Chapter Text
It started after an office party because of course it did.
The e-vite had said ‘a great opportunity to network with shareholders’, which translated to ‘all management-level personnel are obligated to show up at least for a couple of hours’. So there Hamilton was, some hipster brand craft beer in hand, tie hanging from his neck like an unfastened noose.
It wasn’t as though he hated these functions (no matter what Lafayette said). He just preferred to get drunk in settings where he didn’t have to hold back from getting into politics in case his impromptu debating partner would turn out to be an important executive with a blatant right-wing bias (been there, done that). So what was the point, really?
He also wasn’t a fan of getting drunk in these upscale sports bar-type lounges that typically rented for successful companies to have their networking parties in. John and Gilbert were in their element as usual, all smiles and firm handshakes, but John and Gilbert came from money. Alex knew he was dressed for the part, but new money didn’t buy cocktail party banter and anecdotes about the family house renovation project.
Alex locked eyes with John and tilted his head towards the toilets. The people gathered around the table were too engrossed in a conversation about the ongoing golf-season to pay attention to Alex as he slipped out of the booth and headed for the restroom.
Another byproduct of office parties he wasn’t a big fan of: making eye contact with his boss while his boss held his dick in his hands.
What interior design genius decided it would be a good idea to hang a wall-wide mirror above the urinals? What kind of a normally socialized human being goes ‘oh yes, certainly people enjoy either staring at their own reflection at close range or surveying the rest of the room as they pee’?
Washington nodded at Alex in that casual yet authoritative manner of his and Alex gave him a smile that felt more like a grimace. Something about this man’s mere presence turned him from a smooth talking social chameleon into a fumbling mess no matter how much time he spent working for the guy. The two and a half beers he’d downed just to get through all the golf-talk weren’t helping.
Alex decided to go for the sinks. He would come across as vain, sure, like he had just come to the restroom to touch up his hair, but there was no way in hell he was whipping his dick out in Washington’s presence.
Well, not in this context, anyway. Alex gave himself an internal eyeroll.
He stole a discreet glance as he walked past his boss. Washington had shed his suit jacket and the muscles of his back were giving his white undershirt a hard time. His gaze travelled helplessly down to the smooth lines of his powerful thigh muscles. All of Washington’s suits were tailored, of course, and he tended to favor a comfortable but close fit. Which made sense, Alex supposed, he would probably too if he was built like a fucking Greek god. Or one of the titans.
By the time he made it to the sinks Alexander had decided his face could use a splash of water.
He tried not to attend too closely to the sound of a zipper and the approaching footsteps and focused on not drenching the front of his shirt with the lukewarm water he was flinging at his burning cheeks. Washington washed his hands methodologically. Alex didn’t even need to look to know the exact way those thick yet capable fingers worked around the broad palms with surprising dexterity. He did anyway.
The worst part was that he didn’t even need to put thought into whether Washington was the type to fuck someone in a bathroom stall; all that mental labor had been done already, in excruciating detail, during the late hours at night and (worse) the idle moments at work. The answer was that not usually, Washington was definitely the ‘hotel unnecessarily nice for a sleazy hookup’-type. But he might condescend to it with some provocation, for someone who needed to be taught a lesson. Someone filthy enough that Washington would consider it fitting.
Alexander’s most definitely doomed soul nearly left his body when that heavy, freshly dried palm fell on his shoulder. It was a friendly type of a pat, the kind that someone with actual muscle mass to speak of would have weathered with ease. Alexander felt the impact of it vibrate through his entire shoulder blade. Just a little bit more pressure and Washington could have easily pushed him down on his knees.
Yes, yup, definitely no beer for Alexander in any building even remotely close to his boss ever again.
“You alright there, Alex? Need some water?” Washington’s voice was a concerned rumble and the hand stayed there, resting unintentionally heavy on his shoulder.
Alex glanced at his reflection in the mirror and decided that being seen as a lightweight was miles better than Washington knowing the true reason behind the blush on his cheeks. “Nah, the air is just kinda stuffy in there. Felt like I needed to freshen up.”
