Drink and be merry!

by Fireflame99

Summary:

[March, 1778]

"R-Right, uh, Baron Von Steuben is hosting a party of sorts. You and Hamilton are some of the very few invited." Pierre is swift in looking at the distance without much focus as to what specifically, but rather to avoid the sight of the other bashfully. Though his hand arises to reveal a letter in his fidgeting palm, pointing it in Laurens' direction for the taking.

"Of sorts? Who else is invited?" He takes the letter briefly examining it, but to his disappointment, it is just parchment folded and sealed with wax. Lacking any proper mailing acquisitions like the owner, address, or person to gift it to. Though John supposes it wouldn't be needed if Pierre was assigned to give them out to a select few. It still unnerved him.

"If you attend, you will see,"

(Or; the iconic "pantless party" ensures)

Notes:

time for the pantless party y'all

Chapter 1: one

[March, 1778]

 

To think John Laurens ever had found the ambitious man that was Baron Von Steuben, illaudable would have sounded ludicrous as of now. Vowing to his dear boy, Laurens swore to reap what he had sown. The Baron would only earn his wrath if necessary thereafter properly meeting the man — But it was all then needed, to say Hamilton and Laurens had become quite fond of the Prussian and his fellow aides was quite the understatement. Having the company that was trusted with the knowledge of their bond, was the relief Laurens had never known he longed for. To have friendship with those who understood the struggles of their sacred bond, was the solace they needed during these stressful times. 

Though Walker personally assured them they were not in jeopardy with any of the Barons’ subordinates knowledge, and that he had, in fact, engaged in such  affections  with his dearest friend, North, and to their surprise, The Baron himself — While an utter shock to them, solidarity kept them aligned in respect and to pledge to not betray with reporting any of them. 

Yet, Laurens had felt uneasy with their relationship traveling to the ears of others — Hamilton held his hand tight and swore nothing dreadful was to come from those they could trust. Alongside, seeing the Marquis again was one distant reunion. Though Lafayette was still hesitant to accept and hadn't quite agreed to an extent. He still had said he was to cherish his friends, as they were his beloved in his own words, and it would be silly to toss aside a friendship he adored so much.

 

Through it all, John was exhausted. With the constant unease of who would know, or who would accept. He had much rather just embraced the solitude of comforting contentment with his lover. The boy in question had been laying, stretched out in adorable habit, upon the blonde's bare chest, whimpering quiet snores occasionally — Nothing could ever relax them more than; dozing in bed late in the morning, ignoring the sun that tried endlessly to blind their shuttered eyes. But only the soundless peace of the morning, with the stench of dew, and the birds that fluttered happily outside — Work forgotten and pushed to the farthest corner of their minds, only tending to whatever they may dream of. 

The world must have hated John Laurens to his very core, as to torture him so sadistically, with an erupting nock upon the door. And when left unanswered, it continued raging with impatience. No, the gods could try, but it would be in vain when contesting with John's obduracy — he refused to acknowledge the repeated banging of a knuckle against hardwood, praying that whoever was awaiting would just get drained eventually and perish. But no. Nothing ever worked out for all of Johns' miseries — The knocking continued to clatter, it was unbearably persistent, with all of its clitter clatter resounding annoyingly in John's ears. His peaceful dream vanished as the sound clapped quaking the room, and waking his brain. Yet someone else too, as the shorter one squirmed relentlessly at the noise. 

"John for the love of all that's endurable…" Alexander muttered, muffled as his face lay hidden in the sheets over John's upper half. It only inflamed the agitation, as Alexander was awake and fully capable of answering the door himself — But here he was, laying around like a spoiled prince ordering his servant.

God, why couldn't Shrewsberry be here…

"Aye, you're just as capable, Hamilton."

"Yes, but it's much too comfortable here, you go."

John would argue more if it wasn't for his diminished tolerance. Or at least that's what he told himself to spare his pride. 

"Coming!" With an exhausted groan, John submitted and shouted enough that, whatever pest behind the door, could wait  quietly  for him to answer. Which it had, that ever so irritating ring had been silenced. But John knew better that it was only to revive itself if he abused its thin patience — So with some struggle he rolled over, flipping the selfish Hamilton out of his blissful warmth with a yelp, and stood up from the bed before he could convince himself to retreat back into the warm sheets. 

Though it felt like the morning intended to torture him with continuous inconveniences, as in his fit of agitation; he had stood too fast to pay any heed to the bar of wood, that stood far too low from the roof for his liking — As it had come crashing into the back of his skull with a bang, and a pulsating ache jittering his head. He exclaimed with another wailing groan, though more out of the pain than irritation this time — Rubbing hastily at the throbbing to ease its burn, he seethed through his gritted teeth having half a mind to just rip out the board in revenge.  

He swiftly turned when he heard the muffled giggles of a certain redhead, he scowled when he caught a glimpse of the poorly restrained smile that twisted Hamilton's cheeks and lips in mischievous laughter — Though the glare had only provoked more chuckles, as Hamilton curled into the sheets hoping to hide his amusement at Laurens' horrible start to a morning. The world must have despised him.

"Aye, yeah, chortle to your heart's content. ‘Tis just 'cause you're far too short to ever—" John's attempt at a remark is cut off with the flying pillow that greets his face harshly — Though once the bag of feathers has fallen to the floor shortly after, and he can see once more. He can't deny the fluttering feeling that intoxicated his heart; when he sees the pretty little smile upon Hamilton's snarky lips. His boy is the picture of beauty, with his cheeks, flushed, dusting his freckles — And waves of scarlet curls that run down from his scalp like a waterfall. 

Although he isn't given a moment's peace to cherish it, a knock resounds once more and interrupts their domestic play. John rolled his sky-colored eyes, before tugging on a shirt for some decency as he made his stomped way to the door.

With more force than he had initially intended, the door is flying open. But the grimacing blonde eases when it's revealed to be Du Ponceau — Who was cowering at the steps when he caught the briefest sight of the deathly glare. John felt swarmed with guilt when he saw the victim he targeted his anger at. Knowing Ponceau, whatever he had come to tell them was to be of some importance — Considering his usual reluctance towards social engagement when 'tis was unnecessary. 

"Ah, Pierre. Good morning." The taller one smiled, trying to ease the tension, nervously caressing the back of his neck with a light scratch. Though he would argue his morning has been everything in the dictionary,  but  good, the boy didn't deserve to bear the whole story of his eventful forenoon.

"Yes, um, good morning to you as well, Sir." 

