Work Text:
John and I sat cross-legged, back to back, bare skin pressed together. The day was brutally hot, nay, unbearably so, but the lack of clothing helped. Of course, it was only the shirts that we took off. Anything else might look… less than professional.
We were sitting in a field, empty but for the two of us. Knee-high grass filled the plot of land, hiding me completely, showing just the tip of my taller friend's blond head.
I tipped my chin back, resting the back of my head on John’s shoulder. My hair spread across his bare chest, sunlit red strands like strings of blood running across a pale desert of skin.
I smiled up at him, letting the feeling when he returned the gesture spread through my body, making me shiver all over.
“Give me your hand,” he murmured in a barely audible sing-songy tone. The whisper sounded right for the situation, anything louder would have ruined the moment.
“What for?” I replied, my voice equally faint.
“You’ll see.”
I did as he asked, snaking my right hand around my side to rest in his sun-drenched lap, palm facing upwards. He took it gently in his large, work-worn hands, stroking the back of my softer one. John separated my 4th finger from the rest, lifting it slowly to his mouth. He kissed the base of it gently before letting go with one of his hands.
“What are you doing?” I asked, volume still low.
“You're so impatient,” he chastised gently, “Just wait and see.”
I caught his small smile, just a lifting of the corners of his mouth before he banished all traces of emotion from his face. I heard a rustling, felt the scratch of a rough material encircling the finger John was so tenderly holding. Slowly, he let go, and I brought the digit in question back to me, lifting my head to see what it was he had done.
I felt a lump form in my throat at the sight, the beginnings of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. The band around my right ring finger was simple, just pieces of twisted yellowing grass. The edges were already coming undone, it was loose, and it scratched at my skin, but that didn’t quell the pure joy running through my veins.
I turned around to face John's back, throwing my arms around his bare shoulders, planting a kiss on his neck. He let out a noise of surprise, a quick laugh, breaking the silent peace of the moment, but bringing something more to it. I let go, letting him turn around.
“You like it?” he smiled shyly. The knot in my throat grew, I couldn’t speak without fear the tears of happiness would flow. I did the next best thing, pulling him into a deep hug, pressing my lips to his.
It was all the answer he needed.
“Why do you wear that?” I pulled my queue tighter, motioning with my chin to the simple gold ring adorning the fourth finger of John’s left hand. “You’re not married.”
He scoffed, turning away from me, hiding the hand in question in the pocket of his breeches, not answering.
“Right?”
“Of course not,” he replied, pulling on his vest, taking his hand, minus the ring, out of his pocket to fasten the buttons.
I grabbed my vest as well. It was early, a morning just like any other, just the two of us in our tent, preparing for the day of work to come. I didn’t know why I had asked about the ring. We had been friends for about a year, more than that for a few months. I had been aware of the ring since we met but had never gathered up the courage to ask about it. It was just one of the things we had collectively decided to avoid.
But I couldn’t stand not knowing anymore. I needed to know. After what he had given me in the field…
“Then why do you wear it?” I prodded.
He walked to grab his coat from where it lay on our bed, and I caught a deep blush spread across his fair skin, turning it a vibrant pink. “To um- well you see- when my mother- I mean when my-” he cut off, turning to face the flap that led out.
“Hey,” I walked up to him, grasping his hand in mine. “I won’t get mad. It can’t be too bad.”
“Aye,” John carefully extracted his hand from my grasp. “Not bad at all. Just a little strange. I… well I wear it to keep anyone from… trying anything.”
I looked to him, meeting his eyes. He bit his lip nervously. I burst out laughing.
“What?” he asked, taken aback.
“Let me get this straight,” I wheezed between bouts of laughter, “you don’t want anyone to get ideas about courting, so you wear that ring to pretend you’re married?”
He shook his head at me before breaking into giggles as well. “I know, I know, it sounds silly. But it works so marvelously!”
“I don’t doubt it does! A fellow as dashing as yourself would surely gather quite the following otherwise.” I heard John’s small squeak of reply and watched his face turn a darker shade, this one closer to burgundy than that of a pure pink rose.
I turned away, taking our coats from the desk, handing his over and donning my own. “A friend of mine from university employed the same tactic. It worked quite well for him.”
“And who was this friend?” John inquired, pulling his coat on, taking a ribbon from the pocket of his pants and tying back his hair.
