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Thomas Jefferson, to put it lightly, was having an exhausting day.
Once again, Thomas was left to pick up the pieces that Alexander Hamilton threw out of place. Thomas knew that most of the time his boyfriend did it for the attention, but still. Was all of the effort Alex put into being an overwhelming nuisance so necessary?
If Alex didn’t have such a big mouth, or such big, beautiful eyes, the man would hardly get into any trouble. Heaven knows that Alexander was surely short enough to go unnoticed most of the time. But no, the man had to be oh-so incredibly abrasive and oh-so incredibly gorgeous. Honestly, fuck him.
“Alexander, jesus christ, would you sit still? I’m trying to-” Thomas was nearly seething- he had been for the last hour- and all he wanted to do was patch up his stupid boyfriends stupid eye that had managed to become a stupidly purple color due to Alex’s stupid urge to fight every single person with an opposing viewpoint.
“But Thomaaaaaas, it hurts!” the shorter man whined, fingers curling around his boyfriend's straining forearm. His eyes were wide and glossy, and Thomas was so fucking pissed at the fact that they were still so beautiful. He scoffed at Alex, then, rolling his eyes at the dramatics as he continued dabbing at the wounds on his face.
“Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t such a dumbass who picks fights with anything breathing, this wouldn’t be happening right now.”
Alexander only pouted at that, kicking his legs gently back and forth under the kitchen table. Thomas had all but dragged Alexander home what was a half-an-hour before under the pretense of cleaning Alex up. They both knew better, though. Had they stayed any longer, Thomas would have felt inclined to beat the shit out of the man that hurt his Alex. His sweet, small, stupid Alex.
“Are you still angry at me, then?” he asked, eyes stealing a glance up in Thomas’s direction and- oh, goddammit the little asshole- batting his eyelashes in a way that he knew Thomas adored. Both men stared at one another, and Thomas couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss the hell out of him or go find the guy that hurt Alex and pummel him. He decided instead to press the alcohol-soaked cloth against the gash under Alex’s jaw. Thomas silently smirked to himself as Alexander let out a shocked hiss and a string of curse words.
“Does that answer your question?”
“Oh fuck off. You don’t really have a right to be so pissed at me-”
“Oh don’t I,” Thomas spat suddenly, one hand dropping to Alexander’s left thigh and the other grabbing the man's chin with something on the border of a harsh grip. His steely gaze glared into Alexander’s russet eyes, and despite the fact that the man was thrown for a loop, Alex didn’t back down or shy away from his boyfriends touch. “I have every right to be absolutely livid, Hamilton. You can’t go a single fucking day without getting into a fight, can you? You think that I like having to save your scrawny ass every time someone bigger than you tries to put you in your place? Do you think that I like saving you from being beaten to a pulp? You think I like watching some guy with his hands around your throat, his hands in your hair, his fists coming at you again and again?-”
And Jefferson is thrown back to the hour before, stepping outside of the office building where the two worked- ears alert at the spitting of angry words, slurs, angry remarks- only to once again find his boyfriend doubled over on the dirty side walk with someone twice his size looming above him. His mind's eye relays the moments, makes him watch as the man curled his fingers into Hamilton’s pony-tailed hair. Watching the man kick his dear boyfriend in the stomach, dropping racist and homophobic slurs from his tongue, fingers spanning out against Alexander’s swollen jaw- Jefferson, of course, saw red.
Suppose he hadn’t had his dose of overwhelming anger that day.
He lunged forward without a second thought, elbow digging into the man's side. He had landed on top of the man, straddling his chest with his thighs as he sent endless punches onto the man, curses dropping like flies from his lips. He felt Alexander’s eyes on him as he attacked the man, felt the eyes of by-passers and workers heading home from a long shift, but of course he didn’t care. If anything, he liked the added attention. Good, let them know what happens when anyone dares to lay a hand on his boyfriend. He’s Tom’s, goddammit, and anyone who so much as lays a violent finger on him dies.
God, he was in deep for Alex.
He recalled someone eventually dragging him off of the man, swearing at him, telling him to go home and not to come back the next day. Not to come back for a couple of days, and that in itself pissed him off. What if he loses his job? What if the both of them lose their jobs? That wouldn’t happen, he knew, but he couldn’t help wondering if one-day he might. Thanks to Alex. He glared at the man on the ground who laid groaning in pain with a bloodied nose and swollen jaw, eyes swelling and turning a purple color; he smirked something dirty, spitting at the man’s feet before dragging off his vacant eyes boyfriend. At that point he wanted to leave- why did he want to leave? But Jefferson didn’t bother asking, still too pissed off and full of adrenaline to have a civilized conversation.
“Thomas-” Alex whimpered at the use of his last name, remembering a time when he was known as Hamilton and only Hamilton to nearly even person he met. Back when Thomas Jefferson had a searing hatred for the man and said his name like a bitter curse.
“No, Alexander, for once in your life just shut the fuck up! I am not in the mood for your excuses right now- I am so fucking done with this shit, so tired of you picking fights- especially those you KNOW you can’t win! What the hell are you trying to prove? Do you think that it makes you cool or something? That it gives you something to your name? Do you think that it’ll make people like you more? Because it won’t, it’s just stupid. God, you can be so fucking stupid-”
“Thomas, please-” Alex whispered, eyes wincing shut at the harsh words that Thomas said, at the tone of his voice and the bite of his fingernails into Alex’s thigh. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like when they argued like this. No, no, he hated it. He bit back his words and tried to swallow the tears that were rising into his eyes, knowing that it would be better if he just didn’t say anything this time around. He felt acid in his throat, something was hammering away dully at his brain, and all he wanted to do for once was curl up into a ball and sleep. But no, Thomas’s anger certainly wasn’t diminishing.
