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Eliza leads with what she thinks Alexander will consider the worst news.
“Thomas Jefferson has invited us to Monticello,” she tells him, “and we’re going to take him up on his offer.”
She says as few words as possible — they still aren’t talking to each other much, both coping with the damage Alexander brought upon them. It’s a practiced conciseness, like: pass the bread; could you take care of the baby; Angelica wrote you a letter; are you eating enough; you can share the bed with me tonight, but it means nothing. It has been an adjustment — for Alexander, because for him to talk is to breathe, his personal economy is made up of words; and for Eliza, because she loved (loves?) to hear what he has to say. But, it’s easier this way. A recompense. If they don’t say anything, there’s less of a chance they could make it worse, or be reminded of how it used to be.
As expected, a horrified expression settles on Alexander’s face at the mention of voluntarily spending time with Jefferson, and he forgets that he’s supposed to suppress his words.
“I must have misunderstood you. Us? Visiting Jefferson? I can think of a million places I’d rather go. I’d say I would rather go to hell, but I’m pretty sure that Monticello is hell.” He pauses and wrings his hands together before putting them flat on the table and leaning in towards Eliza. “I know I’ve done wrong, but I surely don’t deserve this punishment!”
How funny that he thinks that this is all about him — but really, Eliza is not surprised.
“Alexander,” Eliza says, warning. Alexander can be quite dramatic, and really, he and Jefferson are alike in that way. No wonder they’re enemies. They find each other’s egotism insufferable.
Alexander takes a deep breath, and runs a hand through his hair. “How did this even come about? Why does he want us there?”
She doesn’t know how to explain, so she hands him the letter from Jefferson in lieu of an explanation. The letter is how Eliza has been thinking of it in her mind the past few days — she has read it over and over, until she’s memorized Jefferson’s every word (mutual need and your husband’s assistance and I am a willing subject) and memorized where the ink blots, as if Jefferson had trouble writing the words and he put too much pressure on the paper with his quill.
Eliza watches as Alexander’s eyes scan the letter, his brows knitting together the more he reads. The longer it takes, the heavier the weight in her stomach grows, and she’s beginning to think that this is a mistake, but it’s too late, he’s sitting the letter down and clearing his throat and he says—
“I don’t understand.”
For someone so smart, Alexander can be really dumb.
His confusion is obvious; he’s not just playing the part to force her to admit it. Fondness creeps into her chest upon seeing his befuddled expression. It’s rare and cute, pouting, like he’s indignant that — god forbid! — something doesn’t make sense to him.
She decides to tell him outright. At least she isn’t publishing a public tell-all about her sordid affair. It’s definitely the moral high ground (or so she tells herself).
“I’ve been sleeping with Jefferson.” She says it monotone. Blunt. Matter of fact. “For a couple months.”
Something flickers in Alexander’s eyes — hurt, betrayal, jealously, anger — and Eliza relishes in it, because it’s finally a fight instead of a sullen disposition. She’d fancy a nice, loud row with him. Maybe then they’d be able to get through their impasse, because sometimes, things have to get worse before they get better.
But his shocked and enraged expression falters and breaks, and he lets out a long sigh. She gives him this moment — she remembers when she first found out what he did — and she waits until he speaks.
“I see,” he finally says, and he’s not angry he’s just. Defeated.
Not what Eliza had hoped for, nor expected.
“I understand,” Alexander says. “Because I was unfaithful, you—”
“This isn’t about you,” she says clipped, and it’s not. Not really. It isn’t so much revenge as it is simple self-indulgence.
She will not apologize.
From across the table, Eliza remains a formidable presence as she explains, “Jefferson and I have…an unconventional relationship.”
Alexander scoffs. “I’d say!”
Eliza ignores his comment, and continues. “It’s unconventional in the way like when you’re extra stressed and let me help you fix it.” She places emphasis, hoping that Alexander gets her meaning — that she’s referencing the times when he’s so overwhelmed that he cannot put together a single coherent thought, and needs to have someone else take control for him.
“Oh. Oh,” he says, understanding, and Eliza knows that he is thinking the same as her — when he’s tied up and at her mercy, reliant on Eliza to grant him his desires.
Alexander shifts in his seat, and briefly looks away to ease the uncomfortable eye contact between them. “Well. That was certainly—unexpected.” He glances back to Eliza, incredulous. “Really, Jefferson? Him?”
Eliza nods. “And you can decipher from the letter that he’s proposing that you…partake in what we have.” She pauses. “I think you should.”
It comes out sounding more like an order than a suggestion. She’s about to amend it, say, Only if you want to, of course, but Alexander’s response is immediate.
“I won’t give up the opportunity to have that over Jefferson,” he says, and Eliza laughs because he’s so predictable.
“So you agree?” Eliza asks.
“Depends,” he says, and Eliza knows that he’s already made his mind up and he’s just being difficult. “One question, though.”
“Hmm?”
“How big is his dick?”
Eliza holds her hands out in front of her a sizable distance. She has to give Jefferson credit where credit is due.
Alexander swallows, and then lets out a shaky breath. “Respond to the letter in the affirmative.”
“I already did yesterday.”
They set off for Virginia two days later — they leave the children with her father, make an excuse of some work Alexander has to do, and then that’s it, the lie is set.
It’s really quite simple.
They share a bed in Pennsylvania, because Eliza isn’t spiteful enough to make Alexander sleep on the inn’s dirty floors. They don’t touch, but they leave the lantern on and lay awake talking.
“I don’t understand. Why Jefferson?” Alexander asks. “It could have been anyone. Literally. Anyone else.”
Eliza is glad he’s resentful about it. She hopes that he’s thinking of her and Jefferson together. She has certainly thought about him with Maria Reynolds. She wants to tell him, I chose him because he treats me like I’m important, or, because I don’t have to worry about him disappointing me, or, because I knew it would make you angry. But none of that is the full truth, at least it wasn’t initially.
“He was convenient,” Eliza says, and she turns her head on the pillow so she’s looking at him. “And easy to take down.”
And then Alexander smiles and his eyes light up, like he’s proud.
Upon arriving, it takes less than five minutes for Alexander and Jefferson to get in an argument.
Jefferson says how much he’s missed Eliza and how difficult it’s been and laments about his migraines, and Eliza tells him, “I’m sure you’ve suffered greatly in my absence.” Jefferson then takes her hand in his and places a kiss in her open palm and makes doe-eyes at her, and Alexander twitches — of which Eliza is pleased with because she isn’t above admitting that she had been anxious to see the two men battle it out for her affections. But then one thing leads to another and soon, Alexander and Jefferson are yelling at each other in the foyer.
“I knew you’d be into it, you filthy bastard.”
“You asked for it!”