“No one of importance.” I parted the sides of my jacket, reaching into the shallow pocket of my vest. I pulled the ring of grass John had made me the day before out. Its condition was worse than that of the day before, but it was still wearable. I slipped it onto the ring finger of my left hand, holding it out to John.
“Maybe it would work for me as well,” I teased, blushing when he grabbed the offered hand, kissing the ring he had made.
“Nay,” he shook his head playfully, “you’re too wild for marriage. All the Miss Nannies would see right through your act.” He plucked the circle of straw from my finger, taking my other hand in his. “Now wearing a ring on this finger,” he slid it onto the fourth finger of my right hand, “that tells anyone wise enough to see that you are…” he trailed off, and I took my hand back.
“That I’m what, John?”
“Well, a friend of mine and I used to wear rings like that.”
“Francis?”
“Yes.”
No more needed to be said on the matter. John had opened up to me about Francis just a few weeks ago. It had been hard for him, but he had needed to get it off his chest. I had been there for him. I always would be.
“Well then,” I took on a lighter tone, trying to improve the somber mood, “in that case, we should both wear them that way. To let those wise enough to see it know that we are… a we, I assume.”
I moved closer to him, and he reached down to rest my elbows on my shoulders, staring with his piercing, ice-blue eyes into my own. I returned his gaze, slowly inching my hand into his pocket. I stepped away quickly when I had retrieved my prize, grabbing his right hand before it could fall to his side.
I inserted his finger into the ring, stopping just before the knuckle. John’s look of surprise made me smile, but I contained the expression, finding it harder to do so as he patted down the pocket where the ring had once been.
“How did you-”
“There are benefits to growing up without everything handed to you on a silver platter. Do try it sometime. You’ll learn a lot.” I winked.
He looked to his half-ringed finger, efficiently ignoring my pointed comment. “Are you going to finish the job?” he asked.
“It’s tight. I don’t want to hurt you. You do it.” He looked back to me, mournful expression making my stomach turn.
“You could never hurt me.” He pushed the ring down all the way, bringing it to his lips to the loop and kissing it.
“It’s falling apart again.” I tossed my grass ring in John’s direction. He was across the room we shared. It was a small one, but it was better than the ten at our last camp sight. There were two desks and two beds. Though the latter wasn’t necessarily positive.
I had gone through quite a few rings since the first John had made for me. At least a dozen, maybe more. I had asked him, begged him, to teach me how to make them, but he had always refused, insisting he had to be the one to make them for it to be worth anything. I hated having to rely on him for them, but he did have a point. They did mean more this way.
“I’m not making you a new one.”
“What?” I whipped around at his emotionless remark, standing up quickly.”Why? Did I do something? Say something? Are we… not a we anymore?”
John chuckled softly, staying focused on his task. A translation, I guessed, based on the sporadic movement of his quill. “No, no, my dear, don’t overreact. I’ve got something better planned. We are still a we. Of course we are. We always will be. Just be patient, let me finish this up, Then we’ll go.”
I had been patient, extremely patient, only pestering John enough to evoke sounds of annoyance 20 times or so. Well, maybe I hadn’t been that patient. But I was excited. Who could fault me?
When he had finally finished the translation, a painfully slow process that he had refused my help on, he had told me to get my coat on. I hadn’t done as he had asked, partly out of spite for his lethargic pace. It was still warm, the late summer sun had yet to set. I figured we wouldn’t be gone too long.
Now, as we walked down the dirt path that led to the small town about a half-mile from our base camp, I clung to his hand.
“Where are we headed, John?” I whined, but he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon ahead, paying me no mind. “Can’t you at least give me a hint? Just one tiny, minuscule little piece of information? Extend an olive branch, aye? For a boy as dear to you as myself?”
He smiled at that, a grudging one, but apparent nonetheless. “It’ll be better if you don’t know. Trust me?”
“Always,” I groaned.
John had left me at the edge of town, insisting that I stay put while he ventured in. It had taken everything I had, but I had done as he had asked, whatever it was he was doing, it had to be special. I could usually make him bend to my will, but he had stayed firm on this. It was driving me insane.
Finally, I saw his form rounding the corner. It was getting darker, but there was still more than enough light to see by. He was holding a small drawstring bag, his coin purse, but he tucked it into a pocket before reaching me.
So he bought something… but it wasn’t big. Not high-quality alcohol, not a present… at least not one I could see.
I covered the last few feet between us, bounding to his side.
“Can you tell me now?” I pleaded, tugging on his sleeve.
