The Second Empire

Mexico made no secret of the fact that he was not happy with this arrangement, but France had seemed entirely unfazed by his harsh tone. When Mexico had said that he would never willingly end up in his bed, France had said with a smile on his face, "It's an offer, not a demand. You can accept whenever you please. I will not be leaving any time soon."

Then he had walked away. As he ate a quick dinner stubbornly away from France, Mexico was having trouble understanding why an empire who had conquered him had taken no as an answer so easily. It ran counter to everything he knew of Europeans and empires. He had accepted when the war was lost that he would have no choice.

Francis had never made any secret of his attraction, nor his intention. So, why would he not take it now that he could force the issue?

He turned the question over in his mind as he prodded at his food moodily with his fork. There was a budding awareness in the back of his mind that France was treating him with a degree of respect that he was not accustomed to.

He pushed the plate away, no longer interested in it. He had to reconcile himself to being cordial for however long France's military hold over him lasted. So, he would not hurt to make himself friendly to France. If he knew that there was no risk of being forced into bed, then he could stomach it. It would be better than waiting on his own.

As he stood up to go find France, the door opened. The mortal who walked through it spoke as soon as he entered the room, "Francis would like to extend an invitation to you to join him."

Mexico was struck silent for a moment. He had intended to seek out the Frenchman, but had no expected to get an invitation. Less eloquently than usual, he replied, "Tell him that I accept."

He did not question the words until they had already left his mouth. Then, it occurred to him that he was jumping at the chance with no idea what he was going to do. The most he could do was talk to his conqueror and build some trust, but to what end? He could not deny that he was craving the company. Did he really plan to spend the entire occupation sulking alone? It would only make him miserable.

The thought crossed his mind, as well, that he didn't find France's offer as unappealing as he had said. France was a handsome man, and there was something very refined and charming about him. But, Mexico told himself that it was purely for social comfort.

So, he walked out of the room to find France. Stepping into the room was like stepping into a different world. It was light and airy, like a painting brought to life. Mexico knew the room, though he had not spent much time at Chapultepec in years, but the space felt foreign to him. It was as though France had brought some French charm with him and used it to change the world around him to his liking.

The curtains were closed, and the room was lit by so many candles. There seemed to be cakes or sweets on the remaining surfaces. There was something heady about the scent of chocolate in the air.

Mexico felt some of his resolve melt. There was so much temptation all around, and he felt himself staring at all the decadence wondering where France had conjured them from.
His eyes did not, at first, go directly to the blonde man sitting on one of the couches. France looked more like a courtier than a conqueror. His shirt was open far enough to reveal his chest. His blonde hair was freed from its usual ponytail, and was curling provocatively around his shoulders.

His eyes brightened as he caught sight of Mexico. He was undoubtedly amused by the expression on the younger man's face. France spoke, "Come sit with me."

He gestured to the spot on the couch next to him. There was enough room for the offer to be chaste, but Mexico was not so naive as to believe that; he could see the look of deep lust in the other's eyes. But, he found himself walking to the spot anyway.

France had made it clear that if he was uncomfortable, he could say no. That was the option, he reminded himself, if this went further than he was comfortable.

But, in this atmosphere, it felt like nothing could be uncomfortable. He sat on the comfortable couch that he did not remember owning. France turned to him with a small smile and said, "I am glad you accepted. I feel like you have misunderstood the nature of our arrangement."

Mexico cast him what he hoped was a withering glance. He understood perfectly well that he was under occupation and he knew what that meant. He said, "I understand perfectly well."
France fixed him with a soft blue stare and spoke, "I have not made myself clear. I am not Antonio; I will not insist that you do anything. I am not Alfred; I will not take your territory. If you want to ignore me while I support my own interests, and I will not stop you."

Mexico scoffed and cast a longing eye at a plate of small chocolate cakes sitting so temptingly close. For all of his resistance, he had always had a sweet tooth, and it was calling to him. When had he last let himself indulge? He said, trying to keep his mind on one thing, "You know I won't do that."

France leaned closer and Mexico found himself looking him directly in his eyes. They were so dazzlingly blue. France reached past him and picked up one of the cakes. He then said, his voice softer now that he was closer to Mexico, "I was counting on that. You are too clever and curious to stay away."