“Everyone in the country knows you’re immoral, publishing your smut, and—”
“—I’ve heard rumors about relations between you and the Adamses in France, so you obviously have a thing for—”
“Leave John and Abigail out of this!”
“—and there you go again, denying to talk about things that implicate you, just like in—”
Eliza cannot take an entire week of this; she has to remind them who is in control.
“Boys!”
Both Alexander and Jefferson startle into silence at her shout, and turn their attention to her. Jefferson immediately subdues at Eliza’s scolding, slouching his shoulders and dipping his head down and mumbling, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll be better.”
Alexander on the other hand, keeps looking between Eliza and Jefferson, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Eliza hears his breath hitching in his throat, and his anger has disappeared — he’s intrigued. He obviously wants to be a part of what’s happening.
Tension ebbs between the three of them, palpable, and Eliza wants to take the two of them to a private room right then and have her way with them, hard, fast, and hot.
But the moment passes, and Jefferson stands up to his full height and clears his throat. Eliza recognizes the look on his face, the abashed one he gets when intimacy is alluded to, and yes — she has missed it.
“Welcome to your couples retreat,” Jefferson manages to say. His voice is shaking. He’s focusing on a spot over their heads. “Dinner’s at eight.”
And then Jefferson leaves in a rush, a purple-clothed blur fleeing from the room.
Alexander turns to Eliza.
“You should be in the cabinet. I’ve never seen anyone back him into a corner that fast.” He says it in an almost whisper — he’s clearly impressed. “What in the hell did you do to him?”
Eliza smiles, pleased with her private knowledge. “You’ll see.”
They bathe to wash the road off of them (separately, and in cold water because Jefferson has this dumb idea that it’s healthier — in the room next door she hears Alexander yelp followed by a splash of water as he gets in the tub), and they then have dinner with Jefferson. It goes mostly without a hitch, although Eliza has to glare at Jefferson a few times to stave off rude remarks, and one occasion, place her hand over Alexander’s because she’s sure he’s about to throw his fork across the table at Jefferson.
It’s difficult to focus, because she keeps thinking about what’s going to happen, and she’s sure that Alexander and Jefferson are having a similar problem — they keep meeting each other’s eyes but then quickly looking away and drinking heavily from their wine glass.
She’s irritated at the stalemate, they’re useless — but then she realizes that they’re waiting for her to take the lead. It’s damn pleasing, and their silent agreement to defer to her guidance makes her think that maybe this will amount to something satisfactory, for all parties involved.
“Thomas, I’d like you to give us an exclusive tour of your bedroom,” she says, aiming for her directedness to unsettle them. It does — she feels Alexander tense in his seat next to her, and Jefferson almost spills over his glass.
“Gladly,” Jefferson chokes out once he’s composed himself, and Alexander says under his breath, “Okay, so we’re doing this.”
Alexander doesn’t stop watching them.
Eliza is all but sitting on Jefferson’s face, her thighs tight against his head as Jefferson does something wonderful with his mouth. He flattens his tongue, licking a stripe against her folds until he’s at her clit, and he gives a few teasing flicks that draw a deep moan from her. She doesn’t hold it back — she wants Alexander to see the thrill Jefferson gives her.
She rolls her hips, pressing her sex into Jefferson’s mouth, and looks over to Alexander. He’s sitting against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him; he’s close enough that she could touch him, if she wanted to. He’s still wearing clothes — he had only got as far as toeing off his shoes and removing his jacket and waistcoat before Eliza had stopped him (“No,” she had said, “for now you’re only going to watch,” and he whined a long drawn out, “But Eliza,” and Jefferson had just smugly laughed). Alexander looks ridiculous sulking with his shirt half untucked out of his breeches, but he had listened to her — he had sat back and watched as Eliza and Jefferson slowly undressed each other and roamed their bodies with their hands. His only opposition was when he had muttered, “This is unfair,” as Eliza pushed Jefferson onto his back and crawled up his body until she was sitting on his chest with her legs spread open wide, revealing herself before him.
“Life is unfair,” Eliza had said, and Alexander stared wide-eyed as she eased forward and Jefferson spread her folds with his hands and enthusiastically attacked her with his mouth.
From his angle, Alexander can observe everything — the dart of Jefferson’s tongue against her, the sway of her breasts as she rocks forward, how wet she is — and he’s been watching intently. He’s been silent, for the most part, but when Eliza’s eyes meet his, a low guttural sound emits from his throat. Eliza is reminded of a growling dog, warring for territory.
She is nobody’s territory — especially not Alexander’s. Sure, they may still be husband and wife, but she has her autonomy, the right to do as she wishes. After all, Alexander took advantage of his and acted without thinking of Eliza (she has to believe that he didn’t think of her because if he did that would be worse), so she can do the same.
It’s not punishment — okay maybe it is, but she can’t help it. Alexander needs to know how it feels, as he can be rather ignorant of how others feel.
So, she puts on a show, throwing her head back and gasping as Jefferson curls his tongue in her.
“Look how good Thomas treats me,” she tells Alexander, her voice raspy. She trails her fingers along the muscular line of Jefferson’s shoulders, then runs them though this glorious, luxurious hair. “He’s devoted.”
It has a different effect on both men. Alexander makes a strangled noise and he looks perplexed, as if he can’t decide to be upset, furious, or aroused. Jefferson hums at her praise, the reverberations of it vibrating against her, and because he can’t not goad Alexander, he pulls away from Eliza and says, “Yeah, takes notes because maybe you’ll learn something and—”
Eliza grabs a handful of Jefferson’s hair and pulls hard, cutting off his remark. She has learned that a quick yank of his hair will steer him back to passivity, which is often needed as he sometimes maintains noncompliance.
Eliza wonders if Jefferson could get off on her insulting Alexander alone. Probably so.
She tightens the grip in his hair and guides his mouth back to her. He rubs his face against her, burying his nose against the dark curls and inhales her scent. Looking down at Jefferson, she meets his eyes and sees that his are lit up into a smile. Fiendishly, he lightly scrapes his teeth against her clit before slipping his tongue inside her and then dragging it out slow so it rubs in exactly the right spot. She shudders, she’s close, she feels herself getting wetter and throbbing against his tongue. Needing more, she puts her hands on Jefferson’s shoulders to brace herself and then grinds down on his face, unashamedly. He returns it, gripping her thighs and then he really gives it his all, only pulling away to take a quick breath before going back and mouthing at her opening with sloppy kisses and obscene licks.
Through the haze of pleasure, she’s aware of Alexander next to her. Her attention is drawn to him — his face is flushed and he’s breathing open-mouthed and his eyes are dark and she knows that look, he’s absolutely dying for it. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, he’s still pouting for crying out loud, and there’s a thrill of vindication when she glances down and sees the thick line of his erection pressing against his breeches.
