Chapter Text
“An open letter to the national embarrassment known as President John Adams,” he read from the wrinkled piece of paper in his hands before casting it to one side. In the darkness of his makeshift office in the corner of the living room he filmed the video lit only by a dim desk lamp on a secondhand camera sitting on the world's shortest tripod. Four in the morning found Alexander Hamilton exhausted, enraged, and rambling. “Fuck this, we're going off the cuff. President Adams is the most out of control sonuvabitch in Washington and I say that knowing I've got the misfortune of calling the most republican congressman in the world my father-in-law. Adams doesn't know what fucking side he's on; he'll eat anybody's ass if it means they might swing his way for whatever legislature he's trying to push through. His stance on immigrants changes with whatever he wants accomplished that day; if me and my fellow Latinxs are willing to kiss his ass and clean his house and basically be his little bitch then we're welcome in his country but the second we expect to be treated equally, given the same human rights as his white ass then he wants to build a wall and cut off all forms of immigration. And then there's that thing where he wants to undo all the accomplishments that Washington made like LGBTQ+ marriage. Fuck you, you fat motherfucker. John Adams hates people like me; a bisexual immigrant from the West Indies who is smart enough to give him a run for his goddamn money – though an organ grinder's monkey is smart enough to give John Adams a run for his money if we're being honest. I pay my taxes – which is more than that bastard can say. I show up to work six days a week which has John Adams even done during his three years in office? Bitch please! Give my regards to the FLOTUS the next time you wanna talk about people like me having no moral compass if the words of your ex-wife are anything to go by!”
“Alexander,” a voice from the hallway behind him interrupted his rant. “It's four in the morning. Come to bed.”
“I'm almost done,” he promised. “Go to bed, John. I'll be right in.”
Instead of listening, John Laurens walked up behind his husband and snaked his arms around his neck while pressing a kiss to his hair. “Baby, come to bed. You can finish your vlog after you've gotten at least three hours of sleep.”
“But-”
“Plus if you keep it up then John Adams is going to send the goon squad to come kill you and I'm not prepared to have to find another husband this late in the game,” he whispered against his ear. “Come to bed, Alex.”
“Fine,” he relented and leaned up to kiss the underside of his husband's jaw before turning back to the camera. “The logical one in this relationship is insisting that I pause this video for the sake of slumber and, uh, I am no good at telling him no so we'll continue this later. Hamilton out.”
“Thank you,” John breathed against the shell of his ear, pressing a kiss there when Alexander had turned the camera off. “Now come to bed – it's too cold without you there with me.”
“I love you.”
Pulling his husband out of his office chair and leading him down the hall to their bedroom, John smiled over his shoulder at the man. “I love you too.” Pulling the taller man around him, he nudged him onto the mattress and grinned when Alex fell backward, dark hair splaying out across the pillow and golden eyes looking up at him like he was the most perfect creature. “Now go to sleep and if your ass is out of this bed before ten then I am divorcing you.”
Alex laughed as he reached up, his arm hooking around John's waist as he pulled him down onto the mattress with him. “Yes sir.”
–
“John Adams may be the most out of control sonuvabitch in DC but I am the luckiest,” Alexander whispered into the camera's microphone as he panned over his slumbering husband. John's nose twitched at whispers of his husband but otherwise showed no sign of stirring and Alexander sighed as he looked at his husband, the way he looked in the mid-morning light was enough to set off a hoarde of butterflies in his chest even after seven years together. “Look at those fucking freckles, my god. They're art unto themselves but on John they're somehow even more beautiful. His hair is so ridiculous in the mornings and I just want to die because it's so perfect. Guys, he loves me. Loved me when his whole world made it hell on him for doing so. How fucking blessed am I?”
“Alex,” John grumbled sleepily as he waved a hand in front of his face.
“Shh,” Alex told him as he caught the hand and brought it to his lips so he could press a kiss to the palm. “I'm waxing poetic about how I'm stupid in love with you so just lay there and be beautiful.”
“You're an idiot.”
He laughed. “I know now shut up and let me tell the world how beautiful you are.”
“Fine.”
