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Winter. The worst time of the year, John Laurens thought. The climate at the northern front was taking its toll on the southern-raised. He pulled the sleeves of his woollen coat and tucked his chin in the collar with a shiver and an annoyed groan, before returning to the paper in his hands. He wrote the last words as he walked to the next infirmary tent. He was ordered by his Excellency to account the losses and injuries from the last battle, almost a week ago. Most bullet wounds healed easily, it was the cold and sickness which took the most men from their hands. And the lack of supplies was neither helping at this very moment. He had lost count of how many missives had been sent to Congress demanding basic resources to keep their men alive, especially since the core of the winter struck mercilessly.
Scanning over the figures with a frown as he was, Laurens ran into some redhead.
“Oh! I'm sorry!” He looked up at his fond smile and blue eyes, and even a comforting smile conquered his face “Hamilton!”
“Hey, Laurens! Have you seen his Excellency?”
“General Washington is riding around camp, frantically raising the spirits and goading everyone to do their jobs. I haven't seen the camp in such disarray, soldiers are falling from pneumonia almost every hour.”
“I am well aware of the situation. If you'll excuse me, I have to find the General.” Said Hamilton, placing a hand on his shoulder. He undoubtly noticed Laurens' shaking from beneath the thick fabric. He pursed his lips for a moment, considering “Wait. Here, take this.” he said, taking off his scarf and putting it around Laurens' neck “We don't want you to also fall ill.”
Before John could thank him, Hamilton was gone. He continued his way down camp, his boots splashing on the snow-dumped mud. He felt a little ashamed for smelling the scent of Alexander, still on his scarf. But he was, indeed, warmer now.
When Laurens stepped outside the General's tent it was pitch dark, and the cold breeze had turned into storming winds. He couldn't supress a whine and a sneeze when the gelid air entered through his nostrils. After handing in his neat report, he was allowed to go to his tent, the tent he shared with Alexander Hamilton. But when Laurens arrived he didn't find him inside, not even hunched over the desk, writing as he accustomed until late night. It did bother Laurens the light from his candles when he tried to sleep, and of course he cared about his fellow's health and necessity of sleeping, so he was used to stop his frantic writing at a reasonable hour. He didn't intend to wait for Hamilton so he slipped his boots off and shrugged his uniform coat, but keept the tight waistcoat buttoned up. Laurens was freezing but the woollen covers of his cot would surely keep his body warm.
He awoke only two hours later. An irritaiting shiver run along his spine. Laurens grunted, yawned and turned around unwillingly. When he opened his eyes he found Hamilton seated at the desk, back to him, rustling feverisly on the paper; not unexpected. The light from the lamp filled the tent with its flickers and pricked in Laurens' eyes.
“Hamilton!” He whispered hoarse, trying to sound annoyed.
Alexander almost jumped in his seat “Oh! Laurens, s-sorry.” he stammered.
Hamilton stood up and turned around, putting his files aside. He gave John an apologetic half smile. Certainly some worry was in his face, not nervousness, but something unsteady. The redhead hurried to undress himself as Laurens had before blowing out the light.
While looking at him, a gentle smile appeared on Laurens' face “No need to apologize. Moreover it's crucial that you sleep well, knowing the blizzards that are to come next night.”
“Thanks,... uhm, good night Laurens; sleep well.” Said laying on his own cot next to John.
“Sleep well, Hamilton.”
Laurens was having a hard time finding his sleep. He winced abruptly trying to avoid the cold. Due to the noise, a grunt came from his side.
“John...” Hamilton muttered awakening.
Laurens swore under his breath “Hush.”
Before he could notice, the bed sunk slightly due to a body creeping next to him. Laurens snapped his eyes open, which was usless in the darkness that ruled in the room.
“Hamilton, what th-” A finger was on his lips.
“Hush, John.” The finger traced slowly downwards “You shall not be in this restless state.”
Laurens panicked. His breath became shaky. Within a second Alexander was all over him. He should have done something to stop him. A low voice at the back of his mind told him to stop. But his body didn't stop him.
Alexander's nimble fingers quickly undid the first buttons of his waistcoat and ran a hand through the exposed skin on his chest. Laurens bit his lip and took a deep breath. A thousand words stormed in his head, but all of them died at the tip of his tongue.
“You are freezing and I shall warm you.” Laurens could only percieve his movements, but he could tell that this time Hamilton had a mischievous smirk.
John restrained a whine when he felt Alexander's hot lips on his chest. One kiss, then another, and another, and another. He covered Laurens' chest in soft unchaste kisses.
The voice in his mind grew louder Stop doing that! You filthy animal! This is not right! How can you relish your actions?! Sin! Sin! Sin! Sin!... He shut his eyes and tried to push it away.