Noticing that her attention is on him, Alexander reaches out to her, but Eliza swats his hand away before he can touch her. His withdraws his hand and sulks, having been properly scolded, and that just does it for her — and that combined with how Jefferson is sucking at her clit, the tension within her finally snaps and her vision blurs as she shudders out her orgasm.
She rolls off of Jefferson, a little lazily as she’s still weak from her climax. Jefferson’s lips are wet and sticky from her when she kisses him, which she finds interesting and makes her pulse quicken. She bites on his bottom lip, lightly tugging on it as she pulls away.
“Good boy,” she says, and Jefferson’s whole body actually trembles and he looks absolutely enraptured, preening from her praise. She always finds it delightful that it’s so easy to please him, and she takes her own pleasure in how a carefully placed kiss or a few words of encouragement can make him come undone — like now, how he’s softly whimpering and pressing against her body like he’s dependent on her.
However, Alexander makes his need more apparent — he’s past the point of being discreet, he’s banging his head against the headboard and a strangled moan escapes as he palms himself through his breeches, insatiable in the fact that the both Eliza and Jefferson are on display and being attended to and he is not.
Alexander has always had a problem when things aren’t about him, and he does not like to share.
How does it feel? Eliza wants to ask.
Eliza knows better to give into his tantrum, but she just can’t help it — his passion incites. She sits up and drags herself over to Alexander and he lets out something that’s skin to a sob when she straddles his hips and settles down on him. In this position in his lap, she sits a little taller than him and it’s perfect, and he shifts beneath her so she can lean over him. His hands go to her hips and he grips her tight as she rolls against him, grinding down on his hardness through the cloth of his pants, and he immediately starts thrusting up against her.
Somewhere next to her, she hears Jefferson’s aghast reaction and him saying, “Excuse me, we weren’t done here.” Eliza glances to him to see that he’s gesturing to his erection that’s leaking on his belly, and his expression is like he’s been cheated out of something.
“We’re done when I say we’re done,” she says, and when she sees Jefferson roll his eyes and start to inch his hand toward his cock, she adds, “You are not allowed to touch yourself.”
Jefferson whines in frustration, but abides, curling his fists and tucking them to his sides.
If possible, the reprimand to Jefferson sends Alexander into an even more desperate frenzy. He jerks his hips up to meet Eliza’s as she grinds down on him, and he presses his forehead to her chest, as if he’s overwhelmed. She feels every one of his exhales hot against her skin, and then he takes in greedy, desperate inhales, as if every one may be his last. He’s shaking as he lays slumped against her, so she puts a hand to his back to calm him, and to steady herself. Her next move feels natural, rubbing a gentle line down his spine and murmuring his name, soothing him without even realizing it she’s doing it.
At first he tenses, as if he didn’t expect the compassion from her. Ever since then, since he was unfaithful, they’ve continued to have sex occasionally, but it was never intimate. Just something rough and quick. She couldn’t let him have that much of her — it didn’t mean anything if she didn’t love him during it, but by god he had tried to convince her, kissing apologizes into her skin and holding onto her tight, as if he was afraid she would disappear if he let go.
Alexander is relentless. It’s one of the things that first attracted her to him, and maybe that’s why she gives in a bit now, giving a gentle touch to quell him. If anything, she does it to surprise him — never let him know what angle she’s coming from.
Once Alexander adjusts to the change in her tone towards him, he makes a keening sound and then dips his head down to take one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking at the hardened tip. She arches her back and cries out, and it’s easy for her to come again with her still sensitive from her first orgasm, and by rubbing herself against the silky fabric of Alexander’s breeches and Alexander losing his control against her. She bounces in Alexander’s lap as she rides it out, and during it, she’s aware of Alexander’s body going stiff and then him gasping against her breast as he spills warm into his breeches.
Afterward, they don’t say anything; they sit slumped against each other as they catch their breath, Alexander resting his head on her shoulder and her arms hooked around his waist. When it no longer feels like her heart is going to pound out her chest, she pulls away from him and she tilts his head up so he’s looking at her.
He gives her one of his sly, foxy grins and for a moment — she forgets that she’s supposed to be mad at him. That she is mad at him.
She opens her mouth to say something, but then she thinks better of it, and shakes her head and peels herself away from him.
Alexander sighs, and then thumps his head back into the headboard. He grabs at his crotch and grimaces at the wet spot, and says, “Gross.” He wiggles out of his breeches until they’re around his ankles, and then he unceremoniously kicks them to the floor.
Eliza’s breathing has almost evened out when she remembers Jefferson — or really, he just makes his presence known.
“Hello?” Jefferson asks, his voice insistent through the silence. “In case you forgot, I ate you out like a pro, but what thanks do I get? Torture.”
Even though Jefferson is getting a tad too mouthy, he has been good and not touched himself. Eliza is pleased at his restraint; he’s done what she’s asked of him.
“Thomas is right. He’s been very patient.” She curls up into the plush of the pillows, and waves a hand at Alexander. “Why don’t you see to fixing that, husband?”
Alexander catches her eyes and nods, his face breaking into a grin.
“No, Hamilton,” Jefferson says as Alexander crawls across the bed to him, “Don’t you dare put your disgusting mouth on me, it’s bad enough I have to listen to it, I don’t want it dirtying—”
Jefferson’s protests quickly dissipate when Alexander wraps his hand around the base of Jefferson’s dick and slides his lips over the head, sucking it before taking more of him into his mouth. Alexander takes it as deep as he can, and then he drags up, licking the underside of his dick as he goes. He digs his tongue into the slit, lapping up what’s leaking out, and Jefferson gasps and curses a stream of, “goddamn fucking Hamilton, fuck your horrid mouth and your ugly clothes,” when Alexander takes his length back into his mouth.
“Do you want my husband to stop?” Eliza asks. Alexander can’t speak because he’s got a mouthful of dick, but he shoots her a sidelong glance, as if he’s offended that she would broach the subject. She reaches forward and pets the back of Alexander’s head, smoothing down unruly strands of hair as she asks again, “Do you want him to stop, Thomas?”
Jefferson throws his head back into the pillow and whines out, “No no no,” followed by a broken-sounding groan, like he’s upset that he admitted that he wanted Alexander.
It’s a lovely sight, and Eliza feels herself growing wet again by just watching them, seeing Alexander kneeling over with his bare ass in the air as he works Jefferson in a state of undoing. Jefferson jerks his hips up and Alexander takes it, gagging slightly as he tries to get more of Jefferson’s dick in his mouth — Alexander is out of practice sucking dick, Eliza thinks. Alexander’s signs of struggle seem to turn Jefferson on more, and Jefferson starts thrusting his hips up, fucking Alexander’s mouth. Alexander adjusts, placing a hand on Jefferson’s hip and making his jaw slack, and his eyes flutter shut as he moans around his dick.