He paused for a moment before bringing the cake to Mexico's eye level. He said, "I think you will find that it can be quite enjoyable if you will allow me."

Mexico wanted to tell him that the had no interest in enjoying anything. But, his stomach wanted something different, and there was no harm in a little treat. He took the cake from France's hand and took a bite of it.

It was sweet and irresistibly deep. For a moment, Mexico forgot that he was sitting right next to an empire, and let himself focus on the taste. France ran one hand softly up the side of Mexico's face and said, "You see, it can be quite pleasant. There is no commitment, just pleasure."

The touch sent little sparks of sensation down Mexico's neck. He was suddenly very aware that no one had touched him like that in years. He had not had a lover since America had stabbed him in the back. That pain had driven him from every liaison. A craving, deeper than any he felt for the cake or the company, bloomed in his gut.

France continued with a little sly smile, "So, have you thought about my offer?"
Mustering his only resistance, Mexico said, "I am considering it."

He knew the coyness hid very little. France was used to seduction enough to know when a deflection was just that. He put his other hand on Mexico's thigh. It sent another set of sparks through him and drove the craving even lower in his body.

The blonde leaned in close, so close that Mexico thought he might take the initiative and kiss him. He could smell the subtle perfume on the blonde hair and it was intoxicating. France whispered in his ear, "I want you to say yes so I can ravish you. I want to find every sensitive spot on your beautiful body. I want to make you tremble with pleasure. I want to hear your lovely voice moan my name. All you need to do is say you want that too. Do you?"

Mexico felt the lust in his gut burning and demanding that there was no way he could turn it down. He wanted more viscerally than he had felt in decades and France was offering that, with no commitment at all. As he met France's eyes again, he found his voice and said, "Yes, I do."

It felt like an admission to the most carnal of cravings, but it was hard to feel ashamed. As France joined their lips, it felt so right. He tasted like sweet wine and roses, and Mexico gladly kissed him deeply. It felt so good, so right to let himself give in to this.

One of France's hands was leaving light touches up his thigh, and the other moved up his neck. Without breaking the kiss, or even opening his eyes, France undid the knot holding Mexico's hair in a ponytail.

He ran his fingers through it, as he finally pulled back from the kissed and left Mexico pulling in deep breaths. Mexico felt lightheaded as he let himself be pulled into France's lap.
His skin was burning with need, and it felt like France was playing with him. Unbidden, a needy whine escaped his throat. France chuckled, "We have all the time in the world, mon cher. There is no need for that."
Mexico countered, "You promised me bliss. I expect to be in heaven."

France took Mexico's shirt firmly in hand, and pulled it off. He said, amusement in his voice, "I will have to teach you some patience. I'm not going to be abrupt. That is no way to treat someone as beautiful as you." Mexico took his shirt all the way off, balled up the shirt, and threw it away, so his chest was bare.

France leaned forward and ran his tongue up his chest. Mexico let out a breathy moan. He had missed this so much more than he had realized. It had been so long, and the sensation was welcome.

France left light kisses up his neck. Mexico felt the other's hand move down him back and dip beneath the waistband of his pants. It was slow, teasing. France finished his slow progress up his neck and spoke in Mexico's ear again, "Do you like that?"

His tone was smooth and sensual, inviting the response. Mexico wrapped his arms securely around the blonde's shoulders and said firmly, "I want more."
France purred, "So demanding."

He joined their lips again, his touch firm but still gentle. As they kissed, France took his hand from Mexico's lower back and started to work on his own pants. Hungrily, Mexico pulled himself deeper into the kiss and rose up on his knees for a better angle and to allow France to take his pants off more easily.

France pulled away from the kiss only long enough to pull in a breath and say, "If you want me to stop, you need only say so."

Mexico looked into his eyes and felt a profound control. He could stop this moment, even when he had committed this much. But, that was not what he wanted. He was craving more with every fiber of his being, and it was fully his choice. He replied, "I really want this tonight."

A smirk curled up the corner of the blonde's mouth. He said, "Only for tonight?"
Mexico let out a short laugh and replied, "I'll decide later."
He paused before adding, "If you impress me."