“Here lies John, my autumn flower, somehow less beautiful now that he's all corpsified and gross.”
John snorted and swatted him blindly. “Quit misquoting Firefly, you fucking nerd.”
“I love you,” Alex told him. “With all my heart, John Laurens.”
“I love you too, moron,” John promised him as he pulled him closer and Alex reached over him to rest the camera, still rolling, on the bedside stand. He probably wouldn't use any of the footage in his actual vlog but it was nice to have these moments recorded for their own sakes. John managed to force an eye open to look at the alarm as Alex curled around him. “Babe, it's barely 9:30, I thought we agreed on not getting out of bed until ten.”
“I'm fine,” he protested. “I slept a full four hours and change.”
“Lets go back to sleep,” John insisted.
“I'm fine,” Alex countered. “I've already had my coffee so there's no way I'm going back to sleep.”
“You put a Red Bull in it again, didn't you?”
He hid his face in the thick curls of the smaller man. “Maybe.”
“So I don't need to worry about Adams' goon squad taking you out because you've got that sufficiently covered yourself,” he sighed. “I thought you were going to keep your caffeine separated after you nearly passed out last time.”
“No,” he countered. “I said I wasn't going to put three cans of Red Bull into one of those extreme caffeine coffees from the gas station on the corner again. That is what I agreed to.”
“Alexander Hamilton, you are going to be the death of me.”
“Sorry, darling.”
He snorted. “No you aren't. Now when do we need to leave to meet Herc and Laf for brunch?”
“Like an hour.”
“Perfect,” John told him as he rolled over to face his time. “Then we have plenty of time.”
Alexander quirked an eyebrow. “For what, my dear Laurens?”
“Sleep,” he fired back with a kiss to his nose.
He tickled his ribs. “Now who's gonna be the death of who?”
With a laugh, John pulled the sheet over their heads and reached out blindly to flick off the vlogging camera. Alexander smirked at him, tangling his fingers in the riotous curls and relishing the slightest moan his husband let escape when his wedding ring got tangled and pulled. John's fingers slipped under the bottom of the ratty t-shirt Alexander was wearing and scratched his nails over his abdomen, hiding a giggle in his kiss at the way he wiggled away from the tickle. “We're gonna be late for brunch with Laf and Herc, aren't we?”
“How many times have they been late on us,” Alex asked as he pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck. “They owe us.”
“Brilliant point,” John admitted before losing himself in the touch.
More than an hour and a half later, they found their friends sitting outside the cafe that had become their usual Sunday brunch spot over the last six years in DC. Lafayette lifted an eyebrow in their direction as they approached with hair still damp from their rushed showers, clothes not quite in order, and their fingers laced together. Hercules Mulligan had no such time for subtleties and snorted as he placed his cup on the table he'd been occupying with his boyfriend for the past forty-five minutes. “If you were going to be this late then you could have at least taken the time to make yourselves presentable.”
“Fuck off,” Alex fired back as he pulled John to him, twisting their joined hands so that his arm could be draped around the shorter man's shoulders. “You two have been late more than we have. You owed us.”
“Sure, mon ami,” Lafayette spoke, dismissing the idea with the wave of their hand. “But, uh, Alexander, your buttons are not quite right.”
He blushed and rolled his eyes, letting go of John to quickly fix his buttons. “I told you that we shouldn't have taken the elevator.”
“Whatever,” John told him. “Convince me that you didn't love that idea.”
Hercules coughed. “So I enjoyed your rant this morning, Alex.”
“Thanks,” Alex said as he slipped in the chair across from his friend and pulled John onto his lap. “It was one of my better ones even if it was a tad disjointed.”
“Maybe if you slept before you ranted,” Lafayette suggested.
“Don't mother me, Laf.”
Lafayette rolled their eyes. “I wouldn't have to if you functioned like a normal adult.”
“Hey,” John jumped to his husband's defense. “He slept a full four hours this morning before dumping a Red Bull into his coffee. That is improvement.”
“Well if I had known he was making such strides...”
“Quit being mean to me,” Alex insisted as he squeezed John's hips. “Are we going to order food or do you all just want to sit around and harass me?”
“We can do both.”
