A/N: Sorry about the title. It kind of isn't that great, but I couldn't think of anything better. If you guys have any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them. :) Anyway, I thought this would be a fun thing to write, so here it is. :D I feel like this isn't my best writing, however, and I would love to hear what you thought about it. Enjoy, and please review. :)
There were two things Spain spent the majority of his time doing, and they both annoyed Romano: touching him, and napping. Whenever Spain wasn't passed out on the couch, he was constantly touching Romano somewhere - anywhere and everywhere - and he absolutely hated it because Spain's touches always made his mind foggy, and he could never think straight and be mad at Spain for touching him - distracting him - like he knew he should be. Even on the rare occasion when Spain went out with the other two members of his "Bad Touch Trio," the Spaniard found some way to annoy Romano, whether it be a light kiss before he left or a bone-crushing hug.
But Romano hated when Spain napped even more than his constant, loving touches, because then Spain couldn't touch the Italian, and that pissed Romano off more than anything. He might have hated the feel of Spain's arms wrapped tightly around him, or the way that whenever he hugged him, he could smell fresh tomatoes and summer, but Romano loved it, too. But he'd never admit that, oh no, he'd rather spend an entire day with the potato bastards and his younger brother.
As Romano sat on the floor beside the couch, facing Spain, his eyes narrowed. He looked so peaceful stretched out across the worn red material, his face pressed against a throw pillow and his mouth hanging slightly open, a thin string of drool glistening at the corner of his mouth. Both his arms were tucked beneath the pillow, adding support to the already-too-fluffy square of fabric. Romano hated those pillows. They annoyed him, especially when Spain would wrap his arms around one while they were cuddling on the couch, as if the pillow was more comfortable than the fiery Italian.
Romano scoffed, his mouth twisting into a scowl. He hated those pillows, that couch, that fucking tomato bastard. He'd rather him be awake and clouding his mind with gentle touches than sleeping on the couch, leaving Romano with nothing more to do than sit there and watch Spain sleep, waiting for him to wake up and hold him, whispering about the dream he'd just had.
Romano's scowl faded into a pout. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the coffee table, glaring half-heartedly at the sleeping Spaniard. How is that he pissed Romano off so much even while he was sleeping?
Because he isn't touching you, whispered the voice in his head. Romano growled, shaking his head slightly to dislodge the gnawing urge to reach out and stroke the Spaniard's hair. Since when did he want to be the first one to start the string of gentle touches and soft words? Since when did not having Spain's fingers gently caressing his shoulder, neck, and cheek bother him? Since when did he have this overwhelming urge to crawl onto the couch and snuggle underneath the Spaniard's arms and bury his face into Spain's muscular chest?
Romano's pout deepened. He really wanted Spain to wake up. If he woke up, then Romano wouldn't have to be the one to start the affections, because touching Romano was always the first thing Spain did when he woke up. Time crawled by, though, and Spain remained sprawled out on the sofa, snoring softly. No matter how much Romano willed him to wake up, to open his eyes and smile when he saw Romano sitting there like he always was and wrap him in his arms, nothing happened. Spain remained asleep.
Groaning in frustration, Romano crawled to the edge of the couch. Spain was so close to the edge that his breath tickled Romano's skin as the Italian sat up on his knees. He fisted his hands against his legs, his face pinched in anger. Why won't the bastard wake up? He never naps for more than an hour and a half. Romano turned his head and squinted his eyes at the clock on the far wall. Fuck, it's only been forty-five minutes, he thought angrily. He puffed his cheeks out, pouting and glaring at the Spaniard.
He wanted to touch him, but he wanted Spain to be the one to touch him first. But the fucking bastard was sleeping. Always sleeping. Fucking sleeping! Romano fumed silently for a few more minutes before taking a deep breath to calm himself. If he had to be the one to touch Spain first, then he would do it in the most Romano-like way - by being grumpy.
Fighting back a smile, Romano fixed a grumpy expression on his face (which is never too hard for him - he's always grumpy), and lifted his head. Slowly, he reached out with an extended finger and jabbed Spain in the cheek.
