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If it were an uncommon occurrence that Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens loved the most, it was to awaken before his dear Alexander had the chance to retire from their —occasionally shared— couch to fulfill his morning duties. He never minded the absence, it became simply a routine. Under that impression is that he is pleasantly surprised to open his eyes and see the auburn curls of his lover beside himself. He couldn't —and neither did he want to— refrain himself from touching them. The morning sun faintly came inside through the window. Only by the way the sun barely could illuminate part of the room, he knew it was early in the morning.
It was a natural freezing morning, as every other at Valley Forge. Under the sheets it was manageable but still cold. His body was pressed against Hamilton's on the tiny bed they had the luck to publicly share. Alexander's arms were vaguely embracing him by the hips. They would sleep together anyway, it wasn't that difficult to find a method to end up in the same mattress. Hamilton and Laurens have been sleeping together —in every sense of the word— for a few months now. Having to scurry to get under each other's bedsheets, to sneak just to be able to have their privacy, was now just another part of their lives. Laurens learnt to be fine with it. And throughout these months he had to learn to be comfortable with many things. The lack of his dear boy most mornings when he dawned and many late nights in which Alexander decided to stay at their office was starting to make him nostalgic about the present. John was not dumb, he understood that Hamilton's skills were exceedingly necessary for the revolution. And if that meant —even if their relationship was legal— that he would have some lonely, cold, sorrowful mornings for the sake of freedom for his country, John Laurens would never let his filthy desires sabotage his nation.
If it was permitted to him to think a little egoistically, he had to confess that he yearned for this every time he succumbed to slumber. Even now that John was fortunate enough to share a couch with Alex, due to the limited space, he knew it wasn't possible to have many of these. His boy was back to the headquarters with him and the rest of the aides after a deep illness that had him trapped in New York. Only the thought of his lover bedridden, half dead, far from his care, his arms and his kisses, made Laurens shiver. But he was here now, right next to him. And it was actually one of the few times he did get exactly what he has always wanted. He couldn't be this ungrateful when he sometimes opened his eyes to the beautiful sight of his naked boyfriend putting his breaches on. And when his dear boy caught him staring —which was almost everytime—, John would be compensated with a precious show and some sleepy kisses that'd make him start the day with the brightest smile.
He did not realize how he was already smiling. John settled on his right side to be face to face looking at his dear Hamilton. Strands of red curly hair partially covered his freckled face, not letting Laurens admire completely the beauty of his lover. Softly, almost as if his Alexander was made from glass, John moved his hair to the side. It was anything but usual to see none other than the great Alexander Hamilton in such a state. Not a single wrinkle in his face, nor a single thought. So vulnerable. And only Laurens could have the honour to see it. He hoped that it'd be like that until the end of times. Such a foolish wish.
Laurens pressed his lips against his sleeping boyfriend's closed eyes. Such eyes. Those eyes that turned his world upside down since their first encounter. Those eyes on which he finally saw a future for himself. He never dared to let himself envision what could come next, he didn't need those fantasies. There was no after the war for people like him. From the moment he was allowed to help the revolution, he knew he was going to die a soldier. He was meant for the battlefield. John Laurens knew that his life could only end fighting for his country, he has always wished it this way. His death had to be a demonstration of his bravery, had to be honorable, away from his sodomite condition. Maybe if he served well enough to the Continental Army, if he fought for the right causes, his sin could be forgiven. But maybe he could have a future now, with Alexander by his side.
John would grapple with that unlikely future for now. That future in which he could keep loving Alexander until wrinkles etch their skins and their bodies start to fail them. Until they are not young anymore. An “after the war”, in which he wakes next to his dear Hamilton every morning. Dreaming about the impossible was childish for a man like him, but he couldn't die from just dreaming. And if he shall die, at least he had to word this sensations once more to his dearest. Before getting up from the mattress, carefully to not wake up his boy, he planted a sweet kiss on Hamilton's red lips. He makes his way to the desk on the small room and takes a letter paper along to his quill.