—-

The Second Empire

Mexico was laying in bed, with a blanket half-heartedly pulled up over his legs. It was far too warm and sticky in the room for him to want even a single covering. Even the light blanket felt stifling.

He turned his head to see France's long golden locks of hair on the pillow next to him. He felt a strange disconnect from the fact that he was laying next to a man who had conquered him by force. He should be able to muster anger at the fact that France had defeated him and forced him to accept a puppet government. But, he had let himself bring France into his bed and spent the night in the kind of bliss that let him forget everything.

It had been incredible to let himself relinquish all control and have another man gently use his body. He couldn't help but think that it was strange to put so much trust in a man who he neither loved nor cared for outside of this bedroom. It had felt natural enough though.

But, now that the afterglow was gone, the feeling of discomfort was growing. It was becoming harder to lay here and look at the sleeping face of an invader. Mexico sat up, and noticed how France barely stirred at his movement. The man must have been entirely exhausted from the night's entertainment. Mexico, however, felt like he could not possibly sleep.

It was a warm summer night and it didn't feel worthwhile to lay beside another person, especially when he was certain that he would not sleep. He grabbed a pair of pants and an undershirt and pulled both on as quietly as he possibly could.

He wanted to leave this room and find quiet and peace elsewhere in the palace. If it were his own house, he wouldn't bother with clothing. But there was a possibility of running into a servant or another person as he walked. So, for the sake of limiting the spread of gossip and rumors, he covered himself.

He stumbled slightly as he pulled on the pants. His tired legs did not hold his weight as easily as they usually did, but the sound of him faltering didn't wake France. The man didn't even stir in his sleep.

He then pulled a silk robe over his own shoulders. That should be enough clothing that he wouldn't scandalize anyone he happened upon. He still left the belt loose around his waist, because it would feel constraining otherwise.

He stepped carefully over the clothing that had been thrown to the floor, taking little notice of it beyond what was necessary to avoid stepping on it. The moonlight filtering in through the windows was enough to see where he was putting his feet.

He managed to reach the door without making any noise. Sneaking out was an old skill that he had practiced enough as a colony.

In the adjacent room, there was still a half empty bottle of Champagne, surrounded by plates of rich sweets. It had not taken France long to discover Mexico's fondness for deserts and chocolates, and Mexico could not deny that France's baking was divine. He walked to the table and picked up a petit four drizzled in chocolate and took a bite of it.

The taste was still incredible, though it was not as fresh as it had been hours ago when he had eaten the same cake from France's hand. Then it had been recklessly indulgent, even sinful.
He finished the small cake and decided not to take another. The joy of it was fading and he felt a disgust at the way he had let himself be so easily intoxicated by good food and fine wine and not guarded himself against France.

He took the bottle of wine and poured himself another glass. If he was going to be awake with just his thoughts, he wanted to have the alcohol to dull them. It was not an elegant solution, but drink had been a consistent way to deal with his thoughts. He filled the glass before placing the bottle back down softly. Then he took the glass and began to walk, without taking a single drink yet.

He walked until he reached a door to the outside. The layout of the castle was familiar to him, though new furniture now occupied the rooms. It was easy enough for him to find his way around in the dark without lighting a candle, which might bring attention to him.

He pushed the door open and stepped out onto the terrace. He stepped closer to the edge, where there was a balustrade he could easily lean on. Once he reached it, he glanced around.
He could see flowers on the hill below him, and they were beautiful in the moonlight. The castle was becoming a proper royal residence, but he felt little joy in that.

He took a drink of wine, hoping for some relief from the disappointed frustration. It had always been his dearest ambition to be an empire like his mother had planned for him. But, this seemed like a strange perversion of that dream. The regime was not his own; it was the government of France's choosing.

The emperor was a foreigner. His democratically elected president was in hiding, and he wouldn't know where until he got another letter in secret from Juarez. But, with the French army so firmly in control, there seemed little chance of returning his president to power.

Mexico bit back his own frustration. He should feel so much bitter hatred towards the whole situation, and the lack of it was puzzling to him. It was wrong for him to enjoy even a single morsel given by an invader, but he had enjoyed it. When had he become a coquet who could let himself smile and flirt in the lap of an empire? He felt like, somewhere in the years of battle and chaos, he had become weak.

