Chapter Text
[March, 1778]
To think John Laurens ever had found the ambitious man that was Baron Von Steuben, illaudable would have sounded ludicrous as of now. Vowing to his dear boy, Laurens swore to reap what he had sown. The Baron would only earn his wrath if necessary thereafter properly meeting the man — But it was all then needed, to say Hamilton and Laurens had become quite fond of the Prussian and his fellow aides was quite the understatement. Having the company that was trusted with the knowledge of their bond, was the relief Laurens had never known he longed for. To have friendship with those who understood the struggles of their sacred bond, was the solace they needed during these stressful times.
Though Walker personally assured them they were not in jeopardy with any of the Barons’ subordinates knowledge, and that he had, in fact, engaged in such affections with his dearest friend, North, and to their surprise, The Baron himself — While an utter shock to them, solidarity kept them aligned in respect and to pledge to not betray with reporting any of them.
Yet, Laurens had felt uneasy with their relationship traveling to the ears of others — Hamilton held his hand tight and swore nothing dreadful was to come from those they could trust. Alongside, seeing the Marquis again was one distant reunion. Though Lafayette was still hesitant to accept and hadn't quite agreed to an extent. He still had said he was to cherish his friends, as they were his beloved in his own words, and it would be silly to toss aside a friendship he adored so much.
Through it all, John was exhausted. With the constant unease of who would know, or who would accept. He had much rather just embraced the solitude of comforting contentment with his lover. The boy in question had been laying, stretched out in adorable habit, upon the blonde's bare chest, whimpering quiet snores occasionally — Nothing could ever relax them more than; dozing in bed late in the morning, ignoring the sun that tried endlessly to blind their shuttered eyes. But only the soundless peace of the morning, with the stench of dew, and the birds that fluttered happily outside — Work forgotten and pushed to the farthest corner of their minds, only tending to whatever they may dream of.
The world must have hated John Laurens to his very core, as to torture him so sadistically, with an erupting nock upon the door. And when left unanswered, it continued raging with impatience. No, the gods could try, but it would be in vain when contesting with John's obduracy — he refused to acknowledge the repeated banging of a knuckle against hardwood, praying that whoever was awaiting would just get drained eventually and perish. But no. Nothing ever worked out for all of Johns' miseries — The knocking continued to clatter, it was unbearably persistent, with all of its clitter clatter resounding annoyingly in John's ears. His peaceful dream vanished as the sound clapped quaking the room, and waking his brain. Yet someone else too, as the shorter one squirmed relentlessly at the noise.
"John for the love of all that's endurable…" Alexander muttered, muffled as his face lay hidden in the sheets over John's upper half. It only inflamed the agitation, as Alexander was awake and fully capable of answering the door himself — But here he was, laying around like a spoiled prince ordering his servant.
God, why couldn't Shrewsberry be here…
"Aye, you're just as capable, Hamilton."
"Yes, but it's much too comfortable here, you go."
John would argue more if it wasn't for his diminished tolerance. Or at least that's what he told himself to spare his pride.
"Coming!" With an exhausted groan, John submitted and shouted enough that, whatever pest behind the door, could wait quietly for him to answer. Which it had, that ever so irritating ring had been silenced. But John knew better that it was only to revive itself if he abused its thin patience — So with some struggle he rolled over, flipping the selfish Hamilton out of his blissful warmth with a yelp, and stood up from the bed before he could convince himself to retreat back into the warm sheets.
Though it felt like the morning intended to torture him with continuous inconveniences, as in his fit of agitation; he had stood too fast to pay any heed to the bar of wood, that stood far too low from the roof for his liking — As it had come crashing into the back of his skull with a bang, and a pulsating ache jittering his head. He exclaimed with another wailing groan, though more out of the pain than irritation this time — Rubbing hastily at the throbbing to ease its burn, he seethed through his gritted teeth having half a mind to just rip out the board in revenge.
