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"What the fuck are you wearing?" Harry gaped at his boyfriend, unable to help himself. Draco had just stepped out of their bedroom in the roomy tent, bedecked from head to toe in cowboy gear.
"What?" Draco replied, an innocent expression on his face. "I thought we were supposed to look like Muggles."
"Well… I… But…" Harry's hands flailed uselessly before him. "If we were in Nevada or Wyoming, maybe you would blend in, but--"
"Don't I look like an American?" Draco interjected.
"We're in upstate New York!" Harry said.
Draco gave him an odd look. "Which is in America, last time I checked."
Harry's groan was one of exasperation. "But they don't have cowboys here! You'd blend in better if you went in drag as a big-haired Jersey girl!"
"A what?"
Harry pressed one hand to his forehead. "Look, the point is that you'll stand out horribly dressed like that. The hat and the boots are bad enough, but the chaps? And the… that's not a real gun, is it?"
"This?" Draco slid it out of the holster and twirled it around his finger. "I transfigured it from a coffee tin. Does it look real?"
"Rather too much so," Harry replied. "I don't think you should go out in public with it. You know how these World Cup crowds can be."
Draco sauntered towards him, grinning. "Fancy a ride, y'all?"
Harry winced at his bad approximation of an American accent. "Please don't do this. Just… lose the chaps and the holster, at least. And the hat."
"I like the hat," Draco said, tugging at the brim. "It goes well with my stubble."
Harry smirked. "I wouldn't brag about that bit of fuzz, if I were you."
Draco ignored the remark. "And the boots. I like the boots. I transfigured them from my trainers, but I might keep them this way."
Harry sighed. "How about this: trade that horrid shirt for the t-shirt I picked out, lose the chaps, the holster, and the hat, and… you can keep the boots."
Draco looked indignant. "That's hardly fair!"
"I'll throw in a blow job," Harry added. "On demand. Any time, any place."
Draco paused, considering. "Any time and place? Really?"
Harry winced, already knowing he would regret it. But what choice did he have? He wasn't going to let Draco out in public dressed like that. He nodded. "Yes, really."
Draco grinned and snapped his fingers. The offending items disappeared, and he was left in a faded Metallica t-shirt, jeans, and the boots. "Better?"
Harry exhaled. "Yes. Better. Ready to go?"
Draco headed toward the flap of the tent, then turned back to Harry with a sly grin. "Bring your invisibility cloak. I just might cash in on that promise during the match tonight."
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~fin~
Story Notes: