Well Merry Christmas! This is exciting, right?! I wish I could have been uploading more, but my keyboard crapped out and I have so much shit to be writing and ahh fuck.

Anyway, my own troubles aside this is a little Christmas present for Mac because she's a gem.

Enjoy! ;)

Scotland was aware that England was desirable.

Some might even say that he was an insufferably sexy bastard. 'Some' might also have been him, but that was neither here nor there.

He knew he was desirable because why else would he have desired him himself?

His taste wasn't that bad. He hoped.

England was prickly, sure. He was rude. He was crass. He was… well, he was a bit of a bitch, if Scotland was being honest. But it was easy enough to break through all that. It took a while for him to work it out, but the first smile was always the sign, after that he lost his spines, one by one.

Not that Scotland didn't like the spines, the occasional prick or jab was always enough to keep him on his toes. But even still, there were benefits to the other side of him. And he had a feeling that he was just being sappy but…

Ahh, there was a lovely sweet softness under all that prickliness…

Where he'd let his guard down and laugh and smile.

He hated that pretty fucking smile.

It made him feel like a fucking piece of mush, and pretending that he didn't feel like mush was exhausting. Say what you want, call him a lovesick idiot, but he still had a little of his pride. He may have let England worm his way just a little too far in, but that didn't mean he had to act like it.

Well he didn't act like it usually that is.

Recently he'd been on the defensive.

England scolded him for being a jealous bitch, but fuck him, he didn't even realize how many people were sending him looks.

The main culprit? Fucking Portugal.

Yeah, no, Scotland hadn't thought so either until he caught the platonic looks of affection those two often shared turn into definitely not platonic looks of affection when England's back was turned. They were so obvious! It was like he didn't even care that Scotland could see that he was eyeing up his… whatever the fuck England was to him.

Lover?

No, that sounded too formal.

Husband?

That sounded too official.

Boyfr-

Eugh, no, that made him feel like even more of a schoolgirl.

Better to not think about it. Stick with 'man he has sex with and holds hands with and occasionally (always) turns him into mush' and leave it at that.

It was hard being a jealous piece of shit with pride issues. Made everything a bloody contradiction.

He huffed out an irritated note, resting his head on England's shoulder and looking tiredly up over the meeting. The meeting was boring, they were always boring, and yeah, technically he didn't have to go, but he'd been trying to seem more like his own nation recently.

Perhaps it was to compensate for how weak at the knees he was. Constantly.

He preferred to come up with some other bullshit though. It helped boost his self-esteem enough that he could still act like he was relevant on the world stage. Which he was. Fuck what google said.

He could practically feel England roll his eyes as he shoved him off, "Pay attention, you're the one who wanted to be here."

"I don't see why we shouldn't take turns doing this," Scotland replied, leaning forward across the desk instead and hearing the joints in his back pop as he did.

"Because you'd fall asleep, Wales wouldn't even wake up in time to make it at all, and North would rather shove a gnome up her arse."

Scotland made the same noise from before, resting his chin on his hands. He let his eyes roam back over the room again as England's returned to the speaker and eyed idly over the other nations to find that France was watching him with amusement. He could hardly say he blamed him, the meeting itself was so boring that the only notes he'd made so far consisted of 'global warming seems shite' and 'remember to pick up milk on the way home'. He half considered ignoring him, but stuck his tongue out childishly at him anyway, receiving only a smirk and a wink in reply as the Frenchman too returned his attention to the speaker. After him was Italy, then an empty seat where his brother should be… apparently (Not that he'd been eavesdropping, Italy just spoke loudly) when Italy had tried to wake him he'd said something Italy didn't want to repeat and fallen back straight asleep. He and Wales should form some kind of club, the 'wake me up before midday and find my entire fist in your arse' club… or… something… Romano was sleeping right now. On an uncomfortable hotel bed, but a bed nonetheless. Not in the meeting and probably dreaming about… whatever the fuck Italians dream about?

Dear god, he was bored.

He flicked his eyes up to the clock, half an hour and counting.

He let his eyes wander again, flicking over country, after country, after-

Portugal was doing it again!

