USUK Summer Camp 2012

JUNE 22
The Spirit of Adventure
watch?v=OzI5NIwhy1w

England did not even need to look over the newspaper that he was reading when his lover began to call for him; America had disappeared into the bedroom for about an hour now and England just rolled his eyes at the constant and shrill yelling that were emanating from—presumably—the bed. However, as the yelling intensified, the Brit put the paper down and uncrossed his legs, looking toward the stairs, yelling a frustrated, "America! What do you want!" When there was no response, he sat up straighter in hopes that extra room for his lungs would enable him to speak louder as he shouted, "America! For Christ's sake, what do you want!"

When there was just silence in reply, he groaned with annoyance, standing and making his way slowly step by step to the second floor of America's house, muttering in frustration about how true it was that he represented the national stereotype of American's being lazy. He made his way through the hallway and opened the door, preparing himself for seeing the taller, honey blond haired man naked and waiting for him on the bed; and mentally making the speech that he would give him, proclaiming that he was just not in the mood for any type of "good loving". He closed his eyes as he entered the room, "America, can we go one night without it—"

When he opened his eyes, he was not expecting to see the sight before him, to say the least.

"Sup, England? Took ya long enough to get here, dude!" Was America's greeting as he sat in a cardboard box, feet plastered on the ground, with his knees up next to his shoulders. He opened his arms out, in greeting in order to coerce him into joining, "C'mon! Ya've never been to the moon, have ya? Let's go!" He put his hands in fists in front of him, "Cadet England! It's nearly time for blast off, are you in?" He stared ahead of him momentarily, eyes fixed dead on the wall as he awaited the response from his British lover. When there was not even a voice in reply, he turned his head slowly to look at him. "England, ya comin' or not!"

"What are you doing?"

He smirked, looking back to the rest of the box, before looking back to his partner, "I'm going to space with ya, Artie! Hop in!" He waited a little while for a response that he inevitably did not receive, before frowning, "Fuck sake, Artie! You're always stressin' out about work an' stuff! Just chill out and come on over here, man!" England continued to stare, a slight buzz of anger coursing through his veins as he tried to understand exactly how his boyfriend could speak in such a way like it was almost the most normal thing in the world. His own pale hand was grabbed by the tan one and pulled closer to the box. "Look, if ya that pissed off about you not havin' been to space before, we could always do somethin' else? How 'bout a race car? Or… We can pretend to be pirates!"

"Fine."

He let go of Alfred's hand to go and sit behind him, however he put his hands on his waist as he checked the space in which he was expected to be placed, "See, America? This idea is stupid, where exactly do you expect me to sit?"

"Just wrap your legs around my waist!" America looked to England, seeing the caterpillars above his eyes raised, he just groaned, and continued thinking of a way for his idea to work. "Or you could just sit on my feet (America ignored the muttering that sounded suspiciously like England commenting about his weight, and ultimately crushing his feet if they went through with that idea), or I could sit back there, and you could sit on my lap or legs, or even sit between them." Seeing the green eyes light up in interest at the final set of ideas, America scooted back and spread his legs as far as the box would allow, before the Briton sat half way between and on his legs, "Ya ready, cap'n?"

England turned around, grabbing America's chin, and pulling it down to make him look at him in the eye. "That's Captain Kirkland to you, wanker." He half-closed his eyes in a seductive manner that he had learnt back in his genuine pirate days, when he had the opportunity of attempting to seduce any person who took his fancy; he kissed the slim lips of the man before him, "Now man the cannons! We have a ship to board!" He turned around, and could not help but smile at the fact that it felt so damn good—even pretending—to be a pirate again. Back in his more rambunctious age, when the world was still a mystery, when it was still scary for entirely different reasons than the responsibilities he had been forced to care about nowadays.

The blue carpet of America's bedroom was the seas, and the bed was his soon-to-be vessel.

Meanwhile, the younger nation smirked, watching as much as he could as 'Captain Kirkland' looked around the room with heed, almost as if he was getting into this game that he had created upon receiving his new desk chair. However, he knew how his former father-like nation was, and so did not get such hopes that they would be able to spend the rest of the afternoon stuck in a game of 'pirates' (although, he much preferred playing rocket ships, but at least he and England got to spend a good amount of time together). America just shook his head, "Ai'ight, so what we gonna do?"

England turned to look at him again, with a smirk that America felt his breath hitch at the sight of, and told him, "Man the cannons, lad!" America looked around for something to pretend to be a cannon, but when he came across nothing, he looked back to England for some kind of advice, whom rolled his eyes and got out of the box and made his way to the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. Opening the first drawer, and got an armful of balled up socks and threw them to America. Once he was safely back in his makeshift 'ship', he pointed to the bed, and attempted to move the box with the two of them in with his hands. He groaned when he failed in moving, and glared to the USA, "Get your fat arse off my ship!"

The other man smirked, grabbing the socks and jumping onto the bed, all the while throwing them at the Briton; all the while making sounds that resembled—somewhat—an explosion. He laughed, watching the shorter man shield himself from the oncoming barrage of clothing, attempting to yell something that, knowing his boyfriend, would probably sound suspiciously like "bloody wanker, stop it!". He laughed, continuing until he was out of 'ammunition', at which point he looked to England, whom was standing in the box, and glaring at the honey blond haired man; a pair of socks in his palm, and digging his nails into the fabric. The infamous glare upon his face made America say upon reflex, "Oh no…"

England jumped onto the bed, pushing America down on his back, and straddled over his waist, "You wanna surrender your ship, or shall I take it by force?"

America just smirked, holding the waist just above his own. "Do your worst, Captain."

I wish I could say that this wasn't inspired by a true story, alas, when we got our first computer, my brother and I spent more time pushing each other down the stairs in the box for the chair than actually on the computer. Heh. Party like it's 1999! :D

Word Count: 1,261