Something is off, Laurens' isn't sure what, but the way his friend remains barely exceeding speechlessness, and flushed pink at the doorway, with a widened mouth. Even with this weather, it wasn't harsh enough to cause that much swelling of the cheeks. Though following the view of his widened eyes, Laurens discovers the bit of his chest bearing nakedness around his collarbone — As he had forgotten tying his dress shirt in his haste. The blonde can't help but smirk just the slightest, teasingly, just to torture the boy who pales when the unspoken discovery is made. John called it revenge for souring his morning.

"R-Right, uh, Baron Von Steuben is hosting a party of sorts. You and Hamilton are some of the very few invited." Pierre is swift in looking at the distance without much focus as to what specifically, but rather to avoid the sight of the other bashfully. Though his hand arises to reveal a letter in his fidgeting palm, pointing it in Laurens' direction for the taking.

"Of sorts? Who else is invited?" He takes the letter briefly examining it, but to his disappointment, it is just parchment folded and sealed with wax. Lacking any proper mailing acquisitions like the owner, address, or person to gift it to. Though John supposes it wouldn't be needed if Pierre was assigned to give them out to a select few. It still unnerved him.

"If you attend, you will see," Pierre said like it was an incentive, but the ambiguity was not comforting. Though before he could inquire as to the tone, the dark-haired one is curt in his spin and is already retreating down the road. A small packet of a few other letters he is off to deliver in hand. "Good day." 

Laurens doesn't bother to bid the other a goodbye, as he is already far too distant. What odd behavior for the boy, it makes John's stomach churn at the sight of the letter — Whatever it contained had made Ponceau clumsy with fright, and that wasn't inherently a trusting sign. But at last, his mind was far too murky to care for such — Returning inside to escape the chilly outdoors, John sees Alexander already dressing for the day. Though his timing is impeccable, Alexander is bending down by the waist to reach for his trousers forgotten to the floor. Just the slightest sight of his bare ass peeking from underneath his nightshirt. John swallows though he is dry-mouthed.

"Enjoying the view, Jacky?" Alexander smirks, sly but cunning as always. Standing upright with sass, seemingly reading what happened by the shocked expression upon his lover — Though John argued internally he schemed the very scene, so the boy could laugh at his flushing. But then Alexander drops his eyes to the letter in John's hands, looking up once more but with a curious countenance. "What is that?"

"Invitation to a private party of the Baron's presumably." John clears his throat, hoping his reddened cheeks have faded. When Alexander hurried to his side to see the letter himself, John peels it open so they both may read it.

 

 

Dear admirable Friends,

A private party is to be orchestrated tonight. The Baron and his men have come to a jocular conclusion when in regards to the stifling morale of the army. That is, their spirits are to cheer once more in true Liberty, as we are to fancy ourselves some ail in partnership of a night's worth of joyous company. The only prerequisite to standing those who arrive are not, under any sort of means, to acquire a full pair of pants. If chosen to rebel, do not fret when one's trousers have been robbed from himself. It is assured to occur. The tavern down the street is rented for the occasion, arriving at eight in the night sharply. Do join if one can.

 

 

John has to reread through the sentences continuously in disbelief of what he had just read. He even checks the back blank part of the letter, hoping to see it all be revealed to be a stunt. But to no avail, as there's nothing, merely the absurd invitation of sorts is left to be deciphered — It's so risible, it's practically farcical. John is almost convinced that if they do attend the wildest of gatherings, it will then be exposed as jest and they all share a good laugh. The risk of this supposed night out is ridiculous to even consider being plausible — Lest they wanted a fun party before they were sentenced to be court-martialed. Alexander does not seem to agree.

"Sounds joyous."

“You can’t possibly be going.” John is so swift to glare at Hamilton. His expression is accusing, disbelieving, and judging while his eyes dart over Hamilton's figure — The blended emotions rise rapidly, and race across his expression further when Hamilton remains unmoving. With dying hope of this was all an elaborate joke they planned to fool him with — It truly seemed as though all voices of reasoning had fallen mute on everyones’ behalf.

“Why not so?”

"It is insanity! Why, I'll even call it imbecile!" John exclaimed, aggravated he was seemingly the only one in possession of common sense. To see the redhead looking at him like he was the madman here only fueled his brewing bitterness more so — He turned away as if he couldn’t bear to stand the innocent look of Alexanders’.  This is what he got for oversharing . His subconscious pacing had practically imprinted footprints into the wooden floorboards of the cabin, his stockings were sure to wear if he kept it up too. "Why not just inform Washington we are committing an unlawful sin forwardly!"

"My dear, it's the Baron. Washington will merely regard it as though it’s nothing more than a trip to the bar if we are to be discreet enough." Laurens doesn't turn but he hears the way Alexander treads to him from behind. And then those pale arms that encase their way around his torso, it had eased his tension and his legs fail to move from the stillness that overcomes him. Admittedly, it works as his vexation has diminished some alongside his terrorizing worry — Alexander had that artistry, no matter what flames roared in Laurens’ chest, Alex had feather-soft touches that felt like ocean waves against sunburned skin. "Besides, it sounds like fun. Let loose, my Laurens."

"You just want a faultless excuse to go without pants." Laurens sighed, light humor taking over his tone. Patting lightly on the hands tied around him, he leans back some, enjoying the embrace with his lover. 

"Do not lie to yourself, I bet you dream to see me as such." Alexander chortles some as he buries his face into the fabric of John’s shirt — It warms his chilling cheeks as he cuddles close to John’s body heat. He wishes they could be like this for the entirety of time, no war to tear them apart continuously, just the lazy mornings concerned with nothing but their affections. Yet John still felt distant, with worry and fret captivating his thoughts. 

Truthfully, the party did sound like a decent tactic to relieve the abounding stress through the winter — It wasn’t as though the Barons’ men were not a comforting or enjoyable company, but lingering fear still shimmered beneath the pounding of his heart. He only prayed it was not to be their ending doom if anyone was to barge in uninvited with thousands of officers running in — As there would be no easily formable explanation; not when they would be free of trousers, and so drunk they may faint from such. Although such a deadly ending, yet so unimaginable it causes a tangible chuckle to pardon the topic.

"Come, we ought to hurry. Washington is not one who is admirably patient." Laurens sighs before releasing himself of Hamilton’s caring embrace, as much as he loathes for it to be so — He knows of how time is getting later, if they are not to hurry in their breakfast, they will surely have to endure the scolds of the Ancient Secretary and his Excellency. Though while turning to retrieve his own attire, he does spot the brief sorrow of disappointment in Hamilton's expression. But it's gone in moments and leaves little time to even inquire about it. 

 

---

 

“Rechts!”