Like a fucking puppy dog!

A little vindictively, he reached his right hand to the side to twist with England's left, setting their twisted fingers between them on the table so that Portugal could see exactly what he was doing. England had glanced down at him strangely, but rolled his eyes as soon as Scotland grinned at him lopsidedly and didn't try to remove his hand from the grip when he turned back to the speaker.

Portugal's eyes widened minutely as he watched them, said wide eyes flicking up to meet Scotland's own. Scotland scowled deeply at him making Portugal turn a light shade of pink and look away.

Was he being petty? Well yes, of course he was.

Did he care? No, of fucking course not.

Portugal could take his pretty face and his nice arse and his romance language elsewhere. He didn't dislike the guy, he was nice enough, and he was a good and loyal friend to England whichever way you looked at it. He just wanted it to stay friendly.

He squeezed England's hand. England squeezed back.

His heart mirrored the action.

The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully as Scotland doodled absentmindedly with his left hand, creating a crude rendition of each speaker as they came up to present. England occasionally added details of his own which got the two of them giggling or bickering until they were shushed loudly and England returned to taking notes.

Scotland couldn't really enjoy even those moments though, especially since Portugal had gone from lovesick puppy to kicked puppy. Which just made him feel like a piece of bitchy shit if he was honest.

He shouldn't, not really. Because what was he doing really other than letting Portugal know that England was off the table? And anyway, it wasn't like Scotland didn't know what it was like to pine over someone you can't have.

It was probably the fact that Scotland knew Portugal had an actual chance.

He shook that thought from his head. No, he didn't have a chance because England loved him and not… well no that was wrong, England loved Portugal, but it was strictly 100% platonic!

He hoped.

The meeting adjourned, and England stood up from his seat, pulling Scotland with him. He let go of Scotland's hand as he gathered his things, but Scotland himself didn't notice given how intently he was watching Portugal.

It had taken the rest of the meeting, but he'd at least decided on a course of action. A stupid course of action, but a course of action nonetheless.

"I have some business to attend to, I trust you don't want to join me?" England asked, snapping Scotland's attention back to him.

"I doubt it. I have shit I need to do as well actually."

England hummed, looking up at him, "What kind of shit?"

Scotland tapped him on the nose, making it scrunch up. He loved it when England's nose did that. He always wanted to kiss it. "The kind that's none of your business." He replied, making England's eyes narrow. Scotland chuckled and gave in to the urge to kiss England's nose, something he might not have done if he couldn't see Portugal looking at them through his peripheral vision. "Don't worry, I'm not up to anything dodgy, I'll meet you later."

England sighed but nodded, "Okay poppet, just please don't start a bloody war, I don't have enough hours in the day to deal with that right now."

Scotland chuckled, "I'll make no promises."

A final roll of England's eyes, a quickly pressed kiss to Scotland's cheek, and a whispered, "I'll see you later, I love you," and England was leaving with the rest of the nations.

He turned his attention across the table as soon as England left, anticipation twisting in his gut. Portugal was still there, watching him as if he knew that he wanted to talk to him. When their eyes met, however, his eyes turned to stare out of the window, his bottom lip trapped underneath his teeth.

Scotland made his way over to him, stopping short of where Portugal was resting against the meeting room wall. Portugal spoke before Scotland had the chance. "We should go somewhere quieter, yes? Countries are nosy."

Scotland nodded and Portugal pushed himself up off the wall and lead the two of them out of the room around the few nations who had remained to mingle. They walked for a short while until Portugal was satisfied that no other nations were around and opened a door to the left, leading them into an office of some kind.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Scotland spoke. "I don't dislike you, Portugal. Let's get that straight, right off the bat."

Portugal nodded, leaning back against the door, "I don't dislike you either. That's why I haven't done anything."

Scotland grit his teeth at that, feeling the immature jealousy trying to take over, "So you've thought about it?"

Portugal nodded again, "A lot. Mostly when you're not there. I think it would be easier to steal him from you than it is to hide how much I love him."

Scotland's face twisted up in distaste, his fingers clenching, "I love him too."

"I know you do. Even though you don't show it to him in the same way I could."

