A/N: Well I had to write something to celebrate the Royal Wedding didn't I? Never got round to seeing it, but from the newspaper reports it really was lovely and for a whole afternoon more than half the world was united to watch the happy couple wed and celebrate afterwards. Anyways, tons of Scotland/France in here along with Canada/Ukraine, England/Portugal and Italy/Germany.
...
England looked around the hall he'd booked for the nations he'd invited to the wedding celebrations. He'd never been more proud to be one of the few nations left with a monarchy, the event itself had been a rousing success and the happy couple were more than happy to provide plenty of photo opportunities for the press and masses of people that crowded the streets of London. Not even the frog coming along was enough to upset him. He beamed at Portugal, who was standing next to him,
"Cracking party isn't it? He asked. Portugal nodded and mirrored his husband's smile,
"It is a very nice party meu amore." He agreed, "I'm just glad to see you smiling for a change." England laughed as he grabbed the Iberian nation's arm and dragged him over to the bar,
"It helps that practically everyone in the bloody nation is in such a good mood." He said, "Then again William always was a very popular young man."
"Cheers tae that." Came a voice from nearby. Scotland was sitting at the bar, glass of whisky in hand, grinning like a maniac, "An' it looks like he's no' the only one who's gonnae be lucky the night." He added nodding over to the dance floor. England followed his gaze, and, at first, could only see Ukraine dancing in the middle of the floor by herself. He took a closer look and finally noticed Canada leading her in a waltz. Neither of them seemed to notice or care that America was glaring daggers at them from the other side of the room, while Russia watched them with a more protective expression, his hand clenching at his trusty waterpipe as he followed the couple's movements. England cleared his throat nervously,
"Well so long as Matthew knows what he's doing." He muttered, hoping that the whole thing wouldn't start an argument. Scotland rolled his eyes a little,
"Relax wee ane, Mata mair than kens whit he's daein'." He told his younger brother, "Noo sit yer arse doon and hae a drink." England did so, somewhat warily as he looked around the bar area,
"So where's the frog gone?" he asked, "He gone and ditched you for a better 'dance partner'?" he leered. Scotland scowled at his brother,
"No, he's jus' awa' tae the loo." He retorted, "Honestly Arthur, he's no' that bad." Portugal sat down next to England, between his husband and brother-in-law and put a hand on the blonde nation's shoulder,
"Now, meu amore, we're supposed to be celebrating, yes?" he said, "I know family disputes are just as much a part of the normal wedding reception as the event itself, but we can leave it until later." Scotland laughed,
"We've got ye trained guid an' proper haven't we Port?" he chuckled, "An' that's why I like ye." He added, waving the barman down and ordering the three of them a drink. Portugal took his glass gratefully,
"Obrigado, so here's to the happy Royal couple and to their many years together." England grinned as he raised his glass along with Portugal and Scotland. France came back just as the three of them had finished the toast and sat down next to Scotland with a happy smile,
"Ah, Angleterre, Portugal, it's so nice to see the two of you at last." He greeted. England forced a smile and a nod, while Portugal beamed at the other nation,
"It's nice to see you too France." He said, "I trust you had a good time?" he asked. France beamed at the Iberian nation,
"Ah oui," he sighed, "the service was superb and the parade afterwards was tres magnifique." He replied, "I'm glad dear Ecosse invited meto the whole thing." He added, pecking the nation in question on the cheek. Scotland flushed a little, but grinned down at the French man,
"Like I could leave ye oot." He said. England snorted a little but didn't say anything as the band he'd hired struck up another waltz. France looked to the dance floor, then to Scotland. Scotland, knowing exactly what the other nation wanted shook his head,
"Oh no, ye're no' gettin' me up on that flair." He protested. France pouted at him,
"Oh but Ecosse," he sighed, "It's my favourite dance." Scotland crossed his arms over his chest, trying to be firm for once,
"I ken it's yer favourite dance. I'm still no' leaving this seat." England chuckled as Portugal got up and started to lead him to the dance floor,
"Better luck next time frog." He called over his shoulder, happily following his husband so they could join the other reluctant nations that had been dragged up. France turned to Scotland again, after flipping England off. When the Frenchman next looked at the Celtic nation, Scotland knew he'd already lost; France was giving him that look. Sighing heavily, Scotland unfolded his arms and held out a hand for France to grab,
"Let's get this o'er wi'." He grumbled. France's disposition immediately brightened,
"Merci, mon cher." France said as he lead his reluctant partner onto the dance floor, "I will make this up to you later." He whispered as he placed his hand on his lover's s shoulder. Scotland smirked,
"I can think o' a few ways ye can dae just that." He muttered as he snaked an arm around France's waist and pulled the other nation closer. France flushed, it was always one thing for either him to tell other nations or for others to tell him that, but Scotland was always the only one who could get the French nation to blush like some little schoolgirl. He looked up to see Italy trying to get Germany to do the leading,