 

The resounding tunes of orders and men marching echo through the camp, universal bitterness is projected through every man’s expression. Drill instruction is sure to wake the entirety of the colonies, why not begin the horrid snowy morning with such, shall we? After all, who doesn’t dance to the melody of the rumblings of boots hard against the snow, the blasts of German; Steuben had mercilessly shouted repeatedly, only for Walker to repeat but in English, as he trails beside the older man — John’s bored and wandering mind thinks of how that very same man lays in bed with Walker and North as they…

“Ich sagte richtig!” The Baron yells hard and loud, he needs no rouge to redden his face for the French, as it's already unbearably crimson; he even looks like a boiling kettle of anger. One could imagine a comical sight of steam erupting from his bristled state — Yet the thought does little to lighten the mood as tired men groan and shift in their solid stance. Having to persist in patience and composure, while in freezing snow and uncaring breezes.

“ Right , men, damn it!  Right! ” Walker roars, as the men in march slouch and sigh before turning — Needless now; as their lethargic behavior is not eligible for military means, and the Baron orders them to reverse and try once more. In a way, the army has become the depiction of a child — One that was left unsupervised and to their own devices, which has resulted now in what little men they do carry to ever call an "army"; are nothing but substandard, spiritless, inert men. It seems as though any actual passion for the American cause has been nothing but a fairytale.

It's a painful process to bear and watch if you're Hamilton and Laurens, who stand aside awaiting orders from the general. They stay astray and just observe, light frowns as they see the idle attempts at a drill if you'd even call it that — As men who have studied the disciplines of war, and the art of such; it sends a slivering feeling of dismay to gawk at what excuse they merely hold. The men aren't even in sync, some hold their muskets upon the wrong soldier, and others have barely any clothes.

Quite like how the party would be tonight.

 

His excellency doesn't look pleased either, as he eyes Steuben and the men’s routine — He looks like a parole officer as he strides across the field, watching every flaw, every muscle, and detail the human eye may catch. It’s as though he sought out imperfections like  he  was the instructor here, and it’s clear it even bothers the Baron. Yet, he says nothing about the sort and focuses primarily on the procession — Though no one doubts he will have a word with his Excellency about intruding. Though truly, It's hard to tell whom to pity more, the Baron who's been pushing at this repeatedly through the daybreak, or the men who’ve probably grown tired through the hours to care any more or less. What a pathetic sight it is altogether.

“Benjamin, schwöre sie für mich an! Denn sie verstehen kein Wort, das ich sage!” Steuben has now turned to his loyal aide with a look of disappointment. His once erupting volcano of anger has seemingly become a crisis secured when he gazes fondly at the tall man, anger sizzled to little as nothing. Though Laurens and Hamilton know none of what he says, they inquire when North, who is adjacent and watching in awe, chuckles to himself.

“He wishes for Ben to cuss at them, for he cannot himself,” North says as he smiles tenderly, watching Walker and Steuben proceed in their demands. John distantly wonders how anyone could mistake their affections — Not when they are practically always staring at each other with heart-shaped loving eyes. “Tell me, will you gentlemen be joining us in tonight’s gathering?”

John swears beneath breath through gritted teeth, having truly hoped the whole ordeal would have been forgotten, and they would hear no word of it ever again — Which admittedly, was in poor wishes. Although he wonders how North knew of who was invited. But the thought is short-lived when worse was to come when there stood, a sheepishly beaming Alexander at his side.

“Of course, Sir.” 

“ Hamilton! ”

Out of everything they had endured, John was ready to tackle the shorter into the snow for the audacious behavior he had decided to curse John with as well — He was quick to latch a reprimanding squeeze on Alexander’s arm when the boy dared to smile so proudly at his declaration. They hadn’t discussed the topic at all after this morning, nor had John ever agreed.

“Laurens, if you wish, stay in solitary at the cabin. But I am attending. And you can slouch all you like, for as little as I care!” Alexander rips his arm out of Johns’ grasp with a hiss. Though their glaring is apparent, and it's not as though they are even attempting at being discreet — But their voices are hushed and snake-like hisses so their fury is not overheard by North. Who when glanced at by the two, retreats to admire something as if he is oblivious to their debate.

“You mean to leave without me tonight?” John is baffled that Alex would run off and have a joyous night without him. Based on the promising expression upon Alexander, tells him enough, it is not a fib — And the threat is truly plausible if Laurens does decide to stay at the camp.

“Maybe then if you are to join, you ought not to be so humbly lonely, good Sir.” Hamilton spares no respect or time to the heated blonde. He merely ends it off as such and turns straight once more in attendance, as his Excellency comes forth after inspecting the artillery march. The inconvenience of Washington's presence is enough to have the steaming irritation sizzle just beneath his skin — With the older man being so near, he cannot argue against the witty point of Alexanders’. Leaving tension to boil in the misty air.

“What am I to write to congress? That we hold no army, but rather an amount of nothing but indolent men!” Washington is furious as his stomping boots impale the snow, causing a trail of footsteps to scatter the ground — He stresses as his hand is sliding across his grayish hair and disgruntledly sighed. Washington's temper was one to fret for, but at least now it was at its minimalist. Though Alexander knew more was to come, and he would be the one to have to bear it in times coming.

"Hamilton, come, we must keep the camp in check or all is for not!" 

Alex sneers at the command, it's worded like he's nothing but a lap dog that is to be at his heel when summoned — But he does know better than to fight with the general when he is practically a step away from lashing the entire army. For once, his pride is surpassed by his gut. Although Alexander understands to hurry when the general is already fast and down the pathway road, he also knows he has unfinished business to attend to.

"What will it be Laurens, decide now or find yourself alone in bed tonight." Alex grabs hold of the blonde's stiff arm, hissing with urgency. He has mere seconds to spare and Laurens knows well of it.

"You give me scarce shards of any choice."

"And so?"

"I will attend,  damn it . Hamilton you must know the strings you play my heart with, do not act like a fool." Laurens sighs giving his dear boy an odd expression, one that was fury and fondness blended — The things he'd do for love, and the things he wouldn't do if Hamilton had the decency to leave him without committing such high risks. He did wish to attend, but god damn, could Alexander be the boulder worth of a push that convinced him anyway. 

"I will see you tonight then, dear."

"Hamilton! I do not have all day!" Washington calls from afar, his figure is ironically small in the distance; the complete contrary when up close to the towering broad man. Yet, not any less intimidating, so Alexander is swift to nod goodbye, and is fast on the heels of his boots to hurry after his father. 

John prays to whatever forces that prevail he has made the right decision.