Well what the fuck did he mean by that!?

Scotland growled lowly, his eyes flashing in anger as he gave up on civility, "I show him plenty! Don't you dare imply I don't show him exactly how much I love him just because I prefer to do that in privacy rather than parading it around like some kind of spectacle!"

He took a deep breath after his outburst, seeing Portugal frown guiltily. Right, Portugal wasn't a bad guy, not yet, all he'd done is lo- have feelings for another mans… man. That wasn't a crime.

There was a moment of silence, as Scotland calmed himself down, "I know we don't seem like the kind of couple who are good for each other…" He began, his voice low and quiet. The truth was, he wasn't sure how to verbalize just how he felt for England to Portugal, not in a way that couldn't be instantly rebutted. "And maybe we're not, but-"

"You love him and he loves you and it doesn't matter what the world thinks because you're happy."

Scotland nodded, unsatisfied with that answer but unsure of how to improve it. "Yes."

Portugal turned his eyes away, "I see."

Scotland grit his teeth and mirrored his action, and there was more silence for another painfully long moment.

"England talks about you a lot."

Scotland's head shot up at that statement, making Portugal chuckle, "He complains about you mostly. He thinks you're stingy, and immature, and he wishes you'd shave more often because your beard scratches him when you kiss. I know he likes it really though, because he thinks facial hair is sexy, he told me once when he was drunk. A man of contradictions, he always has been."

Portugal sighed, but Scotland remained in stunned silence as he continued, "Spain always complained about it as if it were a bad thing, but I don't mind it so much. I think it adds to his charm. You two have the same eyes, did you know that?" He looked up, into Scotland's eyes as they widened at the unexpected and sudden change in topic, "Does it ever feel strange looking into your own eyes when looking into each other's?"

Scotland was surprised at the question, "They're not my eyes, they're his." He replied tersely, defensively, his eyebrows knitting together in disapproval, "I know that because I couldn't give a flying fuck about looking into my own eyes, but I never want to look away from his."

Sappy as that may have been, and as tight with embarrassment as that made Scotland's insides twist, he felt like he had gotten his point across.

Portugal pinched his lips together.

"So…"

"So what, Scotland? We both know I won't make a move on him while you two are together."

Scotland looked up at him in surprise and Portugal smiled sadly at him. "Look, Scotland. I love England. I do. But I know you love him too, and even though I've been at the bad end of so many of your fights, I'd be stupid to think that that's all you do."

Scotland felt a lump rise in his throat, and found he couldn't say anything even as Portugal continued. "You won. You made your move first, you dared to try to have him and you got him, and I didn't because of some kind of misplaced doubt that he would reject me."

Portugal sighed, picking at his nails, some loose strands of his hair falling into his face.

"He wouldn't have." Scotland replied, watching Portugal's reactions closely. If this was a test of himself or of Portugal he wasn't sure. In fact, he couldn't quite say if it was a test at all or simply himself blurting out his thoughts in unfiltered bursts as England often liked to complain that he did.

Portugal flinched at the words, his mouth down turning. "You can't know that. And I'd rather not have the hope."

"He loves you, Portugal." Scotland said again. And now he wasn't sure why he was pushing the matter. England confused him, and England confused his heart, and England made him all kinds of stupid, and above all else, England made him insecure and on top of the world all at once. "Why do you think I'm intimidated by you and not whoever the fuck else? Maybe he doesn't know it, but he does love you. That's why it worries me."

Portugal chuckled, although his face showed no humour, "You aren't making it easier to let go."

"So you're willing to?"

Portugal chuckled again, "I want to, Scotland. But emotion isn't that easy to change." He sighed, pushing off of the wall, "I swear to you. I will not pursue England as anything other than the good friend he has always been to me."

He held out his hand, and Scotland stared at it for a moment.

"England is yours. I'm a reasonable man, Scotland, I know when I'm beaten."

Despite every bone in his body telling him to beat the hand away and tell him to never look at England again, Scotland took the hand and shook it.

"Alright, I'm going to trust you."

