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In the quiet of the workday - and with Hamilton, every day undeniably became workday - John Laurens had found ways to steal glances at the slight man without drawing unwanted attention. A skim of his jaw, clenched as he searched for the perfect word. A slow blink as his fatigue caught up with him after many hours of working without break aside from a fraction of second to sharpen his quill, to reload ink, to snatch a paper. A favorite of Laurens: in the midst of ardent writing, Hamilton’s brow would furiously furrow against his forehead and the vigorous movement of his slender hands eluded reason.
Since beginning work with the genius revolutionary, Laurens had suppressed it: Alexander Hamilton was a god.
Sometimes Hamilton went into a hyper-aware state, when his mind and hand were so in tune there was no effort needed to produce the magnificent writings, and his other senses sharpened. At times like these Hamilton might feel the fleeting gaze of Laurens and glance his way; Laurens had protocol for this, too: a faint and lingering smile, tender with an admiration he only hoped Hamilton would read as concern, and a passing comment about the other. “You look tired today, dear Alexander.” “Are you certain you do not wish to break?” “May I make you a cup of tea, friend? You seem as if you could use one.” “How long has it been since you’ve slept, Hamilton?” Hamilton’s lips would quirk ever so slightly; he would return to his work without word.
Today was different. Today, Laurens had decided his affections must be professed to his co-worker, despite any possible consequence. Today, Laurens let his eye loiter on the line of Hamilton’s defined jaw for a few seconds extra, then moved to the scrivening fingers until they ceased. Laurens’ heart pounded more quickly with each passing second. Finally, throat thick with the words he was going to say, Laurens dared to meet the molten regard Hamilton offered him.
Hamilton’s words were slow as he set his quill in its holder with caution. Laurens gulped, certain his heartbeat was visible through his skin. “Is something the matter, dear Laurens?”
A million scenarios flashed through his mind: a quick shake of the head and it would all be over. A brittle excuse about not feeling well and Alexander would insist him home. An proposal that Hamilton take a break would warrant another one of the man’s undeniably beautiful smiles and a twinkle of mirth in such intense eyes.
He had promised himself no more excuses.
But he may never see those eyes again.
No more excuses.
Those eyes…
No.
“Hamilton.” Something in his voice must have alerted Alexander that there was an issue, because in an instant the other man was out of his chair for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. With catlike movement, Hamilton took Laurens’ arm and guided him to the door, through the hallway, and into the kitchen of their office home.
“Please, John. Sit.” Hamilton’s words were gentle, more tender than normal. It was only until Hamilton had begun making tea that Laurens realized he was crying.
“I’m sorry, Alexander,” he began, taking a breath. “I...I promised myself that I would communicate something to you on this day. I realize now that I may not be able to do so.”
Hamilton abandoned his cups to take a seat next to Laurens, scooting close. In soothing whispers, he asked: “Why not, darling? Why not?”
Laurens closed his eyes. “I - excuse me, I forget myself - I fear it may endanger our friendship, so precious to me. More precious than life itself, Hamilton.”
“John,” he murmured, so close, so close, “nothing in the world can endanger our friendship. I attest that I feel the same of your affections, I would be lost without them. Do not fear me, please, John. Please. I had hoped it was apparent that I am willing to be a confidant to you without judgement. I know you like I know myself. I know when something is bothering you. And I cannot live without answers, but more than that, I cannot live with your suppression and unhappiness.”
Breathe in, breathe out, Laurens reminded himself. He would do it.
“Alexander. I -” damn “- I love you.” He whispered this last part, when he had begun with such strength. Tears threateningly played at his waterline once again.
There was a silence, pregnant with anticipation, and Hamilton’s brow drew together in the same way it did while he wrote when he realized no more words were coming. “Is that all?”
Laurens nodded weakly.
Hamilton blinked once, twice. Then he threw his head back in laughter, mischief lacing his shining features. “Laurens, I know. I have riffed for a multitude of hours to you on how I value you, how much you mean to me. Do you expect that I say these things without complete trust that you feel the same way?”
“No,” Laurens said. “No. I mean to say, Alexander - dear Alexander, how beautiful you are, I cannot contain myself - that I love you .”
“If not in my stated way, Laurens, then how?”
