Chapter Text
In Fair Verona, a story was told of two young lovers—but that was fiction, adapted and orated from a long line of stories warning of premarital sex, disobeying thy parents, and choosing frivolous passion over duty.
Alexander longed for something more than that nonsense. He had, for many months, longed for the fair Kitty, a young maid; skin pink, hair dark. She was a true beauty; she would not marry him, however.
In the old English kingdom is where we lay our scene, not far removed from Italy's beauty: Catholics, feuds, longing, and familial duties.
Alexander longed for Kitty. He longed for her touch, something more than polite banter. She was not too beautiful for him, for Alexander knew that in attraction and indulgence of the sexes, they were matched. His lighter red head competed with her dark; his dark blue eyes combatted the light hazel of hers; he was laughing and smiling and charming, as was she; he was slim, fit, and nearly as well-bred as she. He did not worry she was above his beauty.
However, he knew she was above his status. Though Alexander was a direct blood relative to a distinct Scottish landowner—his father having been born in Scotland, even—he was not officially noted as such by his title or popularity. In fact, he and his father were shunned out of society for a myriad of reasons. He had no political connections to his Scottish family, so they did not matter to a soul. As if the English even respected the Scottish in the first place.
England had some nice vineyards and orchards. His father had wooed the young female heir of a well-to-do family of a quaint town in Britain, after all, so when Scotland didn't want him, he naturally returned to the young heir's side once again; she had his child of five years, by then.
Though he might have once, had he returned five years ago, James Hamilton could not marry the maiden. At her parents' discovery of her illegitimate pregnancy, she was married to a much older man, a distinguished German business owner, at only fifteen. He was unkind to her for all those years... until the true father of her child returned to her.
Rachel, Alexander's mother, endured much control and abuse. "Unkind" really was an understatement.
When Alexander's brother was six years old, his mother's husband, the man he'd always addressed as "Father," discovered that for a year, Rachel had been visiting James, and was again pregnant. Of course, at the first sign, her husband was pleased, until Rachel revealed to him that he was not, in fact, the father. It was evident to her that her husband was sterile, for they'd been trying for children for five years, and she bore none until James returned. For five years, her husband called her womb wretched for its stubbornness. How ironic to discover the maester of the house was the wretchedly impotent one.
As the story went, the man was angrier than ever at his wife's defiance and promiscuity, spiraling into a rage that frightened everyone in the household. The servants, Rachel's cousin, the young Lady, and the nurse were there that night. And as the story went, that's the night the man fainted and died of stroke before he could bring harm to Rachel's unborn child. The household knew the maester intended to do so. Rachel's black veil hid the black eye her late husband gave her the night before. Nobody in the house mourned for the man. And they would all take the truth about that night to their graves.
For when Rachel's husband died, she married James Hamilton. A year later, it was as if none of that had happened. Their second child, Alexander, was already eight months old, and their sweet older son, named James, loved the baby, and he was not resistant to loving his mother's new husband. It was not difficult to be delectable when the last guy used to smack him. When James was fifteen, he said he wished the elder James was his real father, so the mother and father decided it was time to tell the boy the truth, however unsavory. The boy was not the least bit upset to learn this.
Alexander and James got along for the most part, and James never felt like he didn't belong.
When Alexander was fourteen and James had by then moved southeast to Italy, their mother fell ill. Word had not reached James in time for him to arrange to get home, and with Father at chapel praying, his son ill as well, Alexander was the one in the room when she died. She was holding him in their sick. He had begun to cry, despite his age, wailing in her arms - her tender hug having stiffened, joints locked and unwilling to let go, frightening him on top of having lost her - until the nurse came and found him, and quickly removed the boy and took him to his room and ran a bath for him and sent for his father and the friar.
Alexander recovered from the sickness he and his mother contracted. But thinking about how lucky he was to live was painful and did not make him feel so.
So, he occupied his mind with pretty ladies, his studies, and of course, sparring with the other boys with swords in the streets.