Alex shook his leg to buck his husband slightly. “Get your own seat then.”
“I'll go order,” Hercules told them as he stood. “You want your usual?”
“Herc is my favorite,” Alex informed the other two. “Yes please, Herc. And a triple espresso.”
“Double,” John countered. “You already have had more than most people have in a week and it's not even noon.”
He sighed. “Fine, a double.”
“Got it,” the bigger man told them with a grin; whether he'd ever admit or not, Hercules Mulligan had a certain affinity for the couple. “Johnny-boy, you want some of that fruity tea shit you southerners are so fond of.”
“That'd be great. Thanks Herc.”
He nodded as he stooped to press a kiss to Lafayette's forehead. “I already know what you want so just be kind to Alex while I'm getting it, yeah?”
“If you insist,” Lafayette told their boyfriend with a sigh. “He just makes it so hard.”
“No, you're just the parent-friend,” Hercules countered. “He's already got Johnny on him. So be nice.”
Lafayette rolled their eyes. “Yes sir. Now go get food before I faint from low blood sugar since these two heathens were forty-five minutes late.”
John shifted to his own seat but held onto Alexander's hand as he relaxed in the chair, crossing his legs. “How did you have time to upload a vlog if you woke me up at half nine and insisted you got four hours of sleep?”
Alex shrugged. “I did it when I went to grab the camera.”
“You're drinking one of those Neuro Sleep things tonight,” John told him with a sigh. “You're no good to Washington if you pass out on your keyboard.”
“Again,” Lafayette added.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Yes, dears.”
He pulled out his vlog camera and panned it around the table; John made the most ridiculous face he could manage while Lafayette quickly yanked their hair into a bun with a scowl. Clearing their throat, Lafayette relaxed and gave him a smile. “So, our Alexander, how are you enjoying working for Washington's paper?”
“Honestly,” Alex asked and sighed when Lafayette nodded. “We're not in the White House anymore that's for sure but I'd rather be a reporter for Washington than a financial adviser for John Adams' racist ass any day.”
“Babe,” John sighed. “Goon squad.”
“John's convinced that Adams is going to have the NSA put a hit out on me because I'm not afraid to speak my piece about him,” he explained for Lafayette's benefit. “I doubt this creole bastard is even on his radar with Burr as his press liaison. He's got bigger worries than my vlogs or, at least, he should. I've only got 2,000 followers, that's nothing.”
“Just don't... urinate in his cereal too much,” Lafayette suggested.
“You mean 'piss in his cheerios'? It's not like the man can hate me more than he does.”
John sighed. “Well lets not underestimate your abilities to piss someone off.”
“That's fair,” Alex agreed. “I do have a special knack for getting under his skin.”
“Babe, he had you escorted out of the White House after three days of working with you.”
He laughed. “One of my greatest accomplishments. The secret service agents that escorted me out were on my side anyway.”
“Be that as it may-”
“Oh look,” Alex interjected. “Here comes my hero, Hercules Mulligan, with our food!”
“What did you guys do,” Hercules asked as he handed out the food. “I've never seen Alex so happy to see me.”
“You are carrying his caffeine,” John told hm as he helped him pass the food out. “We were just expressing concern over his ability to tick off John Adams.”
“Because they love me,” Alex relented. “Otherwise they'd just let the goon squad pick me off.”
“Too true,” Lafayette agreed as he raised his fresh mug of coffee in cheers. “Santé!”
“Sláinte,” Hercules echoed in the language he'd mostly lost since he'd learned it in childhood from his immigrant mother.
“Salud,” John and Alex added as they all brushed their mugs politely together. It was an old tradition leftover from their days at college where their morning coffees were all too frequently spiked with whatever alcohol was leftover from the night before and they felt it proper to toast the fact they hadn't yet died of alcohol poisoning.
Alex panned the camera around his smiling group once more before turning it to face him and smiling. “They're idiots and assholes but they're mine and I love them.”
Hercules snorted, Lafayette tossed a crumpled up napkin at him, and John leaned over to press a quick and harsh kiss to his lips. “You are such a fucking sap, Alexander Hamilton.”
He laughed. “Love you fuckers too.”