Author's Note: I wanted to try looking at France's libido from a perspective other than lust. This is what happened.

Slightly inspired after listening to Patrick Wolf's The Childcatcher so many times.

I was still a child when you caught me, and tied me to your bed.
You gave me shoes and pretty clothes, and I gave you what I had between my legs.
Just a rite of passage, you held me down and said
"I'm gonna be your right of passage, so boy you better spread, spread 'em."

France can still remember the first time he had sex.

Most speculate it was with his first crush, Scotland. Or with his lifelong frienemy, England. Maybe he laid twenty toes with Prussia? Perhaps he was vulgar and perverse and took his young ward, Canada. There could have been some fooling around during America's revolution (and his own). Spain's oblivious nature taken advantage of? Then there was little Italy and his naïve curiosity. And let's not forget his strange relationship with Romano; surely this could be a viable reason for the boy to fear him so?

But these are all theories.

None are correct.

Despite this, people will still claim 'how it went down'. Romantically, they say, France the country of passion must have claimed or been claimed on rose petals, sheets woven from silk, a beautiful candlelight accenting the mood. Love would blossom, spread its roots and bind the country to the act, budding into desire before blooming into lust. Why else would France seek partners so much, if not to relive the beauty of the first time?

But these are also theories.

They are also incorrect.

Most forget France has Roman roots. His flesh is pale, his hair yellow, and his eyes blue. The only connection that remains is his language; Latin in origin, a Romance language in both of the meanings. Eldest of 'Grandpa Rome's Boys', the blond holds the entitlement of Big Brother with pride. And yet it is most likely thanks to these factors that his first time happens as it does.

In Ancient Rome, children are wed at young ages, barely past their first decade when they become betrothed and expected to make a family of their own. Countries age differently than humans, slow to get their years but quick to gain their experience. Perhaps this is how he has justified his actions.

France was 10. Emotionally, mentally, physically by medical standards, 10. But his experience is well past 200, his accumulated wisdom sharper than the village elders, and yet France is 10, and doesn't know how to use it. 200 means nothing to him, because he is a 10-year-old-boy and 10-year-old boys were expected to study and mature, grow into men, and colonies to build their own culture and adapt, to grow into their own country.

France thinks as a colony, acts as a boy, because he is one.

A boy with blond hair and blue eyes and skin as white as snow, a stark contrast to everyone else's dark hair, tanned flesh, rich eyes.

Rome lusts for Germania.

France has German features.

France can still remember the first time he has sex, in a chamber hall at night because his mentor's lust had finally driven him insane. Luring him from his brothers, Rome pretties him with lies, and with that first thrust shatters the mirror. The first, second, thirdfourthfifth time he has sex, it hurts.

And France learns that sex is not for enjoyment or procreation or pleasure, but a feral instinct that must be quenched repeatedly to keep sane.