Now Hamilton's light weight rested on top of Laurens, who embraced his waist. A leg slipped between his, slightly rubbing his crotch. John let out a moan and his face blushed a deep red.
“Are you warmer now?”
“Oh...” was all Laurens could articulate.
Alexander continued tenderly decorating his neck and collarbone. John drew his head back and emitted sweet helpless sounds. He prayed the cold from outside could now keep down his fever. Hamilton returned his attention to his chest and Laurens nosed lovingly at his soft locks, still tied on a bow at the back of his neck.
Sinner!!
The shout exploded in his head like cannonfire and shoved John out of his dreams. He almost jumped out of bed. His mouth fell open, panting for air. His shirt was soaked wet, more like in a hot summer at South Carolina than in winter at the North. The awful voice kept shouting things he couldn't recall at the moment, because he was too busy regaining control of his body, hoping he hadn't been too loud, and praying what he was feeling between his thighs was definitely not an arousal. When he managed to silent his breath again, Laurens glared freafully to his right. Through the nothingness of the night he heard the steady breathing of Hamilton. Constant, quiet, pleasant in and out, that somehow still carried a reminiscence of his pitch. Laurens laid back in relief. From all the dreads he had to face now, at least his friend wasn't one of them.
If Laurens couldn't have a single second of peace the rest of the night, the ramble continued indistinctly through the day. He tried to look asleep when Hamilton rose up early; and, fortunately, he didn't find him anytime that day. Nevertheless the thought of Hamilton continued omnipresently tormenting his thoughts.
How much do I think of Hamilton, anyway? He thought, stepping out of the tent. Just the mention of him made Laurens blush angrily.
Luckly every men of his batallion was safe and sound; and ready to face the cold day ahead. They were marched ten times along camp, then prepared themselves for the night. And as the chills crept over his shoulders, the voice started again in Laurens' head.
You think this is funny? You think this is normal? You aren't normal. You are a perverted deviation. An abnormality. You've corrupted youself. The only thing Laurens could do was squeeze his eyes shut and pray the voice simply left. But in the end it was right. That was what he was. He knew it. So he let it go. You were raised a gentleman. You had to protect your name, marry a decent wife and preserve the Laurens legacy with your descendants. It wasn't that hard. What are you asking for? But you capricious ass had to follow the wrong way. You are nothing but a disgrace. Laurens was hurt. He felt like a soft dolly, too tender to fight in a War. He tried to hide until midday, but couldn't hide from his phantoms.
He wrapped himself in the abundant fabric of the winter uniform under the shade of a big tree.
The voice was silent; it was only his own voice Is it really that wrong what I feel? Is everything fake? He raised his eyes. No one was going to bother him, the camp kept a constant cadence, Hamilton was out of sight.
Hamilton.
It stroke as a bullet piercing Laurens' heart. John let his eyes fall shut once more, and came a surge of images, sounds, smells... of Alexander Hamilton. Warmth filled all of his body. Undoubtedly he felt something. And what a feeling.
It's something I've never felt towards anyone, left alone the misses. Oh, dear God, I am helpless. Alexander is so perfect, it's even hard to belive a single person can handle that perfection. The day I met him I was blessed. His beauty surely exceeds that of many wealthy ladies. His factions smooth and fair, his red locks are nothing but marvelous. It's true everyone jokes about his nose, but here I'm not one to speak. No one in camp fits the army suit better than him. He's so small and so reckless... And God save his eloquence, his fervent determination. How he daydreams, how trustful his words are. He never misses a call to rise to the top. There is an unhuman passion, a brightness in those blue eyes...
Stop! The foreign voice startled his daydreams once more; but this time John realized it wasn't foreign at all. Quit thinking this way about men. You ought to stop.
I need to stop.
It's better for you.
I shouldn't be like this.
Godness, just stop.
I wish this would stop!
At least the rest of the day was entertained. Moving ammunition and reinforcing the tents' moorings.
The sun set at early evening. Still no news of his tent-sharer. Acknowledged of the weather anticipated for that night, General Washington himself inspected the troops of the Lieutenant Colonel. When he reached the end of the row Laurens saluted, and the General put a hand on his shoulder.
“Colonel Hamilton is still outside camp trading equipment. You are excused to retire now. Keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, sir.” Quickly responded but he had moved away.
Laurens stepped inside the tent to find it empty once again. This time bringing calm to his concern-driven mind. He put his hat on a pole, but refused to take off his jacket completely. The snow began to fall.
