Chapter Text
Alex isn’t entirely sure where he is, or where he started the night, but the alcohol is dulling his senses and it’s nice to finally escape from the pressures of work. He has to admit, a lot of that pressure comes from him, but still. It's nice, no matter how much he'll regret letting go in the morning.
He takes in his blurring surroundings with a frown, some dimly-lit dive bar that doesn’t look too familiar. Good. He’s less likely to run into somebody from work, then. Hopefully he’s less likely to be recognized as well.
He throws back the rest of his drink, nodding at the bartender for another. It’s probably not a good idea, but the buzz he’s getting tips him into the realm of “I don’t give two shits.”
“Hamilton?” The voice is all too familiar, that lofty arrogance and prideful carriage.
Alex fucking hates him.
He turns slowly, trying to stay balanced. “Mr. Secretary,” he greets with careful enunciation, trying not to slur his words and reveal just how tipsy he is.
Thomas Jefferson frowns at him, arching an eyebrow as the bartender plops another ice cold beer in front of him. “Are you drunk?” He asks, sliding the bottle away from Hamilton.
Alex glares, pulling the drink toward him. “No, ’m not,” he insists, words melting into one another as he takes a swig. “You are.”
The taller man sighs, rolling his eyes at the childish response. “As much as I dislike you, Alexander, I’m not going to stand by as you drown your sorrows,” Thomas takes back the bottle, using his height to his advantage and keeping it purposefully out of reach. “I’m calling you a cab, and you’re going to sleep for once in your miserable existence.”
Alex pouts. “No.” He orders another beer, and after a few more attempts that make Hamilton suspect maybe Thomas does care, Jefferson gives up on trying to drag him outside and sits down defeated.
Hamilton laughs, a little bit farther gone than he was before, as Jefferson begins sipping from the bottle he’d been so hellbent on stopping Hamilton from drinking out of.
Conversation with Jefferson is surprisingly easy when they’re both not that close to sober, and Alex is almost nostalgic for when he had someone to come home to, when he always had someone who was just waiting to talk to him. But no, that ship has sailed. Eliza isn’t going to come back to him. And that’s when he remembers why he’s drinking.
“You know what, man?” Alex slurs loudly, looking up from yet another empty beer bottle and over at his colleague. “I miss being in love.”
Thomas doesn’t look at all startled by the admonition, and instead nods in solemn agreement. “I miss being loved, too,” Jefferson slurs back. “Sometimes I can’t help thinking Martha was the only one keeping me sane, but now she’s gone and I’m surrounded by people who aren’t actually my family and it just hurts. You get that, right? It’s not the same with other people?”
“I’m not good at taking care of myself,” Hamilton answers. Some far-off part of his brain is telling him to shut up, that this isn’t something he should be confessing to someone from work (who might have already noticed, but still, but he loses his filter when he’s drunk and Jefferson is the first person he’s actually spoken to in forever. “Eliza was the only reason I was always okay, she reminded me when I needed to sleep and when I needed to eat and when I needed to come home. I think . . . I think that’s one of the reasons she left, I think I was too much effort,” he admits, slamming the beer on the counter in front of him a little bit harder than he’d intended. “That and she was in love with a woman I can never compete with,” Alex adds with a bitter laugh.
Jefferson frowns into his glass. “Well, I think your Eliza’s missing out, then,” he barely manages to say, tongue getting tied up, so he just offers Hamilton a wide, goofy smile. “Anyone’d be lucky to get a guy like you.”
Alex grins cheekily, completely forgetting the fact that, oh, yeah, he kind of really hates the man beside him.
“Right back at you, man. And, I mean, I’ll deny ever saying this, but your hair is pretty cool. And so is your face,” he mumbles thoughtfully, staring sidelong at Jefferson. “Your face is very cool,” he decides.
And then Thomas looks at him, eyes wide and dark and burning, licking his lips nervously. It’s sinful; the way he’s stares right back at Alexander the whole time, the way he bites down shyly on his lower lip, sweetly staring up through dark lashes . . . Alex can’t resist the urge, surges forward until his mouth is on Jefferson’s and their lips are crashing together.
