Title: Not Hollywood
Author: eveliens/eeevee
Characters/Pairings: CameroonxBelarus, America, a few other FIFA nations
Rating: PG
Warnings: Vague time frame… set somewhere after the fall of the USSR when Belarus was America's "little sister" and now. Uh, and author has no knowledge of soccer.

A/N: Didn't have much to go on for Cameroon, so I based him off a classmate from Senegal (I know, not quite the same place, but that's how close I could get) combined with info off the CIA fact sheet. Written for Contest Crackship at: community. livejournal. com/ crackship_aph

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Belarus glanced up from her newspaper at the annoying, rhythmic hits. She sniffed and turned the page crisply, but continued to peer across the field from under her lashes. She had, quiet firmly, expressed her disinterest in sports, especially this one. It was not quite as bad as some of the other sports, American football came to mind, but she still had no interest in men playing mock war games with an inflated sphere.

The ball smoothly bounced from cleated foot to foot, the white stockings flashing against the green field.

With a bored sigh, she stared a hole in the newspaper. She did not know why she indulged America so; he was over-excitable, annoying, eager, and vexing. Unfortunately, he was also stubborn in addition to all of those qualities. Hence the reason she was here watching a preliminary game of nations. The idiot in question was running around the far side of the field having a glorious time getting in everyone's way and had completely forgotten he insisted she come with him.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

This time she glared at the source of the noise. She understood that this was a playing field, but that metered racket was grating on her already sore nerves. Something about measured and precise beats bothered her; perhaps it was the stability, which she was not well acquainted with, or maybe it was just too much noise when she was trying to concentrate.

"Could you please move? You are making it difficult to read."

The noise stopped and she refused to look up as foot steps approached where she was sitting. The top of her paper rustled and dark fingers pressed against the thin pages.

"What're you reading?"

Startled, because that was not the response she was expecting, Belarus looked up into dark black eyes obscured slightly by practical glasses. With a slightly undignified yelp, she automatically reached for one of the knives hidden on her person before relaxing with a haughty sniff.

"It's in Russian," the other nation said, his voice deep and smooth.

"Yes. You can read it?"

His serious face quirked into a small smile, "No."

She stared at his face, noticing the angular cheekbones, dark and strong, so unlike the European faces she was used to seeing. The dark eyes were different, not like the Asian nations, and the short dark hair was tidy and neat.

He tossed the ball down and planted a foot on it easily.

"You're Belarus, right? America was talking about you."

She pursed her lips, "He speaks frequently and without thought."

A deep chuck reverberated from the other nation's chest. He shifted back, giving her a good glimpse of the muscles lean and taunt beneath his uniform.

"But he says nice things sometimes." The nation replied easily, "By the way, I'm Cameroon." She warily shook his hand, surprised at the warmth and strength that wrapped around her cool, delicate fingers.

There was a moment of silence stretching between them before a shout from across the field. Cameroon gave a quick, bright smile, white teeth shining against a dark face, before picking up the ball and heading in the direction of the other players.

He stopped after a few steps, "Would you like to go to lunch with me after the game? I know I'll be starving, and I'm sure you'll be hungry too."

Belarus' eyes narrowed as she searched his face for ulterior motives.

"If you were going with America, that's okay. Just thought I'd ask," he added innocently.

On the outside she did not change but internally she could not help a small flinch. She could not take any more McDonalds.

"I accept."

"Great. Do you mind French food or have a preference for something else?"

She watched his face, realizing that she could place his accent. Ah, it was another one of those nations that were an unholy combination of British and French imperialistic rule. Luckily for him, he seemed to have very little influence on his personality from the two overbearing European nations. Which was very fortunate for him because her last encounter with France involved lots of bleeding and howling; it was very difficult to get French blood out of her white skirt.

"That is satisfactory."

He gave another bright smile and she could not help being fascinated by the contrast. When her brother smiled, his teeth blended with his snow-white complexion. Involuntarily she started noticing the other differences. Of course, there was the obvious: Cameroon was not as tall as brother, was dark and thin yet somewhat stocky as well, his hair was coarse and short. But there were differences in his manner as well. Stability rolled off him gently, something Belarus was not personally well acquainted with, and something she did not expect, since she knew of the political and civil upheaval tearing most of Africa apart. He appeared to be open and considerate and, well, sane. Not that her brother was not; yet, there were moments, especially in the past, where Belarus had been forced to grapple with the unpleasant notion that Brother was broken.