“No!” he shoved me playfully, a bright smile lighting up his face. When he didn’t elaborate, I groaned.
“At least tell me how long it’ll take to get where we’re going?”
“Not long.”
John came to a sudden stop, and I bumped into his back. I stepped back, rubbing my nose where it had been smashed. He turned quickly, apologetic eyes probing for injury.
“Are you okay?”
I pulled my hands away from my face, checking for blood. There was none. “Yes. Yes, I’m alright. Just a bump.” I smiled reassuringly. “So are we here?”
“We are.” John stepped from where he was blocking my view, giving me a glimpse of my surroundings.
“It’s glorious,” I sighed, taking in the clearing we were standing in. A large maple tree grew from the center, sturdy brown branches sprouting leaves already an early fall’s shade of deep yellow, though it was still late summer. Warm sunlight spilled through the leaves, creating a dappled effect on the ground, a most beautiful pattern.
John went to lean his back against the trunk of the tree. “Indeed.”
I followed him, practically skipping with excitement. “So. Are you ready to reveal this mysterious surprise of yours?” I placed my hands on either side of the wood he leaned against, trapping him in. Although my hands barely came up to his elbows. I was fairly sure “trapped'' wouldn't be the word he would use.
“Mmm,” he hummed in reply, reaching down to tug my cravat. He leaned his face down quickly, connecting our lips in one short burst. I smiled into the kiss. It was strange, for him to make the first move, unlike the John I knew. Not that I was complaining. I relaxed my expression, enjoying the experience instead of thinking on it.
John moved his hands to my shoulders, grabbing me and twisting me roughly, pressing my back against the tree. Trapping me. I didn’t mind. He leaned deeper into the kiss, running his hands down the front of my chest to encircle my hips. This was very out of character. But, I liked this new character. Whoever he was.
Finally, he pulled away, gasping for breath slightly.
“What was that for?” I raised an eyebrow, quirked my lips, trying to hide my own lack of breath, the fluttering that lifted my heart to the clouds.
He slowed his breathing, recalling the joy that had just adorned his features, regaining his stoic expression. “To prove a point.”
“And what point is that?”
“To prove that I’m not just some rich stuck-up twat. That I’ve had my fair share of struggles, and I can get out of them damned well if I please.” He softened, a small smile appearing once again, like the sun on a cloudy day. He tapped his left hand to where the breast pocket of his vest lay under his coat. “To prove that I, John Laurens, love you, Alexander Hamilton, however insufferably condescending you can be at times.”
He reached his hand out, placing it over my vest pocket. I looked to see a slight bulge under his fingers. I reached down to whatever it was, fumbling for a plain, simple, gold…
Ring.
He must have slipped it in during the kiss. As he ran his hands down me. And to think I had mocked him for his lack of tact! I was the one who should be mocked for my arrogance, my hubris, my inconsiderate nature-
I felt cool metal digging into my palm. I was squeezing the ring. Though its sides were rounded, it still left indents, a large crescent, like an oversized nail. I slowly unclenched my fingers, letting my negative thoughts depart with my strangeling grip.
I gazed down at the ring. It was simple, polished, unflawed. It was akin to the one John wore on his finger. Akin to a wedding ring.
Jesus, John had probably gone to the jewelers in town and picked up that exact thing. A wedding ring. One for… for me.
I looked up at him, feeling emotion rise in my chest. I extended the band to him on my flat palm, shivers rising to the skin his fingertips brushed as he took it.
He spun it slowly between his fingers, the metal glinting softly in the dimming light. He kept his eyes on the ring as he started speaking.
“We may not be able to be together in the conventional sense, marriage I mean, but, well, I’d like to be together. More formally than just a we. Whatever that may mean. That is, if you’ll have it.”
I nodded rapidly, scared to speak, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to get anything out, but John’s eyes were still stuck to the ring. If I couldn’t get in with words, I would have to try something else.
He was holding the ring in his left hand, his right one still rested on my hip. I picked it from its place, feeling his muscles go slack. I held it gently, bringing it slowly to my lips. John looked up, meeting my eyes, just as I planted a tentative kiss on the ring that lay on his fourth finger.
I breathed in deeply, preparing myself for the oath I was to take.
“Yes.”
He took my right hand, then the fourth finger, and fitted it with the ring.
We walked back. I hadn't brought my coat, and it was cold. So we shared, for we were a we. But even more.