"No, Germany, you need to lead like this." Italy told the much taller nation, demonstrating what the blonde nation needed to do again. Germany was flushed bright red,
"Why can't you do the leading?" he muttered in embarrassment. Italy looked up at him with a silly smile,
"Because Germany is taller than I am, you silly." He laughed, "Now try again." Scotland was watching them as well and couldn't help but hold back a chuckle,
"Another ane that's hopeless at dancin'." He noted. He looked back to France, "What is it wi' you Romantics and tryin' tae make the rest o' us look stupid?" France looked back to Scotland and laughed,
"You seem to be managing quite well right now, mon amour." He retorted, "And you most certainly do not look stupid." He added, kissing Scotland on the nose. Scotland snorted, but couldn't think of a reply. Instead the Celtic nation settled for watching France's face as the waltz finally ended. He'd always seen France as beautiful, but with the way that the blonde had gone all out with his suit and with his hair tied back and away from his face, Scotland couldn't help but fall in love all over again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, he noticed. Bringing his head down to touch against France's, he sighed in contentment,
"Tha gaol agam ort." He muttered. France smiled back at him,
"Je t'aime aussi." He sighed. The two looked up as they heard a cheer erupt from the majority of the other nations. Canada, it seemed, had finally given in to his romantic side and was kissing Ukraine right in front of everyone. Both flushed bright red as they finally noticed and Ukraine hid her face in her hands. The cheer didn't last very long as Russia marched up to the two nations, his dark aura making the room far chillier than the evening was making it. Canada straightened his back and met Russia's gaze without flinching,
"So, comrade Matvey, you like my sister very much, da?" he asked threateningly. Ukraine looked between her brother and Canada nervously as Canada replied, without a hint of fear,
"Of course, have done for ages." He admitted. Russia narrowed his eyes a little,
"You do realise what I can and will do to you if you hurt her, da?" Canada raised an eyebrow at that,
"Naturally, I'm not an idiot." He replied levelly. Russia's chilly aura lifted slightly,
"Just so long as we are on the same page comrade." He said simply. The large nation turned to his sister, "I am glad you have found someone to make you happy сестра." He said. Ukraine smiled up at him,
"Thank you, Россия." She replied, hugging him. Russia waved it off as he stalked back over to the bar. England, who had been watching the entire scenario with his heart in his throat, breathed a sigh of relief, Portugal halfway holding him up,
"Well... that went rather better than I thought it would." He looked up at Canada and sent him a proud smile, "Very well handled, Matthew." Canada blinked for a moment before beaming back at his father,
"It's only Russia, eh?" he quipped as he and Ukraine went to sit next to Russia, probably to talk about how things were going to progress with three of them from here on out. France, meanwhile was sniffling into a spare handkerchief Scotland had lent him,
"Ah mon petite is all grown up." He whimpered proudly, "Je suis si fier..." Scotland snuffed a little in amusement,
"Aye, aye, Mata's a grown man and got himself a girlfriend." He sighed, "C'mon, ye great saftie, let's get ye another drink tae calm ye doon." He was feeling rather proud of the younger Arctic nation himself, then again the lad had inherited the best of both England and France and was far more than capable of handling himself if his skills with a hockey stick were anything to go by. He was more than happy, later in the night, to sit back and watch as Canada soundly berated his brother and threw him out of the hall to sober up. It was at that point, it seemed, that the party started to wind down. Most of the other nations who had come along bid England good night, wisely avoiding Ireland and Wales, who were sat in the corner singing old folk songs by themselves and waving to Scotland as they passed. Canada, Russia and Ukraine left together, happily discussing something in Russian, Canada making sure to kick Alfred awake on his way out, clearly still annoyed with his brother for the earlier embarrassment. At last England, with Scotland's help, managed to shove Wales and Ireland into a taxi back to England's London flat, making sure that the two other Britons understood that if England found the place trashed the next morning there would be hell to pay. Scotland saluted to his brother with a grin as Portugal finally got a chance to simply pick England up and carry him off to another taxi to his own hotel room, England squawking protests the entire time. Scotland laughed as he nudged a semi-drunken France awake and guided the man to another taxi,
"Where you heading?" the driver asked. Scotland sighed as France fell asleep on his shoulder when he got in,
"The Crowne Plaza hotel, mate." He replied. He wasn't in the mood to talk, what the Celtic nation needed for now was a long sleep in a nice soft bed. He smiled down at France softly as the driver drove off through the streets,
"We'll manage it one o' these days." He muttered to himself as he kissed France's forehead and settled down for the rest of the journey, looking forward to a nice, soft bed.