The War for Independence

Mexico wrote the last words of the final draft of the letter and leaned back to let the ink dry. Guerrero was sitting at his side, with one arm casually on the back of Mexico's chair. They had ceased any sense of propriety after the third draft of the letter. Mexico turned to his general and said, "Are you happy with it yet?"

Guerrero leaned forward, and as he did so his arm touched Mexico's shoulders. Mexico was distinctly aware of the contact, and he wished for a moment that Guerrero would just wrap his arms around him and hold him. It sounded so good to have the man wrap him up in his arms. He put the feeling down to being tired and being alone together.

Guerrero said, after he had read through the draft of the letter, "I think this one is sufficient."
Mexico said, leaning back, "I am glad. You have been very particular. I want you to be comfortable with this."

Guerrero did not move his arm, even though he could certainly feel Mexico against it. Instead of acknowledging the contact, he said, "I don't think I will ever be completely comfortable with this, Ale."

Mexico imagined that he felt the other's arm tighten around him. He spoke, addressing what Guerrero had said, "What are you scared of, Vicente?" He needed to know why the meeting with Iturbide was making his general so uncomfortable, he wanted to assuage it. He wanted to be certain that he was not opposed to this plan.

Guerrero hesitated for a moment before he finally said, "I think he is going to hurt you. He cannot be trusted."
Mexico smiled slightly and said, "I don't trust him. That is why I told you about this. I don't want you to doubt me."

Guerrero met his eyes, and there were so many unspoken feelings in the depths of his eyes. He said, staying cautious, "I don't doubt you. I trust you more than anyone else."

Mexico leaned closer, he wanted to have the other's complete attention. He felt his heart skip an unbidden second. He fought down the feeling, because he could not let Guerrero see how deeply he felt. He couldn't let him see about how his mind was flitting to how it might feel nice to be held by someone who protected him so selflessly. Keeping his voice calm, he said, "Then why are you so worried? I won't let anything happen. It's just a conversation."

Guerrero mirrored his lean and Mexico was suddenly aware of how close together they were. It did nothing to stop the thought of how good it would be to touch his general. Guerrero said, his voice was different, like he was telling an important secret, "I have thought so many times about when you tried to leave, and how it felt to almost lose you. I have thought about how if I had been even a little too late, you would have been gone."

Mexico reached out and took his general's hand in his own. He did not want to cause this worry; he regretted that moment more than anything thus far in the insurgency. He had hoped not to cause Guerrero any pain, and he had not thought it through. He said, trying to be comforting, "I am so grateful that you did stop me."

Guerrero responded slowly, his eyes flitting down to Mexico's hand on his, "I felt something incredible then, I had never been more certain that I would rather die than let you go. I had never felt that before."

Mexico felt like the conversation was drifting further from the original point, but he did not mind. He had not heard a confession this honest from the man before, and Guerrero was usually so forthcoming with his thoughts. He thought back to that morning and the way that he had felt when their eyes had met. Had it been mutual? The thought was too incredible and it did not seem likely.

Mexico would not assume the stirring emotion in his heart was shared, and he dared not voice it. So, he only said, "I did too. I knew that you would give your whole heart for my cause."

He felt Guerrero's arm tighten around him in the way he had been wishing for. It sent a pleasant, comforting warmth across his body, it was different than anything he had felt with a lover before. It did not feel like lust, more like being perfectly content. Guerrero spoke again, his voice little more than a whisper now, "My heart is yours, and it always be. I've never felt this way about another man before; I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Mexico's heart skipped several beats at what he thought he had just heard. He rejected the idea that it could be a confession of love. But then the mortal pulled his hand away from his and put it lovingly on Mexico's face. All doubts and rationalizations disappeared from his mind, and he couldn't bring any words to his lips.

Guerrero guided his face with care towards him, and touched their lips. It was barely a kiss, just a touch of their lips, but Mexico felt pleasant tingles spread from the spot. He hadn't realized how much he had been craving exactly this, but in the moment he did not want to stop.

Much to his displeasure, Guerrero pulled away and tried to speak, "I shouldn't have done that. If you want to leave, I understand."
Mexico shook his head. He was already on fire with this foreign, sweet sensation and he wanted more. He said, "No, no. I want this."

The mortal's eyes widened in shock, like he hadn't expected his impulsive gesture to be tolerated, let alone welcomed. Without waiting for a reply that might not come, Mexico leaned back in and kissed the mortal more forcefully. Now that he knew that Guerrero wanted this contact, he would not hold back.