The secretary’s lips are softer than he’s ever imagined (not that’s he’s imagined kissing Thomas, no, of course not), and Jefferson almost immediately offers Hamilton access into his mouth. Alex smiles into the kiss as their tongues battle for domination, pressing as close to the other man as he can, practically cornering him between the barstool and counter. He doesn’t moan, not quite, as Jefferson nips at Alex’s lip, but he does whimper, hips bucking forward slightly in search of friction, and that’s when Hamilton pulls back, lust blown-pupils taking in as much of the attractive, slightly disheveled man who usually carries the title of his enemy as he can.
If he wasn’t already drunk, that kiss alone would have done the trick, but the edge has already been taken off and Thomas leans in close.
“Your apartment’s nearby, right?” Jefferson breathes into his ear, and Hamilton shivers, the feeling going straight to his cock. Fuck. He should be saying no to this, he really should, but he doesn’t want to.
“Yeah, I think so,” he mumbles, bones rattling with nerves. “Come home with me?”
Jefferson begins pulling Hamilton toward the bar’s exit, and it’s the only affirmation Alex need.
His home isn’t far from whatever bar they were in, and Hamilton’s drunken mind is still working in overdrive to get them there as fast as possible.
They’re still kissing while Alex fumbles with his keys, struggling to get the door open, but then they’re through and he has Thomas pressed up against the closed door before they even get any lights turned on.
Alex sucks bruises into the sensitive skin where Jefferson’s neck meets his jaw while his fingers work at the buttons of the other man’s shirt. He steps back just a moment, Jefferson whimpering at the loss of contact but still allowing Hamilton to finish removing his shirt. And then it’s off and Alex is kissing his way down Thomas’s neck and collarbone, tongue sliding against Jefferson’s smooth and surprising toned chest. It takes a teasingly long time for Hamilton to finally reach his destination, mouthing against Thomas’s hipbone, as his fingers work his belt open and undo the fly of his pants.
“Please,” Thomas whispers, throwing his head back and moaning. “Please, please, please.”
His mind is foggier than normal, but Alex still knows to smirk as he looks up at the man leaning into the door for support.
“Please what?” he asks, with a sly smile, breath ghosting over the outline of Jefferson’s cock through his boxers. “What do you want, Thomas?”
“Please.” Thomas’s thighs are trembling, Alex can see how much effort he’s putting into not thrusting forward with his hips. “Your mouth, fuck . . .” the man murmurs, letting his eyes fall shut. “I want your mouth.”
Hamilton smiles as he pulls down the rest of Jefferson’s clothing, finally freeing his cock. He nearly moans just at Jefferson’s size alone, hands immediately going to circle his member and stroking up and down the length slowly. “That’s all you had to say,” he says smugly, and shifts his attention to focus on the task at hand.
It’s been awhile since he last did this, but Alex quickly falls back into old habits, tongue swirling around Jefferson as he slowly works him farther and farther into his mouth. Alex hums in appreciation as a hand tangles in his hair and Thomas moans, hips snapping forward. Alex’s eyes water at the sudden thrust but he keeps working at it, letting the head hit the back of his throat as he swallows around him a couple times.
Alex whines when Thomas pushes him off and pulls him to his feet, catching Hamilton’s lower lip between his teeth and kissing him with fierce passion. His hand lies possessively on the small of Alex’s back, forcing him to arch as Jefferson continues to dominate his mouth.
Alex is breathless when the taller of the two moves his lips to the side, kissing up his jaw and sucking on his earlobe. His breath catches a hand cups his erection, pressing forward just enough to edge on uncomfortable. Hamilton loves it, bucking forward, breath catching, as Jefferson grins against the side of his throat.
“Please,” he moans, hips moving to meet the friction provided by Jefferson’s teasing hand. “Please, want you,” he whimpers in a shaky voice, biting down on his lip when Jefferson nips at his ear. “Want you to fuck me.”
And Jefferson fucking growls, and Hamilton can’t get enough, painfully hard at this point.
“Please.” No, he’s not begging just . . . asking. Politely.
“Bedroom,” Thomas hisses in his ear, and Alex nods, leading him blindly through the dark. They find his room with relative ease, surprisingly uncluttered, and Hamilton barely manages to flip the lights on before Thomas is ripping off his clothing and pushing him onto the bed.
Alex’s pants are thrown into a pile with the rest of his clothing and they’ll definitely be wrinkled in the morning, but he doesn’t care because Jefferson is pressing him into the mattress and teaching him all of the indecent things he can do with his tongue.
He moans loudly when Thomas swallows him down with a practiced ease. “Fuck, Thomas, ah shit,” he whines unable to stop his hips from jerking slightly.