Chapter 2: two

Summary:

“Dance, joke, and rejoice. With claret and sherry,”

Notes:

please do warn me of any grammar mistakes 🙏 this chapter is a little rusty then my usual published works

 

The highest class of British men would faint in disgust at the sight of the wild beasts that roamed the bar. Men were high off their rockers, barely being able to walk properly — They couldn't even adequately order a new drink because their mouths were practically numb. Though it wasn't like any muddled words would be legible enough to understand anyway. It was utter chaos, and the adrenaline lacerated through their veins from it — As if thunder had shocked the men, as they had little cares or worries to bear in mind. With torn breaches or none at all, clothes weren't even considered proper. But who was to care for properness, restraint, or modesty? They were at liberty of society, it was wild. Though John and Alexander only recognized a few who had attended, most being soldiers under Baron and not Washington — Of course, there was Walker and North who were already busy at each other's pants to greet them with any proper 'hello'. Yet surprisingly, Du Ponceau had been present. Though mainly trailing behind the Baron, with a wide grin and much too giggly to be lucid himself.

It felt as though a poisonous fog had seeped through the room, infecting everybody in intoxication beyond recovery — But little cared for the hangover that would make them sick to their stomachs in the newly coming morning. As many were already lurching upon the floor what beastly drinks they had drunk, or whatever they could rummage to find as a bucket. Alexander swore he spotted a pair of boots filled with unspeakable contents he’d rather not think about if he wanted to keep down his own drink — Pity to whoever the owner of the shoes. Although through all of the disgraceful decadence, they were free in high spirits and free in the ignorance of blissful inebriation. Not a worry in sight, as many wouldn't when they hadn't even had pants intact.  

 

"John- J- John come here you handsome son of a bitch." Hamilton sang, a minor hiccup was enough to almost cause his body to fall off the barstool. But thankfully, a weak arm grasped onto Laurens' shoulder so he could stay seated — It was a wonder how Laurens could even bear the pressure, as he was also lost of any strength to keep himself upright. He was so drunk, he didn't care a bit when his cheeks were squished and his lips puckered out. Just perfect for smooching. "I must kiss those adorable lips of yours."

The two fell on top of each other carelessly, they only laughed, like children giggling cheerfully at the simplest of things. The newly finished bottle of rum had been the cause of continuous hiccups, only to provoke more giggles — An endless circle that was sure to ensure throughout the night. They are a blundering mess as they stay like that for some time, unrestrained to horse around when the whole room is just the same. The Baron himself and his men drink and laugh, a whole pocket's worth of wealth has probably been drained — With how much alcohol has been bought, drank, and thrown back up. 

The room smelt of shit, with all of the sweat, and vomit that soiled throughout the room; it need not be a surprise as to why. It was only a gift they were all far too high in the clouds to care for such. Though their insides felt like flames of hell, between the alcohol that blazed every muscle in their mouths, only to feel like lava when swallowed through the throat — Not to include the burning acid of the puke. If the liquor has not made them near to completely numb, they would probably be quivering on the floor groaning. Though, according to Steuben, they had only felt the ambers of such flames. 

" Come Sans-culottes, have you enough? Or are you true men in the face of fear? " The Baron calls out at the bar table, catching the attention of the drunk excuses of men. Many stop their tasks of tearing fabric, or devouring lips, to watch and cheer a resounding  Ye!  With shots and jugs flying high in the air — Some bubbling foam spilling from one and splattering to the floor. If any were coherent, one might pity the cleaner they’ve cursed with such a disaster. “ Then I show thee, a task of strength only few may pass!”

The Baron's words are slurred, they slip and slide into each other. It made his already barely literate French, comparable to the casting a spell of sorts, or the reading of ancient scrolls; barely discernible. But despite this, it's somewhat compromisable to decipher, when Walker and he slide jars of rum across the counter that come to a slow but steady stop. Though at first, many assume another drinking game is to commence; It is refuted when Walker strides up — One leg completely missing a quarter of fabric for his trousers, North is probably to blame for such — He has a match aflame and in hand, waving it lightly to show the crowd before dipping it into each mug like one would for candles. Only now the jugs of rum have been inflamed with fire much more like candles. 

“Drink up to those who dare!” Benjamin calls through the clutter of resounding chants. Somebody is bound to become deaf after tonight's events, with how much the tavern shook with rumbles of drunkards dawdling. North pushed past the astounded Laurens and Hamilton — Proudly leaning against the bar table with an immeasurable grin, as if daring those to follow and compete against him. Successful in such, as Hamilton and Laurens had never run faster in such childish glee as they retrieved their own set of mugs. 

“Fret not if your insides are to light in flames, the rum shall put it out for ye!” North jabs a teasing elbow into Laurens’ side — Spotting the briefest moment of the blonde’s sky blue eyes widening when in such close quarters with the flaming shot. Though the crowd laughs, Laurens merely rolls his eyes knowing full well not to consume the flame. He had remembered briefly of some classmates at Geneva chattering about flaming shots, though such memories were back when John was still emended in faith and blissful to the freedom of mankind — He had once, had a look of pure disgust at such. How disappointed young Jack would be to see himself now.

“Chug! Chug!”

They blow out the flames and swiftly tip the jugs lapping the liquid in a race as the mass of men hoot and howl immensely. Too focused on swallowing the seemingly endless fall of booze, neither of the boys care to spare each other looks — But it's omniscient who won when John slams his mug down a mere second before the other two. 

“Aye, it's oddly cold for a flamin’ shot!” John smiles wide, feeling a shock of pride as men of many cheer and clap. He wipes at the dripping leak of spit that falls from his lips, as he receives teasing patting on the shoulder from the laughing boys — John's too distracted with the slurred praises of men to catch the reticent withdrawal Hamilton makes. Though little to worry as he notices seconds later when that same redhead returns with a match in hand, and a mischievous grin sneering daringly.

“Oi, that's a lovely set of full britches ya' got there John.” If John had been sober, he might have run away like an army in retreat by the outnumbered enemy. But here, he was no more than at complete freedom of his actions and thoughts — What may have been the disapproving scolds of his father were mute in his ringing head. Heart far too loud in its racing speed of beats, to spare care for such trivial things. So instead he merely grins just as challenging and wags a limp leg in tease.

“Ben, you arse!” North yelps ever so suddenly as a shard of fire spikes his trousers, only to curtly reveal the culprit as Walker holds a match low just behind the drunken lad. Conveniently the match had been aimed for his rear, but North had swatted it out before it could reach the area and expose anything — At least anything that could be possibly more indecent than this entire night of events.

Though Walker might have been beheld as a genius, as then several guests ran to retrieve their matches and to what seemed as putting an end to the pants industry. But that was not the case for Alexander, as he already wielded a weapon and leaped after the stumbling blonde — They rolled across the floor, only giggles and chortles of nonsense as Alex desperately attempted to get the flame to catch John's awaiting trousers.

