Spain
Spain nuzzles his face against Austria's neck in his sleep, breath regular and heavy against his lover's skin. One of his hands is lazily slung around Austria's waist, assuring he remains besides Spain and giving him room to breathe at the same time. Austria brushes his fingers against the nape of Spain's neck, feeling soft and curly locks under his fingertips. When Spain doesn't stir, Austria becomes bolder, sliding his hands upwards. He is now cupping Spain's head, tangling long fingers in his lover's short curls.
If Spain were awake, Austria would wrap his hair around his fingers, pulling lightly until he'd feel the grip around his waist tighten. He knows this so well because it's not the first time he tangles his hands in Spain's hair while he's half asleep and also not the first time he elicits this reaction in him. He can never get enough of threading his hands through Spain's hair and Spain loves him for it. They are equally possessive of one another and yet they have learned how important it is to give each other room to breathe.
Hungary
Hungary lies flat on top of his chest, brushing her mouth against his collarbone. Austria can feel her elfish smile against his skin while she tickles his sides with her fingers. He grumbles a little. Normally he doesn't like when another person puts his full weight on him. He also doesn't like to be tickled. But Hungary's body is light and soft and warm, and there are a lot of things he allows her just because he loves her.
He slides his hands up from her lower back, disentangling her long, wavy curls with his fingers. She gives a pleased, cat-like purr and rests her head on his tailbone. Of course he knows he mustn't comb a woman's hair from the hairline. She would probably swat his hand away the moment he accidentally hurt her trying that.
Tangling his hands in her long, brown hair while disentangling it feels way too nice anyway… There is no need to hurry. He could go on like this for hours without getting tired of the weight of those sturdy and yet soft strands under his fingers. At times his hands gently brush against her back, giving light caresses while she drifts off to sleep, comfortable in her place upon his chest.
Prussia
Prussia is remarkably clingy in his sleep. Austria always either wakes up with Prussia's rather bony chest against his back or with his face against the side of his lover's throat. While he doesn't mind that, Austria also enjoys the rare moments when he is the one who gets to lay an arm around Prussia's waist, pulling him close. His head rests right behind Prussia's and he feels the softness of his silky hair against his cheek.
Prussia's hair is indeed remarkably soft. It is short and straight and delicate, almost like an animal's fur. Austria puts a finger on the nape of his neck, lightly brushing it the wrong way. Prussia grumbles, so Austria starts to caress it the way it is supposed to, sliding his fingers over sliver-white strands.
"I'm not your cat," Prussia pouts. Austria smiles.
"No," he chuckles. "I know. The cat doesn't get to go into my bed."