He swiftly turned when he heard the muffled giggles of a certain redhead, he scowled when he caught a glimpse of the poorly restrained smile that twisted Hamilton's cheeks and lips in mischievous laughter — Though the glare had only provoked more chuckles, as Hamilton curled into the sheets hoping to hide his amusement at Laurens' horrible start to a morning. The world must have despised him.
"Aye, yeah, chortle to your heart's content. ‘Tis just 'cause you're far too short to ever—" John's attempt at a remark is cut off with the flying pillow that greets his face harshly — Though once the bag of feathers has fallen to the floor shortly after, and he can see once more. He can't deny the fluttering feeling that intoxicated his heart; when he sees the pretty little smile upon Hamilton's snarky lips. His boy is the picture of beauty, with his cheeks, flushed, dusting his freckles — And waves of scarlet curls that run down from his scalp like a waterfall.
Although he isn't given a moment's peace to cherish it, a knock resounds once more and interrupts their domestic play. John rolled his sky-colored eyes, before tugging on a shirt for some decency as he made his stomped way to the door.
With more force than he had initially intended, the door is flying open. But the grimacing blonde eases when it's revealed to be Du Ponceau — Who was cowering at the steps when he caught the briefest sight of the deathly glare. John felt swarmed with guilt when he saw the victim he targeted his anger at. Knowing Ponceau, whatever he had come to tell them was to be of some importance — Considering his usual reluctance towards social engagement when 'tis was unnecessary.
"Ah, Pierre. Good morning." The taller one smiled, trying to ease the tension, nervously caressing the back of his neck with a light scratch. Though he would argue his morning has been everything in the dictionary, but good, the boy didn't deserve to bear the whole story of his eventful forenoon.
"Yes, um, good morning to you as well, Sir."
Something is off, Laurens' isn't sure what, but the way his friend remains barely exceeding speechlessness, and flushed pink at the doorway, with a widened mouth. Even with this weather, it wasn't harsh enough to cause that much swelling of the cheeks. Though following the view of his widened eyes, Laurens discovers the bit of his chest bearing nakedness around his collarbone — As he had forgotten tying his dress shirt in his haste. The blonde can't help but smirk just the slightest, teasingly, just to torture the boy who pales when the unspoken discovery is made. John called it revenge for souring his morning.
"R-Right, uh, Baron Von Steuben is hosting a party of sorts. You and Hamilton are some of the very few invited." Pierre is swift in looking at the distance without much focus as to what specifically, but rather to avoid the sight of the other bashfully. Though his hand arises to reveal a letter in his fidgeting palm, pointing it in Laurens' direction for the taking.
"Of sorts? Who else is invited?" He takes the letter briefly examining it, but to his disappointment, it is just parchment folded and sealed with wax. Lacking any proper mailing acquisitions like the owner, address, or person to gift it to. Though John supposes it wouldn't be needed if Pierre was assigned to give them out to a select few. It still unnerved him.
"If you attend, you will see," Pierre said like it was an incentive, but the ambiguity was not comforting. Though before he could inquire as to the tone, the dark-haired one is curt in his spin and is already retreating down the road. A small packet of a few other letters he is off to deliver in hand. "Good day."
Laurens doesn't bother to bid the other a goodbye, as he is already far too distant. What odd behavior for the boy, it makes John's stomach churn at the sight of the letter — Whatever it contained had made Ponceau clumsy with fright, and that wasn't inherently a trusting sign. But at last, his mind was far too murky to care for such — Returning inside to escape the chilly outdoors, John sees Alexander already dressing for the day. Though his timing is impeccable, Alexander is bending down by the waist to reach for his trousers forgotten to the floor. Just the slightest sight of his bare ass peeking from underneath his nightshirt. John swallows though he is dry-mouthed.
"Enjoying the view, Jacky?" Alexander smirks, sly but cunning as always. Standing upright with sass, seemingly reading what happened by the shocked expression upon his lover — Though John argued internally he schemed the very scene, so the boy could laugh at his flushing. But then Alexander drops his eyes to the letter in John's hands, looking up once more but with a curious countenance. "What is that?"
