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i tried, i promise [oneshots]

Chapter Text

PAIRING : JAMILTON [Alexander Hamilton x Thomas Jefferson]

BASED ON THIS PROMPT:

"i'm in love with you, asshole!"

"w-would you repeat that?"

"no. you have ears that work. g'night"

COMMENT ANOTHER SHIP/AU/PLOT/PROMPT FOR ME TO WRITE ABOUT!!

yes i use some swear words in this

*

Of all the things he could be doing at midnight, Alexander Hamilton never imagined it would be this.

Working overnight was something he was all but capable of doing - to be realistic, he spent more time at work than home, it was his safe haven, his shelter, his Gan Eden. Although, not how it was appearing right now.

“No. Go away.”

Alexander was very busy typing away at his microscopic laptop (yes, the one that had plain keys, due to Hamilton typing so hard and so often that the paint had eroded) needily, as he had work he needed to do (see: blocking out the sound of Jefferson’s pathetic whines).

“And why should I do that?” Jefferson leant against his hand, propped upright by his elbow, a smug smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re an asshole.”

Now, it was no secret that Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton had a deep-seated rivalry. Their hate for each other seemed to be rooted in something incredibly strong, stronger than either one of them - but neither of them knew what it was. Maybe it was rooted deep in their subconscious, maybe it was just fate. Either way, the two men happily embraced the path that seemed to be laid out for them since the dawn of time.

“Fuck you.” Alexander essentially spat at the slightly (by that, he of course meant much taller) man.

At that remark, Jefferson pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and had to softly bite his lip to bite back a remark, I’m sure you’d love to.

One thing that not many people realised, not even the two secretaries, was that there had always been some inexplicable sexual tension between the two. They both knew it was there, somewhere deep down. It was the reason that Thomas Jefferson found himself smirking as he reacted with an innuendo to Alexander’s supposed insult, and it was the reason that Alexander Hamilton found himself wishing and living for the days when Thomas would come into work, wearing those thick, black hipster frames that just looked so good -

But neither of them would ever admit it.

“You’re such an asshole.” Thomas started out of nowhere.

“Me? Me? Seriously, you’ve gotta be kidding right?”

They were off.

“Yeah, you. Your work is pathetic, you were pitied which is why you got picked for the secretary. Nobody fucking likes you, why do you even try? Nobody wants to be with a whore’s son, a bastard like yourself. I definitely understand why your father left, I wouldn’t want a disappointment like you as a son either. You’re such a faggot, too bad your boyfriend died so he isn’t here to protect your weak ass. You disgust me. Fucking immigrant.” Thomas spat in response.

Jefferson had no idea why he was spitting this prejudice at Alexander. In reality, he had fallen for him, and that was tough for him to deal with - that was the only reason why they fought, right?

Thomas really did believe he had potential, and the most interesting moments in office were when Alexander knew it, and his ego would inflate. Thomas really did believe Alexander was loved, by Jefferson if not by anyone else, and that he was deeply wanted - it was unfair to call him names, it really was, but he had no idea how else to deal with it.

When the words about said dead boyfriend slipped from his mouth, when the slur slipped from his mouth, Thomas knew he had made a mistake. A big mistake.

That was it for Hamilton, his eyes glazed over with rage.

Filled with anger and the fuel of a million fires, Alexander threw himself up from his chair, ready for whatever was to come. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“How fucking dare you? I work hard, I’ve work hard my whole life and I work the hardest out of everyone in this goddamned fucking Cabinet. Now, listen, you can say what the fuck you like about me, I don’t give a fuck, especially because an asshole like you is saying so. But let me fucking let you know, my mother was not a whore, and I will skin you if I hear you ever say that again. I’m proud of being an immigrant, I’m a faggot maybe, but if you ever, if you ever-” Alexander took a pause here, after talking nonstop for almost a few minutes, he needed a breath, “If you ever mention John to me in that way again… Washington is going to have to find a new Secretary of State.” Hamilton bent down to Thomas’ level, his eyes turned horrible and glassy, red and it was obvious how badly he needed to stop himself from crying. Thomas noticed.

“Understood?”

Thomas nodded and meekly rose from his chair, looking at Alexander. He wanted to rub his eyes and stop this, but he realised, it was his fault. He had caused this.

What an asshole.

“Alexander-”

“Hamilton. It’s Hamilton to you.” He snapped.

“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to, I can’t- Alex- Hamilton,” He corrected himself. “I- I’m sorry, you have to know I didn’t mean all that. I didn’t mean any of it, I just have a lot of- I can’t deal with-”

He was stuttering, and that was how Alexander knew it was serious.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Spit it out.” “I didn’t mean to, it was fucking awful, I believe the opposite of all that, there’s just a reason I’m so-”

“And what is that? What the fuck is your excuse?”

A pause.

“I’m in love with you, asshole!”

All previous statements about Jefferson not knowing his feelings towards Hamilton felt they needed to be rescinded - he definitely did know.

“W-Would you repeat that?” Alexander couldn’t function. He had always felt the tension there, and maybe that was why he felt the need to punch Thomas in the face and make out with him at the same time.

“No. You have ears that work. G’night.” Thomas stalked off, attempting to the leave the room.