Just when Eliza thinks Jefferson won’t be able to take much more, Alexander pulls off of him and looks up at Eliza. His lips are red and there’s spit running out of the corners of his mouth and there’s some of Jefferson’s precome on his chin.
“You weren’t lying about his dick,” Alexander says, his voice low and wrecked.
Eliza grins, and gestures for him to continue.
Jefferson sputters as Alexander takes his cock back into his mouth, and he comes soon after that, Alexander swallowing down his release. But as soon as Jefferson is capable of coherent speech, he asks, “What did you say about my dick?”
Eliza isn’t sure how much more she can take.
It’s only the second day into their stay, and Alexander and Jefferson are already at each other’s throats. They can’t spend all day holed away in the bedroom — for the sake of at least attempting discretion, and for the simple fact that there is a limitation to their stamina. So they have to find other ways to entertain themselves.
And Alexander and Jefferson’s leisure activity? Arguing. They’re having a disagreement over…something. Something about taxes? To be honest, Eliza doesn’t care what it’s about, but she does care about having peace of mind. Not only that, but she cares about reminding them who is in charge. Unguarded, Alexander and Jefferson make bad decisions. They’re both disasters in their own right, and together — well, it only multiplies.
So, she seduces the both of them to the bedroom with the pretense of a good time. It’s easy — all she has to do is lift her skirts up to her calves to entice them, and they promptly drop their discussion and follow her lead. Once they are alone, they quickly strip and they are so cooperative and so eager for the promise of something more that they don’t object when she starts tying their wrists to the headboard with a few of Jefferson’s silky scarves.
“Oh, this will be fun,” Jefferson says, delighted, as Eliza tightens the bind, securing his hands above his head. Next to him, Alexander is already tied up, and he makes a hum of agreement. She doesn’t say anything — the two of them obviously think this is going to be much different than how it’s going to be, and she can’t wait to prove them wrong.
When she’s done, she sits back and examines her handiwork. Alexander and Jefferson sit side-by-side, naked, cocks hard, and hands tied up above their heads — they can’t touch themselves, or each other. Jefferson flexes his arms and chest, showing off his muscular build. Alexander rolls his eyes when he sees him do this, but despite himself, he sucks in his stomach. They both have the same wolfish hunger in their eyes, begging to be touched, and Eliza watches them half-heartedly struggle against the ties for a few more seconds before she rolls off the bed and grabs Jefferson’s robe and slips it over her shoulders.
“You’ve disappointed me,” Eliza tells them, and Alexander and Jefferson stare at her dumbfounded as she continues. “I thought you two were mature enough to settle your differences for me, but I guess not.”
They both shout out when her hand is on the door.
“No! Eliza, come back you can’t leave us like this—”
“—it’s Hamilton’s fault—”
“—my fault?”
“You instigate it!”
“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a fucking idiot—”
Eliza’s sigh breaks their squabble. “This is exactly what I mean,” she says, and Alexander and Jefferson’s shoulders fall as they start to defend themselves, but Eliza continues with, “I’ll return when you’ve decided to behave.”
And then she shuts the door behind her, not giving them a chance to bargain anymore.
The room next to the bedroom serves as Jefferson’s office, and Eliza waits there. She finds a blank sheet of paper and busies herself by writing a quick note to Angelica (—you won’t believe where I am—). She isn’t sure how long she intends to make Alexander and Jefferson hold out — however long it takes, she supposes. She wonders how long it will take for them to figure out that their liberation is dependent on their actions.
She hears their muffled voices through the wall and they’re still bickering.
I’m curious how Pres. Washington didn’t kill the two of them, Eliza writes to Angelica. Smiling to herself, she adds, but then again, he didn’t have the same method of handling them as I do.
Eventually, Alexander and Jefferson’s voices fade, and soon after that they’re surprisingly quiet. There’s a part of her that thinks that they may have killed each other, but she hears quiet mutters and soft gasps from them drifting through the wall, and yes, that’s perfect. She has them wait a little bit longer so that they really understand the purpose of the lesson, and she finishes her letter to Angelica. She takes her time. Alexander and Jefferson certainly aren’t going anywhere.
When she comes back, Alexander and Jefferson are an absolute mess — the covers are rucked up from where they must have thrashed at them with their legs, their hair mussed, and both of their dicks are straining up towards their stomachs and there’s the glisten of precome dripping out of the tip. Their arms are still secured above their heads; either they couldn’t free themselves, or they wanted to stay that way. Eliza supposes that it’s the latter, judging by how wound up they appear to be. Jefferson has his face pressed into Alexander’s shoulder, and Alexander is letting him, which says volumes more about their current state than anything else.
Eliza leans against the bedpost at the foot of the bed. “Comfortable?”
Jefferson turns his head, peeking out from its place burrowed into Alexander to look at Eliza. Alexander furrows his brows, as if he isn’t really sure what to say. “Not really?” he says, it sounding more like a question than a statement.
“Good.” At least he’s honest. Eliza slides onto the bed, sitting in front of them. Jefferson continues to slump against Alexander, as if he’s too overcome to do anything except lie there, but Alexander — Alexander lurches forward, but he’s pulled back by the restraints. He whines when he can’t reach her. Eliza knows that this is something Alexander loves, being deprived of something and having to work for it, having something tantalizing and just out of his grasp. She supposes that’s why he always aims high for everything — getting something is more enjoyable when it’s hard to obtain.
“Please,” Alexander whines. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”
Eliza smacks his leg, open-palmed, right where it’s most tender on the curve of his inner thigh. A sharp gasp escapes from Alexander, and he bucks his hips up into the air, making a frustrated sound when he meets nothing. His plead of, “Again,” is barely audible, and if Eliza is going to give it, he’s going to have to put some effort into it, so she trails her fingers down his leg and says, “I couldn’t hear you.”
And Alexander growls, his body violently jerking against Jefferson’s as his torso contorts. “Please hit me again, my dear wife.” He lolls his head to the side, resting it on Jefferson’s, and looks at her so sincerely, earnestly. “I deserve it.”
Eliza pauses. This aspect hadn’t been brought into their relationship since that damned pamphlet. The self-deprecation has a whole new connotation, now. She searches for some meaning from him, and all she finds is a pining reflected back at her.
She slaps him again, a red splotchy mark blossoming at the contact. Alexander reacts so beautifully, moaning out and bending his knees and tucking them inward, trying to rub himself with his thigh. It doesn’t work, so he flops his legs back to bed and starts begging to be touched.
