A lovely guest reviewer, Mac, wanted swordfighting (ask and you shall recieve my friend, I'm a people pleaser after all)... I mean they wanted 'fun' swordfighting, I'm not sure that this constitutes as 'fun' but hey! You can't claim that the boys aren't having at least a little fun. I'm sorry, this started out as something completely different, but I was just in that kinda mood today... I'll probably write another, more platonic one tomorrow or the day after, with North and Wales and maybe Ireland and France or something... IDK we'll see I guess.

Enjoy! ;)

"Get-" Crash "-fucking-" Clang "-down!"

England's blade swung past Scotland's shoulder, grazing the skin, but not enough to draw blood. They both held expressions of determination on their faces, their breathing coming in exhausted bursts, their faces flushed with exertion, but neither were going to give in until the other made a mistake.

"Not-" Clang "-fucking-" Crash "-likely!"

England rolled away from Scotland's blade, jumping to his feet but swinging for the other's ankles. Scotland jumped, landing solidly on England's blade, swinging his own down at England, who once again rolled out of the way and to his feet.

He stood a few metres away, his breathing heavy and no weapon in his hand, "Well, darling, this hardly seems fair, now does it?" He asked, trying his best to make his breath sound smooth, as if he wasn't waning in energy.

Scotland just smirked, stepping off of England's sword and picking it up with his other hand, "I don't know what you're talking about? I mean you practically gave it to me."

England grit his teeth, his eyes roving a little desperately over Scotland's person.

There's a weakness in his defence, there's always a weakness, there must be, find it, find it, find it!

"Worried, honey?"

England dropped his brows in a scowl, licking his sweaty upper lip, "Why would I be?" he asked, "It's not as if you could beat me, even with two swords."

Scotland scowled.

There it is.

England grinned.

Scotland charged forward, slicing down with his left hand, letting England dodge to the right and grab the arm, yanking hard on his shoulder to flip the man onto his back. In one swift move, he straddled Scotland's chest, snatched a sword from his loosened grip and pressed it to his neck.

He let his mouth twist into a wide smile, leaning down so their noses touched, pressing down on the sword, "Told you."

Scotland smirked, and England raised an eyebrow as the tip of the other sword pressed into his stomach, "I think you forgot something."

England shook his head, laughing before purring out, "It would be no fun if I didn't give you a fighting chance, now would it?"

"More like you like the idea of me still being able to kill you, but knowing I won't," Scotland replied, ignoring the blade digging into his neck as he leant his head up so their lips were a hair's breadth from touching, his eyes holding a self-satisfied smirk.

England hummed out a note in the affirmative, "Who told you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I worked it out all by myself?"

England pursed his lips before smiling widely again, "I suppose I have to give you a little credit," he let out a shaky breath, "Because if you keep pressing that harder I'll have to-" he stopped as Scotland added significant pressure to the sword. He was sure it had pierced skin, but was finding himself unable to care as England let out a shuddering moan, his eyes shutting and his head falling further forward so their lips were almost fully touching. Still, neither of them acted on it. It wasn't time yet.

"Have to what?" Scotland asked, his voice trying to sound smug, but just coming out as breathy and aroused.

England opened his eyes, and the look in his eyes made Scotland's body heat up in anticipation. He pressed forward, the blade in his neck drawing blood, and Scotland's head forced back against the floor. He pressed a short, too short, peck to his lips, "Why," he purred, "Fuck you into the ground in the middle of this field, of course."

Scotland smiled, running a tongue over his teeth which brushed lightly over England's lips, "Well, what's stopping you?"

England returned the smile, kissing just beside his lips, tauntingly close and not even slightly enough to satisfy. Scotland growled out an annoyed sound, making England laugh quietly, leaning in to kiss him properly.

Somewhere in the middle of their kissing, between gasps and growls, they dropped their swords, grabbing at each other with a mindless desire, their fingers pressing against the wounds they'd caused and causing each other to moan out more. When they finally broke for air England let his grin return, chuckling a little before saying;

"Absolutely nothing."