Washington smiled at him sympathetically through the mirror. The hairs at the back of Alexander’s neck didn’t know whether they should rise from annoyance or fluster. He often managed both somehow, around Washington. Alex could tell he would call him ‘son’ soon.
“No shame in it. A small thing like you doesn’t soak up alcohol the way us lumbering giants do.”
And by God, those words would have probably gone straight into Alexander’s dick had the delivery not been as ‘benevolent dad at a barbecue’ as humanly possible. Jesus fucking Christ.
Alex managed a weak smirk via the mirror. “I’m sure I’ll manage a few more.”
Washington gave his shoulder another absent minded pat and turned towards the door. “Suit yourself, just take care not to bite off more than you can chew, son.”
Oh, you have no idea. As soon as the door swung closed after Washington, Alex slumped against the counter and groaned quietly into his palms.
He really needed to get laid.
~~~
A few hours and two vodka tonics later people were starting to shrug coats on and shake hands. Alexander was among the first of them - if these weren’t his co-workers, he would have lied about having work the next morning and left an hour ago.
Suddenly the weight of a body significantly larger than his nearly toppled him over.
“Hamiltonnn,” Jefferson slurred, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His breath smelled like bourbon. “Share your taxi with me!”
“What the fuck,” he sputtered, tried to step away, but thought better of it when they both almost toppled over. He wasn’t planning on leaving this world getting squished under a shit-faced Thomas Jefferson.
“Hamilton,” Madison said casually as if he didn’t notice Alexander’s furious expression. “You’ve ordered a taxi, yes?”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “An Uber. What’s it to you?”
Madison smiled. “Dolley won’t be able to pick me up for another hour at least, and I think Thomas won’t make it that long without passing out. I believe he lives not far away from you.”
It was difficult to look assertive when Alex was barely staying upright with Jefferson still leaning on him, humming some tune totally different from the one playing on the speakers. Hamilton gave it his best shot anyway.
The ‘fuck no’ must have been extremely visible on his face as James raised an eyebrow and pitched his voice up suddenly: “Or would that be too much trouble?”
A few big name executives glanced their way with mild interest and Alex grit his teeth. Madison was the worst type of a snake. “Of course not, happy to help.”
Madison smiled with his teeth and handed him a $50 bill. “It is appreciated.”
Alex threw a hesitant glance over his shoulder as he hauled Jefferson to the exit. He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Washington, thank him for the evening.
Probably for the best.
As soon as they entered the backseat of the Uber, Jefferson straightened up and scooted to sit as far away from Alex as possible.
His eyes widened first with surprise and then with offence. “You’re not even actually shit-faced, are you?”
Jefferson gave him a disdainful glance and straightened up his vest. “Very observant, Nancy Drew. Some of us can hold our liquor, you know.”
For a few seconds Alexander just blinked in mute, furious confusion. “Then why the fuck-"
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business?” Jefferson snapped.
“Mind my own- I’ll mind my damn business once you stop going out of your way to fuck with me!”
There was a flash of playful malice in Jefferson’s side eye now. “It’s pretty obvious absolutely no one is going out of their way to 'fuck with' your thirsty ass, Hamilton.”
Alex nearly hissed. He tried not to get the objective truth in the jab get to him. “Oh, real classy.”
“Look,” Jefferson pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’ve had a shitty evening, can we just get through this fifteen minute car ride without doing this?”
Alex dug his phone out of his pocket, grumbling to himself. “Yeah, you and me both.”
But by the end of the ten-minute silence Hamilton’s interest had been piqued. What possible reason could have driven Jefferson to pretend he was embarrassingly drunk in front of all of their colleagues, just to share an Uber with him? It just wasn’t adding up.
Alexander’s evening had ranged from tedious to humiliating to downright painful, so any distraction was welcomed. By the time they pulled up to Jefferson’s apartment building he had decided he would make solving this mystery the one accomplishment to come out of the night.