In the moment, he felt like he was miles away from the young man he had once been. He may have been naive then, but he had spent his independence on the battlefield. He had fought for every moment of it and refused to ever surrender. How, he mused, was this different?

He took another drink, though the wine was not having the effect he had hoped for. His thoughts were still strong, and shameful.

This was foreign occupation, and Mexico was doing nothing to fight it anymore. He could have spent his independence in Spain's bed, and he would have been welcomed there. He could have waited for mortals to bring it to him. But, that was cowardice. So, why was he content with it now?

It didn't seem to make a difference in his mind that he was sending letters to Juarez through a messenger that he knew for certain would die for Juarez. Or that his president had told him not to abandon the capital, and to play along while he must, that he would give the impression that the government was secure and supported.

But, the reality of the situation was not what was making him question himself. It was that he was genuinely enjoying the moment. It almost felt like a victory that he had lost a war, and yet he lived in comfort. France offered him whatever he wanted, and demanded little in return. In terms of occupation, this was the kindest it could possibly be. It was as if he had won the best possible comfort for himself.

The thought made him feel physically sick. He took another gulp of wine. It was all wrong. He could not let himself revel in this, even if he had everything he could possibly want.
The question came back to his mind, still so terrible: Why couldn't he hate this?

The worst thought came, not for the first time. It was because everyone who had ever gossiped about him were right, and always had been. He was a whore who could be comfortable being subjugated. For all the fighting to prove that he was something other than that, the rumors had never faded, and now they felt true.

The thought, the one that he usually tried to keep far from his mind, sent a shudder of revulsion through his body. Had he proved them all right with this indulgent selfishness?

He felt his hand tighten on the glass. There was no use in a crown and pleasure if it meant he was still under the thumb of a European power, even one that treated him well. He put his free hand on the balustrade and felt his hand tighten as he thought.

He took another drink, effectively draining the glass.

His thoughts turned again, this time with cold determination. He had lived hundreds of years in a court where he was showered with gifts and attention, and he had remained distant through all of it. This had to be the same. He could appear to accept everything and be happy with his position, while keeping himself cold to everything. He could still accept France's advances and enjoy them without letting the man in.

Mexico placed the glass of wine to the side by his feet. He was determined now that he needed to play the whore for now, and make France believe it. But, he would regard France and his puppet emperor with nothing but disdain. That would keep any enjoyment and contentment at bay and allow him to feel the resentment that he so desperately craved.

A sound broke through the quiet night. It was the sound of little running paws. Mexico turned to see one of his chihuahuas running towards him across the dark terrace.

The dog stopped quickly right at his feet and pawed uncomfortably in place while letting out a insistent whine. They all did this when they wanted to be picked up and held.
Mexico gladly obliged him, the company would make him feel better for now. He bent and picked up the small dog in one arm.

As he straightened back up, he realized that there was a gleam of candlelight at the door that the dog had run out of. Mexico slowly looked up and realized that there was a tall figure taking steps towards him.

"Alexander?"

Mexico recognized the voice of his emperor and he drew in a breath. He straightened up with his dog held firmly against his chest. He then responded, "Yes, Your Highness?"

His emperor walked towards him, and he was a striking figure in the low light. He was tall, but not imposing. Mexico reminded himself that he must keep his distance around this foreign emperor, the fixture of an imposed regime. He steeled himself for this conversation.

Maximilian finally spoke once he was close enough, "That little one came to me, and wanted to be let out here. I think he wanted to see you."

Mexico glanced down at the dog who looked back up at him with what seemed like feigned innocence. He was surprised, though. His dogs were protective and had always been openly hostile to people who meant him harm. It seemed odd that one of them would lead Maximilian directly to him.

Mexico responded with all the courtesy he could muster, "They usually do not like strangers. I hope he did not wake you."

Maximilian shook his head with a small smile. He replied, "I was in my study. I was thinking about Juarez and I could not sleep."

Mexico hadn't realized that he was slightly drunk until he tried to focus his will on keeping Maximilian at a distance. For all of his thoughts of caution, his impulses tend to run more freely when he drank.

