ScotlandxSpain

Spain sighed as he sat on the park bench, holding onto a bouquet of red roses. I can't believe it.
The flowers in his hands were partially crushed, as an aftermath of trying to give it to his lover. What was once beautiful and alive ended up becoming nothing but a mess of thorns and scattered petals. Spain buried his head in his hands, letting the bouquet drop to the floor.

Dios mio... he thought. Please take this pain away.

Spain was surprised to hear a voice beside him, that he quickly looked up without wiping his tears away. Red. The color reminded him of how the flowers he so carefully picked out were crushed under someone's heel.

He quickly shook his head, trying to keep the recent memory away. "Oh... haha... i-it's nothing." he said, wiping his face with his sleeve. "D-did you hear that Espana lost in the soccer world cup? I-im heartbroken." He laughed a bit and tried to look at the other man in the eyes. It was Scotland-- someone he hand't had much of a chance to talk to before. He hadn't expected to be seen by anyone in the park. If anything, he went here because he needed to be alone.

"What about you, amigo? What brings you here? Are you looking to the flowers for a new hair color?" he laughed a bit, still wiping his face.

"S-sorry amigo..." Spain mumbled as he continued to look to the floor. He looked to Scotland as he was offered a cigarette. I don't really smoke but whatever. he thought. It's not like there's anyone left to care about me, anyway. He took one and fidgeted with it in his fingers. Maybe it would help him calm down.

"Well...' he started, realizing he dropped the flowers on the floor. It must've been obvious what happened, and he felt even more pathetic for trying to hide it. "Y-you know Romano, right? I..." Spain chuckled, trying to keep the tears at bay. Don't cry now, stupido. You've cried a goddamn river, for Christ's sake.

But the tears came anyway, and he buried his face in the Scot's shoulder.

Spain felt fingers running through his hair, and for a split-second he wondered why they felt different. Romano... he thought. The memories of his love danced before his eyes, as he kept them shut. Please come back. Lo siento, Romano. Please, I'm begging you.

The voice that spoke however, made him snap out of it. Romano was gone.

He quickly sat up straight again, remembering where he was. He wiped the tears off on his sleeve, and tried to smile at Scotland. "Thanks, hombre. I really needed this. I... I just can't believe it, you know? I- I gave him everything, I give him everything... and yet he refuses to see. He refuses to see that he's the only one I love." he sighed, and tried to wipe Scotland's shoulder. He didn't realize he got it soaked. "M-maybe I'm just not good enough, you know?" with this, he smiled and wiped off the last of his tears. He used to be the great Espana, conquering every corner of the world he set foot in. He used to be respected; feared, even. And now, he was nothing but some thickheaded idiot who couldn't even conquer another team in a game of football. Maybe Romano just thinks I'm pathetic. I..." he thought, as he looked at the Scot's eyes. I couldn't even conquer his heart.

"A dram~?" Spain asked, not exactly sure what Scotland was talking about. "Are you talking about having a drink? Because if I am not mistaken, then sure. I would love to have a drink with you. What do you drink in your place anyway?" he continued to fidget with the cigarette in his hand, and asked Scotland for a light.

"A-all right." Spain said, upon hearing the Scot's offer. If anything he wanted to drown the feelings out--completely forget everything even for one night. Erase the memories, erase the pain... the kisses, and romantic exchanges. Erase Romano's golden eyes that twinkled whenever they... whenever they...

But... I don't want to forget.

He shook his head and resolved that he was going to do just what Scotland had told him. He owed it to himself, at least to have fun, right? It's been days wherein he felt like he's been drowning in his own sorrow; it might just be time to drown himself in alcohol, instead. He took a puff from a cigarette and coughed, forgetting that he hadn't had one in such a long time. "A-amigo..." he started, as he fought the urge to flick the cigarette away. "So we will drink in your house?" He had never been to Scotland's house before, and it made him curious what it was like. From the sound of it, he probably collected a variety of alcoholic beverages. He looked at Scotland, and wondered why he was being so nice. Did he really look that pathetic; like some charity case or something? Looking at Scotland's expression though, Spain knew that there was sincerity behind his actions. Even though some of the things he said were a bit harsh, he knew that Scotland was saying it for his own good. And somehow, watching the roses go to the trash lessened the heavy feeling in his heart.

Spain then gripped the crucifix that hung from his neck, and whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord.

"If thinking about it won't heal me, then what will?" Spain asked, with a curious look in his eyes. This guy seems like how knows what he's talking about. Was it possible that Scotland knew firsthand what it felt like to be heartbroken? If he did, Spain felt sorry for him. He didn't want anyone else to have felt the unbearable pain he was going through now.
"Yes, please. Let's go to your house." Spain stood up together with the man, and he held on to Scotland's sleeve realizing that he was still at the brink of tears. This is it, Antonio. Stop crying, you're a grown man for Christ's sakes. Somehow though, being beside the other man had made him feel stronger. The feeling of another human being beside him, had made him feel alive, after. He's warm. he thought, as he absentmindedly moved in closer to the Scot. "Let's go." He took one more puff from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and crushing it under his heel.

"Yes, actually." Spain said, answering Scotland's question. Though he still had the unmistakable pain in his heart, somehow it subsided. In the middle of their walk however, Spain felt tears roll down his face again.
Hm? Suddenly, Spain felt a warm touch against his cheek. He didn't have time to react, and he felt blood rush to his cheeks. It's been so long since someone has wiped my tears away.

Spain laughed, and put his arm around Scotland. "I'm really sorry hombre, that you get to see me like this." He said, quickening his pace. "Let's go then. I'd love to go to your house. Maybe I can bring you to mine sometime too, no? Mi casa, es tu casa."