“Keep the change,” he told the driver and slid out of the car after Jefferson. Madison had been right; it wouldn’t take him long to walk home once Jefferson would kick him out.
“I gotta pee,” Alex replied to the glare Jefferson threw at him over his shoulder.
“Tough shit.”
“If you wanna chance me pissing on your doorstep, that’s on you.”
Seemed like Jefferson wasn’t; he left the door ajar after himself. Alex ducked inside and glanced around with mild curiosity. Even when only illuminated by the outside streetlights (and moonlight if he was feeling particularly poetic), the apartment was like straight out of an IKEA catalogue, all modern and sleek and almost eerily spotless.
“Down the hall to the left,” Jefferson called over his shoulder, already headed for the open-plan kitchen.
“Thanks love,” Alex cooed and snickered at the raised middle finger he received as a reply.
Alex did an admirable job of not snooping around the medicine cabinet and spent a good half-minute staring at himself in the mirror, wondering what made him so un-fuckable. His new suit actually fit him, unlike the baggy Goodwill ones he’d worn back when he interned for the company. He looked lean (an adjective he preferred over Hercules’ ‘starving’) and sharp, though his overgrown, messy hair and the bags under his eyes always made him look at least a bit sloppy. Dishevelled. In a ‘hot, impassioned genius’-kind of way, he hoped. Alex grimaced slightly and made his way back to the living room.
“Took you long enough to steal the toiletries,” Jefferson said, lounging on the sofa, long feet propped on the coffee table and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’d lost his magenta suit jacket and unbuttoned his vest, along with about half of his shirt. The fact that Alexander’s gaze travelled down the exposed scrap of toned, brown skin attested to the fact that he really needed to get laid.
He stood in front of the coffee table, crossed his arms and snorted. “Now this is just sad.”
Jefferson swirled the glass in his hand. “What is?”
“Oh, I don’t know, leaving a party so that you can drink in the dark by yourself?”
As a reply Jefferson only nudged at another, empty glass sitting on the coffee table with his foot. Oh. Hamilton poured himself one and sat cautiously down next to Jefferson. He appeared deep in thought, staring into the middle distance with a slight frown.
Something about the weirdness of this setting, being in Jefferson’s living room with only the hallway light on and a drink in his hand, was getting to Alex. He wasn’t sure how to approach any of it so he twisted to face the man, propped a knee on the sofa and his elbow on the back rest. Casual and somewhat empathetic, like they were some talking buddies rather than two notoriously badly matched co-workers.
“Why’d you wanna leave the party, Thomas?”
Maybe the guy actually was a bit more tipsy than he let on, since the following words came out thick and sounding slightly like something he hadn’t fully intended to say out loud. “Couldn’t be around James that drunk. Woulda said something stupid.”
Hamilton had never been accused of being particularly observant of other people’s feelings, but even he could connect the dots here.
The loud snort he let out seemed to shake Jefferson out of his reverie and alert him to the fact they were not, indeed, some talking buddies lamenting about their problems over drinks.
“What the fuck is you problem?” he snapped, his expression warped with disdain and badly disguised embarrassment.
Alex swallowed any further giggles bubbling up in his chest. “I’m sorry it’s just- pining after your straight best friend? How clichéd can you get?”
Jefferson’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I dunno, how about a twink with a power play fetish mooning over his two decades older, elusive boss?”
Alex sputtered, his cheeks suddenly on fire. “Okay, first of all, I’m not a twink, and second of all,” the two fingers he held up wavered and Jefferson raised an expectant eyebrow. “I’m not a fucking twink.”
Now it was Jefferson’s turn to snort. “Right.”
“Fine, congrats.“ Alex threw his arms in the air and nearly gave them both a whiskey shower. “We’re two losers with unrequited feelings, having a drink in the dark! Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Jefferson spat and raised his glass into a toast.
“Great!”
The both drank in a tense silence.