She growled to herself and resolved to see Brother as soon as America let her… which, she conceded, was not likely to be soon. America was exceedingly vexing in his attempts to thwart her efforts and true love and marriage. She truly did not care about the two and their pissing contest, although she took Brother's side of course.

In the meantime it could not hurt to… be sociable, as America called it. It could not hurt to have contacts in another continent in today's global world. Perhaps she should make some efforts towards forging new alliances for Brother.

She finished the paper and neatly folded it and set it to the side. For a few moments she simply closed her eyes and enjoyed the day. It was not too warm to be uncomfortable but there was a breeze blowing and the sun was only occasionally blocked by wispy white clouds.

A particularly loud cheer went up where the game was being played. America was exuberantly giving Holland and Denmark double high fives while Japan and Cameroon silently watched the idiots' displays of victory.

"It was just one goal, America-san…" Japan's even, small voice floated to her. Cameroon warned seriously, "Don't get too excited now. I hate to crash the ego-party you three are having, but there's more to go."

Belarus tried not to watch. She watched the bees buzzing around merrily in the clovers; she watched the birds flit from branch to branch in the trees that bordered the field; she watched ants crawl across her dress. But eventually her eyes were tracking the fast-paced game before her and before she realized it she was across the field watching silently, hidden halfway under the bleachers. Even the cheers and bench pounding above her hardly caught her notice as she watched the athletic figures, one in particular not that she would admit it, dash and swerve across the green in pursuit of the ball.

"Oh, you moved. Are you enjoying the game?" Cameroon asked, huffing slightly and patting his neck with a towel. He looked charged and absurdly happy to have been running around vigorously for the last hour or so.

"The sun was too hot," she replied with a light flush. He leaned forward to inspect her pink cheeks, "Yeah, looks like you've got a bit of a sunburn going there. I guess your skin is very fair. We should get some sunblock for later, right? I mean, after lunch."

"The game is not finished?"

"No. It was getting a little too intense, so we're taking a lunch break. Actually, I was hoping that Denmark would have a drink or two to take his edge off. It's hard to go all out if you're afraid you might get a Viking axe to the back or at the very least a kidney punch."

"So you did not win?"

He blinked then smiled, "You don't know much about sports, do you?"

"No. I find them frivolous and supercilious." Belarus said seriously.

"Ah, maybe watching isn't any fun, but playing is very enjoyable. Plus, everyone likes winning, don't they? Winning with a team is even better because you know it's not just your own skill but everyone's that earned you victory."

"Hmm. Then sports are a social obligation?" Belarus had never thought of it that way. The other nations did look like they were enjoying running after a ball like an unruly pack of dogs. Perhaps there was more to this than she had previously thought. "Where you build trust and form alliances?"

"And have fun." Cameroon added, "Well, mostly. Sometimes it gets too serious."

"Like the Olympics?"

"Yes, and championship cups. There are some intense rivalries and it can get ugly. But a little, informal game like this… it's just for fun."

"Then are you winning?"

A dark look flashed across his face before he dispelled it with a sheepish shrug, "No, we're losing. Badly. America and Denmark aren't very skillful but they're aggressive and strong… Japan's a good goalie, but it's hard to block those kicks. It really helps that we have Italy and Germany on our team, but they have Spain, so it's not really an even match. Plus, Brazil couldn't make it, so we're a team member short. He would've made a huge difference and evened the playing field."

"Teach me." Belarus demanded abruptly surprising herself and Cameroon. He jumped then scratched his cheek a few times in thought. A wide grin broke out across his face, "I'd love to but you can't play in such a pretty dress. It'd get dirty and you'd trip."

She glared at the insinuation that she was useless porcelain doll and he gulped.

"Then you shall find me appropriate clothing and then you will teach me. I wish to join your team." Belarus said firmly while her mind screamed nononowhat'reyoudoing? Seeing his sly grin and realizing exactly what her change of heart looked like, she hastened to add, "America is too boastful. A small loss might put him in his place."

"Doubtful." Cameroon chuckled, "The boy has an ego that rivals the great and awesome Prussia, right?"

Belarus' lip curled in distaste at the mention of that filthy ex-nation. He was foul and boastful and arrogant.

"Right. I'll be back in a second."

Belarus settled back into the shade of the bleachers, watching as the teams broke up for lunch and break. Holland and Denmark were pounding each others backs and generally making a racket like a pair of delinquent monkeys; Italy was dragging an exasperated Germany towards what was probably the only Italian restaurant in the area with Japan following quietly behind them; America was… right in her face.