"Damn you, Alex, those were my only spares!" Laurens laughed with no true complaint, as his trousers had earned a hole with some black edges of where the flame had scorned. He truly had not cared much, he was sure he could just write to his father in a request of a replacement — With an easy excuse of how he had simply tripped and shredded a pair. He could visualize the disgusted scowl upon his dear father very well if he had known the truth of the story. He might never be welcomed back into the family if such.

Would he twist his lips in a wretched look of disgust when he would see the repelling acts they were shameless in committing — The picture of men running after each other like children, matches in hand, aiming and sometimes successfully lighting pants fabric aflame. Laughing and slapping knees when one would yelp and scatter to swat out the fire. The Baron and Pierre laugh absently at the sport although not participating themselves.

 

" Go on, my boy, you must find yourself a good fellow to bring back and keep you warm during this treacherous winter. " Steuben patted the boy, a proud, paternal smile gleaming.  

" I find myself desiring more than what I see tonight. If I am to gift myself a man, he must be a gentleman of decorum and no less. " Pierre grins bashfully, crimson flushing his cheeks at the thought of having a fellow to love him just the same.

" Ah, young love. How I miss it. " The older one chortles, ruffling the curly dark locks upon Pierre's scalp — Lightly trailing his words as he gazes at a very particular pair who run throughout the bar. Blonde and red waves flash in a blur as they never stop their chase, ignorant to the haphazard possibilities with obstacles that lay everywhere.  

 

John kept a steady trail after the little redhead, who had rounded a table giggling as the match in the taller's hands was mere inches from his slacks. Though in their wild goose chase, neither of the two had spotted Azar, the poor dog who was sleeping peacefully, as they had both ran straight into his limp body — Falling in a toppling mess as he scattered away with a yelp, causing the duo to fall straight and plummeting into the floor. Elbows and knees are sure to have bruised purple during the crash.

“Ah, sorry boy!” Laurens laughed with painted breaths, he had not realized how much his legs had ached until they were at peace and laying on the floor — Well  somewhat  laying on the floor, as John had mistakenly gotten himself into a predatory position during their floundering fall. Keeping his upper half up by baring Alexander's head with his arms to each side, trapping the boy beneath him. It was probably the most intimate they had been in such close quarters — Evident as Alexander's face was flushed from much more than just the alcohol, and John could feel his own similarly. Yet he smiled snidely. “Enjoying the view, Alex?”

“Very, you should do it more often.” Of course, Alexander is more sly in recovery, even when he was breathless and at the mercy of the man who laid above. Though despite positions, he truly was the one who had the upper hand — As he snickers to blow out the match, that had thankfully not touched any of them during the tumble. “You’ll have to find another way to get rid of these, dear Sir.”

The indication is felt as Alexander's panted leg stroked tenderly against the blonde's thigh — One might confuse John’s face for a ruby with how red it flushed darkly at the action. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt as though his arms might collapse and he'd fall straight into the shorter. They had been intimate previously, hell, they shared a bed and would fall asleep in each other’s arms soundlessly. Kissing, holding, and caressing hands, but to take such a deeper step hadn't been considered — It was not as though he did not wish for  it,  but while they had known and accepted the penalty that awaited them afterlife for what they’ve committed, it had not exactly eased all the fret behind the forsaken sin.

 

Thou shall not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it  is  abomination.

 

Abomination. That's all he would ever be crowned for, wouldn’t it? The crown was much like the one Christ wore during Paschal Triduum — A crown of thorns and burdens, a curse he’d never asked for but was basketed in.

Those words had echoed through his skull ever since he had spotted a fair brunette boy in the distance. He had remembered it clearly, he was nearly thirteen years, warm Tuesday noon, he and Harry had gone to the market with Mother — And it was when he had slipped an apple in hand, had his own connected with another. The hand to that pretty little boy, brown curly locks reminding him fondly of the Romans, blue audacious eyes like the wild ocean, never one to tame. And a stubbed nose that wrinkled when he had smiled with pearls so white. John remembered the very same racing of his heart that had made him feel high in the clouds of the heavens. The very same sensation when he had first seen those stunning irises that shined like sapphires, the ones that belonged to Hamilton and all of his blessings of beauty — Though poor young John had thought he was ill and was stricken with infection. Reading every verse in the bible, hoping for a cure, praying to be repaired. Only left with unanswered calls to his pleads by his bedroom window. Many nights spent crying, yelling, begging his lord to set him free of the immoral, the sinful, and all of its satanic virtues. But now, he had gone through mountains high of self-loathing to know it was not to change. He was to be like this for all of his breathing days, and no angel was to set him free. So then why was it so hard to embrace it?

“John?” Alexander peered worriedly, hoping he had not jumped a boundary too far for Laurens’ comfort. Though at least having made Laurens realize how long they had laid silently like that for some time — And for the blonde to curse at his mind for wandering needlessly, knowing many were probably staring by now.

“Right. I’m going to get another shot.” He was surely going to need it as he lifted himself up — Deciding to bury whatever thoughts that had flared, he didn't need to be having such troubles while barely sober. Yet, at least he gave the confused redhead a helping hand in a somewhat apology — It's accepted, but not without reluctance. Laurens couldn't exactly blame him, he hadn't a word in mind to ever try and sort his emotions, the beer was buzzing too loudly in his head and he couldn't focus at all. He would rather drown himself in more than to ever face whatever confusion his mind was to stir up. Thoughts could be for later.

 

---

 

“ Let us drink and be merry ,”

 

The chorus rang through the tavern in unity as men slouched about, swung, and sang. Spirits had flown so high, the plummeting downfall was the illness that pursued thereafter, sparing no stomach in its wrath. God must have been grimacing at the sight of wasted humanity as the tavern had felt too sizzling hot to move an inch — His scorching glare could be felt as they laid like pigs, too drunk and exhausted from the heat to move a finger. Sweat laced every part of their weak bodies, their hairs had looked matted, soaked, and greasy. It was a surprise to all that the Baron could even stand his wig. 

 

“ Dance, joke, and rejoice. With claret and sherry,”

 

Thoughtless, useless, the men sang and drank, mugs swung high. If an object must be used to symbolize their state, one might suggest a strung-out hand towel. They felt heavy, much like a soaked towel to the core, drenched and dripping, lying helplessly — And while most hated themselves for it, they were far too numb and still nowhere near clearheaded enough to truly care.

 

“ The-or-bo and voice! The changeable world to our joy and unjust .”

 

Though, all was not well. John could see in the corner of his eye the way Alexander had made himself distant. Expression blank and unreadable but not as cheery as the rest of the room — The sight continued to jab Johns’ gut, begging him to go and talk to the boy. He would if he had known how. Though he didn't, and definitely couldn't with how melted his brain had felt. Yet that hadn't convinced his guilt.