Alex could never really say afterwards what prompted his most intense flashes of genius (this included the ones that landed him in colossal trouble). Maybe it was something about the way the soft light fell on Jefferson’s slowly bobbing Adam’s apple as he downed the rest of his whiskey. Or perhaps it was just the only logical conclusion to the particular course of events of the evening; Washington’s benevolent dismissal, the uncomfortable forced networking, going home with Jefferson of all goddamn people and somehow coming clean of the train wrecks that were their love lives.
And he had been hoping to go home with someone, hadn’t he?
Alex didn’t fight or question the impulse, there would be plenty of time for that later. He set his glass down and leaned closer to Jefferson in the same motion. Instead of pulling back he stayed close to Jefferson’s jawline, head ducked in an angle that enabled him to gaze up at him suggestively.
Jefferson met his gaze with an unreadable, slightly calculative expression. The lack of ‘get the fuck away from me’ on his face encouraged Alex to grab Jefferson’s glass and set that on the coffee table as well. He licked his lips and straddled the man slowly, just waiting for the moment the other shoe would drop and he would get thrown out of the apartment.
Except he started to feel less and less like that was about to happen. There was a certain… not an electricity, but an anticipatory tension in the air, like they were both watching a train crash in slow motion, horrified yet mesmerized at the same time.
There was none of the usual probing and coaxing here, just two mouths crashing into each other as if to rip the band aid off in one swift motion. There was even a slight clatter of teeth, and then Jefferson’s tongue, and Jefferson’s slightly cold hands pulling Alexander’s shirt out on his pants and pushing under it, running up his sides and down his back. His tongue tasted like whiskey, but then so did Alexander’s, he supposed.
Alex’s hands hovered by Jefferson’s hair. “Is it okay if I..?” he muttered against his lips.
“Go ahead,” Jefferson grunted and Alex sank his fingers into the curls as Jefferson nibbled on his lower lip. Alex threaded his hands through the mass of hair and thought somewhat hopefully about Jefferson’s fingers pulling on his.
It was a weird mixture of awkward and incredible, this insistent and hungry mouth on his and the slight scratch of nails running down his back. Alex couldn’t quite tell if his breathing was turning heavy with want just because he was so goddamn touch starved, or if Jefferson really did kiss exactly like he needed to be kissed, and would probably only get better with some practice.
He wouldn't be as good as Washington, Alex knew that. But fuck, nobody would. That was the point, the locus of this stranglehold Washington had on him, this terrible and scorching desire, was that no one could compare, or even come close to the sheer dominance Washington held over a room.
But there was something here; a certain lazy self-assuredness in Jefferson that drew Alexander in as much as it pissed him off. He couldn’t help the way he naturally gravitated towards people who commanded the room’s attention any more than he could help breathing. And Jefferson’s hands may not have been large and powerful like Washington’s, but his fingers felt strong and capable, massaging into the flesh of Alexander’s hips and thumbs brushing over his hip bones. Jefferson was taller and broader and stronger and perfectly capable of bending Alex over a flat surface and pinning him down, and wasn’t that all that mattered, really?
He could work with this.
They parted eventually, panting and quivering and a little bit mortified.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Jefferson sputtered, his drawl even heavier than usual. “Why the fuck is this happening right now?”
Alex grinned and rolled his hips. Jefferson’s jaw muscle jumped slightly. “Why not? We’re both sexually frustrated and too bitter over what we can’t have to pursue a proper relationship with someone we actually like,” he summed the thoughts that had flashed through his head right before he first straddled Jefferson. “And like, correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’m getting a sense that you’re not in any immediate danger of falling unconditionally and irrevocably in love with me.”
“Was that a fucking Twilight quote?”
“Yup,” Alex popped the p. “One you recognized.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Just because Jemmy made me watch it with him and…” he trailed off. There was a flicker of something like pain on his face.
For a moment Jefferson just stared at the opposite wall and licked his lips, as if to consider the taste of Hamilton still lingering on them. “You know, out of all the ideas you’ve had, this one might not be completely moronic.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Gee, already making me feel all treasured and special.”