The Spaniard didn't even flinch.
Grumpy expression deepening, Romano jabbed Spain in the cheek again, harder this time. Still nothing. Growling softly, Romano grabbed a bit of the Spaniard's fleshy cheek and pinched.
The only acknowledgement the Italian got was a soft whimper. A bolt of triumph and remorse shot through the Italian; he hadn't wanted to hurt him, he'd just wanted him to wake up. But if hurting him was the only way to wake him up...
Romano screwed up his face in concentration, walking his fingers up Spain's pinch-reddened cheeks and burying them in his hair. The Italian sighed softly as Spain's short, silky hair brushed against his fingers, calming him and sending tiny jolts through his fingers and down his arms. A smile struggled to break it's way through Romano's angry expression.
Romano curled his fingers into a fist, his original plan having been to tug on the short locks until the Spaniard awoke. Now that his fingers were buried and entwined in the brown tufts, he wanted only to run his fingers through it. Romano scowled, wiping the smile that had managed to sneak onto his face away. That definitely wasn't a Romano thing to think, let alone do. He wasn't going to give in to the temptation, nope. No way, no how. He was Romano, and he didn't do cutesy things like that.
But his fingers moved of their own accord, slowly uncurling and grazing their way from the crown of Spain's head to the nape of his neck.
Spain let loose a soft purr, nuzzling into the pillow.
Romano scrunched up his face. Leaning forward, he bumped his nose against Spain's. "Hey," he said, glaring when Spain didn't react to the little show of affection. His fingers were still buried in Spain's hair, though, so he took a few stray strands between his fingers and hummed in content when he tugged gently, earning a grimace from the sleeping Spaniard. Romano continued to tug at Spain's hair as he nuzzled his nose against Spain's exposed cheek, the one he had pinched earlier.
"Lovi..." Spain mumbled sleepily. Smirking in victory, Romano pulled back, his fingers still gripping Spain's hair. Spain's eyes were half-open, clouded with sleep. He turned his head to wipe away the drool with the throw pillow, then turned back to Romano. "It's Siesta time, Lovi. I want to take a nap."
Romano scowled, his fingers jerking violently and pulling at Spain's hair. Spain whimpered and tried to wiggle his head away from Romano's fingers, but the Italian's hands only followed the Spaniard's actions.
"What do you want, Lovi?" Spain mumbled sleepily. He buried his face into the throw pillow.
"I want you to not take a nap," Romano snapped, scowling furiously as he tugged at Spain's hair once again.
Spain whimpered again. "Ow, Lovi. Stop that, it hurts." He turned his head slightly so he could peer at Romano through one half-lidded eye. "Why don't you want me to take a nap, Lovi?"
Romano opened his mouth to snap at Spain again, but stopped himself. Of course, he didn't want Spain to take a nap because then he couldn't give Romano attention, but surely he couldn't tell Spain that. He would never let him live it down!
Romano cleared his throat, cursing himself quietly as he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Because... I just don't..." He looked away, pursing his lips childishly. His gaze flickered to Spain when he received only silence in response, preparing himself to shout at the sleeping Spaniard and pull his hair again.
However, when he looked towards Spain again, the Spaniard hadn't fallen asleep like Romano had thought. Instead, the Italian was met with a wide, sleepy grin. Spain's eyes danced in recognition as he reached out for Romano, tossing the throw pillow to the floor. "Come here, Lovi, and nap with me," Spain cooed, wrapping his arms around Romano and pulling him awkwardly onto the couch.
Romano stiffened when Spain's arms wrapped around him, but he soon relaxed when the familiar, comforting scent of summer rain and tomatoes washed over him. He turned his body so his face was buried in Spain's chest, breathing deeply. "No, I don't want to take a nap," he grumbled, nuzzling his nose further into Spain's shirt. The Spaniard's scent crashed over Romano, surrounding him and clouding his mind, but this time he didn't care.
Spain laughed softly and buried his face in Romano's hair. "Liar," he yawned, closing his eyes and smiling as he pretended not to notice Romano snuggling closer to him.