Without thinking she slashed towards the intruder and he jumped back with a laugh. Rubbing the back of his head, he apologized, "Sorry about that. I forgot how jumpy you are! Anyway, I was going to go get some burgers and I know you haven't eaten since breakfast. Doyouwanttogowithmetoeat?" He gave a hopeful grin, waiting for the answer.

It took a second to process the request.

"No. I have other plans."

"You do?"

"She does." Cameroon rumbled behind her. This time she was more aware and did not jump, although America did and banged his thick skull into the lower metal steps. He rubbed gently, muttering a few words under his breath, before giving a lopsided, disappointed smile, "Oh, okay. Just asking. The hero needs to make sure the lady isn't left alone, ahahaha."

"She won't be." Cameroon said, patiently holding a bag in each hand. "You better go eat and gain your strength. You'll need it for the second half of the game."

"Is that a threat?" America teased, immediately brightening, "Because I think the scoreboard is telling us who the real winners are going to be!"

"Ha," Cameroon scoffed nonchalantly, looking unimpressed, "Not with our secret weapon."

"Secret weapon?"

"Yes."

"Oooh, what secret weapon?" Belarus was not surprised at the look of utter fascination and intrigue on the other nation's face; America was a notorious busybody and loved secrets.

"If I told you it would not longer be a secret, so you'll just have to wait and see."

"Fine, be that way." America's cheeks puffed out in frustration and Belarus tried not to roll her eyes or compare him to a rodent.

"I will. Go eat America."

Belarus waited until the superpower was well down the way before saying dryly, "You handle America well."

"Practice. I have a lot of uppity neighbors and siblings, not to mention all the European nations that came knocking on my door over the centuries. America is actually fairly easy in comparison."

Belarus was not sure about that but did not argue. Instead she watched silently as he pulled out a spare uniform, some cleats, a bottle of sunblock and various food items from the bags. Grabbing the clothing, she went to change. She was surprised that despite the ugly colors on the uniform that it fit fairly well, if a little too snug around the chest area. Then again, that was to be expected considering it was intended for a male. The shoes were a little loose but she supposed that was better than tight, which would give her blisters. She tucked her hair up into a tight bun to get it out of the way.

"Wow, you look much different in uniform. It's a nice change."

She accepted the compliment. Many people had said similar things when she had worn her military uniform. Brother had never complimented her on it though, so she did not wear it often.

"Okay, eat first, then we'll go over the basics."

The lunch was simple with bread, cheese, fruit, and nuts, but it was much better than the artery-clogging fuel America had proposed. And it was perfect to ensure they weren't too full for exercise but had plenty of energy to play with.

"See, like this."

She tried to copy his move and accidentally kicked her own ankle. Growling in frustration, she tried a second time without much more success. He let her try a few more times before sliding up behind her.

"No, you're putting too much force into it. Here," he gently encompassed her body and used his arms to reposition her hips and shoulders, "Do it at this angle and it'll work better."

She shrugged out of his arms sharply and tried the move again without a word. To her secret delight it worked. She tried it a few more times before he showed her another. There were a few more times where he physically showed her how and she found herself relaxing as his big hands guided her movements.

"You learn quickly." Cameroon gave an easy smile, "I'm impressed."

"This is quite simple once you are shown." She replied panting lightly and added with a chin tilt, "Especially with a competent teacher."

His skin was too dark to see the blush, but Cameroon grinned shyly and bent down to pick up the ball. In response, Belarus struggled to hide her own blushing, wondering exactly what she was doing. It had been a long time since she had shown interest in anyone other than Brother.

"Heeeey!" America came barreling up with a paper sack in one hand and a soda in the other. He stopped and looked at Belarus. A million watt smile stole across his face, "You look great! Are you going to play too? Oh—you're the secret weapon!"

Belarus was torn between sighing at his insight and feeling appreciative of his acceptance. Yes, America was not nearly as dense as was assumed; he was tricky and manipulative. It was very annoying to be on the receiving end of the paradoxical feelings he raised in everyone he met.

"Yup, and you're going down." Cameroon said seriously, "Just you wait."

He punted the ball towards Belarus and she deftly caught it. America just stared for a moment and said something that sounded suspiciously like 'okay but no knives on the playing field!'

The game commenced when everyone returned from lunch. It was much more laid-back than the first half with less shouting and whooping. Belarus could not tell if it was because the players were full of lunch or if it was because suddenly they were concentrating a whole lot harder.

"America, this isn't your football; you don't tackle people, amigo." Spain laughed as America sheepishly removed himself from a disgruntled Germany, "Ahaha, sorry! But you were saying football, yeah I know fútbol, and… it was habit, okay?"