John wandered for a moment around the tent. He glared at the empty cot next to his, remembering the outbursts of the voice earlier that day. And remembering Hamilton he looked at the desk where he'd sat last night. It was a clutter. Two worn out pens in an inkwell and a third on the wooden surface. Dozens of papers written in an unmistakable cursive; piled in random stacks. Laurens took some of them. Most were War reports, dictations of his Excelency, and numerous essays on various subjects. Nothing of much importance. But in the stack on the furthest corner of the bureau, under the other files, there were letters. Letters adressed to the few friends he had either in New York or in other camps, as well as a distant relative. But there was one without seal. Laurens took it out cautiously. It had a mark on the corner as if he wanted to distinguish it from the rest. But what caught Laurens' eye was his name on the adress.
“My dearest, John Laurens”
His mouth fell open and started reading.
“I wish I was able to speak my heart to you as I do to get my life through. I wish my words or my actions could let you know my affections towards you, John. And my eloquence be damned if it's useless on that purpose. But I suppose my loss of words is due to the unrequited feelings I've been holding under lock and key since I first saw you. You never showed a sign of holding any particular intention of closer friendship, and it truly pains me in the deepest of my soul.
God, what would I give to be able to loose myself in your arms. I want to touch your soft hands, and your cheeks. I want to trace all your body with my fingers. And I am desesperate to loose my hands in your hair, and never find them again because I'd had no need to feel anything else in my life. And I want to set fire to any coat or stocking or anything between our bodies. And hold you close while the War goes on outside.
Each night I dream about you. I wonder how your lips would feel on mine. I wonder if you would share my flame and hungry tenderness. I wonder if you think about me. I wonder if you share my affections.
But these are all dreamlike ramblings of loneliness. I must be sane enough not to loose my calm for a pretty boy like you, as it should end tragically for both of us, as it always happens in romantic tragedies. And you, John, are too much of a precious angel to be broken senslessly by an egoistic being like myself.
God forgive my sinful soul, but what I feel for you is pure deep love, and love cannot, in any way, be a sin.
Truly yours,
your dearest, A.Ham”
Laurens' eyes strared into the void. Tears welled up behind them. He tightened the grip on the paper as if it were a dream that would vanish. At that moment Hamilton entered the room.
“Oh, good, you are here.” Perched his hat, “I didn't see you...-” he noticed what Laurens had in his hands “Oh, shit. I should leave.”
“Hamilton. Wait...” Stop, don't do this! “I-It's frigid outside.” Both turned their gaze to the floor.
“Um,...” His face turned ever redder “I-I'm sorry Laurens, I didn't-”
“No-no need to apologize.” The words struggled to escape. Alexander looked up at him in confusion “I mean...”
“Laurens,” He got a step closer “you shouldn't have read what you have read. And I shouldn't have written what I have written in the first place.” he tried to gesticulate “Those are just words of a dreamer.”
“Hamilton,” Their gazes met “I think you must know, that I am a dreamer, too.”
John got a step closer. His internal voice kept screaming Sinner! but nothing mattered apart from Alexander.
“And... Am I in your dreams?” Little by little all distance disappeared.
“In all of them. Night and day.”
The tension grew, the atmosphere thickened. A loud howl sewpt on the outside. But Laurens, an inch apart from Hamilton, was, indeed, warm.
Blue eyes locked on each other. Hamilton placed timidly his hands on Laurens' chest.
“It's cold tonight...” He said.
Laurens gripped the lapels of Hamilton's coat.
“We don't want you to fall ill.”
Hamilton grasped both of his hands.
“Alexander...”
“John...”
Close. They could feel each other's breath. Almost touching. Alexander's nose felt about if his dream was going to break into a million pieces.
Rising fever. Lashes fluttering.
A voice shouted No!! but his own voice repeated Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, Alexander,... until it melted down.
It was slow, no rush, no hurry. They didn't know exactly what they had to do, but they knew exactly what they wanted to do. It was sweet, and dear, and pure, and caring.
John tilted his head a bit, Alexander moved his chin up. An instant and his thin red lips were on John's.
What the fuck are you doing!?!
The voice hit strong, but went quick. I don't know if this is right, if I'll be condemned to divine or earthly pain; but I am certain that what I feel for this man is the purest deepest love, and love can and will not be a sin.
It was short but relishful every second. Their hands together, their bodies together, their lips together, their minds together. It felt like they could be together for ever.
Finally, they pulled away, gasping for air. Their eyes were still closed and their faces burned red. But it was all happiness and love taking over them.
Now their lips were merely touching, but John's body ached for deeper contact, for deeper love. He brushed the tip of his tongue tentatively against Alexander's lips, which parted instantly, and dipped it halfway through. Quickly pulled away as Alexander wasn't moving, but, as soon as he did, Hamilton opened his lashes the slightest bit and brushed their noses, asking for permission. When Laurens closed his eyes again he tilted his head to the right and pressed their lips together, and did what Laurens had just done, loving and passionate. Laurens felt a hand on the back of his neck, threading in his hair and pushing their faces strongly against each other. He made a low gasping noise as he was caught by surprise. Hamilton was going to pull away, but John put his arms around Alexander, keeping him close. Laurens and Hamilton in each other's mouth it felt so sweet, and soft, and hot, and delightful, and right, and perfect.