There were many household rivalries, like competitors of sport, like you'd half-expect the elder masters of the households to spar in some bocce or the mistresses to talk down about the other households, but sometimes, these "rivalries" took a much more serious tone. Sometimes, the fighting turned dirty, neighborly help declined, and parents pitted children against children. Historically, the Laurens household rivaled most against the Faucette household, but nobody respected Alexander's mother as the master of her own house, especially not now that she made her husband a widower. The Hamiltons were to make a name for themselves. Even Alexander's brother took on the surname in his travels to Middle and Northeast Europe. Alexander intended to reestablish this rivalry, though he disagreed fundamentally with the foolishness. It was important to make his mother proud.
The eldest son of the Laurens house was John, but Alexander had never seen him. John's father kept him in close rein. He wasn't allowed to fight in the streets, because Henry Laurens was so anxious about losing what could be his only surviving son. There was no guarantee that Harry would live to maturity. Death of children was very common, so it would be silly to let the 17-year-old be killed in a brawl. Especially since he'd lost several children already, including recently a son younger than Henry "Harry" Jr.
John hated this. This, and the constant nagging to get a wife. To marry, have children, get busy, and live quickly before inevitable death—it was bitterly depressing. His father would have had him marry by now, had the Lady of the house not passed a year ago. With a grieving son, the grieving father had no energy to force marriage upon the young man.
Much against the wishes of the families, Alexander and some of his friends infiltrated a Laurens household masquerade ball in disguise.
Alexander wanted to go to gaze at any pretty person besides Kitty. He'd grown weary of thinking about her. She'd never seriously deign to marry him so as vengeance he bedded her... many times. Though she'd not have him as her husband, she was more than happy to soil her virginity with him. He was a great lover. Sometimes, even she wished marriage with him was possible; however, fate had something else in store for Alexander once he met the son of Lord Henry.
When he danced with ladies, he kept glancing at a young man in blue who leaned on a beam, refusing women who came his way. Alexander made it his goal to brush past him in every dance. He hoped this guest of the Laurens family could look past his name and hoped even more that he would like to indulge with him.
Alexander's hand brushed against the boy's and he could feel his retreat at first, before pressing his fingertips to him. The masked boy was looking elsewhere, and their hands met in private behind the curtains. Alexander kept his eyes on him, ready to charm when the boy glanced over. He certainly was not the first to entice him, but it was a treat to have unspoken and impure temptations recognized, and shared, and when he looked at him, he may have pulled his hand away, but if only for shyness and propriety. Alexander smiled at him, winked, and leaned in close, crossing his arms.
As a show of interest, the boy lifted his mask and flashed a smile. While Alexander's mask covered only his eyes and nose, this guest of the Laurens family had a full-faced, beautiful, and colorful masque of golds, purples, and blues. His smile was quite nice. Shy, of course, but his teeth were optimal, his lips not chapped, his chin strong, and his nose the same. Alexander wished to dance with him. Damn shame.
The Laurens guest winked and masked himself once again. Alexander was about to start in on conversation when a pretty girl pulled this guest by the arm onto the dance floor. Impolite, but they interacted like they were acquainted. After a moment of studying, he recognized the young maiden as the eldest daughter of the Laurens household. He believed there may be more of them, he'd heard about a couple of sons and of course was aware that before Lady Eleanor passed, she gave life to a baby girl, a rather healthy one at that.
As he watched them dance, rambunctious along with the music, he saw that this guest was not discomforted in the presence of this young woman. And realized he was, then, a lucky young man to have the opportunity of a Laurens daughter. The young man was likely thinking the same. He spoke with the daughter, it seemed, at any breath he could as they danced.
Alexander asked a young lady nearby if she'd join him for a song, so he had an excuse to once again brush up with the person of interest.
When the song ended, the boy walked to the sidelines with the daughter, still talking hurriedly to her, still masked. She hit him on the arm, a gesture Alexander considered curious. He made his way over to interrupt, fine with being rude. He was a charmer, anyway, and the young girl would think so as well. He shook hands with the gentleman and kissed the knuckles of the lady. "You must be of the Laurens family. Miss...?"