"Thank you." Portugal smiled. Honestly, Scotland found that smile hard to hate. "Does this mean you'll stop trying to murder me with your eyes in meetings?"

Scotland scoffed, "I'll stop when you stop staring at my-" he paused a moment, and Portugal grinned.

"Your lover~?"

Scotland rolled his eyes, Portugal's tone clearly cheerful and teasing. Disconcerting as it may have been to change the tone so quickly, it was nice to have some light after the heavy.

"Your Sweetheart~?"

Another roll of the eyes, and the two of them made their way out of the room.

"Your beloved. Your Romeo. O seu único e verdadeiro amor."

"Pushing it Portugal."

Portugal chuckled, but didn't speak again, in fact it was silent until they reached the main lobby of the building. This silence was nicer than the last though, less tense, more at ease. Not comfortable, but bearable.

A few countries were milling about in the lobby, chatting still even so long after the meeting, but that wasn't a surprise really. What was a surprise was that England was among them, and paused in his conversation with Belgium to look at the two of them strangely.

He excused himself from their conversation, Belgium herself rolling her eyes and heading for the door, and walked over to them with an eyebrow raised, "I do hope you two aren't planning anything nefarious."

Portugal laughed and ruffled England's hair, Scotland didn't stop him, "Would we ever do that to you?"

"I don't doubt it for a second." England scoffed and pushed the hand away, "I'm serious though, you two better not be up to anything."

Scotland shook his head, "No, we were just clearing up a few things. It's nothing, England, I promise."

England glanced at them both with a healthy amount of scepticism once more, but seemed prepared to drop the subject, "Alright then." He turned to Portugal as he stepped over beside Scotland, smiling friendlily, "Port, Scotland and I were going to go to dinner with a few other countries, you'd be welcome to come with us if you wanted. If nothing else it might make it bearable."

Portugal hesitated for the smallest of moments, his eyes flicking up to glance at Scotland.

Scotland considered that too, for a small moment of his own, before nodding with a cautious smile, distracting England from the Exchange with a snorted laugh. "If you didn't want to then you could have just told them to fuck off like you always do." He said to England as he twisted their hands together.

England grimaced, "I wish. But I've been told my unfriendly and antisocial attitude isn't acceptable anymore, and I have to work on my international relations."

Scotland grinned, snorting out another laugh, "Aw, poor bab, whatever will you do?"

"You can fuck right off." England said, turning to Portugal, "Port, poppet, would you be my date instead? This arsehole doesn't appreciate me."

Both Scotland's and Portugal's eyes widened a little, taking only a split second to look at each other. Both of their stomachs dropping like stones at the joke because England didn't even have any idea how much trouble he was causing the two of them, and more than anything he didn't even know how much they both cared and didn't care at all about that trouble.

When asked, and here we're talking about their hearts not their heads, irrational logic engines as they may be, if England was worth that trouble, the answer would be 'yes' without hesitation.

Portugal laughed, and Scotland thought that he should really give Portugal some credit for his acting skills. "Ah, no, I think I'll pass for today, I have some work to be doing."

England seemed a little downcast at that, "Oh, well alright then. I'll see you soon though?"

Portugal nodded, a cheerful smile lighting up his face, "Of course, I can't wait for it."

And Scotland felt that familiar twist of painful jealously in his gut as England's lips upturned as they did for only those he was extremely fond of. He knew this wasn't going to be as cut and dry easy as the two of them had made it out to be back there.

But as Portugal walked away they shared a glance.

A glance that only lasted a moment but a glance of importance nonetheless.

That was a glance of agreement and understanding.

That they could both love the same man with all their hearts but neither was in danger of losing him to the other. That they could rest easily knowing that the relationships they had with him would remain the relationships they had with him, and they wouldn't change. Not because of this at least.

And that was a hard, bitter weight off their chests if nothing else.

"Scotland?"

Scotland looked down at England's sceptical expression. "Aye?"

"Are we going or are you just going to stare at Portugal all day?"

Scotland rolled his eyes, "Excuse me for appreciating a fine arse."

England hit him.

He laughed.

Everything was just a little bit better.

Just a little.

Sorry for the lame ending! I don't know how to end things ever!