 

" All treasures uncertain, then down with your dust,"

 

Laurens had forgone singing along, barely moving his lips as the chorus had been drained of singers one by one. Many men had fallen asleep during their chant. Yet the Baron's still roared, all the same, projecting too much life than what it's worth. Clearly Walker and North had agreed as they huddled close, ready to faint then and there if Steuben hadn't been rumbling the bar — Though, their complaints were none, just fondly, yet tiredly, gazing at the man with admiration. John always wondered how one could divide their love into three. Truly quite odd — But then again, what seemed odd to him, was the same as society judging his love for his Alexander. 

 

" in frolics dispose your pounds, shillings, and pence ,"

 

Right, his Alexander. It seems as though Alex too had cared little for the melody, as he had vanished when John had turned for a split minute. Though he was found once more, weakly traveling up the stairs with hunched shoulders. John had part of an assumption the boy was in search for a chamberpot to vomit in — But he also knew the boy well enough, that Alexander usually kept his drinks down till morning. So whatever he was off to do was one that was considerably suspicious — Yet, more importantly, worrying. Perhaps Alexander had his own set of confounding emotions to their reluctant intimacy. Laurens wasted no time in leaping from the divan to follow after his dear boy, ignoring the arching brow that Pierre had shot at him on his way out — He'd certainly seen the vile of olive oil John had scooped up.

 

" For we shall be nothing a hundred years later."

 

---

 

John had followed behind the redhead, as the boy was oblivious of his trailing, deaf to his stumbling steps, primarily due to the fogginess of inebriation clouding his senses. Alexander wandered the halls before tumbling into a guest's room, shocking John slightly — if he hadn't been so drunk to care any less, he might've scolded Alexander out with reprimands of how the inn wasn't rented for the occasion. But then again, they could use their privacy.

"Alexander?" John echoed, causing the boy to flinch as he grasped the bedpost in the small room to keep himself upright. He whirled around so fast, one might think he was sucked into a tornado, but alas his shoulders sunk when seeing it to be John. 

"Need something, Laurens?" By the tone alone, John could sense the brewing resentment. Alexander must have taken offense to John's hesitation earlier — Admittedly, Alex wasn't to blame, John knew well of this. His actions were brash and rude even, he hadn't given a single word for Alexander to truly know why he was dodging. It hadn't been repulsed, it was just John hadn't been ready to jump the fleet of stairs to acceptance — But he also knew how much both of them longed for more, for touch, for love, he couldn't bear to punish themselves more in starvation.

"You, my love." With how cramped the room had been, it took seconds for John to cross and hold Alexander close from behind. Resting his pulsating head deep into the crane of his neck, inhaling and living through the scent of his Alexander. The smell of August leaves, the bitter salt of the ocean side, and something dark like coffee or tea. He relished in it like it was a set of his favorite perfume.

"Do not do what you wish not for myself," Hamilton sighed, trying to disguise his gasp from Laurens' touch as breath. His facade, of course, is his pride in being untouchable or unaffected. It hurt knowing he truly was impacted from within, playing off of god-like immortality of insensitivity to conceal his sentiments.

"But I do want, my dear."

"You only wish so because of what I did."

"Rubbish." Laurens scoffs as if it's laughable to think of him being in doubt of his desires. But before Alexander could refute like typical, his breath is stolen as he is suddenly pushed to the unoccupied bed and falls to his back. Laurens can't resist the dulled chuckle, wishing to cherish the rare moments of Alexander being swept by the incidental, his expression is priceless when so — He only feels the beast from within growl deeper, lowering deeper, as he joins on the bed. Towering over the crimson-faced boy before his legs have straddled him. "I shall prove so."

"Oh?" Hamilton regains footing as he chuckles, but it's too apparent to its facade as it's airy in weariness. But he arches a brow nonetheless, baring his pearly whites to smirk with feigned cunningness. "And how so, dear Laurens? I am not one to be easily convinced—"

Words are swallowed when lips collide, wet and desperate with hunger. Though hesitant, they begin to lap up every part of each other, like thirsting for the alcohol residue — Though John was never one to half-ass the job, his tongue is forceful as it pushes past the barricades of teeth and swollen lips. Drinking up the helpless gasp Hamilton moans like it's a drug and Laurens is addicted. He's merciless, bruising even, slurping up every pitiful sound that seeps through Hamilton's throat; as if he could swallow the verbal noises greedily, so no one else may hear what he claims as his. Lord better give him an exorcism because he feels possessed by the devil with the profane and sordid urges that have come to light in utter hunger — Awakening such forbidden desires with the way Alexander laid, helpless and lustful when left sole in hollow after they part from their kiss.

"I am rather charismatic." The blonde grins when they part, his voice is low and a rumble, unrecognizable even to his ears. He hopes he is not portrayed too easily, with how his body reacts to the breathless pants that exert through Hamilton's gaped mouth. The boy swoons, having been stunned by the flirtatious direction Laurens had swiftly morphed to — Not to say his surprise was in disgust, but rather in lust. "Why, you're quite out of sorts. I'd say, speechless even."

"Don't flatter yourself, Jack. You have yet to rid me of my trousers." Alexander's tone is labored, he pants like he's run a marathon. His hands are just as shaky as they hurry to busy themselves in the buttons of their vests. Alexander damns the clothes for being impossibly hard to get rid of in the heat of the moment. It feels hot, and clustered with crampedness, desire shrills through their bodies like thunder shocks from Zeus — Hastening every movement as lust and greed rages within their trembling figures. "Though, I must ask,"

Alexander's quavering hands stop so suddenly, and John feels everything become blank with the blurry haze clearing just momentarily — He worries  he's  the one pushing now, but seeing the haste Alex had been lifted with, it's unsure whether to assume so or not. A calming and gentle hand reaches for his face, rubbing just ever so tenderly of the flesh of his heated cheek. Alexander's expression is laced with not only erotic cravings, but the condition to know if what they are to commit is done with surety — It's unbeknownst to John what his own expression is but he cares not.

 "Why so bold tonight, John? Is this truly what you want?"

"My dear boy, I've longed for this since being blessed with yourself." John caresses the hand with his own, sliding it off so his lips may peck it ever so fondly. The gentle touch hardens though, and his grip has traveled to the wrist to pin them down, trapping them into fluffed pillows beside each side of Alexander's head. "Hush now, you intrude on those beautiful noises with your needless words." 

