It's 2 am. I finished the thing. Good. Not the fic. My conscience. IDK if the fic is good. I've been running on a sugar high and now it's hella gone. I need to go to sleep...

Enjoy! ;)

Scotland awoke to the feeling of what he could only describe as being beaten repeatedly over the head with a blunt axe wielded by an idiot, blindly reaching out to the side of the bed to grasp the glass of water and few pills that sat there without question as to how they got there. Merely grateful for their presence at all.

"Morning, Scotland. Sleep well?"

The voice was grating on his irritated brain, but that didn't stop him from recognizing the source and stiffening. When the fuck did England get here? Did he see me last night? Oh shit, he must have. Holy shit, how much did I drink?

England cleared his throat, awaiting an answer.

"I- uh..."

The disapproving look on England's face didn't help the churning in his stomach, it was the look he used to give his colonies when they misbehaved, and the last thing he wanted was for England to think any less of him. He wasn't sure his self-esteem could take the hit.

England sucked in a breath of finality, standing up, "It seems you're not ready to talk yet, that's fine. But mark my words, we are going to be talking about whatever got you that drunk,"

Part of him wanted to play it off, say something like, "It was alcohol, surprisingly enough," but he just couldn't bring himself to.

"I'll be in the kitchen cooking breakfast, I suggest you shower while I'm doing so, you smell like booze." And with that, and nothing else, he left the room, and Scotland felt his chest tighten a little.

When he finally worked up the nerve to go down the hall, the pills and the shower having eased his headache enough to function, he found England chewing thoughtfully on a piece of (slightly overdone) scrambled egg on toast, staring blankly at the wall.

England didn't notice him until he cleared his throat, announcing his arrival, and making the southerner look up at him with vague disapproval, "Up and at 'em, I see? Have you finally decided to stop childishly running away from your problems?"

Scotland found himself bristling at England's tone, unable to keep himself from snapping, "I wouldn't have to if you weren't so quick to brush aside my insecurities!"

England raised an eyebrow in surprise, "When have I ever brushed aside your insecurities?" he asked, tilting his head, "Really, Scotland, I'd love to know because-"

"Don't be stupid, Scotland!" Scotland began, in a crude imitation of England's own accent, "What're you going on about? It's always keep calm and carry on with you, isn't it? Well, guess what, sometimes it's not that fucking easy!"

"If you actually shared your insecurities rather than vaguely hinting at them and expecting me to pick up on cues I haven't had a chance to learn then maybe I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss them!"

"But you never ask either! You don't see me looking down and ask 'hey Scotland, you're looking down, whatever made you feel that way?' you just pat me on the shoulder and tell me to buck up, 'cause things will get better."

"You never need to ask. I share with you! You know every facet of me I don't want you to know without having to raise a fucking finger, so why is it that I have to drive all the way to the back arse-end of your country, worried sick, mind you, just for you to still avoid telling me what's wrong anyway!"

"You wanna know what's wrong, England? I'm scared!"

At that England looked a little shocked, but even still, Scotland continued.

"I'm scared of what I feel for you! I'm scared of what it's doing to me! I'm scared that you don't feel the same way! And I'm scared that someday you'll look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me anymore because every other nation that has ever been in a relationship haven't lasted so why should we be any fucking different?

"I'm scared that you'll find another nation who can offer you more than I can. I'm scared that you'll share all of yourself with them, because at the end of the day, 'we' are nothing special. I- I'm scared that what we have is nothing more than a cure for your loneliness. And I'm scared -terrified- that I'm just making a fool of myself all this time because-"

Scotland rather suddenly found his lips occupied with something more appealing than talking. A hard, searing, but somehow gentle kiss pressed to his lips and preventing him from finishing his list of irrational fears, wrapped up in England's arms which clung to his neck and back and chest and face, and his lips which didn't leave any room for argument.

"I love you," he said between one press of lips and another.

"I want you," he said after another.

"No one else has me,"

"It's only you, Scotland,"

"It's only you, only ever you,"

Scotland sighed, turning his head away from England's kisses, so that they pressed against his cheek, "You can't promise that, in the future you-"

"Fuck the future!" England announced, making Scotland look back at him in surprise, "Now is not the future. We always get so bogged down in what's going to happen, we never focus on what we have when we have it, and do you know what? It sucks. I'm not doing that anymore. I love you now. This second of this hour of this day of this year I love you, and tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year, or next century I might not, but who the fuck cares?"

Scotland found himself the one looking shocked this time, feeling shocked, but most of all, feeling that England was speaking the truth, and everything he'd just said made so much sense, and it filled him with a sense of relief so great that he found himself kissing England once again.

They kissed all the way down the hall of Scotland's bungalow, onto Scotland's bed, out of their clothes and into the sheets between hazy moans and muffled gasps. They kept kissing the whole time, whether it be lips or cheeks or necks or anywhere, they kissed. They kept kissing until they heard the shrill beep of the fire alarm.

Scotland laughed through England's lips, "Did you not take breakfast out of the oven?"

England smiled, grinding his hips forward and rather successfully making Scotland forget about the alarm for a moment, "Heat of the moment, my dear, I'm sure you understand."

"It's going to get a lot hotter in here if we don't turn it off."

England's lips were now kissing up his jaw, "Surely you're not suggesting I stop?"

Scotland groaned, because it should be illegal to be able to do that with someone's hand, "Oh god no, burn the whole fucking island, I don't care."

"I don't think Wales would approve of that."

Oh fuck that smug bastard thinking he's so high and mighty. Scotland flipped them, straddling England and pinning his arms to his sides, making the southern nation purr out a noise of satisfaction, "I-" he growled, low in his throat, "Don't-" and England seemed to like it all too much, because a blush had risen on his cheeks, all the way up to his ears, "Care."

Surprisingly enough, there wasn't much talking after that.