Spain took a bottle and poured himself a large glass of wine. After the day he had had, he needed alcohol. Reports had been pouring in from every part of his empire, but the only ones that really mattered to him were the ones regarding Mexico. He had thought that this insanity would end when Hidalgo had been executed. With the man that had corrupted his colony gone, Spain had expected things to change. He had even displayed the heads to make it perfectly clear what happened to anyone who tried to take Mexico away from him.
He took a drink of wine, hoping that it would take immediate effect. He didn't want to think about the letters that spoke of a new rebel army taking shape in the south under the leadership of another priest. This was exactly the opposite of what Spain had wanted. He took another deep drink of wine, trying to dull the thought. It didn't help, so he decided to put it aside and go to sleep.
The room he was in had been Mexico's and the decor still felt like him. The wardrobe was still full of the crimson and gold finery that Mexico had worn in Madrid. The jacket that the boy had left behind when they had fought had been tucked away in the back. Looking at the blood and wine stains reminded Spain all too vividly of where they had come from. Spain decided that the best thing to do was get some sleep.
He took off his own jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He then rolled up his sleeve to look at the wound across his arm in the mirror. This was the only remaining mark from his fight with Mexico. The scab from where his head had hit the table had completely healed, but this slash across his arm was fading very slowly. Spain was starting to wonder if this would scar. Most likely, that depended on getting his colony back. If, by some catastrophic mistake, he were not able to get Mexico back then this would probably scar.
He sighed and rolled his sleeve back down. Spain finally made it over to the bed and buried his face in the pillow. When he had started sleeping in this bed, it had smelled of Mexico. But now the scent had been completely replaced by Spain's own. Now he desperately wanted to have the original scent back, that unmistakable scent of cinnamon and chilies. Again, Spain was forced to give up something to comfort himself. With one more exasperated sigh, he turned on his side and closed his eyes.
Spain opened his eyes to see golden eyes looking at him. Mexico was lying next to Spain with a soft smile on his face, his hands folded under his head on top of the pillow. He looked gorgeous, exactly as Spain remembered him looking. He was shirtless, as was usual when he was asleep; his bronze chest was completely exposed. In disbelief, the Spaniard reached out and put his hand on the boy's cheek. This had to be dream, but the flesh felt so real, so warm.
Mexico's hand was laid lightly on top of the other's. He spoke, "What's the matter, Tony?" Spain felt his heart rise into his throat. He hadn't heard that sort of concern and softness in at least a year. It was enough to make him feel like he was melting. He said, emotion strangling his voice, "Alejandro, I thought I had lost you. I thought you were rebelling against me." He was about to spill out all of his pain when he was stopped by the other sharply saying, "Stop. I wouldn't do that, so stop saying that." To make sure that the Spaniard actually stopped speaking, Mexico pressed his lips to the other's lips. The tangible feeling of the skin felt completely real. There was enough force behind the kiss that the passion was obvious. Spain couldn't think of a time that his colony had initiated a kiss, but he wasn't going to complain about it.
He immediately deepened the kiss, taking dominance. Having the taste on his tongue again was intoxicating. This was exactly what Spain had been missing. But, he had too much to say and he wouldn't be silenced, even by a kiss he had been longing for. His heart still pounding in his ears, Spain pulled away. Mexico's half-lidded eyes didn't even show a hint of confusion, which helped Spain. The man immediately launched into what he wanted to say, "There were so many things I left unsaid. I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."
He stopped for a second and looked directly at Mexico. The boy had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, it hinted at an underlying vanity, but that didn't matter. Spain was aware that he was inflating his colony's ego and that it didn't need it. But, he needed to get this off his chest, so he continued, putting his hand lovingly back on Mexico's face, "You have grown up to be so strong, so beautiful. I never regretted favoring you." He wanted it to be completely true, but the moment when the other had knocked him out came to mind. With it came all emotions of the moment, all the confusion and anger. He clearly remembered losing control and seeing red.
He tried to shake the memory away and look at the man who was lying right next to him. With Mexico right in front of him again, he couldn't afford to be reflecting on the fight. It didn't matter right now; he had exactly what he wanted. Mexico continued to smirk and said, "You're being a sentimental fool." As usual, the boy was blunt, but that was exactly what was appealing about him. He was charming, even when he was criticizing.
Spain shook his head and said, "I know, but I need to say it and you need to hear it. I never told you about how I knew you were special the first time I saw you. Even though you were a child dressed as a savage, I just knew that you were special." Suddenly Spain remembered the medallion Mexico had been wearing when they had fought, the Aztec gold. He looked at the other's neck, desperately hoping he wouldn't see a gold chain. To his relief, there was nothing adorning the skin.
However, Mexico seemed to be tiring of this sentiment. He cut in sharply, "You don't need to say any of this. I love you, that's it." Spain smiled to himself. He realized that he was wasting this opportunity. He had Mexico half-dressed and submissive right next to him in bed and he was spending time reflecting on his woes.
