot next to him.
“Want me to get you something? My treat.” A scowl and a glare was all the reply he received. “Yeesh, try to do a guy a favor. See ya later, I'm dying for a milkshake right now.”
And with that America sped away, leaving England in the dust. But the British man would not complain, though he mentally swore a bit. Sure, it was a hot day, and a steep hill, and his throat was so scratchy that every breath felt like a chore. But he had personally perfected the stiff upper lip mentality, and it had gotten through a lot worse scrapes than this.
America sat by the road, his bike next to him, as he sipped a vanilla shake. It was his favorite flavor, though he wouldn't admit to anyone. Something plain like that wasn't generally his style, but when it came to milkshakes there was no better flavor on a really hot summer day. He'd bought one for England too, but it would surely melt long before he came around. But still, gotta admire the guy for sticking with it. Surely he realized that there was just no way he was going to beat America now, but that didn't stop him from trying. Of course, that just showed how incredibly stubborn he was. Tell tale slurping sound told him that he had reached the bottom of his super-sized shake. Frowning, he looked at his watch.
England had been slow going up the hill, but he hadn't been far from the crest when America left him, and after that it was all downhill. And thinking about it, he hadn't kept track of the time when he stood in line at McDonald's. Throwing his shake away, he pulled up his bike and practically flew back to the hill.
“Hey, England! You here?” America was panicking. This was the hill, and he hadn't seen England or anyone else for that matter, between here and where he was. Had England gotten past him while he stood in line? The oddly relieving mental image of England standing at the finish line and laughing about how he outsmarted him, came immediately to his mind. But he remembered timing himself between the hill and McDee, and he just hadn't spent enough time inside the restaurant for England to get past him, even at top speed, unless he had been right behind the whole time. He looked around, when the sight of something golden made his stomach double flip. Pouncing upon it, he found England, unconscious but breathing.
“Hey, wake up.” A voice suddenly thundered into England's mind, giving way to a great big headache.
“Ugh.” England muttered, painfully forcing his eyelids open, to see America leaning over him. As conscious was returning throughout his body, he became aware that he had been propped up against a tree, and that something wet was on his forehead.
“You've really gotta unstiffen that upper lip of yours,” America said as he stretched out his water bottle. England gratefully accepted the bottle and drank greedily, while America dabbed at his forehead with some sort of wet cloth or something. “You can't go and overexert yourself on a day like this, shouldn't you know better than that?”
England stared at his former ward. If he wasn't already flushed from the heat, he would have certainly blushed at how embarrassingly contrary this was to the usual situation between them.
“Thanks,” he said, the moment that his desperation for water and air quieted down enough. “Glad you came back.”
“Pffh,” America scoffed. “I was just coming back to get you to pay for the shake I got ya.”
“Really?” England wistfully smiled. “So where is it?”
“Drink your water first, shake later.”