He was smiling as he said, "I could not sleep either."
The admission made it feel like there was something in common between them. Maximilian smiled with a kindness that made Mexico feel profoundly unsettled, and he said, "What is on your mind?"

It was an honest question, but there was no way that Mexico could answer it. Instead he shook his head and said, "It is not important."

He expected that to be enough to end the conversation. But, Maximilian stepped closer to him and took his left hand in his own. Mexico could have pulled his hand away, but he didn't.
The mortal spoke again and his tone was soft, "Your worries are important and I want to understand all of them. I want to be a good emperor to you." His hold on Mexico's hand was gentle, almost distractingly so. Before Mexico could think of a way to deny that he was worried, the mortal spoke again, "I understand if you do not want to tell me now. This is a new arrangement and I know you will need time to trust me. But, I promise that I will listen when you feel ready."

The respect in the words struck Mexico speechless. He couldn't quite believe that a man who had accepted the crown was treating him so thoughtfully . It was the first time they had really spoken outside of politics and formality. He hadn't had a chance to realize how the distance between them was meant to be polite to him. Maximilian was trying to give him the distance he needed to adjust to the change.

Mexico said, not quite thinking of the words before he spoke, "Thank you for that." In the mixture of flickering candlelight and moonlight, Mexico could see the glowing smile on the mortal's face.

If he had been sober, it would have been easier to ignore the emotions that the smile elicited. But, uninhibited as he was, he found himself smiling back. Maximilian said, "I am grateful that you have given me this opportunity."

When Mexico met the man's eyes, he realized something terrible: Maximilian didn't know that he was a puppet. He believed that Mexico had a choice in making him emperor.

He drew in a deep breath as the weight of the realization hit him. Whatever his flaws, the mortal was not complicit in this; he was a man truly convinced that he had the support of the country he rules.

Maximilian spoke again, "I will leave you with your thoughts. But, if worries are still plaguing you, I will be in my study and I will be glad to listen. Good night." With that, he turned and walked back into the palace.

Mexico let out a breath as he watched the light of the candle fade. The plan he had decided on was already unraveling. It was clear that he would not be able to treat his emperor with any dislike, no matter what he felt for France.

He looked down at the dog in his arms, the one who had led Maximilian to him and so effectively ended his painful contemplation. He said playfully, "Why did you have to make everything hard, you little traitor? I hope you're proud of yourself."

The only response he got was an excited yip and a lick across his cheek.

—

The Second Empire

Mexico rolled over in bed and slowly opened his eyes. It must have been late morning judging by the light coming in from the veranda. The light was bright and pleasantly golden.
France was next to him, and he appeared to have already been awake for a while. He was propped up on one elbow among the pillows, with his golden waves falling gracefully onto the pillow.

With his effortless, beautiful waves and the sun streaming in behind him, Mexico thought he looked like an angel. But, he thought, an angel didn't revel in temptation the way that France did. He had never realized exactly how handsome Francis was before, and it struck him in his half-asleep state.

The look in France's eyes was one of soft affection. Mexico rubbed his eyes and looked up at France. The blonde said, "You look so beautiful, Mexique."

Mexico smiled up at him, enjoying his handsome face and his soft voice. He said, "You don't have to call me that." He reached up and stroked France's face, feeling the pleasant roughness of his facial hair. He continued, "We're lovers now. You don't need to be so formal. You can call me Alejandro."

France's face brightened as soon as Mexico said that they were lovers. He had been so patient and after a few nights of intimacy, he finally got to hear the word. Francis said with a smile, opting for the French version, "Alexandre." He rolled the word on his tongue like it tasted pleasant. He seemed to enjoy being able to have this little extra piece of intimacy.

Then he used the hand that he had not propped himself up with to stroke Mexico's face and his loose hair on the pillow. France's long fingers caught in a tangle in Mexico's dark hair. He paused in his movement and started to gently work the tangle with his fingers. France said, "Your hair is a mess, mon cher."

Mexico didn't doubt it with all the exertion of the night before. He had remembered France tangling his fingers through his hair in the throes of passion, and he was sure that had done enough to leave his hair a mess. He responded, "I think that is your fault, Francis."