“Could you stop fucking interrupting me? Jesus christ,” he hissed, fist banging down on the table, causing the glass of water to Alex’s left to slide off the table from its precarious spot. It smashed into tiny shard as it hit the ground, making the increasingly anxious man jump nearly out of his skin. God, the poor man was becoming absolutely terrified. Sure, Thomas had been angry before, had argued with Alexander on about 75 different fronts, but never had Alex seen him this furious. Or, at least, Thomas had never been this furious at him.
“God, now look what you’ve done- I’m blaming you for this. Maybe if you could just behave for once in your goddamn life, this wouldn’t be-
“And God, the way that you flirt with every single person that you meet, like you’re something almighty, or holy. You aren’t the hot shit that you think you are, Hamilton. You’re nothing perfect, so stop thinking that you’re so much better than everyone else. I’m your boyfriend, not them. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, you don’t need to fucking draw them in like- like- like a fucking whore, jesus christ. Always on your goddamn knees for everyone, no matter what. You fight, you flirt, you’re going to end up getting yourself killed one of these days you utter dumbass. Are you proud of that?-”
And Thomas is completely ignorant to the fact that Alex had started crying, that his poor boyfriend had all but curled in on himself and was sobbing quietly to himself. His arms were cradled around his chest, fingers digging viciously into the paler skin of the under-side of his arms where his hands turned upward. Thomas had his eyes closed tight, fists wringing out his sweat-soaked button up instead of Alex’s throat, teeth baring down against angry words instead of light-hearted promises. The sound of a muffled moan is what brought his attention away from his own un-contained anger and towards his pitifully small boyfriend. Thomas’s eyes snapped open, and in horror he gazed down at the man, of whom was still so disheveled from his fight, but now had violent red scratch marks up and down his bare arms and eyes glazed over with a waterfall of tears flowing freely. A cut that he received while fighting had re-opened across his cheek bone, leaving a thin river of blood to trickle down to his chin, and his face was so red and swollen from the tears.
His poor, poor Alexander.
The man in question merely continued to curl in on himself, seemingly forgetting the setting as he tucked his knees in under his chin and chanted apology after apology towards his boyfriend. His words had clearly hit home as he had originally wanted, but oh god did he regret it now.
“Alex, I- oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Thomas whispered vacantly as the blood rushed from his face and his hands lingered in contemplation. Alex didn’t seem to hear him, and in hesitance Jefferson leaned down, scooping the small man into his arms. “I went too far, darling, I’m sorry,” he whispered again, cradling Alexander’s body against his own as he walked the both towards the open bedroom door.
With Thomas’s pulse thrumming against Alexander’s palm and his soothing words and quiet voice murmuring in his ear, Alex’s sobs settled to hiccups. As he felt himself calming he leaned into his boyfriend's gentle touch, craving this positive, loving attention that made him feel safe and at home. He wanted to be loved, wanted to be protected.
“Thomas, do you hate me?” Alex called out in a small voice once he was deposited onto the plush comforter; his ears were buzzing and a nervous tick bit at his mind.
“No no, I could never, my love. I promise I could never. I was angry- I got very angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you- I just hate seeing these things happen to you-”
“I didn’t start it, Thomas- he came at me. Started calling you bad things, and I wasn’t going to have it, so I jumped at his, and- and-”
“My dear, it’s alright. You don’t have to explain anything to me right now. I’m going to run a bath for you, alright? You’re a mess- will you be alright with me gone for a moment?”
Alex nodded, but his fingers curled tighter around Jefferson’s forearm; in the end, Thomas carried him to the connected bathroom in his arms, placing him on the shockingly cold linoleum as gently as he could. Of course, Alexander clung to Thomas the moment he touched the floor, and Thomas was moved to run his fingers through his boyfriends untamed hair as he drew the bath. Even after he was stripped of clothes and placed in the temperate bathtub, Hamilton refused to be without his boyfriend. This ended up with the two of them squished together against the uncomfortably sized tub. With Alexander resting against Thomas’s chest, however, it worked out perfectly.
After a few moments, Alexander felt the hot water drain the stress, anger, and anxiety from his muscles. This left him far more exhausted than before, if possible. He shifted around in the tub, leaning back further and tucking himself more comfortably under Jefferson’s chin. Thomas shifted his hands around Alex’s waist, rubbing soothing circles against his hip bones. The two were drained of energy, but far happier than they were before.
“Alex, you know that I love you, right? I love you more than anything in this world.”
“And I love you, Thomas. You just- you really scared me. I don’t think you’ve ever been that angry at me before.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. I was just- I hate it when anyone touches you. I hate it when you’re hurt, or when I think someone might take you away from me. I can’t stand the thought. That doesn’t condone the things that I said, though. I’m tremendously sorry.”
“I forgive you. But- did you mean what you said? Do you- do you think that I’m a whore?” Alex asked, looking up at Jefferson through worried eyes. As if the man could look any more vulnerable, splayed naked and concerned against his chest.
“God, no, Alex. I could never, ever mean such words. Not in a serious manner. I think so highly of you, my dear. I adore you. I promise.”
Content with the answer, Alex rested his head against Thomas’s breast-bone, leaving a soft kiss against his boyfriend's chin.
“I’ll always protect you, okay? I promise,” and Alex for some reason giggled at that, glancing up at his boyfriend through tired eyes.
“Does that mean that I can fight whenever I want?” Alex asked with a sly smile down at him, fingers brushing through the warm water and down against Jefferson’s relaxed shoulder.
“No,” Thomas scoffed, “absolutely not. But I’ll always be there to back you up when you do. I’m a sap for you. Just for you.”