Jefferson silently watches it all, obviously torn between being amused that Alexander is getting scolded, and jealous that Alexander getting more attention than him. So for good measure, Eliza slaps Jefferson’s thigh, too.
“Fuck,” Jefferson whines, gasping into Alexander’s skin, and then he bites Alexander where his shoulder meets his neck.
Alexander curses under his breath, “Goddamn you, Jefferson,” but he shivers as Jefferson continues. Jefferson seems pleased to make Alexander to come undone in this way, his smile creeping up as he takes Alexander’s skin between his teeth, and his eyes flitting to Eliza for approval.
“You’re doing good,” she says. “You’ve been so patient.” She doesn’t direct it towards either one in particular, but they both appear to think that it was chiefly for them.
Eliza compares their bodies; they are both fine works. They’re both handsome — Jefferson with his svelte form and rich brown skin, and Alexander with his softer curves and warm glow that shines. The expanse of Alexander’s skin is scattered with faded scars from the war, while Jefferson has none. She’d love to map out all their differences, one by one, know them as well as she knows herself. They’re perfect, and the both of them are here wanting and aching for her, and okay — she’s lucky.
Because they have been so receptive of her lesson, she decides to give them a respite. They let out similar sighs in relief when she reaches across their bodies to untie their wrists.
“It hurts,” Jefferson says, rubbing his wrists when they’re free. Alexander scoffs and mocks him, going, “It hurts,” in a whiny voice that admittedly does sound a lot like Jefferson, but Eliza won’t say so.
Instead, Eliza tells Alexander to hush, and then says, “You two need to settle your differences.” She then adds, “while Alexander and I are here, anyway,” because it would be a miracle if the two were to agree on everything. “Do you think you can manage that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jefferson dutifully says, and Alexander nods in agreement.
“Perfect,” Eliza says, and her mouth tugs into a grin. “Now kiss and make up.”
Alexander and Jefferson share a glance before looking back to her. They share an appearance of uncertainty, and they have a silent conversation between the two of them. It’s almost cute how apprehensive they are to kiss when the previous night they had their mouths on each other’s dicks. But Eliza encourages them, nodding her head and saying, “It’s okay. Go ahead.”
Alexander and Jefferson sigh, like children going, fine, if you say so! and they tentatively lean in towards one another, slow, testing, inquisitive. They tilt their heads to try and find a suitable position, but they keep bumping noses and they flinch when their beards scrape against each other, but after a few tries they get it right and they press their mouths together. At first, they give each other chaste kisses on the lips, and Eliza can tell that Jefferson is embarrassed, flustered, and Alexander notices too. He smiles against Jefferson’s mouth, and he starts trailing kisses down his neck and back again, placing small, coaxing ones at the corners of Jefferson’s mouth until Jefferson mutters, “Fuck you, Hamilton,” and parts his lips. Alexander immediately thrusts his tongue into his mouth, at which Jefferson makes a surprised sound, but Jefferson gives back, wrapping his arms around Alexander to pull him closer as he slides his tongue against Alexander’s. The kiss deepens, kindled by their arousal that’s been prolonged for so long, and it quickly gets messy and rough, kissing open-mouthed and grasping at each other with their hands.
It’s enough to make the heat within Eliza stir greater, and she slips her hand under the robe and press against the slickness between her legs.
Alexander and Jefferson notice what she’s doing when she lets out a shuddering gasp, and they pull away from each other. They wear twin smiles, and they start to edge to her, but she shakes her head.
“I’m not going to help you,” she says.
“But—”
“You’re smart men. Figure it out yourselves.”
There’s a moment of delay, where Alexander and Jefferson stare at each other, as if they’re weighing the consequences. It doesn’t take them long to decide — they wrap their hands around each other’s dicks and start to stroke the other with quick, efficient jerks, relentless, like they’re determined to make the other one come first.
Eliza doesn’t know which of them does end up coming first. Her eyes flutter shut to the sounds of their hands moving wet over their skin and their frenzied breaths and her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
To put it mildly, Jefferson is weird.
Before, when it was just her and him, she didn’t spend enough time with him to pick up on all the individual peculiarities that make Jefferson so especially eccentric. They would fuck until they were content, and Eliza would leave soon after. Occasionally, she would stay curled up in his bed with him and chat about nothing in particular while she rested, but she had been sure to keep a clear separation between the enjoyment of the gratification of the affair, and the enjoyment of each other’s company.
However, there’s no escape from it while she’s in his territory, and she is subjected to the Full Thomas Jefferson Experience.
And Jefferson has many quirks. He’ll randomly walk away in the middle of conversations, experiments with plants in the garden, gives impromptu violin concerts, makes Eliza and Alexander eat weird pasta dishes that he replicated from his visits in France. Eliza goes along with all of it — it’s charming, in a way. Even Alexander stopped complaining after a while, and the two are actually amicable, which is much more than Eliza could have expected. She hates to admit it, but it’s idyllic at times, and these are the memories that she will take from this experience as well as the more sordid ones, ones like:
(She’s lying in the grass, sprawled out on top of Alexander and Jefferson’s jackets. The two men are next to her, debating—no, discussing philosophy, and in French no less. They’ve removed their shoes and stockings, and they sit barefoot in the grass, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. It’s obvious that they are both insanely clever, and that’s the basis of why they can’t get along — because they are so self-important that they can’t stand the possibility that someone may approach their intellectual capacity. But now, in this moment, they don’t clash, even when they disagree; Alexander says that Jefferson’s obsession with John Locke is trite, and Jefferson scowls and nudges Alexander with his foot and calls him a simpleton but it doesn’t have any real malice behind it. The gentle cadence to their speech and the proximity of their comfort and the sun on her skin relaxes her, and she figures that she must’ve dozed off because the next thing she’s aware of is Alexander and Jefferson lying down next to her on either side, quietly, as if they don’t want to disturb her. It’s extremely tempting to continue napping, but with them curled against her body gives rise to wanting more, so she blinks awake, yawns, and says, “Hey.” Jefferson mumbles, “Hey yourself,” against her shoulder, and Alexander smiles at her fondly as he brushes her hair out of her face and says, “My Betsy is so beautiful.” There’s a pang of hurt, because Alexander hasn’t called her by that name in a long time, and how dare he appeal to her like that, trying to evoke nostalgia — but it hurts less when Jefferson says, “Yes, she is.” To hell with it, Eliza thinks, and she focuses on the here-now instead of what had happened — it’s too hard to be upset, so she loses herself in their affections, pulls them closer to her and says, “Mine.” They end up fucking in the secluded area in the backyard, with Jefferson thrusting into her slow and leisurely as Alexander alternates kissing them, hardly giving himself enough time to breathe between takes. Jefferson pulls out when he comes, spilling on Eliza’s stomach, and then rolls over onto his side, exhausted and spent. He’s left her unfulfilled and still throbbing for her own climax, but her Alexander notices. Alexander takes Jefferson’s place, kneeling between her legs, and he licks her stomach, lapping up Jefferson’s sticky release and his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s groaning deep in his throat like it’s the best thing ever he’s ever tasted, and god the sight of it makes her writhe and beg for him to fuck her. He slips into her, and she settles her legs around his hips to pull him in close as he rocks his hips against hers. He’s clinging to her and babbling into her neck, a steady stream of, “Please, Eliza, Betsy, please, I’m sorry, I love you,” and she has to bite down on her tongue to keep from saying it back. Jefferson has recovered by now, and he’s apprehensive, as if what he’s seeing is something he shouldn’t interrupt, but Eliza grabs him by the hand and tugs for him to join them. He does, and he leans in and brushes Alexander’s hair off his neck and places gentle kisses at his neck until Alexander turns his head to meet his lips with his, and it’s that, the two of them sighing into each other’s open-mouthed kisses that makes her come.)
