New headcanon that Scotland can draw. Don't ask me where it came from, because I honestly don't know, I just know that I like it. My headcanons come with the wind and stick even if they don't make sense. Eh, it might make sense. I can make anything make sense if I can be bothered to research some historical context. Fuck it.

Enjoy! ;)

"What're you doing?"

Scotland didn't reply other than a brief flick of his eyes up from behind his knees and a slight frown. His lips pursed and he hummed to himself as he returned himself to whatever he was doing.

England frowned with him, putting his book down and making to stand.

"Don't move."

"Excuse me?"

"Pick your book back up, I'm not done yet."

"Are you drawing me?"

"Yes. I'm drawing you, and you're not making it easy for me. Keep reading."

England settled back, a slightly self-satisfied smile curling in his lips. He picked his book back up, but couldn't bring himself to focus on the words anymore, his glasses sliding down his nose as he found himself watching Scotland's brow crease, his tongue stick out and his eyes roll every time he caught England looking at him instead of reading.

"You're the worst model I've ever drawn." Scotland said, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes.

"The royal painters always used to complain that I couldn't sit still." England replied, "It depended on the Royals themselves as to how much it was tolerated."

"I don't know why they bothered to get a new painting of you each time they did. You'd hardly changed most of the time." Scotland huffed, before pursing his lips as he seemingly thought of something, "Did you keep that one that was done of you in the fourteen-fifties? It was awful. I wanted to hang it above my fireplace and laugh at it."

"No, I'm afraid I rid myself of it about four hundred years ago."

"That's a shame. I still kinda want to hang it above my fireplace and laugh at it."

"Hmmn, I admit I regret destroying it now."

Scotland glanced up with a snort, "You destroyed it?"

"Oh, utterly," England chuckled, "Death by fire seemed appropriate."

"It's like you love destroying everything that brings me joy."

"It's my only pleasure in life, poppet."

"Careful or I'll purposely fuck up your nose."

"You say that as if my nose isn't already crooked."

Scotland bit his lip and looked up again, "Shit, you're right." He frowned and returned to his drawing.

England snorted out a laugh, "How did you not realize my nose is crooked?"

"Excuse me if your nose isn't the bit I usually focus on."

"Then what do you usually focus on?"

"Your legs."

England raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming to his lips, "Do you now?"

"Yes," Scotland replied, tilting his head slightly but not looking up from his drawing, "They're unbearably sexy."

England's smirk widened, "Are they now?"

"Don't get any ideas. I'm busy."

"You can't just call me sexy and then expect me to sit across the room from you and bear it."

Scotland glanced up once again, a grin coming to his face, "I called your legs sexy."

"So I doubt you'd be much opposed if I asked you to put your head between them."

Scotland's eyes narrowed, "Do you think about anything but sex?"

"You have to admit being drawn by your lover is rather erotic, no matter the state of dress."

He considered that for a moment, "So what you're saying is that you blame me for the fact you're constantly horny?"

"No, but you certainly don't help the situation," England leered, licking his lips as he watched Scotland change positions and scratch a few more strokes of pencil onto the paper. Scotland looked up then, raising an eyebrow and beckoning England over.

England himself wasted no time in trotting over to Scotland's side and curling into him by throwing his legs over Scotland's lap. The drawing itself was a fairly simple sketch of England sitting as he had been on his armchair, the shading was dark and the lines soft, all of it done with a talent that England hadn't been aware that Scotland possessed. He'd known Scotland could draw, yes, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen one of his drawings. He did note though, that the distinct curve of his legs as they crossed had been drawn with extra attention.

He smiled, "You fixed the nose then?"

Scotland nodded, "You just have to make my life difficult, don't you?"

"Yours is crooked too." England hummed, running a finger over the bump on the bridge of Scotland's own nose where he'd failed to set it properly more than once. England would make fun of him for it if his own wasn't out of line for the exact same reason.

"But I don't have to draw my own, now do I?"

"I suppose not."

There was silence for a moment, as England's fingers traced down Scotland's nose to his cheek and jaw, and Scotland's hand found itself trailing up England's leg.

"So what were you saying about thinking my legs were sexy?"

Scotland just grinned.