Despite being that way in any condition, Alfred was painfully irritating when he was sick. And to his frustration, Arthur was forced to deal with it more often than he liked during his not-so-occasional colds.
"Aaaarthur I'm still cold."
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you the first seven times." Arthur thought angrily, stomping up the staircase with a collection of blankets in his arms. The bedroom door swung open and he threw them onto the bed before Alfred could whine again.
"There. Now go to sleep, I have work to do." he said in an (obviously forced) polite tone. Just as he turned to exit, the noise returned.
"Can't it wait? You've been taking care of me all day. The least I could do is cuddle with you for a while!" Alfred seemed to be begging for some more attention rather than wanting to thank him, judging by the obnoxious, pleading grin on his face.
Arthur let out a sigh. The American was right, partially; he'd been dreading work more than hearing his husband's desperate cries for help. So instead of leaving his horribly ill husband alone to die, he responded. "And catch your terrible disease while I'm at it? Sure, I don't see why not." Chuckling, he plopped down onto the bed and was instantly greeted with a tight hug.
"I haaate being sick. Do you think sleeping would help?" Alfred whined. After a moment Arthur was free from the grip, and he instead fell onto his lap with a sigh.
"It certainly wouldn't do any harm, that's for sure... So stop staring at me and shut your eyes, moron." Lightly dragging his fingers through Alfred's hair and occasionally twirling the ends, he began to hum. The icy blue eyes quickly fell shut. A while passed until he was rewarded with the sound of a sleeping Alfred. 'Thank God.'
By then, his work was the last thing on his mind; the sight of such a peaceful sleeper made him jealous. He lifted the nation's head from his lap and onto a pillow (since he was aware of how Alfred had once slept through a tornado) and soon joined him. 'You're the reason I never finish any work, git...'