The mortal pulled him closer, and Mexico enjoyed it immensely, it felt natural to be close. Mexico ran his hand up his general's face, and he felt the curls of Guerrero's sideburns under his hand. He heard the other let out a moan as he deepened the kiss. Mexico felt like he was melting against the other man; it was so different from each of his lovers.

He had to pull away eventually to take a breath. Guerrero was now holding onto his shoulders tightly, and when Mexico pulled out of the kiss, Guerrero's other hand returned to his face. He felt like the man was holding him like something valuable but fragile.

He finally said, "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"
Mexico smirked and said the first thing that came to mind, "I have three hundred more years of practice, remember?"
Guerrero chuckled and said, "And have you had three hundred years of lovers?"

Mexico was about to respond with something witty, since it seemed like a waste of time to actually discuss it. But before he could say anything, Guerrero said, "Never mind, I do not want to think of who else you have kissed. I just want to be here with you tonight."
Mexico smiled and said, "You can have that."

Then he leaned in again and kissed the mortal's lips. This time he felt no hesitation in Guerrero's touch. Their lips molded together like they were meant to fit against each other, and Mexico let the other take control. He felt no danger or reservation in letting someone who had always protected him have some control over him.

But, it was not enough just to have their lips touching. Where Guerrero's hands were touching him, on his shoulder and on his face, there was a pleasant warmth unlike anything he had felt at the hands of anything else. It was different, sweeter. But it made the rest of his body long for that touch.

It wasn't enough just to lock lips and hold him close. Mexico's heart was pounding in his chest, telling him with every beat to push further. He pulled away again, but kept touching the other as much as he could. The arms of the chairs between them were so conspicuous. Mexico had the urge to pull himself into his general's lap and press himself against his chest. He was distinctly aware of how long it had been since the last time he was even kissed. His body felt like it was starved for touch, and all sense of caution deserted him.

He said, his eyes locking on Guerrero's , "I want you to hold me. I need you to touch me." He expected that the other might pull away from him, possibly repulsed by the idea of moving so quickly.
But instead, Guerrero brushed his lips against Mexico's one more time and said, "And I want to touch you."

Mexico kissed him lightly one more time before standing up. He pulled off his jacket as quickly as he could and threw it over the back of the chair, barely caring so long as the clothing was off of his body. Guerrero stood too, and with incredible gentleness, wrapped his arms around Mexico. He ran one hand down Mexico's chest, and he looked mesmerized by what he could see it just under Mexico's thin shirt.

The country said, "What is so incredible?"
Guerrero replied with an almost shy smile, "You are. I have thought about what you look like under your clothing."

The revelation made Mexico think about all the times he had caught the man staring at him. It had never crossed his mind that there had been other feelings beneath the surface.

He smiled teasingly and replied, "Well, then let me show you."
He reached down and pulled off his shirt so that Guerrero could see his chest without any impediment. The mortal gasped quietly and Mexico was surprised that his physique could get that reaction. But, it all became clear when Guerrero said, "I didn't know you had a tattoo."

His eyes were on the band around Mexico's upper arm. Mexico said, "I have more than one. Do you want to see the other?"

Guerrero nodded.

Mexico turned around so that the mortal could see the eagle across his shoulder blade. There was another audible gasp and Mexico felt Guerrero run his finger over the skin just under the tattoo as he said, "It's beautiful."

He smiled, though he knew that the mortal could not see his face from that angle. It felt intimate to share something as important as this. He said, "My mother gave them to me, and Antonio could never erase them."
Guerrero touched Mexico's shoulder and he said, "I love them; I love what they mean. You are so much more than I could ever have hoped for."

Mexico turned back around to face his general, and said the words immediately in his heart, "No, you are my hero. I've been alive over three hundred years and I have never met anyone like you." He leaned in and kissed Guerrero again, this time pulling himself against the taller man's chest. Guerrero's arms tightened around him, holding him tightly.

Mexico felt his heart pounding, he felt protected and loved. The mortal's hand brushed against the tattoo on his back and Mexico moaned and let himself melt against the taller man. Mexico was burning, and it was so sweet.

He could not think of anywhere he would rather be than wrapped up in those arms. Guerrero started pulling off his own shirt, so that it was just skin against skin. Taking deep breaths, the mortal pulled away and said, "Ale, let me take you to bed."

