Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Drinking Buddies (Smut)

(Hey, while I was trying to get ideas for the next chapter, I was suddenly reminded of a chapter I had promised. Something short (my kind of short) and sweet, while the other chapter is being written. Have fun. Also, I wanted to get this done today so I skipped out on the accents. I might come back and edit those in, cause I fucking love Scottish and Irish accents.

And honestly I would I put out a warning, but no one follows those anyways XD)

Narrator's POV

As the norm, with any celebration, Ireland went out to drink.

"Happy Easter!" He cheered, waving around an empty glass mug with the beer foam still trickling down the sides. In his intoxication, he heard himself say Halloween, but anyone sober enough to care or take noticed knew his error. No one bothered to correct him, though.

Ireland didn't want to encourage the stereotype that he drinks a lot, no one likes being patronized. But then again, a damn good drink is a damn good drink.

"Figured I'd find you here." Someone said behind him, their hand being set gently on his shoulder.

It didn't matter if he was drunk or sober, Ireland could always pick out that rough voice and thick accent better than he can anything else.

"Eeeeeeyyy, Scottie my boy!" He turned around with a huge smile plastered over his face, no doubt making him look drunker than he actually was. Seeing him with the small trickle of beer from his mouth, a more disheveled look to his clothes and the messy red hue over his face was nothing abnormal, especially here, and something that always amused Scotland. Ireland was less predictable, more chaotic and louder than he normally would be (yes that's possible) which Scot always enjoyed, as it brought in a certain spice to what could be a regular get together with drinks.

What he didn't expect was for him to start before he got any drinks in himself.

"You're almost plastered man," Scot sat down on the stool next to him laughing under his words. Ireland gave him another teeth filled smile, his hat slipping off his head and covering the top of his eyes.

"What?!" He scoffed, blowing a raspberry like the immature country he could be. "This is nothing, this is just like a heavy buzz."

Whether it was true or not, only the Lord knew. Ireland can down an impossible amount of drinks and feel nothing, or take a few shots and want to Irish dance on the roof. Actually, that's an unclear analogy, sober Ireland would do that, too. He's done it once just for five pence.

Scot got himself set up for a few drinks, too, loosening his shirt collar and leaning against the back of his seat. He's been feeling tense lately, so he figured meeting up with his best friend would help him. Anyone else would just annoy him and he'd most likely start a fight.

A few rounds of drinks later, Scotland was ready to attempt that Irish dancing mentioned before. Never on the roof, not with so little people to watch, but maybe on the counter. That way he could make sure people witnessed how incredible he can be. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to. He didn't have his bagpipes with him, which would make his stunt all the better, but surely he could do that with his own vocal cords. It'll be easy, he was a proud Scotsman! There was no challenge he wouldn't do!

"Hey, hey, Scot-" Ireland held a fist over his mouth, letting out a loud belch "-I can't, I can't. I don't understand why you look so goddamn angry all the time!"

The two burst out laughing, the bartender then getting annoyed with the loud outbursts that distracted them from their job. It was bad enough they had to deal with a loud German and his almost equally loud boyfriend, he didn't want to deal with these two, too.