Pennsylvania, Valley Forge February 14th, 1778
To my dearest boy, Alexander,
Good morning, my love. I hope you get to read this letter first thing when you wake up and your heart fills with the same warmness that invades my chest while I write it. When was the last time I had the honour to be this close to you, my dear boy? Was it near my last birthday? Even if it was just yesterday, I'll say it was long enough. We were apart for more time than what it shall be logical. And now that I'm just a few centimeters away from you, I can't help but feel hypnotised by such a peaceful frame I have in front of my eyes. Are you always this serene while you sleep? Is this addictive view the one I'm missing just to get some more minutes of sleep? If it were the case, I'll have to commit to waking earlier from now on, before this world fazes your pace. Before your witted mind can start working for the day and this beautifully, carefree and sweet state disappears from this world without being praised as it deserves to be. Shall I be the only one to praise it, my darling.
I wish this to be eternal, my dear. I wish to wake and see your face every morning left in my earthly time, and when the time comes, I'll even search for you in heaven. Until then, I´ll have to be satisfied whispering my affections, my most sinful wishes, those that we have to hide from our society, our friends, right into your ears. I shall try not to be afraid that someone might hear us, it'd be only us. I could make a show out of our love. Kisses, caresses and all of it that I can't even think about without feeling my cheeks redden. If it was under my power, my dear boy, all of these actions would be of public display, because love should not be hidden. Should not be a crime, a sin, something to be ashamed for. Loving you shouldn't be anything but celebrated. But as the world is I can't love you without risking your precious life, my love, might this letter try to replace all of those lost signs of affection between us.
My Alexander Hamilton, my dear boy, my everything and my only one at the same time. I could employ a thousand words from my vocabulary, from each language I know, to try and describe your beauty, and still none of them would ever be fair to you. Your red curls fire my soul when I dare to look in their direction, just another reminder of how much I appreciate having you by my side every morning and every night we can share. I love just to run my finger through every single strand. I wish to sink under your hair and never come back. You can do whatever you want with me and I would wish to never go away. Your scintillating sightliness delights me in such a way that I can't even compare it to my dear fauna. That unique flame that lights your eyes when you advocate for your ideals, for our nation, can easily outshine even the stars. Your freckles compose constellations that would have humanity trying to decipher them for ages without any success.
Your beauty is such that even while I'm writing these words for you, I can't retain my eyes, as well as my heart, from wandering to your handsome face. If my willpower to finish this utterly necessary letter were lesser, I would have succumbed to your natural charms a while ago, going straight for your lips. I'm going to take advantage of the privacy that this letter may give me, trusting enough in your intelligence to know that you'll either burn or be careful at the time to preserve this letter, to confess that I find myself not caring about what others may say. I no longer care about the sinful character of our relationship. I do not care if they'll say it's immoral. I couldn't replicate the feelings that I have for you, or the things I do to you, with any women. Or anyone else for that matter. I could try, I shall do so.
I would love to continue to write pages and pages to demonstrate how far my love, passion, desire and fascination is for you, but the day is about to start and you shall wake soon to start with your daily duties. And while you attend them, while you work, I will admire the way your demeanor shifts in concentration from far away. We will keep the distance expected from us as just friends, but we'll know. You'll know, my love, that if this world was to separate us, our love shall overcome earthly desires.
Always yours,
John Laurens.
The song of a bird brought him back to reality. Was it an owl? At this time of the day, it shouldn't happen. If there was something he knew about life, it is that things have a reason to be. And that owls are an augury. A bad one. What was he about to do? Why has he got such a foolish idea? It was a selfish attempt to show his love, a really dangerous one.
His Alexander could still be cured, he still found women to catch his eyes. Hamilton could be redeemed, have a good life alongside a beautiful woman. He had a chance to be normal. And John Laurens had no right to keep sickening him, to spread sodomy to his dearest friends. He shouldn't keep this toomfoolery up. Alexander had a future to live. A legacy to create. Alexander Hamilton had his whole life ahead of him, he had to prove that he was worthy, that he could change this world. He ought to get married, to show everyone that he does not need an influential name to succeed. Hamilton's life was to continue. John's dirty wishes were not going to be the reason for Alexander not to triumph. He took the letter with himself that morning. It ended up being part of that night's campfire.