Chapter Text
His dreams are nothing but waves and silk. Lace fluttering into the wash of water as the glassy surface reflects like a mirror in the setting sun. How each roll of water ripples but doesn't break in the Atlantic, droplets feeling like soft strands of fabric as ships float above its surface. Laurens remembers when he was young (well, younger he supposes) he sailed to London. When nights of disoriented sleeplessness lead him to deck John would find solace in the patterns the waves made around his reflection. In almost darkness, the water was nothing but a mirror that distorted and rippled endlessly. He dreams of that. Weeks of nothing but ocean dreams before he hears word of Lafayette returning. That night, when the camp is restless with the promise of new food and equipment, he dreams of winter balls as Alex runs his fingers though his curls.
The excitement only grows until the buzz of murmuring infects every corner, leaving John and Alex much time together as the anxious soldiers do not notice a few missing comrades when they are so so hungry. Lafayettes return is accompanied with promises, wonderful talk of guns and ships from faraway France. The general is pleased with this, spends the entire afternoon with Lafayette in his quarters together. Lafayette seems more than happy to devote his time to this, thriving in the praise the general must give.
"Monsieur Laurens! How wonderful it is to see you again!"
Lafayette practically bounds up to John like a puppy, smiling down at him while juggling a pile of blankets, boots and even a couple muskets.
"It is more of a pleasure to see you so excited Lafayette, good news I've heard?"
"Yes, yes, absolutely! If it would not bother you Laurens, if you could hand out these blankets for the winter, it has gotten a lot colder since I left."
Lafayette looks concerned, but winks as he hands over the rather frighteningly large pile to John. He would be lying if he said that he didn't feel the chill stiffening his bones under the think blankets. Hamilton helps. Hamilton always helps.
"Of course, will you be joining Ham and I for supper tonight?"
"Non mon ami, Washington has asked me to accompany him and discuss the supplies from France."
Lafayette smiles, blush rising quickly to his cheeks as he winks again.
"Enjoy your time with Hamilton, I'm sure I will enjoy mine."
Shaking his head Lafayette laughs and races off again, each step leaving behind a golden footprint from his sure sunshine demeanour.
The men are glad to receive something to keep them warm, a simple comfort often lost when one has to wade through mud or dodge bullets. He's down to the last couple, becoming much easier to carry as he walks, when he sees it. Hidden between the course fabric, a sleek grey box with silver lettering. John almost drops the blankets, heart racing as he traces the curves of the words written there. He's almost tempted to lift the lid here, but pulls back his inquisitive fingers and instead wrapping it up in a single blanket. He moves much faster now, rushing through duties and commands until he can race back to the tent before sundown. Normally Lafayette would sleep on the same tent as Hamilton and Laurens, but it seems the man is engaged for the night with Washingtons orders. Lafayette doesn't seem too upset about this.
John stuff the blanket under the bed, leaves and eats quickly without a word to the others. Alexander won't be back until later, probably engraving letters on the worn-out desk he uses with the force of his writing. He'll work until the candle flickers out, then continues scribbling in the dark until his eyes are red with strain. Then Alexander huddles closer to John, pressing their bodies together to conserve heat, on the nights when all they want is sleep.
Laurens checks his surroundings again before entering the tent, seemingly quiet as the men converse by the fire with most likely, the new alcohol Lafayette has brought back with him. It certainly buys him some time. John sits cross-legged on the floor, placing the box in front of him. In the candlelight it gleams enchantingly, with neat ribbons tying it together. His fingers tremble as he pulls out the ribbon, placing the white silk to the side. It's almost long enough to tie up a woman's hair.
Laurens hushes a gasp when he lifts the lid off the box.
There it is, folded with layers of translucent parchment paper, the silvery fabric free of all erring crease. In the dim light of the candles, the fine fabric seems azure- a rich light blue that shines in every fibre as John holds it up to the light. It's almost too perfect not to try on.
He fumbles with his coat buttons hastily, hanging the garment on the back of a chair while his hands busy themselves with shirt and all. The air chills his skin but John is unsure if its the cold or the feeling of the silk slipping over his head that raises gooseflesh. The dress fits snug around his waist, wrapping his ribs together with featherlight brushes of cornflower fabric. Laurens pushes the straps up a little, they slip shoulder-length quite comfortably but he can feel his bare skin of his clavicle and neck, bizarre and unused to the exposure when it is often hidden under cravats and shirts. The skirt is a little flattened, but it only takes a couple smoothing hands to let it drop down until it reaches his ankles, curving out perfectly from the line of his hips. John kicks off his boots, wiggling his toes in the cool air as he looks over his outfit. It's a pity there is no mirror here, but John can pretend and twirl anyway. He feels perfect, he feels beautiful like this. Silk draping over him and the careful flush of skin around his neck and cheeks is divine. The colour is amazing for showing his freckles, making his body seem like canvas that paint has been flecked upon- or a night sky with a galaxy of stars littering its expanse and forming constellations.
One last thing, Laurens grabs the white ribbon and pulls out the one in his hair. The curls tumble down his back, loose they just touch his shoulders. He reaches back, trying to repeat the familiar motion of tying his hair with the ribbon.
"...Laurens?"
John spins around, trying to ignore how the skirts flutter and settle delicately around his legs wonderfully, seeing Alex frozen at the entrance to the tent. His mouth is open, like he's about to speak but no words come out. Pupils blown as he gazes at John. Laurens can feel the heat of embarrassment rise in his gut like a fire, threatening to blaze into anger and shame. Would Alex be the same as his father? Appalled at what he saw?
"A-Alex, I'm so sorry." John whispers quietly, tears threatening to spill as Hamilton still just stands there. It's only until it seems unbearable, when he chokes back a sob when Alex moves. Quickly, he places his hands on Johns waist, looking him up and down with much more admiration than before.
"Oh John, my beautiful Laurens. Just look at you."
Laurens sniffles, gasping as Alexander traces the curve of dress along his ribs and chest.
"Do you like it?"
Alexander laughs, beaming at John, so John begins to laugh too. Tears forgotten.
"God Laurens, you look beautiful. So pretty and ladylike."
Instead of kissing him, Alex places soft presses of his lips along his exposed collarbone and chest. Nipping and sucking lightly until faint pink marks colour his skin. Johns legs feel unstable, like they would collapse under the weight of Alexander's affections.
"You're too sweet to bruise John," Alex murmurs as Laurens is breathless at his attention, "Do you like this Laurens? Do you like looking beautiful for me?"
"I do. Very much so."
With that Alex hooks an arm behind his knees, picking Laurens up into his arms. John nestles against his neck, pushing down Alexander's coat until it falls to the floor in a heap. Soon Laurens is laid on the bed, Alex hovering over him and completely immersed in the picture that is the squirming, marked and freckled John. His curls fanning over the pillow and skirts pushed up to his knees.
"I love you Laurens, so much I can't bear it sometimes when I'm not with you."
"Then show it to me."