Napoleon Bonaparte x James Garfield

Thsi si sin

Napoleon Bonaparte X James A. Garfield

Garfield studied his unfamiliar surroundings. The last thing he remembered was getting shot at, and lying on a spring mattress in a hospital. Garfield watched a white fog creep up his limbs. When he saw the pearly gates he knew where he was.
A man with a pair of periwinkle wings approached him. His suit matched those wings, and he wore glasses like James had never seen before. The periwinkle man made a clip board appear out of nowhere. Periwinkle scanned the page.
"Ah yes... Mr.James Garfield? Someone has been expecting you for quite some time." Said the man, pointing to a name at the paper. "If you want to meet up with him, just go that way!" He pointed randomly.
Curious, Garfield decided to follow directions and headed for his secret admirer. After 2 long minutes, he arrived at a French mansion, with several soldiers running around in the front yard. As soon as they saw Garfield, the stopped dead in their tracks. A few of them even took off their hats in honor. This pleased Garfield, and he entered the house without a second thought.
The house was absolutely stunning. Polished mahogany hard wood floors were in every room. Large bay windows provided beautiful natural lighting to fill the home. And finally, a single, curved staircase that led to a lone room upstairs. James assumed this was his destination, and wasted no time climbing the staircase.
He knocked on the door five times.
"Come in, Monsieur Prezident," called a voice from inside. The voice had a distinctive French accent, which was one of Garfield's turn ons.
Garfield opened the door to see Napoleon Bonaparte, posing seductively on a red velvet chaise lounge. He held a matching rose between his plump pale lips, and a golden crown sat on top of his fine dark hair. Garfield couldn't help but stare at Napoleon's tight breeches, which tugged and pulled at the curves in his legs and knees.
"Good day, General B-Bonaparte," he stuttered on accident, due to lack of confidence, which was caused by Napoleon's raw sexiness.
"Please," said Napoleon, swiftly moving his legs to make room for Garfield, "sit down.
Garfield did just that, and plopped down on the lounge with a squeak. Studied Napoleon's detailed uniform with admiration. He must've done a lot to earn that uniform.
"So, why'd you want to see me Mr.Bonaparte?" James asked, feeling his hands clam up with sweat.
The general giggled, and played with Garfield's course beard, "I wanted to meet you of course! After all... I heard zat out of all of ze prezidents... You are ze best of lovers."
Garfield felt his face heat up. He was probably redder than the stripes on the American flag. Napoleon inched closer, until he was practically sitting on Garfield's lap. "So what bringz you to ze afterlife, Monsieur?" Asked Napoleon, barely an inch away from the dead president's face.
Garfield was too flustered to talk. Instead, he pointed at a small wound surrounded in blood.
"Ah," scoffed Napoleon, glancing at the hole in Garfield's chest, "A bullet penetrated your flesh I see?" Napoleon chuckled, and raced his fingers up the president's leg, "I know I can penetrate you much better."