His eyes were so sincere and there was love in the depths that stirred Mexico so deeply. He didn't think for a moment to refuse. He said, "Yes, I would like that."

Within minutes, they were in bed, and Guerrero paused for a moment. He bit his lower lip and then spoke again, "I have never done this with another man. I don't know what to do."
Mexico touched his face and said, "Don't worry. We will figure it out. Just do what feels right. I trust you."

The mortal nodded, though he still felt nervous, and began to kiss down Mexico's chest, then his abdomen. The touch was so light, and so careful, yet full of passion. It was better, than every other lover, even though it was clumsy and unsure. It was so true, and so incredibly new. Mexico surrendered himself to the feeling, and let himself fall into it.

An hour later, there were pieces of clothing scattered across the floor where they had been thrown out of the bed, and the two of them were laying together. Mexico was asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around his general. His head was resting on the mortal's chest, and his dark hair, which was usually pulled back into a low ponytail, was splayed out behind him.

Guerrero was looking at him and stroking the loose hair. Mexico looked so handsome like this, stripped of everything that had been imposed on him by Spain. Guerrero stroked his lover's hair and traced his jaw. He couldn't quite believe that this beautiful man was his to protect, and he couldn't stand the thought of him being anything but free. He deserved that much; he deserved to be free and to be as strong as he had the potential to be.

Mexico mumbled in a language Guerrero did not understand and pulled himself even closer. The mortal felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He knew there was still a letter to a man that he neither trusted nor liked that would be sent in the morning. It would invite another into their lives that could complicate them. But, in the moment he was perfectly content. He held onto Mexico and let himself fall asleep.

Mexico woke in the morning with a warm feeling in his chest; he still felt the glow of the night before. He turned to his side, but the bed next to him was empty. His heart dropped at the idea that he had dreamt it all, but he couldn't deny that he wasn't in his own bed.

He sat up and looked over. Guerrero was already dressed and seemed to be busying himself with picking up items and putting them down again. It was purposeless and obviously frantic. Mexico did not understand it, though he did recognize that it came from guilt. He thought of the way he used to react when he was with Brazil and the guilt over the affair drove him to get some distance. The thought caused him physical pain. The night had been so satisfying for him, and the thought that it had caused Guerrero guilt really hurt.

He said, trying not to let on how he felt, "Vicente, is something wrong?"
Guerrero turned to him, finally letting his hands be still. He said, "I shouldn't have seduced you. If you don't trust me after this, I understand." He had obviously been fixating on the idea that Mexico would be mad when he woke up about what they had done. This seemed like a prepared response.

The mortal, apparently realizing that Mexico was still completely undressed, looked away. But, the country refused to be ignored or turned away with a prepared answer. He spoke again, "Come sit with me." It sounded like a command, but he didn't know if it would be heeded. But, as he had hoped, Guerrero came and sat by him on the bed.

Once he was there, Mexico said, "You did not seduce me. I chose to be with you."
He reached over and took the mortal's hand. Guerrero did not pull away, though he did not look directly at Mexico yet. He said, "So, you aren't angry with me for it?" He added, with a dry chuckle, "I wasn't even very good."

Mexico put his hand under the other man's chin, and turned his face toward him. He wanted Guerrero to see the sincerity in his eyes when he said, "I'm not angry at all. It was wonderful, and I do not regret it. Do you?"

The mortal slowly shook his head.

Mexico did not let this stand alone; he said, "And do you love me?"

It was a hard question, but they had confessed as much last night. He just wanted to hear the words explicitly. Guerrero finally turned his head to meet Mexico's eyes, and he said, "I do, more than I have ever loved anyone."

Mexico replied completely honestly, "And I love you too. That's all that matters."

He pulled his general into one more kiss to show that everything would be alright.

The War for Independence

Mexico was laying in bed, already completely unclothed next to his general. Guerrero was already undressed as well, and Mexico had enjoyed helping him remove his clothing after a long day.

The room was unfamiliar, since they were on campaign and this was yet another building they had taken over for the night. At least this time it was a building instead of a tent in-between two towns. This at least had a bed instead of a cot, and a door they could close to be sure of privacy.

Guerrero was stroking his upped arm as he laid staring at him, occasionally touching the tattoo and sending warm, racing sparks across Mexico's body.

