Just a quick thing.

Enjoy! ;)

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

England was leant so far up off the chair, he might as well have been standing, Scotland in a similar situation at his side, both of their eyes locked directly on the screen.

"Miss! You fucking- No!"

Scotland fell back against the sofa as England whooped with joy, practically jumping across the room in celebration. Jumping on the sofa and beaming at Scotland in a way that told him he was going to be in for an awful rest of the week. The bragging may just be enough for him to finally off the bastard once and for all. And that's not even going to be the worst part.

"Suck my gigantic football-winning dick, Scotland!" He laughed, making Scotland's eyes narrow dangerously.

Of all the games to fucking lose...

England grinned as he fell down to land on Scotland's lap, his eyes shining dangerously, and making Scotland grimace. "You lose." And the way he said it with such utter glee was just about the last straw for Scotland.

He yanked England down onto the sofa, muting his grin for only a moment, before letting it return in full force as soon as Scotland had settled above him, that look of 'fight it all you want, I've already won' on his face, that just made Scotland bristle more.

At least it was a close game...

England raised an eyebrow, "I think there's a little something with your name on it upstairs," he said, his eyes widening in false innocence, as Scotland grit out an irritated sound in the back of his throat. England just put his hands behind his head smugly, leaning back into the sofa, "A deal's a deal Scotty-dearest. If you put it on now, I might consider not taking and sharing pictures."

Scotland sat back, "Yeah right, you're going to take pictures anyway, just for blackmail."

England batted his eyelashes, a disturbing sight, "Would I ever?"

"Yes," Scotland grumbled, standing to make his way out of the room, doing his best to ignore whatever England was saying through that huge, insufferable, stupid fucking grin.

One day he was going to get revenge, and then the jammy fucker would regret even thinking up this idea in the first place. And granted, he had no idea what he was gonna do to England as punishment for this, but Europe would absolutely never let him live it down, that was for fucking sure.

It took almost an hour for Scotland to come back down, not that England minded, spending the time watching the after-match commentary with the sort of smug satisfaction that he could never get away with without a fist to the face before it was dubbed domestic violence. But alas, Scotland had lost the game, and England had won the game, and now Scotland had to face his punishment like a man. A grumbling and vaguely angry man, admittedly, but a man nonetheless.

The living room door swung open and England looked up with a grin, a grin that only doubled when he saw Scotland.

He was so fucking glad he'd chosen this punishment.

Specifically, a tiny maid's outfit, complete with white stockings and a feather duster. Quite honestly it was perhaps the funniest thing he'd ever seen, Scotland's hair was even tied back into one of those stupid bonnets.

"You look so good in a miniskirt, pet," he said, his tone one of a man who was desperately trying to hold in laughter, his breathing shaking against the urge.

Scotland scowled deeper than he had been already, "I'm sure I do, can I take it off now?"

England bit his lip as he rolled off the sofa and trotted up to Scotland, picking at the skirt despite Scotland's hard glare, "But why ever would you want to do that? Doesn't it make you feel pretty?"

At Scotland's growl, he finally allowed himself to let out a loud snort of laughter.

"I swear to god, England..."

"What?" England asked in reply, his hands moved up to play with the dress' puffy sleeves, "You don't feel pretty?"

Scotland didn't have sex with him for two weeks. It was only after England gave him an offer he couldn't refuse, that he finally caved...

Ireland now has that photo posted on his fridge along with the rest of his 'blackmail for later' collection. It takes pride of place alongside a picture of England, covered in mud with his pants around his ankles, and another of Wales, asleep with half a set of buckaroo hanging off of his face. Truly the masterpieces of the current generation, if Ireland did say so himself.