So when Jefferson drags her and Alexander into his bed and asks them to stay and sleep through the night together, she doesn’t have any objections. Jefferson claims the spot between Alexander and Eliza (“A Hamilton on either side of me,” he had drawled as he sprawled out between them, and even though Alexander crinkled his nose, he eventually curled around Jefferson’s back and threw his arm around his middle to snuggle closer to him before dozing off). Even though there is a sense of depravity about this whole thing — sharing a bed with two men — it’s comfortable, and she is content.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Jefferson didn’t wake up at the crack of dawn.
Back to Jefferson’s oddity — Jefferson has a habit of waking up as soon as the sun peeks through the windows in the morning. Every morning. It’s like he can’t waste one moment of daylight on something trivial like relaxing, or being a good companion and keeping his bedmates warm. And he makes such a commotion getting up that it’s like he wants Eliza and Alexander to be woken up in the process, the selfish, attention-craving asshole.
“Ow, what the fuck!” Alexander shouts as Jefferson rolls over him and digs his elbow into Alexander’s side as he catapults off the bed. Eliza, now fully awake, groans into her pillow.
Alexander curses again as Jefferson pads away into his office, and then turns to face Eliza across the empty space where Jefferson had been. He seems far away, and there’s a part of her that wants to scoot over and curl up with him and go back to sleep.
But she maintains her distance.
“What’s he doing?” Eliza mumbles.
Alexander lets out an exasperated sigh. “Checking the temperature. He’s obsessed with recording it every morning, the freak.” He pauses, and then there’s a flush creeping in his face when he adds, “As least he’s a good lay.”
Eliza hums in agreement.
The two of them lure Jefferson back to bed. At first, Jefferson makes an attempt of being willfully disobedient, but Eliza knows that it’s part of his game — he wants her to make him do it. Eliza gladly obliges, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and forcefully pulling him away from his desk, jerking him out of the room and berating him as they go. Jefferson lets himself be led by her, and when she looks over her shoulder at him she sees that he’s having to stoop down for her reach and that makes her feel insanely powerful. That, and that sexed-up, smug smile he’s wearing.
Alexander is surprised at this show of her command over Jefferson. He’s standing up straighter and looking on wide-eyed, like he’s studying her, no — admiring her. She’s been at the receiving end of that look many times from him, the look where he makes her feel so special, like she’s the most interesting thing in the world. She can tell that it’s genuine, and not put-upon for the sake of appealing to her better nature.
Despite it all, she realizes that he hasn’t loved her any less.
She can't decide if she is glad, or not.
She beckons to Alexander, and she guides him in how to handle Jefferson — how to rough him up, how to touch him in ways that make him whine and beg for more. The two shove Jefferson onto the bed, and they tumble after him, and the three tear at each other’s clothes until it’s skin against skin against skin.
Eliza and Alexander work Jefferson until he’s splayed out on his back with Alexander’s cock buried deep inside him. His ridiculously long, slender legs are hooked over Alexander’s shoulders, and every time Alexander drives into him, his legs jostle and there’s sure to be bruises on Alexander’s back from where Jefferson is pressing hard with his heels. If it hurts, Alexander doesn’t seem to mind — really, it’s probably making it better, Eliza thinks — and he keeps the steady rhythm of fucking into Jefferson, and he’s thrilled at how Jefferson is slowly becoming a whimpering mess beneath him.
“You’re nothing without me behind you,” Alexander says, and there’s such hostility behind it that Eliza wonders if it’s something private between them. But Jefferson laughs, a fragmented chuckle bubbling up from his chest. Alexander stills, balls deep in Jefferson. If there’s one thing that Alexander hates most it’s being laughed at — so it’s really no surprise when he bites Jefferson on the thigh.
Jefferson’s laughter turns into a strangled moan, and he bucks his hips into the air. Alexander smirks, delighted at Jefferson’s reaction, but Jefferson soon recovers and retaliates back with, “Nice try, but I can’t even feel your dick, man.”
And that’s a challenge if Eliza’s ever heard one, and Alexander takes the bait — Alexander tilts his head and he says, “Oh, really?” and then he grabs Jefferson’s sides and snaps his hips forward, harder than he had been pushing into him. Alexander picks up the pace, slamming into him hard and quick, grunting as he fucks him into the mattress. Jefferson smiles, content with himself, and grinds down on Alexander’s dick, meeting Alexander’s thrusts up into him.
Eliza is captivated watching them, seeing them thrash against each other, but she doesn’t miss Jefferson slipping a hand down and wrapping it around his dick. She swats it away, but Jefferson keeps putting his hand back, whining in frustration when Eliza blocks him.
She finally pins Jefferson’s wrist down, pressing hard enough that bruises will blossom and peak out from the frilly cuffs of his sleeves. She gestures to Alexander to hold down his other hand, and when Jefferson is fully restrained, he struggles against their hold. Eliza coos at him, and runs her other hand through his hair.
“You’re doing good,” she says, and Jefferson actually lets out a sob. She grins, thrilled at how much control her words have over him, and continues, “But what I really want to know is if you can come with only my husband’s dick in your ass.”
Both Jefferson and Alexander moan at her filthy talk; Jefferson throws his head back into the pillow as it tears from his throat, and Alexander muffles his against Jefferson’s thigh. Alexander shifts his angle, grabbing Jefferson’s hips as he drives in, and Eliza figures that he must be hitting that sensitive spot inside Jefferson just right because Jefferson arches his back and he’s letting out a staccatoed “oh” every time Alexander thrusts into him. Jefferson tries to yank his hands free so he can touch himself and find some relief — Eliza can see his dick twitching and leaking a small pool of precome on his stomach — but he’s too deep into the throes of getting roughly fucked to do anything, so he looks to her and pleads for her to help him. But she shakes her head, and presses down harder on his wrist — no, he can’t get what he wants, not yet.