"Lady Martha," she said sweetly with a mild curtsy. "And of course, my brother."
Alexander felt stupid, but so horribly glad.
Her brother said, "John Laurens, of Henry Laurens of Verona."
Martha asked their guest's name, but received no answer, for a loud man requested silence for a toast.
The loud man turned out to be her father, who even called her over, citing some good news. Told the room he wished her mother was there to see her get married. Announced his son-in-law. Alexander kept his thoughts to himself, however, he recoiled, physically disgusted by the sight of a man who looked a minimum of twice the girl's age. Though he wouldn't comment on it, he could not help but ask the Laurens son how old his sister was. Fourteen was the answer. Fourteen was even a little old to marry off your eldest daughter. He glanced up, wondering then how old this boy was. And he wondered if he'd married yet. Alexander had some reservations about getting into bed with married men, but he wouldn't say he had more than the average person. Really, the only issue he was running into was that this was not just a guest - he was the son of their rivals.
"Why is it that I have not seen you before tonight?" Alexander settled on that inquiry. "I live in Verona, and I believe not once have you graced us with your presence."
"'Us'?" asked John. "As in, Verona?"
"No, the boys. We enjoy a bit of scrimmaging here and there. Fists and swords. You've not once attended. It hasn't gone unnoticed. You are the eldest son of Henry Laurens, aren't you?"
"Yes. But my father says people die in those duels in the streets."
"The implication that it is often that boys perish is untrue. We have fun, and yes, some accidents have occurred, but nobody's died in a year, at least." He was smirking.
"Oh, a whole year?" said he sarcastically.
"It's set a precedent, unfortunately. The prince declared it illegal to bout in the streets the way we used to."
"I heard."
"I was engaged in such a bout when he rode in on his regal white horse and ended the affair."
"Really!"
He nodded. "We had thrown our blades and began to tousle with fists on the ground, rolling in filth like true ruffians. This boy had punched me square in the mouth so with the strength of my thighs I clutched him to me, my arms around him so our stomachs and chests were together, thus I gained the upper hand - he seemed to me quite embarrassed of the ordeal. We were sweating animals. I rolled him then to his back and, he being distracted by perhaps some discomfort which propriety prevents my saying what, I swung and punched him thrice in the face. I was holding my fist like so," he slowly drew back a fist as he stepped closer to John, but he posed no threat to him; John wondered if he might be distracted enough by his own discomfort, one which propriety would prevent his saying what, that he be blindsided and thrice battered, "when the prince rode in the middle of the quarreling boys and decreed we battle no more. T'was a pity. I quite like the drama of a good fight."
"You..." John spoke quieter than before, "are horrid."
"I pride myself in it."
"Such a peacock for a man so saintly in appearances. Perhaps that is, after all, precisely what a peacock is. You show your feathers to steal onlookers away to your religion."
"Ah, and just what is my religion?"
"It's not what you practice but a religion of you - centered around you, all idolatry and hedonism."
"You called me a saint, but from your disposition to berate - or praise - my perceived blasphemy, I think it is you, sir, who is the saint here. Tell me, could you absolve me of my sins, Saint-Jean? My idolatry and hedonism?"
"It might be difficult." John shrugged, glancing away with a casual air. "If you've truly made yourself a god, how is a mere saint to absolve the sins of the all-mighty?"
"A god, you say," he laughed.
"Yes, a feathered god."
"Oh, you've a quick tongue, haven't you? And a dangerous one at that. You speak like you've been drowned in theology since birth."
"Such is the product of our times, some of us to a greater extent than others, I suppose. My father's a gravely religious man."
"What's your inherited grave theology say about exchanging with a god then, John Laurens?"
"I don't believe I caught your name."
"Nay, I have not told you."
John eyed him suspiciously with the realization he didn't intend to say. He rested a hand on the beam to this masked boy's left, above his head, for leverage to make their conversation private. "What house are you from?"
"It is a secret."
"Because you received no invitation."
Alexander had not stopped smirking. "I've been found out, then."
"So how did you hear of it?"