"Invitation to a private party of the Baron's presumably." John clears his throat, hoping his reddened cheeks have faded. When Alexander hurried to his side to see the letter himself, John peels it open so they both may read it.
Dear admirable Friends,
A private party is to be orchestrated tonight. The Baron and his men have come to a jocular conclusion when in regards to the stifling morale of the army. That is, their spirits are to cheer once more in true Liberty, as we are to fancy ourselves some ail in partnership of a night's worth of joyous company. The only prerequisite to standing those who arrive are not, under any sort of means, to acquire a full pair of pants. If chosen to rebel, do not fret when one's trousers have been robbed from himself. It is assured to occur. The tavern down the street is rented for the occasion, arriving at eight in the night sharply. Do join if one can.
John has to reread through the sentences continuously in disbelief of what he had just read. He even checks the back blank part of the letter, hoping to see it all be revealed to be a stunt. But to no avail, as there's nothing, merely the absurd invitation of sorts is left to be deciphered — It's so risible, it's practically farcical. John is almost convinced that if they do attend the wildest of gatherings, it will then be exposed as jest and they all share a good laugh. The risk of this supposed night out is ridiculous to even consider being plausible — Lest they wanted a fun party before they were sentenced to be court-martialed. Alexander does not seem to agree.
"Sounds joyous."
“You can’t possibly be going.” John is so swift to glare at Hamilton. His expression is accusing, disbelieving, and judging while his eyes dart over Hamilton's figure — The blended emotions rise rapidly, and race across his expression further when Hamilton remains unmoving. With dying hope of this was all an elaborate joke they planned to fool him with — It truly seemed as though all voices of reasoning had fallen mute on everyones’ behalf.
“Why not so?”
"It is insanity! Why, I'll even call it imbecile!" John exclaimed, aggravated he was seemingly the only one in possession of common sense. To see the redhead looking at him like he was the madman here only fueled his brewing bitterness more so — He turned away as if he couldn’t bear to stand the innocent look of Alexanders’. This is what he got for oversharing . His subconscious pacing had practically imprinted footprints into the wooden floorboards of the cabin, his stockings were sure to wear if he kept it up too. "Why not just inform Washington we are committing an unlawful sin forwardly!"
"My dear, it's the Baron. Washington will merely regard it as though it’s nothing more than a trip to the bar if we are to be discreet enough." Laurens doesn't turn but he hears the way Alexander treads to him from behind. And then those pale arms that encase their way around his torso, it had eased his tension and his legs fail to move from the stillness that overcomes him. Admittedly, it works as his vexation has diminished some alongside his terrorizing worry — Alexander had that artistry, no matter what flames roared in Laurens’ chest, Alex had feather-soft touches that felt like ocean waves against sunburned skin. "Besides, it sounds like fun. Let loose, my Laurens."
"You just want a faultless excuse to go without pants." Laurens sighed, light humor taking over his tone. Patting lightly on the hands tied around him, he leans back some, enjoying the embrace with his lover.
"Do not lie to yourself, I bet you dream to see me as such." Alexander chortles some as he buries his face into the fabric of John’s shirt — It warms his chilling cheeks as he cuddles close to John’s body heat. He wishes they could be like this for the entirety of time, no war to tear them apart continuously, just the lazy mornings concerned with nothing but their affections. Yet John still felt distant, with worry and fret captivating his thoughts.
Truthfully, the party did sound like a decent tactic to relieve the abounding stress through the winter — It wasn’t as though the Barons’ men were not a comforting or enjoyable company, but lingering fear still shimmered beneath the pounding of his heart. He only prayed it was not to be their ending doom if anyone was to barge in uninvited with thousands of officers running in — As there would be no easily formable explanation; not when they would be free of trousers, and so drunk they may faint from such. Although such a deadly ending, yet so unimaginable it causes a tangible chuckle to pardon the topic.