France looked proud of the fact that Mexico was right. Mexico felt a bit like a prize that had been won, but at the moment he did not mind. He said, "If you sit up, I will fix the damage."

He leaned in and said softly in Mexico's ear, "I promise that you will look beautiful when I am done."
Mexico smirked at that. He replied, "I thought I was already beautiful."
France chuckled and corrected himself, "More beautiful. Now, sit up and I will brush your hair."

Mexico nodded and pulled himself up so he was seated with the sheet only loosely covering his lower body. There was no point in pretending at modesty now.

He felt France move closer, and then gently slip his hand into his hair. The feeling of the brush moving through his hair was very pleasant. It was surprisingly gentle, but Mexico realized he should have expected it since France was so gentle in bed too.

He closed his eye and enjoyed the feeling of Francis softly teasing the tangles out of his hair. This was nice, and it helped to soothe his worries about the empire. France was worlds away from Spain's harshness. This was not the treatment he remembered when he thought of empire.

France spoke, "I am so glad you have given me that chance. I want you to enjoy this."
Mexico felt a smile on his own lips, and he said, "I am enjoying you."

France brushed his hair to one side and laid a soft kiss on Mexico's neck and said, "This is just the beginning for us, mon cher."

—-

The Second Empire

Mexico leaned back into the freshly drawn bath and let out a sigh. This felt so nice to let himself relax for a night. He opened his eyes to stare at the dark red rose petals floating in the water. They were beautiful and he could see why France was so fond on the flower. The hot water felt good on his muscles, which had been exerted more often recently.

He let out a long sigh and sank lower into the water. This was a big bath tub, more than enough space for him. He had made the decision to buy one so large because it gave him space to move comfortably and submerge himself without any discomfort. This was his idea of leisure, completely relaxed and content surrounded by steam, candles, and the smell of roses.

He heard a light knock on the door and turned his head to look at who had knocked. He was not surprised to see France leaning ever so slightly into the room with a bemused smile.

He had just left France in the other room not a half an hour earlier. France said, "Do you mind some company?" Mexico smirked and said, "You missed me already?"

He was amused by the thought that France was already wanting more. The blonde took a step into the room, and discretely closed the door behind him. He said, "You may tell me to leave, if you would like."
Mexico scoffed in response, "Why? To protect my modesty?"

He laughed to himself at the absurdity of the idea that there was anything left to reveal amused him. They both already knew more than enough about each other's bodies. France said, patiently, "Because you may want to be alone."

Mexico thought about it for a moment. He could ask to have this time to himself, but it sounded lonely in the moment. He liked the feeling of having someone there with him. He said, "I don't want you to leave."

France smiled like he had anticipated this answer. He walked closer, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he got closer. Then, slowly, he pulled the shirt from his shoulders and dropped it to the ground. His hair was still messy, and it was very sexy.

As France took off his pants, he pulled a bottle from his pocket and placed it on the side of the bath tub. Mexico picked it up as France worked on taking off his pants. He was intrigued with what France had brought him. All of Frances surprises so far had been enjoyable.

He opened the bottle and took an experimental sniff, saying as he did so, "What is this?" Whatever was in the bottle smelled pleasantly of roses.

France gave him a sly smile as he finished taking off the clothing he seemed to have only put on to walk from the bedroom to here. He said, "It's massage oil."

Mexico put the top back on and placed it on the side of the tub. He moved to make more room in the bath tub as France stepped into the water. France ran one wet hand through his messy hair, which made it no neater.

Mexico said, still impatient and very curious, "What is the massage oil for?" His mind could come up with several possibilities, but all of them were sexual and he was much too exhausted for that.

France picked up the bottle and said, "I will show you if you turn around." Mexico gave him one more questioning glance before obliging and turning his back to France.

There was a moment of quiet and then he felt France's slick hands on his shoulders, slowly starting to knead the muscles. It felt nice and Mexico let out a low groan. He hadn't noticed how sore his shoulders were until the feeling started to disappear.

France spoke as he slowly worked his way across Mexico's shoulders, carefully rubbing the tension out of his muscles, "You are going to be sore tomorrow, but this should help. I want to make sure you are comfortable."