He drew another breath, steadying himself against Hamilton’s hand on his shoulder. “How? Alexander Hamilton, you ask me how? I will tell you how. I have spent every moment since we met on that one fateful night imagining, imagining a future of you and I. I revel in your attention, your addicting attention. I hope with pounding heart every time our paths cross that you caress my arm with a finger, or embrace me in friendly solidarity, or even acknowledge my presence. I had hoped, I see now in vain, that you might some day feel the same of me. I know that I am not as charismatic, as drawing. I am not as intelligent, or rhetorically sound, or clever, or physically stunning. But as a university crush grew into fervorous and true love, Alexander, I…” He broke off. “All I can hope is that nothing between us will change.” He was standing now, streaming tears as Alexander’s face remained expressionless, unreadable. “I should go. I will return on the morrow, assuming I am wanted. I continue to hope, perhaps this too is in vain, that nothing will be different after the both of us recover from this...this...this emotional explosion on my part?”
“It will be different,” said Alexander coolly.
“I’ll go.” Laurens could barely manage the words through the pain. “I am sorry to have offended your affections, my dear Alexander!” This he tossed over his shoulder on the way out the door, hearing only a muted scuffing of a chair as he stumbled through the hall and down the stairs (for their main office was on the second level).
“John!” Alexander called. Laurens ignored him. The heartache was unbearable, how he wished to sleep his entire year away…
“John, please!” Alexander, out of breath, finally caught him by the shoulder as they neared the door.
“Do not patronize me, Alexander,” Laurens whispered as he turned towards the man, staring at the floor.
Calloused and cold hands cupped his cheeks, one working back into his messily assembled hair and the other lifting his chin through much resistance.
“Please look at me.” Laurens did not want to view his fury, but Hamilton’s tone was oddly soft. Eventually his defiance subsided and their eyes met.
For what felt like hours there was nothing but silence and Alexander’s hands in his hair and on his face and eyes, electric eyes, stellar and captivating, on his and oh God.
“I had hoped you would take my tone as a jest,” Hamilton finally said.
Hope once again eclipsed his heart. “So we will remain friends?”
“My words still stand. Only my tone changes.” The wily euphoria in Hamilton’s eyes gave him away behind his steely and composed words.
“I do not know how to reply to that.”
Alexander caressed his cheek. “Oh, John.” And then their lips met, sweet and passion filled and soft as cashmere. The kiss was like first breath, John felt reborn when it ended. They were so close, so incredibly close, he could feel Hamilton’s breath against his cheek, his words were formed by physical vibration as much as sound wave.
“I love you, John Laurens. How certain I was you would never return my sentiments.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Me? Not love Alexander Hamilton? And King George is no longer King of Britain.”
The kiss this time was deeper, more intense, needier. Even before he pulled away, Alexander was smiling against John’s lips. “I never, ever thought myself worthy enough to be loved by you.”
Laurens noted his awkward positioning, his stiff arms and rigid back, and immediately relaxed himself. Carefully, nearly in awe, he touched Hamilton’s cheek. The skin was smoother than he expected, and warmer, too. “Whatever do you mean?”
They were so close to each other that when Hamilton closed his eyes, Laurens could feel his eyelashes flutter. “What I mean, John, is that you are so wonderful, so aesthetically exquisite, so perfectly imperfect...I never imagined that one like me might capture your affections.”
Laurens could not resist laughter as he winded both arms around Hamilton’s waist. “Me? Alexander, you flatter me. I am plain, unendingly flawed. How can you not see that you shine like the sun?”
“For years,” he replied, “I have found myself speechless - can you imagine? Me? Speechless? - at the sight of you. I have written letter after letter detailing your beauty, physical and otherwise, and John, I do not think I agree with you.”
“Letter after letter?” he hummed. “Now that, my dear Alexander, is something I would like to read.”
Just barely looking up, the other man’s eyes sparkled. “There will be no need. I’ve memorized them by heart.”
Little by little, Laurens felt his heart calming and swelling with love. “Alexander,” he teased in grave tone. Hamilton’s cheeks rose to a bright flush as he looked away.
“Silly and embarrassing, am I not, dear Laurens?”
In a more soothing voice, Laurens continued, “You don’t need to share, Alexander. Not at all.”
Hamilton’s breath fell against Laurens’ neck. “Would you still like tea? We should return upstairs in short time, and I believe I hear the kettle ringing.”