Their hearts race, drumming in their ears, nerves buzz and feel like they're not even their own. It all feels like a dream, too unreal — Though the more time passes, the heavier the inner cry is for venereal.   Clothes have finally been released from their shivering bodies, despite the sweat that glistens in the candlelight. They are both too damned to care for what wrinkles may soil their attire in the morning, as they are negligently tossed to the floor — For residue insobriety and electrifying carnality is too strong for any notice to land elsewhere, other than the hands that roam for any sort of contact they can ingest. John is now the speechless one, beholding every detail and every crevis on his dear boy's body. The muscles that bulge from his stomach, his arms, legs. It's all so beautifully decorated with freckles that sprinkle his pale and silk soft skin. He is far too endowed to have such artwork in his hands.

"Alexander, you are the most beautiful treasure I have ever laid my eyes on," John murmurs, his hand trailing from his collarbone, down his breasts, and slivering down his firm stomach. He feels the shivers and jerks as Alex's body is ravaged with want, yearning for John's touch. "Worth more than any jewel man has ever found." 

"John, ah, please—" he's sure the needy way Alexander's hips thrust instinctually, but it drives a pressuring pleasure nonetheless. "—I feel I might combust before we do anything at all."

"So impatient I must say." The blonde chuckles lowly, watching the way Alexander shrivels with delight and urge at the dark tone. It's rousing — But he is not one to disappoint, his hands continue to wander, exploring the gracious land, conquering it, claiming it. He leans down to bite and nip, sucking on flesh like a dessert when he hears the moans and hitches of breath, as Alexander squirms beneath his touch. 

"J-John…I can't..." Alex's words are less understandable than when he was drunk, he barely mutters anything coherent. Merely the endless repeats of chanting the taller's name. 

"Alex, oh my Alexander."

Alexander's body is laced in purple splotches, red circles where his skin had been bitten. But what's even more priceless is his remarkable expression, eyes rolled back, head buried in the white of the pillows, and his hair sprawled out like an ocean's tidal wave — It's gorgeous, and John wishes to paint it and keep it for eternity. He wishes for this feeling to never end — To never forget the exhilarating feeling of the contrast, cold skin against the warmth radiating from Alex's shivering form. His hands can't restrain, his muscles refuse, in need of wanting to resist science and fuse atoms with the redhead. John keens when he grasps hard at Alexander's arse and feels the boy vibrate with pleasure.

"J-John!" He gasps, his head flew back, exposing the breathtaking artwork of his marks. But Alexander is too immersed in the heat that suffocates him, the racing of his heart, and the struggles of his lungs as he can barely breathe with the irrepressible need swallowing his senses. "Please, you torture me with such pace."

"How could I ever race such divine sensations?" John hums, kissing red lips once more. Though he realizes what he's forgotten during the heat of intimacy and passion filling the air — Admittedly, he blushes from his foolishness. But he plans to resolve it when suddenly escaping their passionate kiss, despite Alexander's pitiful whines for the contrary. He slants down and searches through the dishevelment of their scattered clothes, exploring every pocket in hopes it had not fallen and rolled off into some corner.

“What on earth are you searching for at a time like this?” 

“Ah,” John makes an odd noise as he returns, smiling to reveal the vial of olive oil in hand. Having forgotten the necessary ingredient during their hasty undressing. "Little pleasure comes from one who hurts himself."

Alex grins himself, but something lays beneath that is unheard until a hand has traced far too slowly at his crotch shamelessly. John can't resist the absurd sound that bursts through his chest. 

“Then let's dance my dear.”

 

---

 

Late noon felt like the sunrise of dawn as the sun blinded shuttered eyes. It's so blurry, it even feels blurry — The soft blankets that encase Laurens don't nearly feel like the same raggy sheets he'd gotten used to after his time in the Continental army. And he hadn't remembered the canopy that hangs from above like palls — Heavens if they could ever afford such luxurious designs why not feed the starving army? But then it settles in Lauren's foggy mind, he is not at camp. Or rather,  they  are not, as the newly discovered redhead shifts deeper into the white clouds of blankets beside him in bed.

And then like a tower toppling and catching the others in its downfalls, it occurs to Laurens more and more of what just happened the prior night. The mountains of liquor, the trouser in ruins, the drunken chanting, and even the heated intercourse that lasted till near midnight. The thought actually provokes the flushing of cheeks, despite Laurens truly knowing it's only considered in the privacy of his mind — He can't resist but to sigh with the slight shake of his head, as a migraine has welcomed him this fine morning in revenge for what he'd put his body through. Despite so, he envies the ending of last night — Wishing it was forever, to hear those mewling moans, Hamilton wailing, the hands that dragged and sliced skin right off his back, as his hips thrust and pushed. Only to awake in tangled limbs, and feeling quite sick from their intoxication last night. Yet, He did not doubt in the mind the praises he'd heard from ladies Hamilton would welcome to his bed. Laurens knew he would treasure the night forevermore.

He hears the shake and the groan from beside — Though when he's turned to embrace the head full of rose-colored curls, and freckled dimpled cheeks, he is met with nothing but the emptiness of sheets. Until he turns up to see a scattering Hamilton, enrobed in a blanket and then hunching over an adjacent chamberpot — He cringes despite knowing the lurching was waiting, it doesn't ease the rigid shiver to his spin. He rolls over and grabs a pair of pants that lay collecting dust on the floor. John hastily pulls on the slacks, knowing they are his by the minor hole that had been charred by Hamilton just last night — Once decently proper he kneels beside the heaving boy, scooping up strands of loose coils so they wouldn't get snagged in the splurging mess. Hamilton spares him a quick glimpse with pained blue eyes before another assault recks his body, and he's back to spewing into the pot. Laurens runs his free hand against his shivering spine to ease the tension bottled inside, watching it slowly tread to stillness as minutes settle in quiet bliss.

"Good morning." Laurens smiles, enjoying the light huff as Hamilton collapses to lean into him. Despite the sweat that still dampens his body, Laurens embraces him nonetheless.

" 'Tis hardly a 'good' mornin'. I hurt as though I've caught Malarie, and my arse still aches 'cause of you." Hamilton whines. He has a list full of complaints but hushes himself when Laurens retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabs the drooling spit that he hadn't known was left on his face. He's too weak to speak further, the stomach acid having torched his throat. But least he smiles in gratitude, glistening just the slightest.

"I will be sure to go gentler next round, darling. For now, you may rest. McHenry is certain to be awaiting you with crossed arms when he hears of your state." Laurens sighs as he lifts his dear boy by the knees and shoulders, much like a newly wedded pair. Though the flaring of legs and flinch is not usually accustomed to the bride, yet Alexander does so regardless — Nearly falling from Laurens' grasp with his recklessness.

"John, I may walk with my own legs!"

