I'll write DOTL eventually, I promise, just not right now, 'cause ScotEng just keeps happening...

This drabbly thing is a direct follow-up to the last one, so now you have some context, YAY!

Enjoy ;)

"Wake up, England, you're late to the meeting."

England swatted the hand away that was ruffling his hair, and weakly kicking at the weight that had roughly dropped on the bed, his head pounding, and eyes heartily protesting the amount of light in the room, "Fuck off Scotland," he rasped through his dry throat, "Whatever it is, I don't care."

"It's not Scotland," the voice said, making England open his eyes in confusion, to see a definite mop of red hair in front of his face, but not the right shade, resembling the shade of a carrot more than the darker auburn that Scotland's was, "It's Ireland you little shit. We don't even sound alike."

England scowled at him for a moment in slight confusion, before realizing where he was and why he was hung over, groaning into his pillow, "Why're you here?"

"To wake you up, the meeting started thirty minutes ago, I drew the short straw on finding out where you were."

"Your point?"

"Exactly how drunk did you get last night?"

"Drunk enough that I don't know how I got back here."

"Germany said Prussia was with you when you got back and that both of you were pretty out of it, he also said that you smelt of vomit."

England groaned again, "That doesn't surprise me in the slightest. I remember France insisting that I try those fruity-girly drinks, but after a few everything becomes a blur."

"You know those things are mostly Vodka, right?"

He nodded.

"Are you gonna get up or do I have to drag you?"

He shook his head, "I'm getting up, start the meeting without me, I'll join you after break when I've had a shower."

I hate Europe.

God, I'm so glad I'm an island.

Is there a gun somewhere so I can shoot everyone here and then myself?

Damn it, if America were here I could steal one from his arsenal...

If I was stealthy I could probably steal one from someone with looser gun laws...

No, that's a terrible idea.

I don't even use the Euro,

Thank God.

If I leapt out the window what would be my chances of survival?

Four stories, plus the broken glass I'd land on...

Slim.

Bugger this, I could be in bed right now.

France, I swear to god if you don't stop talking soon I'm going to impale you with a pen.

Deep breaths, old chap, it'll be over soon.

I should do serious research into technology to move my island further from the continent.

Iceland seems pretty happy out there...

Minus the volcanic eruptions, of course.

Scotland better be in the mood for a massage when I get home.

Maybe if I just re-claimed Australia and moved my entire population there...

No, Australia would get huffy about that.

And I hate spiders.

No, my island's fine...

I hate Europe.

Scotland

What time will you be arriving, did you want picking up or are you gonna get a taxi?

Around 8:30, could you pick me up, I'm exhausted.

Sure thing, how was the meeting?

Awful, I shouldn't have gone out drinking last night.

Well, I'm not going to say I told you so, but...

Just for that comment you're giving me a back rub when I get home.

You're such a baby.

The baby that gives your arse any action, so watch it.

Okay, okay, I'll be at the station at 8:30 with a flask of tea for you.

Thank you, you're an angel.

I know I am.

Don't ruin it.

England as good as collapsed into Scotland's car, letting his head loll back against the head rest, closing his eyes and breathing out a deep sigh. Scotland chuckled and brushed his hair from his face, making him open one of his eyes to look at him tiredly, "Here, your tea."

He plucked a flask from the cup holder, holding it out to England who took it with a small smile, taking a long gulp, "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome, ready to go home?"

"Oh god yes."

England groaned happily as Scotland's thumbs dug into his naked back, his rough palms smoothing over the area afterwards to soothe it, followed quickly by his equally rough lips. He still wasn't entirely sure why Scotland had agreed to give him a massage, but, he supposed, ever since they'd gotten together the northerner had been much more agreeable. It dawned on him rather suddenly that he was probably only being as dickish as he was because he had no idea how to deal with his feelings, he'd be lying if he didn't know what that felt like.

He hummed happily. "Scot?"

The man kneeling above him, equally nakedly, leant over him, kissing at the back of his neck playfully as he made a sound of acknowledgement.

"Why do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Indulge me."

"I wish I could, but I don't know the answer. Why do you love me?"

England though on that for a moment before he answered, "There is no one reason, and none of them can be put into words."

"You're so sappy," Scotland laughed a little, digging his thumbs into the small of England's back, making him groan blissfully, and let out a shaky breath, "Oh, did I hit a sweet spot there?"

"Oh god yes," England breathed, making Scotland chuckle, "There is perfect."

As Scotland repeated his previous action England moaned again, and Scotland leaned down to press a kiss to his ear, "Keep making those sexy little noises and this might not stay all that innocent."

England smiled a little, turning his head away from the pillow, his eyes cracking open lazily, "Do you not think I'm making them for a reason?"

Scotland pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "You're a sneaky bugger, aren't you?"

England twisted a little to press their lips together in a real kiss, "I like to think so."

Scotland let out a breath of laughter, a smirk coming to his lips, "We'll see how smug you are in a minute."