He felt himself continue to smile as he said, "Then why don't you show me how loyal you are to me?" Without even waiting for a response, he grabbed the other's chin and pressed their lips back together. The kiss was immediately passionate, which allowed Spain to push his tongue into the other's mouth. He felt the boy yield to him completely, wrapping his arms around Spain's neck and pulling them closer together. The older man reciprocated and put his hand on Mexico's lower back and pulling them closer so that their abdomens were pressed together. Then, he slowly moved his hand up the other's back to find the tattoo that would drive him wild. When he found it, he felt Mexico moan against his mouth. Spain's blood was hot in his veins now. He had complete control and it was bliss.
But, there was a sudden shooting pain down the length of his forearm. It felt like being attacked with a blade. Spain recoiled and looked at his arm. There was a long shallow wound up his arm, which was bleeding on the white sheets.
He looked back at where Mexico had been laying. There was nothing there but empty sheets. The warm bliss was immediately replaced with a sense of loss and hopelessness. His heart went from pounding with passion to racing from frantic fear. It became harder to swallow as he felt tears fill his throat. Spain refused to lose Mexico, especially when the situation had been going his way. He got out of the bed as quickly as possible and looked widely around the room. Nothing in the room even indicated that Mexico had been there. Spain desperately started to run across the room, not sure where he was headed, but certain that he had to do something.
The pain was still racing through his veins from the injured arm. Drops of blood were slowly rolling down his fingers falling to the floor. None of it mattered, he would heal when he had his colony back. He reached the window on the other side of the room; he noticed that the white curtains were fluttering slightly, as though the windows behind them were open. It was completely possible that Mexico had left the room this way. Without any hesitation, he pulled back the curtains with both hands.
Outside, the city was burning. The sounds of cannon fire were ripping through the air, accompanied by the shouts and screams of fighting men, seeming to tear through the fabric of what had been a very peaceful reality. Spain heard a gasp, which he realized was his own. The bottom seemed to drop out of his stomach. Somehow, he knew this was Mexico's doing, even though the boy shouldn't be capable of this kind of violence.
Still attempting to catch his breath, Spain turned around. His eyes immediately met cold, unfeeling gold. Mexico smirked and said, "This time I will kill you." In a single swift movement, Mexico slashed a knife across the older man's throat. There was no pain as Spain put his hands to his throat and felt blood, hot and thick, gushing from the wound. He fell to his knees, still looking up at Mexico's impassive eyes and evil smirk. The last words he heard were, "Sentimental fool."
Spain awoke with a jerk. His first response to the nightmare was a dry sob. He wasn't certain if he felt distraught or angry. He would have been happy to stop at the beginning to have the dream, to just have an intimate moment with the man who was so far away from him at the moment, but it had gone so terribly wrong. The idea that Mexico could be capable of so much violence just seemed wrong. Mexico hadn't been raised by his mother and Spain had tried to train all the savagery out of him.
Slowly, he climbed out of bed. Judging by darkness of the windows, hours had passed since he had fallen asleep. There was a light knock on the door, but it was a welcome change. Spain would rather have progress than thinking about what the situation at the moment. He opened the door to see a mortal messenger on the other side of it. The man looked down at Spain's feet and said, "I'm sorry to wake you at this hour, sir, but there is urgent news. The men you stationed by those rebel's heads"
Spain felt his pulse increases. He had stationed guards for the express purpose of bringing back Mexico. The boy was too reckless to stay away from the heads of his former leaders. It was only a matter of time before Mexico slipped and went to see the grotesque spectacle in person, and when he did there would be experienced soldiers there to capture him. If there was news from those soldiers this late in the night, it must mean that Mexico had been captured. Spain finished the sentence for the mortal, "They have returned with Alejandro, haven't they?"
The mortal was clearly struggling to form a response, finally settling on saying, "Sir, their bodies have been returned." The blood drained out of Spain's face as the force of the words hit him. The men he had posted were dead, and there was only one possible explanation for why. He responded, keeping his voice level despite the dread that was sinking into his bones, "Take me to the bodies. I need to see them."
The man shook his head almost imperceptibly and said, "At this time of night, sir?" Spain responded firmly, "Yes, now." The mortal obeyed, even though it appeared that he didn't want to. The pair of bodies was laid out on a low table and it looked like someone had attempted to clean them up. They were both undoubtedly dead, one from a gunshot and the other from a slashed throat. Spain had to make a conscious effort to not visibly react. He was shaken, but all the men around him needed to follow him. He couldn't show his own weakness in the sight of mortals.
This was a horrifying sight because of what it meant. Spain had seen countless men dead on the battlefield; it wasn't the sight of death that was making his hands shake. Only Mexico could have killed these men, and he would have done it with his own hands. Spain had raised Mexico and he had never guessed that this kind of brutality had hidden just beneath the surface. Even after more than a year of fighting this rebellion, he hadn't even suspected that his colony was doing this personally. Spain could taste bile on his tongue, although he was certain he wasn't sickened by the sight and smell of death. He clenched his hands into fists and said under his breath, "So he really is his mother's son."
A/N: This is the kind of the oneshot that everyone was asking for, I hope it was everything you hoped for. If you would like more oneshots from Spain's point of view, please tell me in a review.