"Settle down, I am merely assisting," John assures, turning and setting the wavering boy to the bed. Alexander relaxes some when upon stable sitting, though maybe too much, as he weightlessly falls to the bed after a few seconds. He crawls up like he is to flee to sleep and not have to pursue his hangover any longer. As much as that would be desirable, John knows they are not freed of duties that await them at camp — And taking the day off before consulting his Excellency will do no good to his upcoming scolds of spending the night away. At least he would not know of the true "lively" events of the night they've spent. "Come, Ham, you can't spend the day in bed. Your ailment will pass."

"Is it you who has been a doctor this entire time without informing me?"

"Hamilton."

"I will, Laurens, patience. Just as you said last night." Alexander peeks up from the huddled mess of sheets he's entangled himself in, but it's a mere smirk that gleams with pride at the sight of Johns' flushing — Aggravating all the same, but John dismisses it as Alex trying to manipulate the topic so he could lay soundlessly, and free of any sort of work. He most definitely would not act so if it wasn't for the stomach he's been cursed with — The usual, temperate, Hamilton would have fleed the tavern at the crack o dawn to attend to his intelligence.

"Your a mess, love." John laughs as he mutters, whisking up the disheveled clothes and tossing them to the pouting Alexander — Landing successfully to his stubborn look ever so comically. The boy merely brushes them away with a haughty chuckle and stands from his content spot on the bed. That has taken him this long to realize is not even his own.

"As though you weren't? Quite a bias there." Alexander puffs and heaves, as he struggles to dress. His knee getting caught in a burned hole once or twice, or his hand slipping into the wrong sleeve. Pitiful.

"Aye, yet whose the more sober?" John playfully nugs, as he assists Alexander in his fumbling of buttons. Quiet and idle peace, the most efficacious remedy for the raging headaches that still felt pounds heavier upon their heads. Though hating their past selves for what torture they are to endure or the day, the festivities were well worth the misery.

"Only means whose the more fun, dear J." Alexander is swift to lean upon his socked toes and peck a loving kiss to the blonde's raw lips. The flushed stunned expression in return is all he adores before they both start to tidy the room. Leaving no trance to subside of what they had been enchanting all night long — But also knowing they had barged into a room beyond what the Baron had rented, and it was the only modesty they had in remains to amend for.

Once done, awkward smiles are shared and they head for the door. A new kind of tension residing in their company together, though nothing of wrath or distance; but rather just clumsiness — Awkward as they bump into each other just the lightest, with hurried apologies. Or the fashion of manner in which they blush far too easily than standard, horribly-repressed smiles when eyes meet. Even John can't control the newfound way his stomach churns when in close proximity with the boy, it is nerve-wracking — But loving, as they are engulfed in nothing but the adoration for each other.

 

Though when they have left the stairs, the unexpected company awaits. There the Baron stands, arms respectfully uniform and held behind his back, yet it's evident of the jittery animation that's repressed from within. Certainly an odd character of expression coming from the instructor. As the man had been quite lenient, prone to let mere eye batting when soldiers engaged in the juvenility of good fun — When asked, he only said how he knew the stress of war could ruin the youngest lads, and that they deserved their merriment every now and then. A trait that Washington would surely never charm himself in. But always then never, Steuben had always been calm, collective, lest you were the lethargic soldiers who tried the sheerest at your job — He was thoughtful and easygoing. Had never expressed in the virtues of delight or excitement of enthusiasm, the only time you'd ever spot the man with such theatrics would be vexation or dismay. But never, giddy of all things. So you could imagine the questioning expressions they had when seeing the beaming grin.

" Good morning sirs, how do my boys fair? " Despite the intoxication that had enraged through the whole of guests, Steuben was quite unruffled or at least hidden of any signs of such. Having clear attire, though not with his noble sea blue jacket, or sash, his clothes weren't with any wrinkles or discontentment. Unlike the messy buttoning of vests, and tattered white sleeves the duo had been dressed in — As they hadn't really been expecting any sort of professional company when awakening in the morning.

" Quite well? " Laurens raised a brow, his french stumbling some with the loose grasp of senses clouding his system. Still bearing the grogginess of rousing and the repercussion of intemperance.

" Good, good. Come, you must enjoy some tea. I have no doubt all that ail will have its clutches upon you both!"  The baron clapped his hands with something of pride, before hurrying off to the kitchen of the tavern and motioning with a swaying hand for them to join. They follow, taking the moment to watch as the bar is in its form of ruins after the subsiding chaos of last night. Now with some clarity in mind, one could very well see the severity of their disaster. Chairs were scattered or laying to the ground, shot glasses and mugs were left sprawled everywhere. And the stench of vomit still drenched the air like a prominent green fog.

" What a pigsty... " Alexander murmured, having been leaning against the counter to stay stable upon his feet. The alcohol still nagging his muscles to be at complete soberness. 

" Yes, but nothing my boys and I cannot neat. " The Baron returns with two glasses of warm tea, being careful to step around Azar who slept peacefully upon the kitchen floorboards. Though the man halts his approach to gaze fondly at the parlor. When following the trail of eyesight, it is then that they notice the sleeping Pierre cuddled into a ball upon the divan. " Ah, poor boy. Drank too much for his humble little self. "

A sort of paternal devotion that's sweet as tacky honey drips from his tone. And Alexander detects it swiftly with the mutual understanding of such, since being the son of the general and hearing it every day. They had seen the adoring ways the Baron was devoted to his men, Walker and North were living examples of such — Though, for all of the time they had spent getting attached to the man, they hadn't really noticed the fatherly affections he held with. But it is heartwarming to see nonetheless.

" Ah, well drink up, lads. " They take the teacups with muttered 'thank you's and blow gently before sipping generously. The warm drink is refreshing, drowning out the bitter taste of whiskey, and whatever else they had drunk. It eases the queasiness that had been stinging their stomaches all morning, causing shoulders to instinctually slump with ease. It's a peaceful sensation to blur out the malady that had been digging a pit in their stomach.

Though, when looking back upwards, the grin upon Steuben is ever more apparent. And they can't help but assume the drink had been poisoned, or something of the manner. It's as though there is some joking prank that still lies in their awaiting doom — Although when searching the room with a quick glimpse, Alexander still finds nothing of the sort. But Laurens seems to settle his assumptions aside, in favor of enjoying his blissful morning with another slurp of the tea — Dismissing the case as he shrugs to Alexander's puzzled expression.

 

" I presume with the capacity of your noises last night, you slept quite well?"

It is then that John abruptly chokes on his,  not so pleasant anymore , beverage.

Notes:

https://www.americanrevolution.org/songs/songs-drinking/ds23.jpg

here's the drinking song they were singing if you're interested :)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 14 of a very essential Aegis