Chapter Text
Alexander’s fingers traced shapes and smooth lines on his lover’s skin as they laid together, limbs tangled. It was late at night yet, and he knew he would be usually awake, leaning uncomfortably against his desk and squinting at the paper as he tried to get his work over with. His mind was always running, restless, far too full with ideas.
But right now his mind had finally slowed down to some extent, dazed from both the afterglow of their activities and the love he felt for the other lad, and he would enjoy it, for as long as it lasted.
Gilbert himself was more silent than usual, his eyes fluttering open and closed with exhaustion, shivering in pleasure at the gentle caresses. His delicate face was calm, cheeks were tinted in a pale pink, long eyelashes resting on top, and his reddish locks, that had been recently cut short once more, twisted and thrown around in a messy combination.
Despite this, he looked absolutely beautiful, like a renaissance painting, his freckled skin contrasting against the white sheet that covered from waist and down, to protect him from both the cold breeze and the sight of anyone who dared look into their space, since they were wearing nothing but their shirts.
"You've been silent for too long." Gilbert murmured quietly, his lips twisting upwards into an amused smile. His French accent, that had slowly begun to disappear the longer he spent camp and the more he practiced their language, was full out now. It didn't matter. Alexander loved it.
"Does it bother you?" He inquired, his voice slightly hoarse from not having used it for a while.
"Of course not, but it's intriguing. You're never this quiet, not even when sleeping." He reminded him, and reached up himself to move a gingerish curl out of Alex's face, tracing over his cheek with his thumb. "Maybe only when you're upset, and pull up the petty card on us."
"I've never done such a thing."
"Not to me, maybe. But to Laurens you have. You two are ridiculous. He's equally petty." He chuckled, shaking his head.
"He can be insufferable. As I can, I suppose. But you, mon amour? Never." Alex said. "It would be a crime. And with guilt and hurt in my heart but not as much as I would surely inflict on you like the fool I am, I would accept my fate, my sentence, take all the blame and perish in name of blood, claiming you're the loveliest being in the entire world, and not even angels or gods could compare to such beauty…."
"You can be so dramatic, Alexander." Gilbert laughed, shaking his head with amusement, but he leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his nose.
"You love me." He whispered, his lips hovering close to the French man's.
"That I do." The Marquis quickly agreed, pressing their lips together in a tender kiss, a hand cupping Alexander's cheek.
The kiss prolonged for what felt like forever, but it was (unfortunately) just long enough to lose track of their surroundings, missing the footsteps headed towards their tent, the small hesitant knock at the outer tent pole, until the gasp of said individual broke them out of their bubble.
Their beloved General was standing in front of them, a paper in hand and mouth agape, eyes wide in a slightly pale face. Alexander felt his throat close in panic and he threw the sheets aside to stand, pulling his coat over and tying it backward around his waist in a rushed attempt to manage some decency, even though the shirt he wore covered down to the middle of his thighs.
Even though he wanted to say something, justify their actions, excuse them behind a lie that would protect him (or at least his lover), his words were stuck in his throat, mind blank from sheer panic.
“Two men dating…” the man said, slowly, his gaze shifting between them, his eyes unreadable. “I cannot let this slide, gentlemen.” he stated after a pause, and Gilbert, despite the way his hands shook, opened his mouth ready to argue.
Alexander barely managed to beat him to it, desperation lacing in his tone and through his words, almost begging.
“Sir please! It- It was a one-time thing!”
Washington’s eyes paused on the way Gilbert’s shirt laid open, most buttons undone but one had been simply ripped in their rush. It was only luck that the lower part of his body was covered by the sheets, hidden from sight. His pale skin was covered in marks, and as soon as he spotted them, his mid glare turned to Alexander instead.
“Simply judging by the color of the hickeys on Gil- Lafayette’s chest, I can tell this is a lie.” And it was true. They were at least a couple days old, more or less. He was no boy, they couldn’t trick him on that as if he lacked experience.
Despite his cold demeanor and sharp words, George’s mind is racing wildly. At least they had the decency of waiting until night. And the hickeys were placed in a spot where no one would accidentally find them unless Lafayette was injured and required to remove the clothing to receive medical assistance.
Even then, he would’ve assumed first their young Marquis was mingling with a girl. Not another member of his staff…
Gilbert’s eyes were full of tears, and he knew Washington was purposely avoiding his gaze, though he would fail to identify the reason: from disappointment? Anger? Embarrassment at his undressed state or disgusted? He couldn't tell which one it was.
He would lose everything. He was aware George wouldn’t be able to kill him without sparking a revolt or a revolution between them and the French allies that had come to aid them. But Alexander… his dear alexander… George would be able to punish him, or even worse, hang him, and they wouldn’t lose anything. Gilbert wouldn’t even be allowed to grieve or cry.
Their General could make an example of him, leaving his body hanging there for everyone in camp to see. For all men to learn, without any consequences. Who was to point a finger at their Commander for doing nothing but going along the beliefs of their society? Who would defy him, to save the life of a man that for many meant nothing, even though to Gilbert, he meant the world?
They both knew it.
Right here, right now, it could be the end.
“Get dressed quickly. And come to my tent.” George ordered, his tone tight, before he stormed out of Hamilton’s tent, leaving them once again in the dark.
Turning around to face his lover, Alexander pulled him into his arms, trying to soothe his fear, even though his own heart raced wildly in his chest.
“It's okay, mon cher.” He whispered, rubbing his back as the man buried his face into the crook of his neck, body shaking with sobs.
"I can't lose you, petit lion!" The Marquis cried out, his legs giving out under him as he fell on his knees in front of Alexander, his arms wrapping tightly around his waist as he buried his face in his stomach, quiet sobs escaping him.
Alexander wanted to do nothing but whisper soothing, comforting words to his lover, but the thought of his punishment, if not public hanging, made his heart race wildly in his chest, hammering against his ribs as if it tried to break free. Should Washington not change his mind, or bestow some mercy over their heads, he knew he would meet sunrise swinging from the end of a rope in the makeshift gallows.
He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through Gilbert’s short locks, willing his heart to slow down, at least for the moment. Despite the dread that filled him with the knowledge his lover was right, he knew he had to be strong for Gilbert.
“Look at me, love.” he whispered, tilting the French lad’s face up so their eyes meet. “We’ll be alright.” he promised, his thumb gently wiping his tears, despite the way his hands shook. “Now let’s get dressed and go to the general before he gets mad.”
He helped Lafayette to his feet, and assisted him into his clothes, accepting the other’s help in return, his mind numb.
He knew the clock was ticking. He knew their time was running away.
What would be of them?