With that short contraction, Thomas’ Virginian accent came through strong, and Alexander couldn’t quite explain why, but he felt as if he was going to melt.

With a growl, Hamilton walked over to Thomas, and pinned him against the wall, despite his small stature. “You think you’re getting away that easily?”

Suddenly their lips were pressed together and both men melted into it, closing their eyes softly.

Needless to say, they didn’t make it home that night.

 

*

 

It was weeks later.

Alexander heaved himself up out of their bed and sighed and he heavily opened his eyelids. Reaching up to his messy chestnut hair, ruffling it slightly and tightening the tie holding his hair into a bun. That was when he felt a strong arm tighten his grip around the immigrant’s waist.

A hum resonated from the sheets and the pile underneath the duvet shifted with a groan.

“Get up, you useless pile of lard.”

Thomas emerged from the sheets and looked over at him.

“I hate you, you’re such an asshole. Everyone’s gonna ask why I have fucking marks all over my body.”

“Well, I’m sorry for giving you what you wanted, Mr. ‘Fuck me until I can’t walk Thomas, I want you to fuck me hard and long and so bad that I can’t wa-”

Alexander pressed a hand over Thomas’ mouth. “Shut up, I know what I said. And I’m gonna be walking with a limp for a long time now. Thanks.” He snarled.

“Welcome.” Thomas grinned as he stood up gracefully, at first not noticing the younger man staring as his chiseled chest.

Alexander found himself pondering as Thomas stalked into the kitchen, his hips swaying back and forth playfully, in an obvious teasing manner.

This wasn’t exactly what Alexander’s plans were for the weekend, not at all. The two were… Something. Neither of them were exactly sure what. After that first night in the office, they had been enemies with benefits (were they? Did that count?) since - Thomas wanted (ergo, needed) more, as far as Hamilton could tell, but Alexander could only deal with a fling currently.

Limping into the kitchen, Alexander collapsed onto a stall as he grinned at Jefferson, who laid out two plates with pancakes on them. Alexander needily shoved the cooked platter into his mouth and loomed up at Thomas with a smirk.

“So, you never told me about France.”

 

*

 

That was so long ago.

Moments, seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, eons, light years ago…

Wait- Light years - that was (were? He didn’t know) distance, right? Alexander truly was losing his mind - and the most devastating thing was that he couldn’t care less. If anything, he was thankful. Maybe  if he lost his mind, if he lost his marbles, he would forget. Or he wouldn’t care after a while, but he knew his life would never go that way.

“We’re here.”

Alexander heaved himself out of the pitch black car and looked upwards.

Towards the sky.

“I’ll wait outside for you.” The woman put her hand on his shoulder and smiled softly at him, although such a movement was probably too inappropriate. Her brown hair had grown long but, unlike Alexander, she had been in a state where she was able to leave the house.  The pale blue dress hung off of her waist as she rubbed his back and slowly left.

Alexander Hamilton, however, was almost the antithesis of his (now) best friend. His hair was pinned up into a messy bun angrily, the majority of the strands flying about haywards, unable to control their movement. Deep set heavy bags dug underneath Alexander’s irises. He was disgusting, and he knew that, but he couldn’t care less.

In his rear view, Hamilton saw the outline of a man - a man he had learned to let go of a long time ago, a man with freckles dotting his face and sand-coloured tight curls, a man still wearing his army uniform-

When he turned around though, the man was gone.

The grip on the flowers in his hand tightened as he began his advance. A bunch of purple - magenta - aconite (the fancy name for monkshood - he always had appreciated latin names for animals and plants), vermillion carnations and a sprinkle of dove white corianders (Alexander had appreciated the original confusion with the herb, instead of the flower).

Each step he took was careful and deliberate and when he got to the correct place, the place he had never wanted to be but needed to be, Hamilton suddenly felt weak - he sank to his knees as his eyes were horrible and glassy, red and it was obvious how badly he needed to stop himself from crying.

The stone in front of his feet was shoved into the ground awkwardly, even though Alexander had watched it happen.

Now, awkwardly was used loosely by the young man, of course - the granite was strong and straight ( much more straight than either of them had ever been , Alexander thought with a soft chuckle to himself), and it was not that matter, at all. It was more that it didn’t deserve to be there. It should not have been there at all, and it made Alexander so undeniably angry that he wanted to pull the headstone out of the ground and destroy it.

Maybe that would bring him back.

Placing the flowers in front of the stone, he looked up at the golden name carved into the headstone.

“I’m in love with you. Asshole.”

 

*

 

Alexander Hamilton repeated that one line over and over again, for the hours he was there.

At some point, he had no idea when, Alexander stood up to leave when he heard a familiar voice - a voice that was way too familiar. He immediately spun around and there he was.

He spit the phrase again - “I’m in love with you. Asshole.”

“Would you repeat that?” And there is that grin - not was, but is, because for Alexander Hamilton, he would always be present tense, never past -  that grin.

The goddamn fucking grin.

Alexander started moaning and muttering and rubbing his eyes, but then he looked up-

And he was gone.

 

“Here was buried

Thomas Jefferson

author of the

Declaration

of

American Independence

of the

Statute of Virginia

for

Religious Freedom

and the Father of the

University of Virginia”