Mexico wasn't going to complain. He would much rather not be in pain the next day, and what France was doing felt quite nice. He replied, "That is kind of you."

He hated not being able to see the other man's face, and knowing how he reacted to the comment. But, the response came softly, "It is my responsibility as your lover to make sure you are happy. If not, we are not making love. Without the care, it is just sex."

Mexico smiled to himself. None of his other lovers seemed to share that opinion. Alfred had been especially awkward and clumsy after their nights together.

He said, "I don't think anyone agree with you sentiment." France audibly scoffed and continued his work, moving down Mexico's back and masterfully avoiding his tattoo. France said, "I am not surprised that Alfred and Antonio were not gentle. I am a master of my craft."

Mexico laughed at that. France's soaring self confidence amused him. No one could accuse France of being a modest man, but he was undoubtedly skilled.

Mexico leaned back as France's hands traveled lower down his back. Those muscles were undoubtedly the sorest, and the attention was very welcome. He felt France's lips brush against his neck. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling.

As France's hands left his back, Mexico settled comfortably against the other man's chest. He said, keeping his eyes closed, "I think you are very good at this." France kissed him softly on the forehead, "Thank you, my dear."

—

The Second Empire

Mexico was open to trying whatever France suggested, since every little game of theirs had been fun. He got a chance to not think of Juarez or Maximilian or the impossible choice they were presented to him. With France inside of him, it was easy to think of nothing else but pleasure. He craved that kind of release.

So, when France pulled him aside after a formal court dinner and said that he had something new he wanted to try, Mexico wasn't going to say no to it. He let France take him by the hand and lead him to one of the many unused bedrooms in the palace.

Once the door opened, he had some idea of what was different. There was a large mirror set up behind the bed, reflecting the whole surface. Mexico thought for a moment that a mirror that size must have been expensive.

He asked coyly, "What is this all about, Francis?"
France came closer and put his hands on his hips. He said, "I want you to see yourself the way I see you."

He pulled him into a kiss that Mexico did not resist. He liked the feeling of folding himself into France's arms and feeling like Francis was going to treat him well. He closed his eyes and opened his lips to allow France's tongue to penetrate his mouth. France always tasted good, like sweets and expensive wine.

He had no idea what France could mean by seeing himself differently, but he was going to let it happen. Whatever it was, he was sure he wanted it.

France expertly grabbed the bottom of Mexico's shirt and pulled it off over his head. He tossed it away and then turned Mexico's face towards the mirror.

Mexico could see his own lips still slightly parted and a flush in his cheeks. There was something deeply arousing about knowing how he looked when he was giving himself over to pleasure.

France said, lips almost touching his ear, "Do you see how good you look?" Mexico nodded, and saw the handsome, overwhelmed stranger in the mirror nod too.

France's hands trailed down from his hips onto his butt, and he could see it so clearly. Then France gave his butt a firm squeeze and said, "And your ass is so hot."

Mexico wanted to find this hot, but his eyes were drawn away from his butt, up to his exposed lower back. There was a scar there that cut from his right shoulder to his left hip like the ugly gash it had once been.

It was where an American soldier had plunged his saber into his back, when Alfred had been too much of a coward to face him himself. It was so ugly, and marred the part of his body that had once been praised. How kind of Alfred to ruin his beauty if he couldn't have him.

He saw his own face start to fall at the thought. France seemed to see it too, because he said, "You're looking at it, aren't you?"

Mexico didn't have to ask what he was referring to. He had brought up more than once than he didn't like France looking at it or touching it. It was an ugly thing and he did not want to be reminded of it. There was no hiding his insecurity, so he nodded.

France took him by the shoulders and turned him around so that his torso was facing the mirror and his knees were against the edge of the bed. France was right behind him, with his hands still on his shoulders.

He leaned in and traced his tongue along the shell of Mexico's ear. Mexico saw the flush begin to rise in his cheeks again. France then said, "You are still beautiful. One scar doesn't change that."

He kissed his cheek and then his neck. His hands left Mexico's shoulder and one came to the front of his chest and began to play with one of his nipples. Mexico moaned and his reflection made the most exquisite face. Mexico felt a burgeoning arousal at seeing the way his reflection reacted.

