CountryHumans Oneshots {Closed - forever}

IRESCOT

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Ireland sighed, twisting a pen around in his fingers the casual flick of the tip or the pen on the desk was now only a subtle rhythm. Each country had to do their annual reports every 4 months or so. And Ireland had already gone, and yet it droned on forever.

Scotland, whom was right beside the Irish man. Waited patiently for Thailand to end so he could get on to the next speaker, and then the next, and the next. Keeping his hands up on top of the round table that formed a circle, tightly clasping his hands together. 

Scotland jumped feeling a semi-gloved hand snake it's self onto it's inner thigh. He looked down in his lap, then glaring on the Irish whom was paying no attention to the irritated country.

Scotland turned his head back to the speaker. Now an Oceanic country. Small one, soft blue color, small stature, good looking enough. God, he was only thinking about these things so he could ignore the hand that was getting dangerously close.

Ireland began to knead the Scottish's leg like dough. That was when the Scot decided to slap the mans hand. Earning a small hiss, but the hand retracted none the less. And stayed like that till the end of the meeting. 

"Wanna have a beer at the pub?" Ireland asked smiling innocently as people began to walk out as quickly as they could. Scotland was still tidying up his files when the small country asked.
"I thought you were a recovering alcoholic?"  Scotland asked, keeping his gaze on what his hands were doing, putting his files on the table. 

"Whats a few beers going to do? As long as you don't snitch, I'm still being a recovering alcoholic!" He said confidently, as if he were the most smartest country on the ship.
The Scot sighed, grabbing his coat from off the back of the chair.
"Fine, but not that many drinks. Ok?" Ireland smiled like a child. fist bumping the air.

He drank so much. Too much in fact. 

"Commee onnn, youu've got to tell me you've at least been in one relationship before." The Irish man slurred holding onto the bar to keep himself from swiveling and falling off. 

Low melo music played. It was a classic Irish bar, with a little bit of modern style put into it. Bottles of so many different types of brands, never once the same. 
"Nope, not once." Scotland drank his second beer feeling a little tipsy but not to the extent of what Ireland was at. Who was on his fifth Guinness. (random alcoholic drink that just came to head).

"Wanna have one noow?" Ireland giggled leaning against the Scot. 
"What?!" Scotland exclaimed leaning far away from the country making him fall an inch. Catching himself before he made a face first to the floor. Regaining his slumped posture, pushing himself up with the help of Scotland's delicate hands. 

"I didn't mean me, I meant one of these poor fuckers. I mean come on, he looks hot." He grinned pointing over to a mirror hung on the wall that was showing Ireland's reflection.
"Oh my Jesus Christ, you are such a dumb ass." Scot sighed, Ireland only grinned picking up his drink once more. 

"I may be a dumb ass, but you don't look like your having fun." He purred, pointing at him with his drink in hand before taking a swig and slammed on the bar. No one had flinched, no one had even glanced at him. That must've been a common sound that happened throughout the bar. Concerning but its not like Scotland cared, it was their life. It was an 'oh well' sort of factor.

Ireland waved the bartender over smiling. "Six each of your strongest drinks!" He exclaimed, the tender only nodded pouring them a Devils spring vodka into small shot glasses. Pushing three over to Ireland then to the Scot before doing the action again.

"Classic drinking contest, eh? First one to quit. Get last . Or spit, gets to do what the winner wants." Scotland raised his brow but only nodded, looking down at the clear liquid.

"3, 2, 1, go" The Irish said with impeccable speed. But the Scot was fast drinking his first one before the Irish even got his hand to is first glass. Scot began to guzzle the second drink, then the third, fourth, fifth. Scotland reached for the Sixth, only finding oak wood from the bar table. Turning his head to the Irish, whom had swiped his drink from the bar and was about to chug it down before the Scottish swiped it back drinking it before the Irish could drink it he did.

"Hey!" The Irish exclaimed flinging his hands in the air. "What the hell! I was going to drink that!" He exclaimed, gesturing to the now empty shot glass. A pouty look on his face.
"Well too bad, that was my drink." Scotland slurred, though his body movements were normal he was definitely intoxicated.

"Oh my god you drunk." Ireland chuckled, Scotland groaned putting his elbows up on the bar and rubbing his face. "Fuck off." // "Only after six shot glasses? Dude that's so fucking weak." Ireland clapped his hands together laughing.
"Oh my god, shut up!" He exclaimed throwing his hands. Before groaning. "Take me home please" He groaned weakly, Ireland cackled as if he had heard the most funniest joke in the word.

"I'm intoxicated! I can't take you home! I might sell you off!" Ireland joked,