Thomas Jefferson/Alexander Hamilton.
LET'S TRY SOMETHING NEW
Summary: They've been at it for what must be ages, the constant, incessant bickering. They're both tired of it by now, so why not try something new?
If Alexander's got the answer, Thomas' glad to take it. He can't come up with anything more satisfying than that answer. He'd like to discuss that answer.
"I'm tired of this incessant bickering." Alexander muttered, eyes still fixed ahead and not even giving a glance towards Jefferson.
Thomas grunted. "I am tired of you, mind you. Always saying what you speak, always contradicting my posture." He informed the younger male in the room, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back on the love chair he was sitting on. He heard Alexander laugh softly.
"Yeah. Can say the same thing about you, Thomas."
And still, his eyes did not budge from the specific spot they were fixed, wherever that was. And there was the notorious lack of bite in their words. No fire, just words that didn't held the usual aggression. Thomas noted, silently, it sounded more of a rehearsed statement, something they didn't believe but for the sake of a routine they had. He noted they were both tiring of the incessant bickering, as Hamilton had pointed out.
"Alexander." Jefferson said, voice gruff with the bubbling annoyance that was starting to rise inside him. It always happened whenever he spent too much time with Hamilton, some sort of reaction that was already ingrained in him.
Something like an addiction, he mused, always craving it, always looking for it. It made his skin itch with what he knew was coming, with the anticipation for a fight with words. And sure, if words arose enough anger and lead to punches, so be it. Thomas would take it, because he'd throw back whatever Hamilton threw at him. It was something he looked forward, and that some times would leave him feeling like he'd run a marathon: breathless and with a heartbeat loud enough that made him think anyone near him would hear it just as clear as he did. Sometimes, after a pretty heated debate that hadn't crossed lines to the physical, he'd feel a rush of adrenaline, a smug smile that had lasted enough to make his face hurt, and a glee he'd be unable to tell you why, in spite of knowing the reason. It was always exhilarating to argue with Hamilton. After any satisfying debate with none other than Alexander Hamilton, Thomas felt more rested than tired. It was liberating, being able to put down any point Hamilton brought to the table, having to find some last-second reply that would do so, having to pull back things said in previous days or weeks, hell, even months. It was really rewarding, ending with the upper hand and leaving Hamilton looking like a fool.
On the same hand, it wasn't always something nice. Some times, when he wasn't particularly excited to speak out against Hamilton, or when the man was being incredibly pushy and bringing up unnecessary things and childish remarks, he'd end up feeling drained and tired. Lately he'd been feeling like that.
He guessed their relationship was like that. A tug of war that seemed to be never ending, and that in the slightest chance, one would pull too hard, take the other off guard and take advantage of it. Neither was willing to give ground to the other, though, and this "war" of sorts they had going seemed to be lasting a lifetime.
"I do enjoy it, though." Hamilton said after a few minutes of silence, and leaned down to take his glass and drink from the wine Thomas had offered him when he arrived.
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you."
And finally, Hamilton looked at him, with mirth in his gaze and a faint smile pressed against his glass.
"Then I take it you've been left tired after our last match of words?"
Thomas hummed, shrugging in a noncommittal maner. "It has come to my attention the last rounds are more frustrating than rewarding, yes."
"Last rounds, you say? You make it look like we are fighting."
With a light arching of a brow, he inquired, "Are we not?"
And then Alexander's gaze turned away from him, and Thomas couldn't say why he felt disappointed from the small action. His gaze was once again fixed in front of him, and Jefferson dared follow his line of sight, trying in vain to see what could be capturing his attention.
"I guess we are. Words are easier for us, I guess. And if we got into a physical fight as much as we do get in a verbal one… yeah."
Clearing his throat, he smiled upon finding himself object of Alexander's gaze. "Don't get me wrong, Hamilton. But why is it you've come to my house? It's the only place where I can find solace from you. You coming here only to reiterate points that have been made already seems… really unimportant."