"Your father may consider next time sending somebody who is learned to bring 'round the invitations. The boy stopped to ask me of the names on the list. Such is fair game."
John dared to lean closer. "All right, then, I cannot disagree. So, what is your name?"
Alexander leaned in as well. This is how close he'd like to be if he were alone with such an attractive boy, thus in public, they were much too close. So he whispered, closer to his ear, "I'll tell you someplace quieter."
John looked around, pulled away, and then began out of the room without a word. In a moment Alexander followed and once they were out of sight, he grabbed John's wrists and did not ask before he pushed him against the wall. In such a position, John could only expect to be robbed, but the stillness in the air and the eyes staring up at him suggested otherwise. He thought back to the description of this young man's quarrel: would he fall victim to such a trick, now? Secured helplessly by his thighs and distracted by improper desires, thus completely blind to an oncoming blow to his face?
The salacious boy leaned in with a smile, for he knew if John were uninterested, this would have by now been put to a stop.
John looked in either direction in the dimly lit corridor. "Not here."
Alexander, grin widened, and came closer. "Not here, to do what?"
John became aware of the knee between his legs, pushing towards his core, and he swallowed, uncomfortable now in his britches. He felt glad for the overrobe and doublet, however, quite the opposite sentiment was felt about the skin-tight hose. In fact, he was often glad for the overrobe.
When he heard footsteps from afar, he pushed the rude guest away, who appropriately kept his distance from the approaching passerby. Once they were again alone, John said, "Let us speak in private. Servants aren't the only ones roaming these corridors."
He waved for the guest to follow him outside to the garden. This area would be devoid of guests and servants.
"What is your name?" John asked as they stepped towards the trees at the edges of the garden.
Alexander took John's hand, much like he had his sister's, and kissed the knuckles. "Alexander. And might I say..." he held his hand rather than letting it go, "you called me a god yet look like you've descended from the heavens yourself."
John laughed a little. "This flattery... did you have a goal in mind? An economic proposal?"
"No, not at all. And by your countenance, I think you know what I want."
"Alexander, you said?"
He hummed in confirmation.
"Of what house?"
"Hamilton."
John startled like he might pull his hand away but Alex gripped him tighter. He relented and squeezed back. "Son of a Scot."
"I cannot anticipate that will pose issue?"
"No... but we are not supposed to... if my father found out you attended this masquerade, he..." He shook his head as if to clear the thought. "I should not associate with you, let alone..."
"Let alone what? Call me God and sing my praises? You should not commit such an act with any young man. Does your father draw the line at my parentage?"
"I've never met somebody like you before."
Alexander stepped closer and beckoned John's masked face to his. "Somebody like me?"
John shrugged a little, unsure of himself; unsure if he was ready to give in to his plaguing temptations. When this young man had caught his eye at the beginning of the masquerade, he'd let his mind wander, yet had no true intentions of seeking him out. Then he was sought himself. And this terribly beautiful boy wanted to... proceed. And flattered, honored, and anxious he'd never again receive such an opportunity, John kept coming to the conclusion that indulgence was the answer. Even if it was wrong. His father would never know, and he could just ask for forgiveness in confession and never do it again - that is if he doesn't take a liking to it and find himself unable to stop. That's what sin and vice does to a soul: consumes. It becomes an addiction.
However, that was silly, and this here "Alexander" was staring at him. If such a lovely and well-articulated young man could find himself engaging with this temptation, then so could John. Perhaps, if a boy so looked down upon for his heritage was so intelligent and sweet, there was more this society was wrong about.
"So, what does your religion say of exchanging a kiss with a god?" whispered Alexander.
"It depends on what yours says of exchanging with a mere saint. I think if you are the god, I am the one who must be absolved of my sins. And is the kiss the only way to do that?"
"Is a kiss not the purest form of love?"
John put out a slow, hovering hand. "May I?" He pushed some of Alexander's red hair out of his eyes, trembling like Europe's worst surgeon. Alexander stood on his toes, brought John closer, and pecked the purple paper lips of his lovely mask.
John stared for a moment, his heart having skipped, and he took his mask off. It was in his left hand as he once again asked for permission to touch Alexander before unmasking the boy.