It had been a long day's ride, but not so long that they couldn't pull each other's clothing off once the door was closed. Mexico liked the slow, comfortable intimacy of their own exhaustion.

But, now that they had some actual privacy, he wanted more. It was so rare that they were able to have this kind of privacy, and he wanted to make the most of it.

As Guerrero kissed him softly again, he felt himself make a contented sound in the back of his throat. He ran his own hand over Guerrero's bicep, feeling the solid muscles under the skin. He loved the way the man was built, so strong and solid.

He said, as Guerrero's lips left his own, "I want you tonight." The other man smiled and ran his hand over the tattoo again, which made Mexico's body feel warm and needy all over. Guerrero said, "I want you too."

He pressed his lips against Mexico's again, still sweet but harder. Mexico felt so different from any other kisses, this gave him a kind of sweet heat. He felt like he could bask in this forever. Guerrero added, "I want you on top of me."

He brushed a piece of hair out of Mexico's face and continued, "I am tired, love. But I do want you tonight. I also love seeing the way your hips bounce on top of me."

The single vulgar phrase sent a thrill down Mexico's spine. He adored when Guerrero would speak to him in these dirty terms when it was just the two of them alone together. He smiled back and said, "I would love to."

Guerrero silently offered him his fingers to him and Mexico took them into his mouth. He tried to coat them well with spit, since it was all they had for lubricant in the moment.

Then, Mexico got up on his knees and allowed Guerrero to prepare him quickly. As he got up, the sheet and blanket fell off his back, leaving him completely exposed. The practiced motion of preparation came easily to them, and Mexico groaned in pleasure as the fingers found the right spot. He shifted his hips to bury the fingers a little deeper against that spot.

Guerrero took away the hand and Mexico knew exactly what to do next. He lowered himself slowly onto the other man, breathing out slowly through his nose as he did. The feeling was very good, but he also knew better than to be over eager and force it.

He watched Guerrero's face as he reacted to the friction. There was a wonderful look of bliss on his face. It was such a handsome look on his features.

Mexico started to move, slowly at first. He knew what he was doing, and he was fully determined to drive his lover to the edge with his slow, controlled movement. After such a long day, they both deserved prologued pleasure.

Guerrero's hands tightened on his hips, like they were begging him not to stop. Mexico moaned as he slowly increased his speed. His mind was totally focused on what he was doing.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Guerrero put one hand over Mexico's mouth to stop any moaning. A voice came from the other side of the door, "General?"

With some difficulty, Guerrero sat up and said in Mexico's ear, "Shhh" Then, he cleared his throat and said, "What is it?"

The man on the other side of the door replied, and sounded like he had not noticed anything, "There is important news."

Mexico was getting restless being perfectly still while the other was still deep inside of him. He wanted to keep going exactly as they had been. He hoped that the man would go away and not think he could open the door.

Guerrero said, trying to sound composed, "Can it wait for morning?"

Mexico hoped that it would. Leaving this unfinished would be so unfulfilling. There was a long silence, where Guerrero glanced at Mexico.

Finally, the soldier said, "Yes, it can."

Guerrero nodded, though only Mexico could see him. He said to the soldier, "I will tend to it then."

There was the sound of retreating footsteps. After another minute, he removed his hand from Mexico's mouth.

Mexico immediately began to laugh. It was so absurd that they had been able to pretend that nothing was happening, when they had still been in such an intimate embrace.

He caught his breath and said to Guerrero, "That was close."
Guerrero was smiling and shaking his head. He said, "I must make it clearer when I don't want to be interrupted,"

Mexico kissed him on the cheek, "Shall I continue or will we be interrupted again?" Guerrero chuckled, "I think we have privacy. Please continue."

—
The War of Independence

Mexico was laying on his bed, slightly drunk from the wine that he had taken from the large collection that Spain had left behind when he left. Guerrero was laying next to him, looking in his eyes. Mexico hadn't been back in this bed for ten years, since he had left to join Hidalgo's rebellion.

Now, he felt happier than he could remember being since he was a child. The wine had dulled any anxiety for the night, and he was busy watching the melting shades of brown in Guerrero's eyes.

The other man touched his hair lightly and tucked it behind his ear. It was slowly falling out of the ponytail that he kept it in, leaving messy strands loose around his face. Guerrero said, "It's your first night of freedom. What do you want to do?"