Despite herself, Belarus realized she was enjoying herself immensely. It was not that she got to cut people off, steal the ball, or feel the satisfaction of a goal… it was just… fun.

"We have tied the game with hard work but now we will finish this." Germany barked at the group huddle. Italy chirped excitedly, hanging off his arm like an oversized accessory. "This will be the deciding play, so we need to show them that we will take this victory!"

The air was tense as they all took the field. Of course, the other team knew this was the deciding play as well. And no one wanted to lose or let their team down. Belarus briefly marveled at how… favorably… she viewed her teammates. These were nations she would have paid no mind to whatsoever before.

America and Denmark snagged the ball quickly, kicking it back and forth between them and bullying anyone who got in their way. America gave the ball a hard kick, sending it flying down the field towards Spain. The other nation had a lazy grin on his face but Belarus knew that he was the strongest member on their team. If the ball met its target they could very well lose within an instant.

She sped to intercept it. She was not very handy with the footwork yet, but she was easily the quickest person on her team and in the perfect position to block the ball. Stretching forward, she leapt and knocked the ball away from Spain. Stumbling a little, she glanced up to see Italy take up the slack. The small, ditzy nation handled the ball with a blissful smile, dancing around Holland and passing it to Cameroon.

With a blur of skilled moves, Cameroon made his way towards the opposite goal. With one last, powerful kick, the ball went hurdling towards the goal. It slammed into the net with a sharp swish and noise erupted around them.

"Noooooo!"

"Yes, we won!"

"Ve, ve, ve~!"

"Well, that sucks."

Belarus felt her own heart lift in victory and could not help giving a small smile of pleasure at how ridiculous her teammates were acting. Or how whiny the other team was, especially America and Denmark.

Suddenly strong arms enclosed her waist and lifted her up, spinning her around a few times. She staggered dizzily into the solid body once she hit the ground, groping for her knife, no matter what America had said before.

"Sorry, did I scare you? I was just so excited! We won, didn't we? That's worth getting excited for!" Cameroon whooped breathlessly, steadying her. He peered down and she made a show of straightening her shirt, which was now tight in highly inappropriate places and showing a peek of skin above the elastic of her shorts.

"It is fine. I was merely startled. I did not expect to be going skyward." Belarus replied slowly, testing out the words. He still had not let go of her and she was too focused on the warm skin braced against her shoulder and another warm patch on her upper arm.

"It was all thanks to your terrific block that we won!"

"You shot the goal."

"True, and Italy passed it to me, so we're all victorious. I told you it was fun when the whole team wins didn't I?"

"So you did."

"So are you up for a victory dinner?" Cameroon asked suddenly shy and added, "With the team of course…"

"Yes, I suppose so."

The two stood there awkwardly before Cameroon chuckled, "This certainly isn't America's Hollywood version, is it? Other than the perfect goal winning the tied game at the last minute I mean."

"Oh, America has made me watch several 'chick flicks' and I believe that this would be the part where I swoon into your arms and profuse my undying love. Or perhaps enthusiastically throw myself into your arms and kiss you senseless? I will be doing neither of those things."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Good, then you and I shall get along."

"But I am going to ask you to sit next to me during dinner."

"Acceptable."

"And possibly ask for another dinner later on."

"Also acceptable."

"And maybe a ki--."

A wolf whistle followed by a cat call cut him off and the pair turned to look at the audience that had gathered around them. Japan and Germany were pretending to be holding a conversation, while glancing out of the corner of their eyes. Spain and Italy had wide, sappy grins plastered across their faces. Holland and Denmark had huge grins while America was frowning slightly with his arms folded over his chest.

Cameroon mouthed 'later' to her and walked up to Denmark and Holland with a grin. He gave each of the idiots a punch and sauntered off. Belarus hid a smile; that certainly saved her some trouble, although she had always thought perhaps severing the pair from their raging testosterone would be a blessing.

America sidled up to her, "What's going on?"

"Do not pretend to be dense."

He gave her a serious look, "As your big brother, I don't know if I can just give you away like that."

"You are not my brother. It is not your decision."

"Well, I'm protecting you in your brother's place. I'm the hero after all." America reminded her and she gave a small growl. She did not need to be reminded of America's infatuation with her brother, no matter what form it took. When he added a hopeful 'so you give up on him?' she slipped a knife out from under her stockings and held it meaningfully.

After America had backed off she tucked the knife away. It was true she had not given up on Brother, but… well, it would not hurt to keep her options open, as Hollywood would say.