Alexander snorted, and stood from his place, putting down his glass; Thomas' gaze glued to him. "Oh, I've come to talk about matters that are far more interesting, I believe."
"Which would be…?" He let the question drag, waiting for Alexander to fill him in, but the man simply planted himself in front of him, and by the look of his smile, enjoying the fact Thomas had to crane his neck to look him in the eye.
"Don't you feel these past… rounds, we've been holding back?"
Jefferson made a face, but only because he did feel like there was something off in the last times they had gotten into an argument. Something akin to an unbearable need for this anything, whatever it was. The problem was that it being an unidentified need, he left the argument feeling a bit empty, unsatisfied. And he never knew what he searched in the arguments he started with Hamilton, but he had been trying for the past week and had come empty-handed, with no answer or discovery that would sate him.
"There's something lacking, I'm afraid. Nevertheless I'm unaware of what it might be."
Alexander nods, leans forward a bit, and with a soft smiles answers him: "I think I might found this we lack. This we've been reaching for and never come to hold."
"Less pretty words, Alexander. On with it, or leave my house."
"Ah."
And it's such a soft exhalation, sounding like Alexander's found himself amused by Thomas' words, his expression of joy making Alexander's eyes more bright under this light, and the way his eyes crinkle a bit at the edges… Thomas wants to start an argument right there, wants to throw a snarky remark of sorts, to get a rise of Hamilton, to get that rush. He bites his lower lip and refrains himself from doing such, though.
"Please do enlighten me with an answer, if you do have it." He says instead.
"Promise you won't do anything rash once you've seen what I've got to offer." Alexander says, and Thomas can't help but notice the way his eyes flicker down for a second, his hands retreating to his back. And unexpected expression of some nervousness, perhaps.
"I'm sure no offer of yours is worth a reaction of me, but go and give it a try. By this point anything's worth a shot. I'll behave as long as you don't offer an answer that's so ludicrous and senseless."
"Then, Jefferson, will you bear with me as I proceed to explain you?"
Thomas' skin feels tingly as Hamilton's warmth hands find his face, and he frowns up at him, unsure of why would he dare do such act. Unsure as to why his heart beats this hard against his ribcage, of why he feels heat rush to his cheeks. Loosely, he's reminded of their heated arguments, but as he nods gingerly and responds with a vocal "I will, go ahead", he's soon forgetting about any arguments they might have held at one point in the past.
As Hamilton leans in to press his lips against his, his mind comes blank as he feels himself freeze in place, loses himself in the sensation of those lips on his. He blinks twice before he takes notice of Alexander's eyelashes, touching his cheekbones as he has his eyes closed.
And as one of Hamilton's hands slides softly from his cheek to the back of his head, softly threading against his hair, Thomas can't help but mimic Alexander's actions, closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss, a tentative attempt of reciprocating it as he feels his heartbeat on his ears, drowning any other thoughts.
Thomas thinks he can get addicted to this, too, can imagine himself craving this soft sensation, this fluttering of his heart. He could imagine himself getting hooked on this rush of adrenaline he's feeling, of the satisfying calm that seems to come to his mind.
Then all too suddenly panic settles in his chest, and his fingers are digging on Alexander's shoulders, softly pushing at him. Not a second later is Alexander moving away, stepping back and looking at him with uncertainty.
"Why?" Is all Thomas can muster, looking wide-eyed at Hamilton.
"I-I'm sorry. Was I— did I stepped over the line? Oh, god, Thomas, sorry. I'm so sorry. I apologize and ask for forgiveness if I did."
Thomas shakes his head, looking down to the floor, feeling himself grow more anxious as the seconds pass. Because this is not— was this Alexander's answer? He takes a deep breath, entwines his fingers together as he churns them around, wanting to calm some of his nerves.
He's afraid.
Alexander catches on and kneels down next to him pressing his hand to both sides of his legs, worry etched into his face. "Thomas, are you okay? Look, I'll never do it again, I'll leave but I want to know if you're okay."
