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Thomas was asleep. His arm was dangling over the side of the plush mattress and his mouth was hanging open as he breathed slow, even breaths. He was dreaming about something pleasant and all was well.
That was until he was rudely interrupted by someone clearing their throat, loudly. Thomas squinted his eyes open, trying to discern why he'd woken up, but then he saw a figure standing above him. Thomas immediately jolted, his head making contact with the wooden headboard.
The figure tilted its head. Thomas blinked again, now registering the aching of his head. He groaned, rubbing his eyes and recognizing Hamilton. His shoulders relaxed, but now he was irritated. He squinted his eyes at the man.
“Please tell me this is a dream and I'm not seeing you above my bed.”
Hamilton crossed his arms. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I need you for something.”
“What time is it?” Thomas asked with a groan, taking notice of the lack of sunlight coming through the window.
“It's time for you to get your ass out of bed. Move it.”
“Mhm, in your dreams.” Thomas flopped back down onto the bed, making a show of getting comfortable. Hamilton made an irritated sound in the back of his throat and Thomas struggled not to smirk; two could play this game, and Hamilton had no right to barge into his bedroom this early in the morning. After Hamilton’s wife had discovered the affair and Thomas had so graciously allowed him to stay with him until things were sorted out, (he had certainly not intended for things to pan out that way) he automatically assumed he wouldn't overstep. There was an invisible line between them that neither were meant to cross, which Thomas understood perfectly well.
Unfortunately, Thomas was discovering him and Hamilton had very different views in areas not pertaining to politics. Compared to him, Hamilton was impulsive, willing to test the limits of whoever dared get too close. Thomas was rightfully getting sick of it as said impulsive man started yelling at him.
“Move it!” Hamilton snapped, trying to tug Thomas by the arm out of bed. Thomas, being the larger of the two, had no problem staying in bed and only found Hamilton’s incessant pulling a nuisance.
“I don't have the energy to deal with you, Hamilton. Get out of my room and go figure out your own problems.” he said with a yawn, shifting over and unintentionally pulling Hamilton with him. Hamilton yelped and jumped back, his eye twitching. Thomas pretended not to take notice, instead tugging a pillow over his head to block him out.
Hamilton leaned closer, close enough for Thomas to hear his breathing.
“Comfortable, are you?” he said, sounding unnaturally calm. Thomas had the inkling something was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to think too much about it.
“Mhm.” he mumbled, hoping that was the end of it. For a blissful few seconds, there was silence from Hamilton and he dared to allow himself to believe he'd been wrong.
Hamilton cleared his throat again. “What about now?”
Just when Thomas was about to look up, he abruptly felt the weight of Hamilton land on top of him. The air was pushed out of his lungs and he scrambled to roll over and shove the pillow away from him, desperately trying to get air. Hamilton, perfectly aware of his struggle, made no move to do anything at all, not even as Thomas found light again and gasped.
After that, Thomas glared at the man for a long moment. He was laying across him, head tilted back to see his face. Even like that, the bastard had the audacity to look composed; he could've been speaking of his damned national bank idea and he would've looked the same.
“I will kill you.” Thomas hissed, a vivid fantasy of him decking Hamilton on the spot playing out in his mind. He would never have the pleasure of doing so, but oh, the thought was tempting.
“Mm, you'll have to get out of bed first.” Hamilton answered smugly, moving over so he wasn't on top of him anymore but instead laying beside him. Thomas immediately seized the opportunity and shoved Hamilton off of the bed, listening with satisfaction as he fell with a loud thump!
There was silence from the floor, then, quietly, Hamilton said, “How many more times do you plan on doing that?”
Thomas raised an eyebrow, now more awake and curious. He leaned over the edge of the bed, right hand under his chin. “As many times until you get the idea. Now, unless you want to keep examining the quality of the wood grain finish, I suggest you get back up. You look ridiculous.”
Hamilton huffed. Getting to his feet, he dusted off his trousers and glared at Thomas. Thomas blinked at him, not impressed.
“Well, I'm not leaving!” Hamilton said petulantly.
Thomas rolled away from him. “Fine by me.”
Hamilton, the frustrating little shit he was, tried one more time to rouse him. He climbed into the bed behind him, fruitlessly attempting to push him off. Thomas rolled over and snatched him by the hips, eliciting a yelp from the smaller man. He forced him against his chest, intending to stay there until he stopped struggling.
“Let go of me, Jefferson!”
“No. If you're going to be in my bed, you are going to rest! Lord knows you need it!” Thomas snapped, mouth running faster than his brain. When he registered his words, he made the split-second decision to stick by them; he couldn't let Hamilton up now, lest he punch him square in the jaw.
Hamilton, meanwhile, loudly complained, but Thomas didn't dare loosen his grasp. He instead tightened it, staying perfectly still until the man finally stopped struggling. Both of them panted.
“Finished?” Thomas murmured in his ear.
Hamilton, not wanting to let him win, said nothing. He did, however, release the tension in his body and went limp in his arms, much to Thomas’s satisfaction. That peace lasted all of a minute before Thomas could hear the gears turning in his head again. “Fuck you.” Hamilton managed.
Thomas grinned against Hamilton’s neck and Lord, he was about to make a horrible mistake, but he couldn't help himself. So much for not crossing any lines. “I already know you would like to.” he retorted, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from his bedmate. Hamilton’s face blazed a fantastic shade of red, but he became awfully quiet after that.
Meanwhile, Thomas was perfectly at ease as he shifted over, dragging a still-flustered Hamilton along with him. Thomas’s left hand rested atop the man’s chest, though Hamilton did nothing to move it. Hamilton’s chest was rising slowly beneath his hand and soon enough, Thomas found himself mimicking each gentle rise and fall. In a rare moment of impulsiveness, he scooted ever so closer. There was no response from Hamilton.
Curious. Thomas nudged over so he could put his other arm over him. This time, Hamilton just barely turned over and allowed his leg to tentatively rest against Thomas'. Thomas had a foolish grin across his face as he was proven right.
How they would come to be a tangle of limbs, Thomas didn't know; it had all been some kind of pleasant blur in which both had taken their sweet time touching, becoming acquainted. Hamilton was comfortably warm at his side. Thomas breathed a slow breath as he further curled up beside him, his breathing further slowing. Both eventually fell back to a deep sleep.