Something in Jefferson's eyes seemed to darken. His gaze ran down and up Hamilton’s frame, slow and considering. “Yeah? That how you want Washington to make you feel, treasured and special? Want him to make love to you sweet and tender and buy you dinner afterwards?” Alex swallowed. Jefferson’s hand intertwined with his hair and yanked his head back. A quiet ghost of a whimper fell from his lips.
“Didn’t think so.”
And then Alex was being thrown on his back on the sofa, and Jefferson was on him, lips and teeth on his neck and hands pinning his hips down. Jefferson sucked on his pulse point, hard, and Alex tried to buck his hips up, but couldn't really budge for an inch. He whined quietly and the lips on his neck quirked up.
The fantasy came to him easy as anything, probably thanks to loads and loads of late-night practice. Washington’s hands pinning him down with ease, hands that could break him but wouldn’t no matter how much he begged. An insistent, hot mouth marking him with no regard for how prominent the spot on his neck, how difficult to hide.
Jefferson pushed his shirt up, and Hamilton’s back arched off the sofa as if he was being electrocuted when Jefferson’s soft lips closed around his nipple. His hands came to pin Alexander’s wrists to the hand rest as he swirled his tongue over it, slowly, followed by a grace of teeth.
“Fuck, please,” Alex panted, twisting uselessly under him.
“Hmm?” Jefferson hummed. His hair tickled Hamilton’s chest.
“Just fuck me already.”
Thomas chuckled. “Someone’s needy.” His eyes narrowed in a cat-like manner. “Think you’ll have to do some more convincing, though.”
He gave Alexander’s throat one more kiss and straightened up. “Take those clothes off.” Then he took off.
Alex chewed on his cheek in irritation as he unbuttoned his shirt. ‘Do some more convincing’, his ass. He was Alexander goddamn Hamilton, he knew for a fact he was a delight in bed. If anything, Thomas should be convincing him to let him fuck him.
He was lucky Alexander liked being made to beg.
By the time Jefferson made it back to the living room, Alex was lounging naked on the couch, his best ‘come and get it’-expression slapped on. He could tell Jefferson tried to look nonchalant, but failed to disguise the appreciative once-over he gave Alexander’s body.
Thomas raised an eyebrow at Alexander’s knowing smirk, and tossed a lube bottle at him. He barely caught it.
“Why don’t you loosen yourself up for me.”
The Virginian background never showed in Washington's speech (something that may have led to Hamilton disparaging his boss’s home state by accident once or twice) and Alex wondered, not for the first time, if it would push through when the man was turned on.
He squeezed a generous amount of the fruity-smelling lube (no need to be frugal since he didn't pay for it) on his fingers and propped his upper body over the wide hand rest, legs spread. “Like this?”
Jefferson sat down slowly. “Mmhm.”
Alex smirked to himself and sank a finger inside. This was perfect. He couldn’t see Jefferson, but he felt the weight of his gaze, heard the soft rustling on his clothes and his slightly heavy breathing. Perfect for imagining a different set of eyes on him. Appreciating the show he was putting on while getting ready to be fucked.
Two fingers and Alexander’s moans were getting more genuine by the minute. The angle was making it difficult to hit his prostate, which in some messed up way was working for him. The idea of not being quite satisfied until he’d get a cock up his ass, the promise of the satisfaction to come was raising goosebumps over the skin of his arms. The fact that he was painfully hard already attested to the fact it had been awhile.
Not that he was the only one. There was the sound of a zipper, then Thomas spitting on his palm and then the slick sound of skin sliding on skin. Alex stole a glance just to see what he was in for, then groaned into the fabric of the couch and added a third finger.
If he stopped to think about it (which was, like, the opposite of what he was trying to accomplish here), it probably would have broken his mind trying to figure out how the fuck he ended up here, fingering himself on Thomas Jefferson’s ugly firetruck red sofa. Needing it so badly. But there they were and Alex would be damned if he wasn’t gonna make the best of this lapse of judgement.
Hell, if Jefferson was half as good at using what he had as Alex suspected he might be, he might be partial to making this a regular lapse of judgement.