Mexico could feel that the three glasses of strong Spanish wine had gone to his head, leaving him in no mood to mince his words. He bit his lower lip and looked down at Guerrero's body.

Then he said, "I want to feel your dick inside me."
Guerrero chuckled as he pulled Mexico's body flush against his own. He said, teasingly, "Such dirty words. How did a well-bred man like you learn to talk like that?"

Mexico laughed as well. He found the question so amusing, because Guerrero knew the answer. He said, "I have spent too much time with soldiers."

He felt Guerrero pull him into a kiss, and he could feel that his own lips were less graceful than usual, but he was enjoying the way that his lover's tongue slipped into his mouth. He moaned appreciatively.

His lover's hands found his butt and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Mexico pulled out of the kiss and said, "Is that a yes?"
Guerrero said, "Absolutely."

The mortal smashed their lips together, like he had been starving in the seconds they had been apart. Mexico felt weak at the knees and was glad that he was laying down so that he would not collapse against Guerrero.

Mexico put his hands on Guerrero's face and held him close. He could feel the man's thick, soft sideburns under his hands. He could feel Guerrero's strong, calloused hands now roaming over the bare skin of his lower back.

His skillful hands slipped Mexico's pants off. Not to be outdone, Mexico started working on the laces of the other's pants so that he could take them off as well. It would only be fair if both of them were equally naked.

He managed it without looking; it was a well-practiced maneuver. It had been necessary when they only had flickering candle light to clumsily undress each other.

Their lips hardly parted as they both pulled apart, breathing in deeply. Mexico spoke, keeping his hands buried in Guerrero's side burns, "Chente, I love you so much."
The mortal was using both of his own hands to apply oil to his fingers. He said, earnestly, "I love you too, Ale. I want to make you happy."

His fingers started the preparation which was so usual to them by now. Mexico moaned gratefully. There was something special about the feeling of his general, friend, and lover being inside of him. It made him feel like they were one in both body and conviction.

He rolled onto his back and Guerrero took the invitation to position himself over him. Mexico craved him, so much that he found it difficult to be patient while Guerrero prepared him carefully. He wrapped his legs around Guerrero's hips and pulled him closer, trying to communicate the lust pulsing in his blood.

No matter his own eagerness, Mexico knew that his lover would not take the risk of hurting him. But, he did let out an impatient whine, "I'm ready. Just do it."
Guerrero chuckled and said, "As you wish."

The feeling of him pushing into him was so familiar to Mexico after they years they had been lovers, but he felt every bit of satisfaction. Now it was even more significant.

Mexico was almost overcome by the thought that this was so much better now that it had been when they had limited time and energy after a long day of fighting. Now he was in the middle of the luxury that Spain had built for him with the man he loved more than anyone else. The thought was completely intoxicating.

At the first thrust, he moaned and thought that this was what freedom was supposed to feel like. He was supposed to be free to love whoever he pleased. He was free to use his own body the way that he pleased.

Another thrust reduced the thoughts to overwhelming pleasure. He clung to Guerrero's broad torso, and pulled himself close enough to hold tightly onto the man.

He wanted to feel and experience every part of him. He breathed in the smell of Guerrero's skin. It was different now that he had bathed and no longer smelled of horses and gunpowder. But, he smelled so good and there was something about it that excited Mexico even more.

He placed a soft kiss on Guerrero's jaw before another thrust made him moan a little too loudly in the mortal's ear.

The speed of the thrusts increased, and Mexico did his best to hold on. He could feel in the mounting, vigorous passion that Guerrero was enjoying every moment of their triumph just as much as he was.

Mexico connected their lips again and again in sloppy kisses between the breathy moans that he could not restrain. The feeling was building in his gut as each well placed thrust sent him closer and closer to the edge. Guerrero knew him well and his aim was good.

Finally, he toppled over the edge and a single thought occurred to him in the midst of the pleasure: This was what he had fought for. This was the indulgence of freedom and he wanted nothing else.

Once they had both finished, Guerrero held him against his chest and Mexico fell into exhausted, contented sleep.

—-

1822

It was a strange feeling that it was Christmas and yet Mexico was rid of Spain. He had been away from Spain for the last ten years, but Christmas had never been an important day when they were at war. There had been some frivolity, but it was subject to the needs of war.

It was strange for Mexico to see the men who had been his commanders and generals with their families, actually allowing themselves to celebrate. Iturbide had a whole crop of children that Mexico had barely thought to ask about. There was something unsettling about the idea that he hadn't really gotten to know any of them beyond the battlefield.

