I haven't updated this in ages... so here, have this weird little rambly thing. It's not proof read or particularly well thought out but haha you should expect that shit from me by now.

Enjoy! ;)

When England saw Scotland, he was out behind the house, laying in the garden and staring up at the rumbling grey clouds above him. He watched him for a while from the back door, as he blew smoke rings up to mingle with the clouds, flicking the ash from his cigarette into the damp grass beside him.

It wasn't until Scotland finished his first cigarette and moved directly onto a second, that England opened the door and went to join him.

He sat in the grass beside him, flopping backwards as he felt the familiar spitting raindrops of an oncoming storm on his face. He turned his head to watch Scotland take another drag, humming in thought.

"Is there any particular reason you're laying out in the dirt and chain smoking?" he asked, receiving nothing but Scotland turning his head to blow smoke into his face as a reply.

England raised an eyebrow, making Scotland laugh and roll his eyes.

"It's been a long day. I fucking hate paperwork."

England made a noise of understanding, plucking the cigarette out of Scotland's fingers and taking a long drag of his own, blowing the smoke out in Scotland's face as Scotland had done to him a few moments earlier.

"I know what you mean, Wales had me translating documents."

"From Welsh?" Scotland asked taking the cigarette back.

England nodded, "I hate his fucking language."

Scotland laughed out a breath of smoke at that, "He knows, that's why he makes you do it."

England hummed, a deep frown on his face, "I know, smarmy git needs to find some other way to amuse himself. I'm fucking sick of being his punching bag for boredom."

"Isn't that your official position in the UK though?" Scotland asked, snorting out a laugh as England punched his shoulder and stole the cigarette back.

"Piss off Scotland, I don't need stick from you too."

Scotland grinned, "I'm just kidding, you big baby. You're so sensitive."

England just glared at him through a deep drag of smoke.

Scotland gestured for him to move closer, "Here, if you're gonna steal my fags then at least share."

England rolled his eyes, but leant over and pressed their lips together, blowing the smoke from his lungs into Scotland's mouth, which Scotland eagerly sucked down before pulling away and blowing out into England's face.

"Those anti-smoking PSA's are bollocks, second hand smoke isn't anywhere near as good." Scotland mused idly, his eyes flicking between England's lips and the slowly burning cigarette.

"All of the cancer, none of the nicotine, what a shame it truly is." England agreed, taking another drag.

Scotland rolled over so he was half draped over England's front, sealing their lips back together again and sucking up the offered breath of smoke. After exhaling heavily into the damp air beside them, Scotland shrugged, "Yeah, but we don't even get the cancer."

"Shame that, isn't it?"

Scotland sighed out an agreement, resting his head on England's shoulder, "You ever wonder which of us will die first?"

England paused a moment to think about that, "Well, I'd always thought it would be me, although there were times when I hoped it would be you."

"Is it bad I always thought it would be you too?"

England shook his head, "I was a small, sickly child, who grew into a cruel, cocky teenager, who then turned into a reckless, rebellious adult. The odds were always rather stacked against me."

"I never wanted it to be you though."

England hummed, taking an absentminded drag to give himself time to think of a response.

Eventually he just settled on, "You're a good big brother, Scotland. Despite what you might like to believe."

Scotland didn't reply to that, he rarely did respond to praise like that. His physical appearance he could hear you bang on about for years, but whenever it came down to anything personal he rarely managed more than a grunt. The talk of mortality had probably gotten to him too, England was surprised he'd brought it up, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. Chain smoking and staring at the sky had prompted his own existentialism more than once.

They layed in silence for a while after that, trading the cigarette off every now and again until it was burned down to the filter.

"It's going to rain." England said as he felt the first large drop hit his face.

"What else is new?"

"We'll get wet."

"Who cares?"

England lifted Scotland's head, looking deep into his eyes as the heavens opened above them and the rain started soaking through their clothes. Their gazes travelled to each other's lips at almost exactly the same moment, making the both of them laugh at themselves. Scotland pressed his lips together through his own laugh, sliding up England's body just enough to shield his face from the worst of the rain.

"I've always wanted to be kissed in the rain." He grinned.

"You have." England raised an eyebrow, his fingers curling into the rapidly dampening fabric of Scotland's shirt.

"The first one doesn't count, and the point is, I haven't been kissed in the rain by you."

"What a romantic notion."

"I have my moments."

"Painfully cliché moments."

"They're your favourite kind though, I know you."

"All too well, it seems."

And then they were kissing in the rain, in the mud of England's back garden, surrounded by stubbed out cigarette butts, and grinning like the idiots they were.