Jefferson stops, removing his mouth, to shoot a warning glare in Hamilton’s direction. “Stay still,” he orders, hands moving to keep his hips from moving. But then he dives back down with renewed vigor, and Hamilton feels the way pleasure tightens his stomach, the way he sees spots of color despite his eyes being squeezed shut. And—oh, god.
“Shit, fuck, I’m close, please, you need to—oh, fuck—stop,” he whispers, voice hoarse, before moaning loudly as Jefferson releases him from his mouth with an obscene pop.
“On your stomach,” Thomas says firmly, lightly biting where Hamilton’s neck meets his shoulder.
Alex moans loudly. “Fuck,” he breathes into the pillow. “Top drawer, nightstand,” he mumbles a little louder so Thomas can hear him. “Need you.”
He’s glad Jefferson understands, quickly getting out the lube and a condom. Alex hears the snap of the bottle open but he doesn’t get any warning when Thomas’s fingers ghost across his entrance. He hisses, spine arching.
Thomas didn’t even bother trying to warm the lube and it’s a sharp contrast to Alex’s flushed, sweaty skin. He hisses again when Jefferson finally stops teasing, because Jefferson has these insanely long fingers and once Hamilton has adjusted to the slight burn of the stretch, they hit all the right spots and he’s a moaning mess by the time Thomas is working three fingers in and out.
Alex angles his hips backward, wanting more, needing more, and Jefferson finally gets the hint. He removes his fingers slowly, making Hamilton whine into the pillows, and Alex can hear him taking out the condom.
He tenses in anticipation, it’s been so long since last time, but Jefferson lays a hand on his thigh, stroking soothingly, until Alex manages to relax.
“Ready?” the other man whispers, leaning over Alex’s back and sucking another hickey into his skin.
Alex nods, moving his hips backward slightly in offering.
“Ah, fuck,” Thomas groans as he pushes in, moaning in unison with Alex. He waits a moment for Alex to adjust once he’s fully seated inside him, swallowing when Alex shifts his hips slightly.
“Please,” Hamilton whispers. “Oh, fuck, please, please move.”
“You never shut up, do you?” Jefferson asks, but he does anyway, long, slow thrusts that make Alex whimper; they’re too much and not enough at the same time. And then Thomas hits that spot inside Alex that makes fireworks go off and Hamilton gasps, clenching reflexively and drawing a throaty moan from the other man.
“Please, please, need more.” And yeah, he’s begging now, humping the sheets, desperate for any sort of friction. He can’t think straight, every thrust of Jefferson’s hips causing a wave of dizzying pleasure to wash over him.
It doesn’t take much longer for Hamilton to reach the edge, white-hot pleasure clouding his vision. He reaches down to take his own cock in hand and it only takes a couple of strokes for him to moan Thomas’s name as he reaches his peak, Thomas fucking him through it.
When Hamilton finally comes down from his high, Jefferson’s thrusts have grown erratic and uneven, and despite the fact he’s more sensitive before and slightly uncomfortable, he can tell Thomas is close. He clenches down on him without warning and Thomas lets out a strangled moan that sounds like “Fuck, Alex,” as he’s thrown over the edge into a shuddering orgasm. He collapses onto Hamilton’s back when he finishes, and they stay like that for a moment: both men breathing heavily against each other, silent and sated. But then Thomas pulls out and Hamilton winces at the loss.
Thomas rolls over and slides from the bed, disappearing into the en suite while Alex moves off the dirty comforter and strips the top layer from the bed before lying down on his back.
A distant thought claims Alex’s attention when Jefferson reemerges with a wet washcloth. Will he stay?
And then Thomas is carefully cleaning him up, tucking him beneath the covers, and Alex curls into a small ball on his side, prepared to spend yet another sleepless night alone. But Thomas climbs in behind him, pressing close to Alex until it’s just bare skin against bare skin and they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.
Alex sighs, a content, quiet little nose, and melts a little farther into Thomas as the taller man’s arm wraps around him protectively. He missed being the little spoon. Alex really can’t bring himself to think about what he’s doing and who’s he’s doing it with, and closes his eyes. He feels warm and safe and cared for for the first time in forever, and finally lets himself relax, the drinks from earlier still addling his thoughts making it easier. His hangover is going to be hell.
Alex tries not to think about how everything will change in the morning, and lets himself drift into dreamless sleep.