They kept on going, kiss after kiss, neither of them wanting to pull back. The geyser of energy that had been freed with the first contact of their lips was overflowing their bloodstream and guided their movements. John played with Alexander's soft locks and the other hand rested low on his back. Meanwhile the redhead's arms roamed hastily around his torso. Laurens thought that this felt so wrong, to be kissing wildly with another man, but at the same time felt so inebitably right to feel Alexander in almost every possible sense of the word. They were both internally glad that whatever was going on wasn't precipitated or awkward, and wondered how did they get so lucky.
“I think of you every time.” Laurens breathed softly, “You got me restless; dreaming inappropriate things” said between kisses “for a gentleman about his Colonel.”
“John, you tease me harshly.” Alexander nearly moaned aloud “I've been looking at you in such a way that poetry or flattering words fail to match your divine beauty.”
His hands pulled off Laurens' cravat and pulled at the lapels of his coat when John pulled away and directed anxious eyes at him.
“Alexander,” the shorter's cheeks heated up with embarrassment “the other Colonels might be arriving at their tents soon. Someone could walk in anytime.”
“You are right, but,...” gales rustled wildly on the exterior sending creeps though Laurens' body “This night is particularly cold, the blizzards are relentless lately, and we don't want any of our young Colonels to pass out of a sudden fever.”
John grinned widely and let Hamilton ease his jacket, before the sheltering woolen items went off, one by one. If they had kept them from the cold earlier, now were the crucial separation between their burning bodies. Laurens lingered long fingers about Alexander's slight, florid chest, a heavenly sight he thought he would never get to see. The redhead averted his violet-blue eyes, those eyes he begged to look at the rest of his life.
“So..., now that you have aknowleged my dreams,... I wonder what yours are.” the other tightened his grip on Alexander's sides “I want to put into actions what is it like to be in your arms.”
John's heart skipped a beat once more and smirked delightfully.
“As you please.”
He pushed him down onto his bed and straddled his slender hips. He leaned down and landed kisses all around his chest, mimicking his dream, smiling proud of the ever soft moans his freckled beauty elicited. He continued kissing until he met the waist of his breeches. Alexander's hands tugged at his hair and released the brown long extension from its tight bow. John rose up and conquered again Hamilton's thin red lips and freed his red curls, threadding his fingers deep, until it was a messy frame for his messy face. His right hand got attached to it and never released his dear grip.
Alexander's lust spoke then “I want you, John.”
“What?”
“Damn, John,” he put a hand on the back of his knee fiddling with the fabric, and pulled Laurens' head down with the other to suck at his neck “I need you. Please, don't make me beg any longer.”
“No, no you don't.” he quickly affirmed.
Laurens hurried downwards to unbuckle their pants and give their painful arousals the attention they longinly ached for.
The Continental Army froze that harsh winter night, but at Laurens' and Hamilton's tent the most heavenly of hell's fires were unraveled. John did his best to please a helpless Alexander and certainly succeded guessing from the boisterous moans and panting gasps drawn from them both. He made sure to register every bit of his little lion when he was all his and never stopped remembering it. It was, in fact, the beautiful face Hamilton wore that ardent night the last thing Laurens saw before dying on the battlefield.
“The Lord will hate us for what we have just done.”
They laid side by side in a sweaty, happy mess, lovely drawing patterns on each other's skin.
Alexander laughed darkly “Well, we will find that out rather soon by ourselves, won't we?”
John turned around straddling Alexander and held his face with both hands, strikingly concerned.
“You are not going to die, Hamilton. Hear me? You are not going to die at the War. I am going to protect you. We are going to protect you. I couldn't bear to see you die.” tears rolled down his face “Do you hear me, Alexander? I can't bear that you think so low of yourself. You have a great future. You will do great, you have to do great... I love you, Hamilton..., ok?”
Alexander stared at him heartbroken. He couldn't hold back the tears swelling from his heart either.
“Ok.”
And their lips met again to seal the love promise.
By misfortunes of destiny that wasn't the last time they shared tears, but only one of those it was in a peaceful way.
Laurens is the first familiar face Hamilton sees in heaven. He walks towards him and falls into his arms like a child on his mother's lap.
“It's been a long time.”
“Oh, dearest Laurens. You were always in my dreams.”
“Now we don't have to dream anymore.”
They kissed. They kissed like they'd been longing for years, but they kissed like they had an eternity ahead.