“I’m ready,” Alex grunted.
There was rustling of a condom wrapper and Thomas ran his palms up the backs of Alex’s thighs. His hands were a lot warmer now.
“Hold yourself spread,” he whispered.
Alex swallowed his fluster and did as he was told. Thomas stroked up and down his spine, feather light. “Good boy.”
He pushed in just slow enough that it didn’t hurt, aside from the usual slight sting that Alex weathered with ease.
“Ah, fuck,” Thomas groaned, his hands coming to grip Alexander’s hips.
Alex braced his hands against the hand rest and pushed back, impaling himself on the last remaining inches of Jefferson’s cock. “Well get on it, then.”
For a second there, Alex was genuinely worried Jefferson would be gentle. He wasn’t.
The first thrust would have thrown Alex against the hand rest had it not been for the iron grip Jefferson had on his hips. His pace was as thorough as it was brutal, slamming home with an obscene sound with every snap of his hips.
As much as Alex liked fucking himself on other people’s dicks (rolling his hips and tightening his muscles just right until they whined for it), just kneeling there and taking it was even better. Made him feel claimed and used in the best of ways. He arched his back and spread his legs wider, used every trick he knew to both make this good for Jefferson, and to communicate that he needed to keep doing that. He could tell already that this wouldn’t last long, but then again that’s what you get for having sex while tipsy.
“Harder,” Alex moaned, really just for the sake of saying it. The grip on his hips tightened and the mounting, relentless pressure made his toes curl up.
Washington would make Alex ride him, he was sure, but usually it would be like this. He’d be held down and fucked into the mattress, filled again and again until he couldn’t help coming just from that. He couldn’t settle on a fantasy and stick to it; the different images kept flashing across his mind and blending into each other. Washington pinning him against a door. Bending him over a desk. The backseat of his car.
“Sir,” Alex cried. There wasn’t enough air no matter how much he gasped. “Sir, sir, sir!”
Thomas grunted. His movements were getting shorter, more erratic. “Don’t you fucking dare come on my couch, Hamilton.”
Alex’s fingers were blindly scrambling against the fabric but there was nothing to hold onto. Every thrust felt so fucking good now, every single one. The muscles of his thighs quivered with it.
“Pull my hair,” he groaned.
Jefferson did, and the harsh flash of pain combined with a particularly harsh thrust sent Alex right over the edge. He couldn’t remember the last time he came so hard, even if his brain had had the processing power to render anything beyond the violent wave of pleasure contracting his muscles. Jefferson moaned, properly for the first time since they started, and stilled, buried deep inside Alex. After a moment he slumped over him, pushing him into the gross damp spot on the fabric of the sofa.
For a few long seconds they laid there, heaving, probably stalling for the moment they’d have to come to terms with what they’ve just done.
Eventually Jefferson pulled out, and then showed Alex aside to look at the streaks of cum on his sofa.
“Dude.”
Alex stretched out his shoulders with a satisfying pop, making Jefferson grimace. “I don’t know what you expected to happen, man.”
Jefferson glared. The languid slackness of the orgasm was nearly fully wiped off his face already. “Who the fuck comes just from prostate stimulation alone?”
Alex was feeling fucked out and satisfied enough to wink at Jefferson as if this was post-coitus flirting rather than their usual pointless bicker. “Thanks for the dicking.” All of his muscles protested as he stood up. He would feel this for days. “As the bottom, I get fist bathroom rights.”
“We’re splitting the cleaning bill,” Jefferson yelled after him as he limped to the bathroom.
“In your dreams!”
Seeing his reflection in the bathroom mirror made Alex want to turn the lights off. It really hit him just than that Jefferson had seen him like this, all sweaty and red and wrecked. His hair a mess and fading marks on the tendons of his neck. The worst part was the twitch of interest his flaccid dick gave at the sight. Alex shot it an accusatory glare.
He sighed. At least he had someone to call now whenever Washington was making him feel like a bitch in heat. Which was… often.
Great. This had been a great idea.