In all his experience, Alexander had never had a boy ask permission or act slow and shy. He expected to make out with this boy and part ways, but just his luck, he had "never met somebody like him before." It was his first kiss with another boy, and likely, supposed Alexander, his first kiss, ever. He came closer and, to show he cared to give the same respect, asked John if he may touch him. John nodded, eyes half-lidded, heart in his throat. Alexander ran hands over his shoulders synchronously, to calm his nerves, then let the bend of his arms come behind John's head. He pulled him so that with just a couple of steps back, he had himself against a tree, hopefully providing ease and comfort to John.
John was smiling, finding it difficult to make his move.
"Were you hoping to be scrubbed of your sins tonight?" whispered Alexander, eyes closed, feeling John's breath near and bumping their noses slightly. Hovering. The suspense was painful. He thought he'd open his eyes to see perhaps if John was nodding, but received lips pressed hesitantly to his before he could. He pulled him closer by the leverage he had with arms around his neck, and could not help but press his lower half forward. It was brief and made Alexander laugh when they pulled apart. "I think, now, if you confessed your sins to my lips, they are a part of me and I must give them back."
John hesitated, still had his hands on Alexander. He touched his hair, enthralled with the curls. Alexander kissed him this time and would hold his head whenever he attempted to part. John felt relieved at the self-control he did not need to pretend to have. He could argue to himself that he had no control, even, tell himself he had no want nor choice to indulge despite knowing lying was a sin as well... despite how he kissed Alexander with one hand in his soft hair and the other on his chest, feeling his lungs inflate with life, heart beat with vivacity.
A voice called for John and he froze, wishing to break away. Alexander hushed him and held him close. In the shadows, John decided to hide, taking Alexander into the bushes with him.
Another, "Young master? John?" rang through the air. It was a servant.
"Should you—"
"Shh!" warned John, his index finger going to Alexander's lips.
Another, "John, do you hear my calls? Your father searches for you." The servant sounded nervous, and he walked past the shrubbery the boys hid themselves behind only to turn around and leave the garden, having given up. When the garden was silent, John looked to Alexander, on his stomach beside him. When Alexander began to laugh, he did as well and was kissed by the giggling boy.
"If my father's looking for me already, I'd do well to return."
"And cut our fun short?"
John grinned because a mere smile from a stranger could get him to change his mind about everything he's known to be right and true. He even considered forgetting his father and finding out where this could lead, but that he considered it was proof enough he needed to leave before it was too late. Before he lost himself in sin. He whispered, "I do hate to cut it short. But my father..." he sucked air in through his teeth, pushing himself to a sitting position. He glanced down at Alexander, still on his belly. "It's best if I go."
"Very well. I expect, then, to continue this another time?"
He grinned wider. "You... are a temptress in disguise."
"Not disguised, nor a temptress." He sat up and kissed John's cheek. "Call me ton doux incube, dear. Until we meet again."
"Will you return to the party?"
"I will consider it. You may go ahead, stagger our return."
"And you can find your way back?"
"Yes, don't you worry. I have an innate sense of direction." He watched John stand, kneeling first to beg for more time, but ultimately extending himself as well as his hand for Alexander to take. "Oh, thank you, but I figured I'd sit—" he watched him wiggle his fingers impatiently, so he extended his hand for John.
John kissed his knuckles. "Until we meet again."
Alexander watched him go, then fell back into the too-tall grass once again. Allowed himself a moment to breathe, counted to three hundred and fifty before making his return. It took three hundred seconds to decide if he'd return to the party or return home. He decided he'd not had enough mead.
He masked before returning and on his way back, a servant stopped him, inquiring of his lonesome wandering where he did not belong. He feigned a need for the privy and was forced to take a stop at the latrine before reentering the masquerade.
The eldest son of Henry Laurens was speaking with his father, and whether it was fortunate or not that they were guarding the wine, Alexander did not know. He intended to avoid Henry Laurens for the evening anyway, but now it felt plain wrong. He had been wanting to do unholy things with the man's eldest son all night long, for heaven's sake. Still, Alexander decided to make for the alcohol anyway.
