Two days in a row of me posting, what kind of horrible alternate universe have we entered? I'm genuinely concerned for myself.

Enjoy! ;)

"Haha! Fuck you!"

"No, no fucking way! You're not winning this one you cheating English son of a bitch!"

"That's no way to talk about Mum, Scotland!"

"Come on Big Boy! We're not going to let him win, are we?"

There was a happy whinnying from below him, and he kicked his heels against the horse's sides to spur him on faster, after England and his own horse.

He knew, of course that he would likely lose this race, Angus wasn't built for going fast, he was built for heavy lifting, much like Scotland himself. England's horse was a nimble thing, built for exactly what they were doing. Beautiful, quick, intelligent. He supposed it was true what they said about pets being like their owners.

"Oh you wish!" England laughed happily, making the kind of hand gesture which would make the Prime Minister scold him heartily.

England did beat him to the top of the hill, and was waiting with a pink face and a huge grin when Scotland joined him, climbing off of his horse with a triumphant laugh and a scratch to the creature's ear. "There you go, Di, have a rest sweetheart." He said to her, before wandering over to where Scotland was climbing off of Angus.

Scotland rolled his eyes at him, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottle of water, which he downed half of before handing to England.

"What with how slow the two of you were going I'm surprised you're even out of breath." He said, before eagerly gulping down the rest of the water.

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in, just ignore the fact that you're riding a racehorse."

England chuckled, "I intend to." He looked up at the sky then, unusually clear for this time of year, squinting at the skyline, "Have you been keeping an eye on where Wales got to?"

Scotland shook his head, sitting cross-legged on the grass and glancing around the sky as well, "No, I've been keeping an eye on your arse the whole way up here. Your legs are amazing in jodhpurs by the way."

England hummed out a laugh sitting beside him and picking at the grass, "They have nothing on yours, my dear. I hate to admit it, but you might just have had the right idea having the slower horse." His eyes flickered up from his task of picking blades of grass just long enough to smirk in Scotland's direction, making Scotland grin in return.

"Never let it be said I'm not the brains of the operation." He said, tapping his temple and making England snort.

"Oh, no, definitely, that's you to a t that is."

"Are you mocking me, England?" Scotland said in mock seriousness, leaning over to hover his face near England's and completely failing to keep a straight face.

England gasped dramatically, turning his face to look at Scotland in melodramatic horror, "Oh heavens above, I wouldn't dare!"

"Are you sure, because it sounded like you were insulting my intelligence."

England cupped his face between his hands, his bottom lip sticking out just a little bit too far, "I couldn't possibly, surely you're mistaken!"

Scotland laughed, taking England's chin between his thumb and forefinger, "I fucking hate you, you know that?"

England's face turned from fake innocence to sarcastic affection, his voice going deep and his hands slipping around Scotland's neck instead, "And I despise you too, poppet."

Scotland grinned, "You disgust me."

England did too, "You're abhorrent."

"Awful."

"Repulsive."

"Hideous."

"Loathsome."

"Sickening."

"Fucking kiss me."

"I thought you'd never ask."

Before they had the chance for even so much as a peck, however, a huge gust of wind and the thudding noise of something giant landing in front of them broke them apart.

Wales.

Fucking cockblock.

He grinned down slightly maliciously from Gwalnog's head, "Oh I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"Oh fuck off Wales!" Scotland called up to him, "You don't catch us walking in on you and Shaun the sheep during your 'private time'!"

"Don't project you sexual deviance onto me! I saw you sneaking into Old Macdonald's you filthy fuck!"

"I'm not the one who's in a committed relationship with a reptile!"

"Does Nessie know you've broken up with her, or has she not got the text yet?"

Before Scotland could reply with what was certainly going to be the 'comeback of the century', at least in his own mind, North arrived on her own horse, which was more of a pony really, closely followed by Ireland.

"Okay ladies, I get it, you're both dating something scaly and coldblooded. Now, shut up and get riding, last one to the lake gets to clean out the stables!"

England immediately pushed Scotland over, ignoring the implication of her words in favour of not having to clean the stables. "Fuck that, have fun Scotland!" He proclaimed, scrambling over to his horse like his life depended on it.

"No, not again!" Scotland growled, running after him as he clambered onto his horse and dragging him back before he had the chance to get properly seated. England let out an undignified squeal as he was dragged from his horse, his flailing causing the both of them to fall to the ground in a clumsy heap.

England's horse, to her credit, didn't even flinch, just looked down at them tiredly as if she'd had to deal with shit like this one too many times.

"Let me go, you brute! I refuse to-"

"Yeah, well I'm not cleaning them either!"

"It's your own fault you brought the slower horse!"

"You seemed to think it was a great idea a minute ago!"

"Yeah, but then the only thing on the line was ogling your arse!"

"Well, you can ogle all you want when-"

Scotland was cut off by a deep, searing kiss, the kind which made him temporarily lose brain function for a brief moment. The kind of kiss England was criminally good at giving, making you completely lose your grip on reality and unfortunately, it also made him lose his grip on England.

And this time he wasn't quick enough to stop him.

"That's cheap!" he yelled after the rapidly shrinking form of England as he climbed onto his horse.

Another hand gesture which would earn him a scolding, prompting Scotland to kick Angus into full gear and race after the rest of his family.

Scotland ended up mucking the stables.

He fucking hated England.

He also hated his inability to actually hate England.

Because dealing with his smug comments while the shovelled horse shit was definitely hateable.

It didn't matter either way, England could ogle all he wanted, but he wouldn't be getting anywhere near this arse for a good long while.