I'm starting to think I can no longer justify the procrastination of DOTL to write ScotEng...

Either way, I still wrote more ScotEng.

Enjoy ;)

If phones had hooks anymore, his would be ringing off it, at the very least the buzzing was causing it to creep dangerously close to the edge of the table as he scurried over to it.

"Hello?"

The phone was silent for a moment, before the sound seemingly decided to set in, "-tland! I've been trying to call you for the last hour, where the fuck were you?"

Scotland rolled his eyes, the familiar very English voice holding a lightly higher level of irritation than the norm, even so, he wasn't all that worried about it. "In the bath," he replied, subconsciously running a hand through his wet hair, and wiping it off on his jeans, "What did you want? Aren't you in Belgium right now?"

A sigh from the other end of the line, "At the EU meeting, yes."

"So, what do you need me for, shouldn't you be out harassing some poor Belgian barmaid by now?"

England grumbled out something unintelligible, "Remind me again why I joined the EU?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled, presumably because he'd buried his face in the pillows of his unsatisfying hotel bed.

"Something about it being useful in the long run, or pissing off France, but those are your answers to everything so I don't know how that helps." Scotland stood, trotting into the kitchen as England took a moment to think about something.

He was pulling a mug from the cupboard as England spoke again, "We should go back into isolation."

Scotland snorted, "No, we shouldn't, you get lonely for someone so anti-social, and I don't want to have to be the only one to deal with you again."

"But this time I'll sleep with you."

"As tempting as that sounds..." Scotland hummed, "I'd rather Portugal continue to be the one you bitch to."

"You're right, I'll just have to deal with these pricks until the EU collapses by itself."

Scotland chuckled a little as he set the kettle to boil, "Bad day at work, honey?"

"Shut up." The voice was muffled again, "I don't need you being a sarcastic arsehole too."

"That's most of my personality, I'm afraid," Scotland replied, leaning down to stare at the steam that was beginning to drift out of the kettle's spout, "If you wanted a sensitive boyfriend you should have chosen... well, now that I think about it, most countries are arseholes."

"Thank you, captain obvious."

"You know, when you say things like that, you don't sound cool, you sound like a middle-aged, upper-class dad trying to sound cool."

"As if you're any better."

"I like to think so," Scotland defended, as the kettle signalled itself to have reached boiling point with a click. "At the very least, I hope I don't sound upper class."

"Don't worry, you don't."

"And what us that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't be so sensitive, it's a complement, the only reason I sound like this is because the government takes me more seriously when I do."

"The government takes you seriously?"

Another grumble could be heard from the other end of the line as Scotland picked up his finished tea and walked with it into the living room, "You should meet me in London when this meeting is over."

"I'd rather meet you in Glasgow."

"I'm sure you would," a heavy sigh, "Please Scotland?"

Scotland smiled softly to himself, taking a seat, "Even a please? You really want me down there!"

"That better mean yes."

"Yes, yes, I'll meet you in your stupid capital."

"Thank you," then quietly, "Love you."

"You're a hopeless romantic, you know that?" he said with a chuckle, but not bitingly, and he knew England would be able to tell.

"At least now I have someone to romance."

Scotland let out a short breath of laughter, "Romance isn't what I'd call it, for someone who acts his age, you've got an abnormally high libido."

"Well you certainly don't complain."

"Did I ever imply that I do?"

England hummed out a sceptical note, "I've changed my mind, we should go to my house in Yorkshire. I've had enough of people, London has too many of them."

Scotland gasped dramatically, "The great England doesn't want to spend time in his beautiful capital?"

"You know what, you ca- oh bolloks."

Scotland raised an eyebrow, "What is it?"

"They've found me, it looks like I won't escape a hangover today, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay, just don't hurt yourself, I don't want to have to go all the way to Belgium to pick you up."

"Your concern touches me, it really does, Scotland."

"Love you too, sweetheat!"

"Whatever, you prat, if I drunk dial you later, allow me some dignity and hang up before I try to sex you up over phone."

"Don't worry, the recorder's already set up."

"I don't know why I bother, I really don't- What do you want?"

Scotland chuckled into the phone at the muffled sound of a few voices cheering and laughing, "Scotland- no he doesn't want to talk- France, no, Fra-!"

"Bonjour chou-chou!"

"Hi, France, make sure that whatever stupid shit England does is caught on camera for me."

"Not to worry, my friend, I am on the case! If I only have one purpose in life it is to ruin dear England's reputation!"

The sound of some kind of struggle happened, Scotland waiting in quiet amusement as the phone was fought over, "Goodbye, I'm hanging up now."

"Yeah, yeah, I mean it, be careful, I love you."

"You too, bye-bye."

The phone hung up.

Scotland shook his head with a laugh, taking a deep gulp of his tea, turning his volume on high in anticipation of the call he would doubtless receive later that evening.

"Hello?" Scotland asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

"Scotland, I-mm really drunk," was the reply to his greeting, accompanied by a soft hiccup and followed by a snort of laughter, "Did you know that those fruity-girly drinks are delicious? They're delicious, I had like fi-ooor-vve... a lot."

"Did you now?"

"Uh-huh, not to worry though, I'm still standing, well, walking," another snort of laughter, "Have you ever tried to navigate Brussels after several fruity-girly drinks?"

"I can't say I have."

"It's really big. Smells like waffles," A short giggle, "When I get back you should make me waffles- no! Don't do that, make me a giant jammy-dodger, can we do that?"

"I can't imagine it'd be all that practical."

"Fuck practicality!"

"That's easy to say after several fruity-girly drinks."

England made a strange, strangled noise, that was probably supposed to be a curse, "I'll be fiiiiine, you have nothing to worry about!"

"Go back to the hotel and get some sleep, call me back in the morning when you're sober,"

He could practically feel England's pout through the phone, "Baby!" he whined, "Don't you want to talk to me?"

Scotland snorted, "I want you to get back to the hotel in one piece. Are you with anyone?"

"Pfft, okay Mum. I'm with Prussia, but he went to vomit in a bush, and I got bored waiting for him to come back so I called you."

"Find him and get your drunk arses out of the streets, I'll call you in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Goodnight England."

"Goodnight, you killjoy!"

Scotland found himself rolling his eyes as the phone hung up, glancing at the clock to find it was well past midnight, and settling back into his bed. With any luck that idiot would find his way back to the hotel... and with even more luck, after a day of hung-over meetings and travel, the guy would have plenty of... tension, to get rid of.