Then, France ran the finger of his free hand over Mexico's back tattoo. The sensation was incredible and set his skin on fire. He saw himself, through half-lidded eyes, arch his back.

He had never quite realized before how he looked in these moments, and seeing himself like this made him almost understand why his lovers praised his beauty and men had been so insistent on a night with him.

He heard the moan escape his vocal cords. The reflection of France smiled and whispered in his ear, "Do you see now? You are a beauty, and this is how I see you."

Mexico nodded again, and France gently captured his lips in a long, slow kiss that left Mexico hot all over. He desperately wanted France to continue to touch him and to see how it looked when he did. As France pulled away from the kiss, he said, "Now get on the bed and spread your legs for me."

—
The Second Empire

Mexico tightened the silk scarf around France's wrist, making sure that it was secure against the bed post. He ran his finger softly around the place where the pale skin met the red scarf and saw goosebumps bloom on the skin.

He then leaned back so that he was straddling France's hips. The blonde was looking up at him with his eyes full of longing and lust. He looked so helpless and needy. France was stuck tied to the bed and completely naked, waiting for his lover to act.

Mexico had every intention of savoring this state of affairs. Mexico slowly leaned forward and France arched up towards him, but the bonds limited his movement.

Mexico stopped with his face an inch away from France's. He could have easily kissed him, but for now he was going to enjoy his advantage. He kept his face close, and gently ran both hands up France's sides.

He heard to other pull in a sharp, excited breath. France leaned forward, so that he might be able to close the space between them and kiss Mexico. But, as he leaned forward, Mexico leaned back far enough so that he was just out of reach.

France let out a little whine. He said, his head falling back onto the pillow, "You're a tease."
Mexico raised one eyebrow at him and said coyly, "Am I?"

One of his hands found one of the other's nipples, and he started to play with it gently between his fingers. France let out a breathy moan. Mexico couldn't deny that he felt a rising arousal at watching France react under his hand, completely helpless to what he chose to do.

He decided that he wanted to continue his little game and seeing how much he could get France to react. He put his lips softly against France's neck just below the ear. It was a sensitive spot and he had been France's lover long enough to know it was especially sensitive for France.

The skin of his neck was so soft under his lips as he left light kisses. He drew in a deep breath and his lungs were filled with the smell of roses that clung to France's hair.

Getting more daring, he gave France's earlobe a nibble. The moan that France let out sent Mexico's blood rushing south. He had never realized before how intoxicating it could be to be in control of another man's reactions. Especially this man. Outside of this room, he still had control of the empire, and Mexico was his dependent. But, in this moment, in bed together they had reversed the roles. Mexico had complete control over him. The mighty empire was as helpless as a kitten, and mewled just as pleasingly.

Mexico's hand that was not occupied on France's chest moved further down so that he could feel exactly how hard the blonde was. He gave France's arousal a teasing stroke and said in his ear, "You're really into this, aren't you?" France replied, sounding like he was struggling to speak without moaning, "Yes-"

Mexico ran his fingernails across France's inner thigh and a groan cut off the rest of what France wanted to say. Mexico felt an impish smile on his face at how amused he was.

When he regained some little bit of his composure, France said "Please just fuck me."
Mexico said, as he gave the blonde one more stroke, "Oh, but I am having such fun. If only your hands were free."

He left another, deeper kiss on France's neck and then his jaw, where Mexico's lips met with stubble. He didn't mind, the roughness against his lips was pleasing.

Finally, he moved his lips to France's, and finally connected them in the kiss that he had been teasing. He could feel France's need in the way their lips hungrily fit together and France kissed him like he thought he might pull away again at any moment.

The way that France, even restrained, was pulling at the scarves to get to him was a heady things. It made Mexico feel so needed, so deeply lusted after. He felt like he was powerful and beautiful.

Francis moaned against his lips as he deepened the kiss even further.

Blindly, Mexico reached out in the direction of the bedside table. He was hoping to grab a bottle of oil that they had been using as lubricant. He remembered leaving it there the night before. But, it was difficult to find without looking.

He did not want to part himself from France's hungry lips. Finally, his hand bumped into it. He blindly grabbed it and only then pulled away from France and said, "Now, I am going to fuck you."