He had his fill of small talk, and he couldn't deny that it was comforting to have this kind of normality again. It was everything he had appreciated about court life, but he did not have the feeling of eyes on him all night. He liked the thought that Spain would never again watch him from a distance to monitor his actions. He was free to do as he pleased within reason.

Holding onto his third glass of excellent, sweet wine, Mexico found his way to the edge of the room and the door that led out onto a balcony. It had been such a long time since he had been home.

But, there was one person that was not there whose presence Mexico had been craving. He had been seeing his former general and good friend less often, and his mind would not be still wondering at the reason. It was strange to him that Guerrero was not here on a festive night. But, Mexico pushed the thought away as he stepped out into the crisp night air.

He did not want to dwell on an unpleasant thought, not now. He took a long drink of wine before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He was still trying to get used to the idea that he was finally free. He smiled at the thought that there was no predatory Spaniard waiting for him. He could stay out as late as he wanted, drink as much wine as he wanted, and take someone to bed if he pleased. It was a glorious to think that it was all his decision now.

"Am I interrupting a thought." Mexico opened his eyes at the sound of a very familiar voice. He opened his eyes to see Guerrero standing in front of him. The man had not been there all night, but Mexico's heart swelled when he saw him.

He responded with a smile, "No, I was just reflecting. You're always welcome to interrupt me."
Guerrero changed the topic, "I am sorry that I was late, I did not mean to be. But, I wanted to be here for you."

He paused for a moment and stepped forward toward Mexico and then said, "Its a very special occasion. It's the first Christmas that you are free."

Mexico smiled, the two and a half glasses of wine he had drunk so far made him feel pleasantly warm and uninhibited. He replied with a sincere smile, "Freedom is the most beautiful gift you could have given me."

He meant it, especially after the thoughts that had been drifting through his mind. Guerrero responded with a charming smile, "Well then, I suppose I didn't need to bring this. It's just a book, but I think you will enjoy it."

He extended a package wrapped in carefully folded paper. Mexico took it and smiled more widely. He said, "I didn't get you anything."
The mortal shook his head, "You didn't need to. I just wanted to see you happy."

Mexico looked around to see if anyone was even out on the balcony, but they were completely alone. He stepped closer and said, "Come here. Let me show you that I am grateful."

The mortal caught his meaning and mirrored his step. Guerrero put his arms around Mexico's waist and pulled him closer. Then he said, "Merry Christmas, Ale." before pulling Mexico into a soft kiss.

—-

The Second Empire

Mexico was walking across the open verandas of Chapultepec, with a nagging thought in his head. It was the thought of Maximilian dancing with him, and the way the emperor's hand had pressed against his lower back. It was not an intimate touch, but he could not get it out of his head.

He decided that there was only one thing to do. He walked back into the castle and found his way to the door. He pushed it open, and was surprised to find that the room was still lit at this hour.

He had half expected to find his emperor asleep. Maximilian was in just his undershirt and pants, like he had been preparing to sleep but work had kept him awake. He rose to his feet and said, "Alexander, what is wrong?"

Without offering any explanation, Mexico took several quick steps, took his emperor's face in his hands, and pressed their lips together. Maximilian was shocked enough that he didn't kiss back at first. Mexico felt like he was letting out the feelings that the deceptively simple hand on his back had brought to the surface.

He had been straining to reach his emperor's height, and he slowly let himself down so he was standing on his flat feet again.

He had no idea if he had gone too far, but it felt right to have let out those feelings. He wasn't sure what to say to explain himself, and Maximilian was staring at him. He slowly chose the words, "I'm sorry. I needed to do that."

It was not as articulate as he had hoped, but it was what came to mind. Maximilian put a hand softly on his face and tilted it up so that Mexico was looking directly at him. He spoke, his quiet voice carrying in the empty space, "No, I didn't want you to stop."

He leaned forward and pressed their lips together again, this time with more certainty and authority. Mexico felt like he could melt against his emperor. This was exactly what he had wanted when they had danced so close.

He put his arms around Maximilian's shoulders and stood on his tip toes to reach him emperor's height. The kiss was firm, but so impossibly gentle.

As Mexico broke away, he held on firmly. He just needed a breath, but the last thing he wanted was for Max to let go of him. The other stroked his cheek with his thumb as he said, "Please come to bed with me, Liebling."

