Friday evening, after dinner.

Romano didn't know why exactlyhe had agreed to this. Maybe it was the wine working on him. Or maybe he was just tired. Either way, here he was, curled up like a pretzel underneath America, who was similarly bent.

"Okay, now, right hand on green." America grunted.

Romano had had no trouble, in fact, he was winning.

"Ooh, what now, bastard? You're gonna fall! There's no way you can reach that far!" he gloated.

Okay so maybe, maybe he was getting a little cocky. Just a little. But he had every right to! America didn't have a chance, not in their current position. He'd fall and Romano would win, just like the last two rounds.

"Oh, yeah?" America huffed, a grin splitting his face. He still hadn't made a move.

"Yeah, now come on! The sooner you fall, the sooner I'll regain some feeling in my legs! Face it, you lost!" the other huffed back.

"…Yep" America sighed, "But this time, I'm takin' you with me!" With one swift movement, he had Romano pinned to the mat, straddling his hips.

"No! What're you-!" Romano was cut off by a fit of hysterical laughter as America began tickling his stomach.

"Say I'm the Twister King!" he demanded.

"Ha-! Never!" Romano gasped, fat tears rolling down his face as he writhed and cackled, flailing his arms uselessly.

America chuckled, grabbing both of Romano's wrists in one hand, and holding them above his head, still tickling with the other.

"Say it! Say it!" he sang.

"Okay! Okay, you win! You're the- the Twister King! Haha-! Twister King!"

America beamed, pressing his lips to Romano's stomach and blowing a raspberry there before getting off. Romano sat up, panting. He smacked America's head lightly.

"Asshole!" he breathed, but couldn't quite find it in himself to be truly angry. America just grinned, kissing his flushed, tear-stained cheeks.

"I'm not an asshole, I'm the Twister King!"