The continued to walk until they got to Scotland's house. It seemed pretty big from the outside, but it had a warm cozy feeling to it, especially after they had entered the house. It almost felt like it had its own, different aura.
"Of course I am." Spain said. He was actually excited to drink with Scotland, more than anything. The last time he had gone drinking it was with wine, shared over a candlelit dinner-- he might as well replace that memory with something else.
"So... where are we going to drink, Cam?" he asked, looking around the house. He was sure to find Scotland's display here, somewhere...

"The... bedroom?" Spain asked, curiously looking at the direction Scotland was pointing to. "Oh, no no it's okay Amigo. I'm not that sleepy yet." He smiled, and continued to look around, as Scotland had pressed onto him. He was fascinated at Scotland's house, to say the least.
Before he realized it, Scotland had offered him a glass of wine. He looked at the red liquid and swirled it-- then drank the whole glass in one go. "No. No wine for me tonight." he said, despite what he just did. All it did was bring back bad memories... and he wanted to forget.
"Just give me whatever you like drinking, Scotland. I trust you." Spain said, as he put a hand on Scotland's shoulder. He liked how warm he felt, underneath his touch. "... and don't worry about me, haha. I actually prefer walking. When I was with Lovi we always--" before he could finish his sentence though, he stopped himself and laughed it off. "I enjoyed my time walking with you."

"Whisky?" Spain took the glass and took a whiff of it under his nose. It was definitely strong, and he didn't have any doubts that it would accomplish what he set out to do that night. He tried gulping it down like he did with wine, and ended up almost choking halfway. "Dios mio! This is some strong stuff, huh?" he said, coughing and clinging onto the table. It wasn't like wine--aromatic and sweet, easily flowing down his throat like a stream. The whiskey was strong and potent, and it felt like the bitter truth that he had to swallow.

Spain looked at Scotland as he drank. He probably thinks I'm weak, or something. He then wiped his mouth, and tried gulping down another shot. Slowly, the rose-hued fragments of memories in his mind faded to black and white.

Uno... dos... tres.. ai ai ai~ I can't even remember anymore. Spain thought, as he looked at the last shot he took in. Surprisingly, however he wasn't that drunk yet. Or at least, so he believed.
"Y-you know what, Scotland?" he said, leaning over to the other man. "Y-you're not half bad of a man. You are a great guy. Muchas grande corazon!" he said, pounding his own chest with his fist, starting to laugh by himself. "...a-and your hair. I should borrow it sometime and dye the middle yellow. That way you'd look like a human Spanish flagpole... viva Espana, no~?" he doubled over, laughing at his own nonsense, not realizing the things he was saying. After the fit though, he looked at Scotland and realized he hadn't drunk much yet.
"This is not fair, hombre. This is not what amigos do~" he put one of his hands over Scotland's shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. Though Spain's thoughts had started to become clouded, he couldn't deny that Scotland eyes held something within them. He was thinking of something, definiely. He then got Scotland's glass and filled it with whiskey. "You should have some too, it looks like you've also got something on your mind." He brought the glass up to Scotland's lips. "A friend shares, you know?"

"Si." Spain murmured, astonished at how the Scot didn't even flinch upon drinking the entire glass. He was probably more used to drinking it than he thought.
All of a sudden, Spain felt the warmth of Scotland's breath against his skin. The hairs on his neck prickled up, and shivers were sent coursing through his spine. He took a deep breath, and held onto Scotland's arm. He was always extra-sensitive after a couple of drinks.
"W-without my c-clothes?" Spain asked, looking at what he was wearing. "B-but I wore my best clothes today, no~? Don't you like it?" he said, holding up his red ruffled long-sleeved shirt. "I can't even seem to pick the right clothes to wear. Maybe I should copy you and wear that-- what is that thing you guys wear anyway? Some skirt tablecloth checkered... something..." he said, as he swayed around on his chair. "Whatever it is, it must be working." he then held up another glass, and before he could drink from it, he burst out in a fit of laughter and ended up spilling it all over himself.
"Ah, estupido!" he said, trying to wipe off the spill on his shirt. It was completely soaked however, and some of the whisky was dripping to the floor. "You're right, amigo. I think it's better if I just removed this... I'm really sorry." He brought his hands to his collar and started unbuttoning down, revealing his bare chest, and a gold cross that hung from his neck.

Spain felt a sudden splash on his pants, and realized that some of the whiskey had spilled on it, too. Before he could even do anything about it however, he was pushed by Scotland down against the couch, where he helplessly let Scotland do his bidding.
"Hnn... C-cam..." he uttered, as he felt Scotland's lips brush against his neck. He didn't know what was happening, but it seemed as if his body was responding to Scotland's touch, aching to feel the warmth against his own body. "Wh-what are you--?" he looked down to see Scotland undoing his pants, and all he could do was watch. The pants were soaked after all--it was the right thing to do, right? Feeling the hand between his legs, however, had left him wanting to feel more.
Spain brought his hands over to the back of Scotland's head, intertwining his fingers with the red locks. He brought him close, wanting to feel the bare skin of his chest rubbing against his.
"Maybe I can try it on some other time, then. Unless you want me to." Spain said, eyeing the kilt. He had never considered wearing one before, but it really did suit Scotland. Somehow, the thought of wearing something of his, excited Spain.
He lay down on the couch panting, as he watched Scotland head over to him holding the bottle of whisky.
What is this feeling? he thought, as Scotland pulled into him and started pecking on his collar bone. Wh-why am I feeling this way? Dios mio, help me please... Wh- Ah--!
He felt the sudden cold of the spilled whisky against his skin, as he watched Scotland pour the drink all over him.
"M-maybe..." he started, looking at Scotland through half-lidded eyes. "Maybe you can drink it from me, instead."