The resulting sob she steals from him is glorious, and he lays there, helpless.
When she knows Jefferson just about can’t take much more, she wraps her hand around his cock, squeezing tightly around the base. He cries out, “Oh my god please, ma’am, please,” and sounds so nice to her ears.
“Since you’ve asked so nicely,” she says, and then she pulls Alexander by the hair so he’s only inches away from it. She aims Jefferson’s dick at Alexander’s face and says, “Thomas, come,” and that’s all it takes for Jefferson to shoot off.
Alexander squeezes his eyes shut as Jefferson comes on his face. Alexander flinches at first as warm streaks land on his forehead, his cheek, his hair, but then he holds open his mouth to catch some of it on his tongue (it does — in his mouth and on his lips, where it drips down onto his chest). He keeps slamming into Jefferson as Jefferson yells out his orgasm, and with a face full of come and Jefferson clenching around him, Alexander cries out and spills into him.
It takes a few minutes for them to recover, but soon they turn their attentions to Eliza, using their hands and fingers to bring her off. It doesn’t take much — she was brought to the edge just by watching them.
Afterward, it’s sticky and hot lying against each other, but they’re too tired and languid to move. Jefferson’s leg is pressed between hers, and Alexander is resting his head on her stomach. There’s a wet spot next to them where Alexander rubbed his face clean.
“Ya know,” Jefferson says, breaking the silence, “I was thinking about putting my bed between my room and my office. That way everything I need is in close proximity.”
Alexander perks up and looks to Eliza.
“No way,” Eliza says, before Alexander can even ask.
Alexander sets his head back down. “Spoilsport,” he mutters, but only halfheartedly.
“Perhaps,” Jefferson says, carding his hand through Alexander’s hair, then quickly withdrawing his hand, as if he’s disgusted that he’s shown too much affection. “Perhaps you could if you were alone.”
“Yes. If I were alone,” Alexander repeats. He turns his head to look at Eliza, and it’s like he wants her to confirm that — that he isn’t alone.
She doesn’t immediately give him the satisfaction; she makes him wait it out and suffer with her non-answer, and just when his face begins to break into a pained expression she says, “You’re alone only if you want to be,” because it’s on him — he’s the one who brought their relationship falling down around them, creating a divide so wide they have to find their way back.
Eliza conducts a careful observation of Alexander.
He seems calmer — at least, as much as he can be with Jefferson hovering around him at all times.
“Are you happy?” she asks him. She pats his chest, silently communicating the me and you part of it.
He responds quickly. “Of course.”
Eliza doesn’t really believe him.
“Are you happy?” he counters.
She isn’t really sure, anymore. Alexander was a source joy in her life, and then he was the cause of pain, and now it all mixes together and she isn’t sure which side tips the scale. But truly, she doesn’t know if she’s ever been not happy — just a little less so.
“It’s all right,” Alexander says. “You don’t have to answer.”
“No, I—”
Beside them, Jefferson sighs. “Y’all stress me out.”
When Jefferson propositions it, he calls it a relationship building experience, but Eliza isn’t a fool, she knows Jefferson loves to be filled up and stretched.
“Take me together at the same time,” Jefferson begs. “Please.”
Alexander is about to ask how but then Jefferson pulls a phallic-shaped object from his bedside table and Alexander closes his mouth, licks his lips, and then settles with, “Oh, I see.”
Jefferson hands the toy to Eliza — she’s well familiar with it, she’s used it on Jefferson before — and Jefferson turns on to his stomach, laying wanton across the sheets with his ass exposed. Eliza and Alexander work Jefferson open with oil-slicked fingers, and when he’s ready, Alexander slides into him with one fluid push. He starts rocking his hips against Jefferson’s, pulling out slightly before sinking in all the way to the base.
“More,” Jefferson says, keening, and fucking himself back onto Alexander. “I want more.”
Eliza smacks his ass. “You’ve got to be patient.”
Jefferson mutters under his breath, “you goddamn Hamiltons are gonna be the death of me,” and then Eliza slaps him again, saying, “I heard that.”
She wants to take this slow, wants to wring out every once of pleasure from Jefferson before she takes him, wants to hold both him and Alexander in anticipation until they simply can’t stand it. She presses her finger against Jefferson’s tight rim that's stretched around Alexander’s dick, and then she twists a finger inside him next to Alexander. Heat pools between her legs when they gasp as her touch, and she continues stretching Jefferson open until he’s pushing down over her fingers in addition to Alexander's cock.
She tells them to turn over, so Alexander is on his back and Jefferson is riding him. Eliza detaches herself from them, and Alexander lifts his head up to see her. It looks like he could come right then, seeing her slip on the harness for the fake phallus and slicking the toy up with oil. Jefferson must notice that Alexander is distracted by her (or rather, that his attention isn’t fully on him) because he throws his head over his shoulder, and god — she feels so sexy having both of them look at her like that.
“Get in me now.” Jefferson grinds down on Alexander and fists the sheets in his hands. “Fuck me.”
Eliza pushes at his back, pressing him down so his chest is against Alexander's. “How do you properly ask?”
Jefferson lets out a rattling sigh against Alexander’s shoulder. “Eliza, would you rail my ass, please?”
“That’s better.” She lines herself up behind Jefferson, and steadies herself with a hand to his hip. “You better not come before I’m in you.”
Jefferson nods his head, his afro flopping. Beneath him, Alexander fidgets, but his attention is rapt on her. She feels a little ridiculous, completely nude with the toy bobbing in front of her, but—
—she knows she should be ashamed to be this…exposed. However, it’s enthralling, and she wants to never let it go.
Eliza takes the toy in her hand, and slowly guides it into Jefferson’s hole. There’s some resistance, but Jefferson keeps moaning yes yes yes — he’s a complete wreck, the muscles in his back jump at her fingertips and he collapses against Alexander, panting into his ear. Alexander has stalled his pace to a crawl, and as Eliza pushes the toy into Jefferson, he wraps his arms around Jefferson’s back, like he’s trying to console him.
She copies the movements she’s seen them do, a slow press forward with her hips followed by a short drag out before she goes forward again. While she doesn’t get any physical stimulation from it herself, she does derive pleasure from the act — seeing how it makes both of the men crumble.
“When in the c-course of human events,” Jefferson mumbles, stumbling over his words, “it be-comes necessary for…one people to d-dissolve the politicalbandswhichhave—”
Alexander barks out a laugh. “Are you reciting the Declaration?” He thrusts up, choking out a gasp at the feeling of the ridges of the toy rubbing against his dick as it slides in tight into Jefferson.