“If you wish, my small lion.”
A small chuckle and Alexander was shoving Laurens up the stairs.
His chest was tight, overwhelmed. Swings of emotion did bad things to him, and this day had certainly provided them in extremes.
Alexander was right - like always - and the water for tea was ready. As Laurens reached to pour, he heard a whisper from behind him.
He hummed inquisitively in reply.
“I said, your freckles.”
Laurens felt his face beginning to boil like the water in humiliation. He did not enjoy when people mentioned his freckles; he’d been teased as a child for the abundance of flaws marking his skin. “What about them?” In lame attempt to keep his composure.
Hamilton slid between him and the counter. “Our Creator made a mistake, John.”
“I know,” Laurens lamented. He who just proclaimed loudly his love for Laurens? Ah, at least Alexander felt compelled to be honest with him. It hurt, nonetheless.
“No.” Hamilton shook his head. “You misunderstand me. Our Creator made a mistake, my dear, shaping our universe. He’s misdirected the direction of the constellations. We have beauty missing from the sky, perhaps it has been stolen - instead it is on your skin. A blunder of the Creator, but it can be forgiven. I forgive him, wholly, because I see that splendor every day - others are not so fortunate, and I can only feel pity for them.”
Laurens was uncomfortably aware of the slight parting of his lips as his jaw slackened. Breaking gaze from his, Alexander’s eyes trailed his face and neck. He cleared his throat.
“That was the first thing I was able to draw from mind onto the page. I cannot capture, however, in any word of any language I know, describe to you, or even to myself, precisely how intense my desire to kiss every single one of those freckles is.”
“Alexander.”
“I am being serious, John. I love them so much, I love you so much.” This final clause was spoken in murmur against his neck. “Every. Single. One.” He punctuated each word with a fleeting kiss along Laurens’ jawline.
“Alex.” He did not know what else to say. He couldn’t seem to find the words.
“I know,” Hamilton sighed. “I am silly, am I not? But it has been years, and I have loved you for all of them. It is...liberating. To be able to speak it aloud.”
Laurens knew. He knew precisely what Hamilton meant. He had been biding his time to speak the three miniscule words he had spoken just minutes ago. “Alexander,” he said breathily, “how in the world will we be able to work together after this?”
“Let us not worry about the future, John. Let us worry only about now.”
With a shake of the head, then, “I am in awe of you, Alexander Hamilton.” Leaning down slightly, Laurens offered him a short kiss. That, at least, was the intent, but quickly the tea was forgotten and their lips were pressed together forever and ever and they were moving, embracing, running into walls and doorframes, frantic and messy and urgent. They stumbled through the hall without an ounce of hesitation, and Laurens could think of no other thing but his love for the other man, nothing other than the fact that this was happening, the fact that their bodies were entwined in mutual affection in this way that was incredible and perfect and absolute.
“Where are you taking me?” he sighed once able to disengage his lips from Alexander’s.
“Where do you want to go?”
Laurens drunk in Hamilton’s appearance, just noticing that his hands had ruined the tightly held hair. Disheveled and hungry, Alexander was irresistible. But Laurens closed his eyes and ignored his wild heart and buzzing mind.
“We should go back to work, dear Hamilton.”
“We should,” Hamilton agreed. “How do you read my mind so easily?”
Laurens felt his eyebrow quiver. “It did not seem like that was what you were thinking.”
“Like I said, so easily.” The implike glimmer in his eyes was unmistakable. “I cannot fool you, Laurens. Alas.” He sighed. “You are not wrong. I would love to do so much with you -” (to do so much to you) he added in parenthesis “ - but my reports are unfinished and my mind and heart are finally quieting enough to continue. Let us go back to work.”
Laurens smiled as his eyes followed Alexander out the door.
Hours later, in the workroom, he remembered the tea. When he set a glass wordlessly next to Alexander’s inkwell, knowing fully not to disturb him in this fervent writing state, Alexander muttered quietly to himself.
This time, though, Laurens heard him, and raised his own tea to his lips to conceal his vigorous blush.
“We shall resume where we left off shortly.”
If he didn’t know Alexander so well, he would have sworn the smaller man winked at him.
With swollen heart and a life of smiles known to be ahead of him, Laurens returned to his work station. Alexander did not even lift his head, but he did not need to. Laurens knew.
How well this had worked out.