But Thomas simply avoids his gaze, and Alexander frowns once again, mentally kicking himself. He had totally stepped over the line, acted out on stupid impulses, just like he always did…
"Fuck. Listen, Thomas. Can I do anything? You need water or something?"
"No. Just— stay for a… a moment?"
Alexander smiles a bit at that, and nods. "Sure thing." And, a little bit more hesitant, he asks, "Is… is it okay if I hold your hand?"
Thomas offers no verbal answer, but one of his hands wanders to grab Alexander's, and the latter takes seat on the floor, softly rubbing Thomas' hand with his thumb, biting back a smile when Thomas gives a squeeze.
Sighing, Alexander leans forward and lets his head rest against Thomas' legs, hopes that he's not overstepping his boundaries once again, that Thomas will allow him this contact. He does. Tensing at the unexpected touch to his head, he waits for what's next, and he relaxes when fingers smooth down his hair, a repetitive pattern that's calming.
Looking down to Alexander, Jefferson can't help but feel some of his stress bleed out as concern welled up on his chest. Seeing Alexander cross-legged on the floor, curling on himself and looking so small, he felt as if he had done something wrong. So he simply kept caressing softly his hair, waiting patiently for his nerves and panic to die down, let him find his voice and confidence.
Still, he's afraid. Because that's not the "answer" he was expecting nor seeking, and certainly, he's afraid that this so-called answer is more satisfying than anything else he could've come with. This was never an idea that crossed his mind. Afraid that he enjoyed himself perhaps too much when he was kissing Hamilton, as chaste as the kiss was. He's afraid of the possibilities Hamilton's action have opened, afraid he's daring enough to take them, run after those possibilities instead of staying on his comfort zone.
Thing is, Thomas had never thought of himself being with another man, least of all Alexander Hamilton, the man he loved to argue with, loved to see get flustered in anger or embarrassment as he spewed back answers equally as fast as Thomas did, a pace they both kept up until they had to be broken apart by a third party, or until they mutually agreed they had better things to do. He's not a fool, is no ignorant to what he feels, has been feeling for the past weeks, months. For how long had they kept it up? The incessant fighting, the loud words, the sharp glares? At some point, they had been stepping away from a rivalry and stepping into some sort of acquaintance. Not quite friends, because neither dared to acknowledge such thing, but it was obvious the time they'd spend together without starting a fight. At some point they had tired out of constantly being at each other's throat, opting for being on each other's company and letting out a few jokes or witty remarks, nothing that could develop into one of their rants.
But when he thought about it, truly thought about it, he could picture himself with Alexander. Nothing romantic for now —he wasn't daring enough, didn't trust in himself or Hamilton enough to try that just yet—, but he wouldn't be bothered by any small act of affection, in fact, he thought he'd enjoy it. And if trying out a relationship —or a beginning of one— helped to keep up the thing they had had between them, that spark, that enjoyment, he'd take it.
Once breathing becomes less of a task he has to consciously do, has to remind himself to do, he speaks up, slowly and softly, a murmur that he doesn't want anyone else to hear but Alexander.
"Hey, Alexander…" putting behind the man's ears some loose strands of hair, he smiles at him when he looks up. "I'm not ready for anything serious yet. If you're willing… you could stay the night and we could discuss this?"
Thomas swears the way Alexander smiles is brighter than the lights on the room, catch his attention more than anything in the room, more so than the detailed painting hanging next to the window, more than the expensive chandelier hanging from his ceiling.
"I'd love to." Alexander says, words filled with hope as he moves to his knees.
And Thomas thinks that it's okay, that they can talk this out and go back to the way their words would held that fire, the way they'd have that spark whenever near. He longs for Alexander as much as he thinks it's possible, desires to hear his words and thoughts, even if his body will scream at him to refute everything said that sounds wrong. He wants to be near him, more so than physically speaking. He's willing to try something new. He wants to get to know him.
.
Honestly now I can't read the title without thinking of HSM's "Start of something new". But I hoped you enjoyed this❤ .