“Yes.” Jefferson inhales a deep breath that Eliza feels shudder against her. “I’m trying to not blow my load,” he says, gritting his teeth. “We hold these lawstobeself e-evident, that all men—oh, fuck it.”
The rest of Jefferson’s speech is lost to unintelligible noises, half-broken syllables and moans that tumble out of his mouth as Alexander and Eliza thrust into him.
Eliza looks down and meets eyes with Alexander. He’s half hidden by Jefferson, but she can see that he’s red-faced and sweaty and desperate, and — she just has to kiss him. And she does just that, leaning over Jefferson’s body to catch Alexander’s mouth with hers.
“Go faster,” Eliza says against Alexander’s lips. “He can take it.”
It’s encouraging to Alexander, and he starts fucking up into Jefferson as hard as he can, in quick short bursts. Jefferson, pinned between them, is left to their will because he’s too overcome to move on his own — his dick rubs against Alexander’s stomach every time he’s slammed into, and soon he’s shouting out and he’s gasping for air and writhing against them. Eliza goes upright and looks down to see Alexander’s dick and her make-shift phallus sliding into Jefferson together, and that’s just—she has no words to describe it. Filthy. Deplorable. Marvelous. And when they time it right, Eliza feels the press of Alexander’s balls against her folds. It’s shocking, but also, it feels right. Something that feels this good must be right.
Alexander comes first, shouting out Eliza’s name. Eliza is looking at him when he does; he keeps his focus on her, and he reaches out to tangle his hand in her hair to bring her closer so he can kiss her.
She hardly notices when Jefferson comes, whining into Alexander’s chest about how much he hates him.
Eliza knows that they think she’s still asleep. They wouldn’t be talking as freely as they are if they did.
Jefferson is in the middle — as usual — and Eliza keeps her eyes closed while listening to their whispered voices.
“I still don’t understand why you cheated on her,” Jefferson says. “Of all your many, many mistakes, that’s the worst.”
Alexander sighs. “I told you, I—”
“No,” Jefferson says, stern. “Don’t give me a recap of what you wrote down and told everybody. Give me the real reason why.”
The two are silent for a few seconds. Eliza thinks maybe they realized she’s awake. She takes a chance and peeks. What she sees makes her have to suppress a giggle — Alexander is resting his head on Jefferson’s chest, and Jefferson is slowly running his dexterous fingers through Alexander’s hair, working out tangles.
They haven’t noticed her yet. They wouldn’t be caught dead in that position.
She closes her eyes again as they continue talking.
“I did it because I’m an idiot,” Alexander says, and Jefferson scoffs and responds, “Well, that’s obvious.”
“I don’t know. It’s like…self-sabotage. I seem to make a mess of most things.”
“Duh.”
“No.” Alexander voices rises before quieting back down to a whisper. “No, I wasn’t thinking. Or really, I wasn’t thinking about anybody but myself. I know that, and I…” His voice trails off before he starts again. “I understand if Eliza doesn’t love me anymore but, god, I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. I mean, have you ever loved anyone—”
Alexander sharply cuts off his speech, and then says, “Sorry, I forgot.”
It’s a moment before Jefferson hums, and then answers. “To answer your question, yes, I have loved someone. But my Martha is gone,” he says, and Eliza recalls a memory from a couple days ago when he quietly told them about his late wife, and his vow to never marry again. It’s one of the more pure memories of this excursion.
“However,” Jefferson continues, “your Eliza is right here. You still have time.”
Alexander scoffs. “Yeah. Time.”
“And I don’t think Eliza hates you as much as you think she does.”
“That’s because she has a beautiful soul,” Alexander says. “But I hate myself.”
“Really? Because I always thought you’re rather narcissistic.”
Eliza has heard all she needs to hear.
“And that’s calling the pot calling the kettle black,” she says, letting them know she is awake.
Alexander and Jefferson jump apart, as though she wouldn’t notice they had been cuddling.
“Ah, well.” Jefferson anxiously looks around the room. “I have to record the temperature,” he says, and he rolls out of the bed before either one of them can stop him.
Alexander waits until Jefferson is gone to speak.
“How much did you hear?” he asks.
Eliza shrugs. “Enough.”
He winces.
“He’s right, you know,” Eliza says. “I don’t hate you.” She moves closer to him, close enough to feel the heat of his exhales on her face. “In fact, I love you.”
It looks like Alexander is about to cry. “Still?”
Eliza nods. “I never stopped.” She’s known for a while, now. She knew she didn’t hate him, but she wasn’t sure if she could love him as much. She had tried to convince herself that she doesn’t love him, that she could write him out of her heart, but she couldn’t — he’s as much a part of her narrative as she is of his.
It’s their narrative.
Alexander lets out a sob of relief. “I promise, I’ll never—”
“I know,” she says.
And that’s that — they’ve talked enough about the problems between them.
“This was a weird way to fix our marriage,” Alexander says. “A week-long sex marathon with Thomas Jefferson.”
Eliza laughs when he says it; Alexander scowls as though he’s horrified with himself.
“Are you ready to go home?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says. “But first, I want to go down on you while you sit in that stupid swivel chair of his.”
And Eliza kisses him, because her husband is such a dork, and Alexander is hard and pressing up against her thigh when she hears Jefferson storm into the room a few minutes later.
“You can’t without me,” Jefferson whines, and he throws himself onto the bed on the other side of Eliza.
“Piss off,” Alexander says.
“I deserve it,” Jefferson continues, and he curls his body around Eliza’s, setting his chin on her shoulder. “I was the intermediary in getting you two back together.”
“If you say so.”
“C’mon! If you don’t, I won’t let you in meetings anymore.”
“Fine,” Alexander says, in between kisses trailing down Eliza’s neck to her chest. “Then I’ll tell everyone that you called me cute.”
“I was under duress!”
“And then I’ll tell everyone how much you begged to suck my dick—”
“Man, fuck you,” Jefferson says, and Eliza doesn’t need to see his expression to know he’s pouting.
“Sure,” Alexander says, flipping onto his stomach. “Show me what you can do, Mr. Vice President.”
Eliza feels Jefferson go tense against her, but he quickly relaxes, and nuzzles into her shoulder. She feels his hand slip under the covers and skim across her leg as he reaches across her body for Alexander, and there’s further evidence that this is a very very good thing.
That is, until Alexander and Jefferson start bickering about which way Jefferson is going to have him, and Eliza sighs, knowing that she has to settle it herself.
However, when her boys snap to compliance at her order, she knows that gaining her instructions was their intension. After all, they are very clever.
And she has them right where she wants them.