Wine was also a common indulgence for Alexander, and the seven glasses he'd had were not enough to dull his senses. He hoped to go unnoticed, and he nearly did, were it not for the man beside him. Alexander had just pulled the mask up to better his depth perception, if only for a moment, so he would not spill his wine as he poured, but the one jackass who would care about his presence happened to see. Lee, who seemed to have it out for Alexander (the older man was very into the rivalry thing, despite being Alexander's senior by two decades), called him out immediately and began to vie with John for the Lord Henry's attention. Alexander pulled the mask back down and slipped away with his wine as Lee tried, tried, tried, and failed to get the Lord of the house to pay attention to him.
"But, sir—"
"Quiet, now, I am speaking with my son."
Lee, frustrated, groaned and raised his voice much like a petulant teenager. "But, my Lord, that Hamilton bastard, he is here, and without an invitation!"
"Do not raise your voice at me."
"Lord Henry, I beg you listen. He was not invited!"
John looked around, having lost sight of Alexander after he grabbed a drink. Henry Laurens, now angry, smacked Lee upside the head and scolded him like a child - for if he wanted to behave as such, he would be treated as such. He asked Lee what was so wrong with the boy being present. And anyway, he said, the boy was not causing harm. And he'd heard about this boy, too, and heard he was rather bright, and despite his unsavory upbringing, he had quite the talent with a pen.
Lee, humiliated, stormed off to deal with Alexander himself.
John dared to ask his father about this boy. Propose that, if he truly was a bright young man, he may make a good friend. His father, however, dismissed the idea as ludicrous, citing the inherent tumultuous nature of a boy raised as Alexander was raised and even went as far as to say that somebody lowly like Alexander would not suit the social needs of a Laurens son. And while John did say that perhaps socialization should not discriminate by class, his father was not hearing it and made it very clear that John stay clear from any such family or their sons.
John caught a glimpse, however, of Lee accosting Alexander, and could not help himself. He excused himself, glad his father was already wrapped up in conversation with a guest, and went to find the two.
"Lord Henry commanded you to leave him," said John pointedly.
Lee raised a brow. "Does Lord Henry know you are intending to fraternize with this low-class child?"
"I beg your pardon!" quipped Alexander indignantly.
"'Fraternizing'? I am only telling you to—"
"No," said Lee. "I saw you earlier."
"You... saw...?"
Luckily, Lee said, "With fair Martha."
Relieved he'd not seen anything else, John said, "Yes, because conversation is fraternization. As in, one conversation, which began and ended earlier this evening, is equal, in your opinion, to ongoing fraternization. My father sent me over. Called you 'saucy' and told me to chide you for further antagonizing this guest."
"He is not even–"
"He is now. You behave like a child younger than I despite being twenty years my senior. Heed Lord Henry's advice, take your leave. Visit the latrine, too, as it seems your ill mood is caused by holding your piss so long it's all gone to your head."
Lee looked him up and down before actually leaving to use the privy because, despite his pride, he did have to piss now that John said something.
"Did your father really send you over?" Alexander asked, incredulous.
"No. You, he does not know well and has no opinion one way or the other. Your father, however... Lee would be, unfortunately, correct: Lord Henry does not want me speaking with you. Though aware of your name and household, take pride that he did scold Lee for taking such offense to your presence."
"How flattering. I think, with my identity uncovered, and with you instructed not to 'fraternize', I should soon be leaving."
"The night is still young, Scot's son."
"What, do you wish for me to stay?" He put on a smile. "Again, flattered. But it is time I return home. My father should be wondering what I've been up to all night."
"And you will tell him you attended, uninvited, a masquerade?"
"No! How low. I will tell him I spent the night with my lips on those of a handsome young—"
John hit his shoulder.
"Ouch, t'was a jest."
"You are one grand jest... Alexander. Now be on your way before Lord Henry sees us... fraternizing..."
Alexander winked and bowed before bidding him farewell. John told him, "Farewell."