He didn't sound like a monarch. He sounded like a man asking earnestly for someone he loved to be with him. Mexico could feel his desperate sincerity, and he knew his answer. He replied, "Yes, I would like to."

With one smooth, gentle motion, Maximilian swept him into a bridal carry. He then took the few steps to the bed and set down Mexico on the blankets. Mexico wanted to pull him down on top of him, but he resisted the urge.

He waited patiently as his emperor laid next to him and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. Then, his hand slipped under Mexico's shirt.

Mexico woke with a start.

The dream had been so vivid, and he could almost still feel Maximilian's lips on his and the brush of his beard against his face. He stared at the ceiling.
Why had he dreamed that of all things?

Max was his emperor and he couldn't love him. He knew how much pain he would be inviting if he fell in love with a mortal again. But, his mind had decided to create a night of affection.
He sighed and turned over. The next day he would find a way for Francis to erase the thought from his head.

—

The Second Empire

Mexico found the emperor in the gardens, which already told him something important. Maximilian only stepped out into the garden when he was feeling stressed and overwhelmed by the pressures of the day.

Mexico felt the urge to go to him, and to tell him that everything would be right in time. But, there was a letter from Juarez hidden in his room that would break Maximilian's heart if he knew. The empire wasn't sustainable, and Mexico knew it more keenly than anyone. But, as he looked at his emperor, he felt nothing but the deepest sympathies.

He took quick steps to the man's side. The sound of his footsteps prompted the mortal to turn his head and smile. Mexico was glad to see that it was genuine, which meant that Maximilian had not been dwelling on something. He spoke as Mexico came to his side, "Good morning, Alexander."

His eyes were so full of light, and Mexico found himself smiling back. It was a warm, sunny morning, and the flowers in the garden were blooming so beautifully. Mexico found it hard to be unhappy about any of this. He wished for a single, reckless moment that Maximilian would sweep him into his arms.

But, he had to try to keep his distance. He looked away from Maximilian's staggering eyes and directed his gaze to where the emperor had been looking. There were two young boys chasing each other around the paths.

They both looked so happy in their own frivolity that it almost made it possible for Mexico to not see the shadow of their grandfather in their faces. Neither of them resembled Iturbide that strongly, but Mexico still felt the memory tugging at his mind. They were only recently arrived to the palace and Mexico was certain the effect would fade over time.

He said, speaking his mind aloud, "Are you really planning to adopt them?"

The plan had surprised him when Maximilian had first put it to him, and he had tacitly expected it to never come to fruition. He had expected Maximilian to crown an heir of his own, even if there was not one available yet.

The mortal nodded and said, "I have already drawn up the official papers."
Mexico turned to him and asked, "What makes you so certain that you won't have a child?"

He didn't know what he expected as an answer, but he was certain he did not expect for his emperor to brush the back of his hand with his own. He couldn't help but turn his eyes back to Maximilian, who said, "I know Carlotta and I will not have children, and you do know why, I think. It was never expected from me when I was an archduke. But, I can't leave you without."

Mexico felt a swelling of affection at the words left unsaid. The soft contact and the look in Maximilian's eyes said everything, but the idea scared Mexico. The sound of the children playing faded into the background as he felt the warmth of the day and allowed himself to dwell on the idea of what his emperor had said to him without saying it.

Mexico attempted to change the topic to something safer, "I don't think there have been boys in this palace since my brothers lived here." He tried to smile, though the memory of his brothers was far from pleasant. There had been moments of happiness, but nothing like the easy comfort of this moment.

Mexico lapsed into silence and hoped that Maximilian did not see the way his face fell. The empire tactfully looped his arm under Mexico's, and said sweetly, "Walk with me, Alexander. The boys are not done playing and we should enjoy the day."

Mexico could think of no reason to deny him. He nodded. The emperor took his arm more firmly in his hold, and slowly guided him. He added, his voice still soft, "I would like to know about your brothers, but I understand if you do not want to tell me."

Mexico drew in a breath and said with the most complete honesty he could muster, "I want to tell you so much."

His mind slipped back to the letter from Juarez. He couldn't say anything about that, even if he wanted to tell Maximilian so much of what was on his mind. The mortal nodded, and with the same patience that Mexico had come to appreciate, he said, "We have time. I will wait forever if you need me too."