Work Text:
Hamilton never quite learned to take his time. He’d been aflame since the beginning. There were a million things he had never done.
He didn’t want John Laurens to be one of those things.
When they began working together, Hamilton hid his love for the other man - it was sin, but it was not as if he had not sinned, he did not want Laurens to sin. He held his passion, so wild and thundering as a thousand Mongolian horses, close inside of him, close to his chest, inside his heart. Every ounce of blood flowing in his body had breathed the name of John Laurens. At night he would listen to the heartbeat and hear the name, his breath would catch, the susurration would quicken until he couldn’t differentiate between John and Laurens. Alexander would close his eyes and breathe deeply until he forced himself to sleep, to forget the other man and his face full of light and life. On lucky nights, they would be together, but the process was the same - Hamilton had to fight the urge to stare, to keep himself awake counting breaths and freckles and innocent touches, locking eyes and exchanging carelessly loving whispers, watching the world burn with his love fluttering around him. But this was less and less often these days - he’d been a frequenter - only when Alexander felt safe staying with Laurens, safe enough in not being caught. Since Lafayette had made it clear that night in the bar, Hamilton could feel his entire being changing. Even his writing - he was paranoid in every paragraph.
No matter how the night ended, the next day it would all begin again.
It was a hot August morning when he entered his office, made his way upstairs. Though the sun had barely risen, humidity had set in overnight. He’d not stayed with Laurens the previous evening, and was generally the first in the building. It was this for this reason that Hamilton found himself started at the presence of one John Laurens in their joint room, already working, revising an essay against slavery he had taken particular adoration to in the past couple of days.
“Laurens! You’ve managed to startle me.”
His work partner (for in this place, Laurens could not possibly be any other) looked up with mischief in his eyes. “A true miracle, my dear Hamilton.”
Hamilton smiled softly at his surname, almost a joke of a workplace formality at this point, as he set up his desk, placing the mess of yesterday to the side in preparation for the mess of today. He would forever refer to this man as Laurens. Not because he did not feel comfortable with the Christian name - there was something about the surname Laurens that made his mind forget to spin for a single second, an association of warm days and cool night spent in the company of the greatest of souls. Hamilton would never let it go.
Their desks were ever changing in position, depending on the season and the availability of natural daylight. It was always better to write in natural daylight, both of them agreed. And on this day, their desks faced inwards both, to milk the most of the bright August sun and avoid garnering the beams of value in their eyes while filling a quill with ink. Even so, he did not notice Laurens get up and move towards him. When the familiar arms of his work partner wrapped around him, Hamilton jumped slightly.
“I’ve been here since before sunrise,” said Laurens huskily, no more than a breath next to Hamilton’s ear. He could feel Laurens’ eyelashes against his temple as he blinked slowly. “I desire nothing more than a break.”
“Take a break,” Hamilton replied, the words catching in his tight throat with the closeness of his presence. They’d not been this close in weeks, both insanely busy, both out every so often.
“My thoughts of you could light this room at night,” Laurens continued.
Hamilton’s eyes snapped open. “No lady has ever courted me quite so well, Laurens.”
Laurens laughed. The sound could have brought Hamilton back from the dead. “You are married, Alexander.”
He was. And Eliza was kind - her heart was filled with gold, with beauty and joy and love. He could imagine being married to nobody else but Eliza Schuyler.
“There is a part of myself that lives only for you.”
Laurens kissed the back of his jaw, underneath his ear. “You flatter me, Alexander.”
Hamilton couldn’t help it, his next words were breathy against his constricted chest. “I am disgusted with every thing in this world but yourself.”*
Laurens slid between Hamilton and his desk with ease - Hamilton’s knees were too weak to do much about it. “Take a break.”
“I’ve not begun my work yet, Laurens,” he managed, only through closed eyes.
Laurens kissed his left cheek.
Then his right.
A corner of his lip.
“Damn you, John Laurens.”
And they were embracing, so similarly to the first time they’d encountered each other’s love, kissing in not the greed of immediate lust but the soft tenderness of the soul. Gunshots rang in Hamilton’s ears each time their lips met, his mind reeling, capturing the scenes so he could play them over and over again when he was in need of reminder what he stayed alive for. Why he’d not died in the hurricane that had destroyed his town, or of the illness that had taken his mother.
Hamilton found the strength to place his hands on Laurens’ cheeks instead of around his neck or waist. Sometimes he needed the extra validation - this was real. He could imagine no other reality when he stroked Laurens’ freckles with his thumbs.
They continued for a few minutes, breaking only for air when needed.
It was of pure luck that they’d broken at the right time, Hamilton’s hands on Laurens’ spotted cheeks.
“Mr. Hamilton, I apologize for my tardiness; what do you say to - “
They’d hired an assistant for the summer, as the writing spiraled more and more out of control, to do things like make them tea and dust every once in a while. Hamilton saw him freeze as they saw the two men in such close proximity. Though his heart jumped, Hamilton knew he could get them out of this somehow. He was admittedly splendid at crafting words.
“I believe Mr. Laurens is running a fever. Could you fetch me the first aid kid from down the stairs, please?”
Immediately the surprise on the young boy’s face turned to concern; he nodded and fled from the room.
Hamilton smiled up at Laurens, who seemed dumbstruck.
“So quick witted.”
“Alas,” he muttered, taking his hands from Laurens’ face and moving further away, “I admit it.”
“How do you say to a full day off? I may summon the courage to require a sick day.”
“I will care for you always,” Hamilton replied with a wink.
*Taken directly from a letter from Hamilton to Laurens. Highly recommend.