"Come, we ought to hurry. Washington is not one who is admirably patient." Laurens sighs before releasing himself of Hamilton’s caring embrace, as much as he loathes for it to be so — He knows of how time is getting later, if they are not to hurry in their breakfast, they will surely have to endure the scolds of the Ancient Secretary and his Excellency. Though while turning to retrieve his own attire, he does spot the brief sorrow of disappointment in Hamilton's expression. But it's gone in moments and leaves little time to even inquire about it.
“Rechts!”
The resounding tunes of orders and men marching echo through the camp, universal bitterness is projected through every man’s expression. Drill instruction is sure to wake the entirety of the colonies, why not begin the horrid snowy morning with such, shall we? After all, who doesn’t dance to the melody of the rumblings of boots hard against the snow, the blasts of German; Steuben had mercilessly shouted repeatedly, only for Walker to repeat but in English, as he trails beside the older man — John’s bored and wandering mind thinks of how that very same man lays in bed with Walker and North as they…
“Ich sagte richtig!” The Baron yells hard and loud, he needs no rouge to redden his face for the French, as it's already unbearably crimson; he even looks like a boiling kettle of anger. One could imagine a comical sight of steam erupting from his bristled state — Yet the thought does little to lighten the mood as tired men groan and shift in their solid stance. Having to persist in patience and composure, while in freezing snow and uncaring breezes.
“ Right , men, damn it! Right! ” Walker roars, as the men in march slouch and sigh before turning — Needless now; as their lethargic behavior is not eligible for military means, and the Baron orders them to reverse and try once more. In a way, the army has become the depiction of a child — One that was left unsupervised and to their own devices, which has resulted now in what little men they do carry to ever call an "army"; are nothing but substandard, spiritless, inert men. It seems as though any actual passion for the American cause has been nothing but a fairytale.
It's a painful process to bear and watch if you're Hamilton and Laurens, who stand aside awaiting orders from the general. They stay astray and just observe, light frowns as they see the idle attempts at a drill if you'd even call it that — As men who have studied the disciplines of war, and the art of such; it sends a slivering feeling of dismay to gawk at what excuse they merely hold. The men aren't even in sync, some hold their muskets upon the wrong soldier, and others have barely any clothes.
Quite like how the party would be tonight.
His excellency doesn't look pleased either, as he eyes Steuben and the men’s routine — He looks like a parole officer as he strides across the field, watching every flaw, every muscle, and detail the human eye may catch. It’s as though he sought out imperfections like he was the instructor here, and it’s clear it even bothers the Baron. Yet, he says nothing about the sort and focuses primarily on the procession — Though no one doubts he will have a word with his Excellency about intruding. Though truly, It's hard to tell whom to pity more, the Baron who's been pushing at this repeatedly through the daybreak, or the men who’ve probably grown tired through the hours to care any more or less. What a pathetic sight it is altogether.
“Benjamin, schwöre sie für mich an! Denn sie verstehen kein Wort, das ich sage!” Steuben has now turned to his loyal aide with a look of disappointment. His once erupting volcano of anger has seemingly become a crisis secured when he gazes fondly at the tall man, anger sizzled to little as nothing. Though Laurens and Hamilton know none of what he says, they inquire when North, who is adjacent and watching in awe, chuckles to himself.
“He wishes for Ben to cuss at them, for he cannot himself,” North says as he smiles tenderly, watching Walker and Steuben proceed in their demands. John distantly wonders how anyone could mistake their affections — Not when they are practically always staring at each other with heart-shaped loving eyes. “Tell me, will you gentlemen be joining us in tonight’s gathering?”
John swears beneath breath through gritted teeth, having truly hoped the whole ordeal would have been forgotten, and they would hear no word of it ever again — Which admittedly, was in poor wishes. Although he wonders how North knew of who was invited. But the thought is short-lived when worse was to come when there stood, a sheepishly beaming Alexander at his side.
“Of course, Sir.”
“ Hamilton! ”
Out of everything they had endured, John was ready to tackle the shorter into the snow for the audacious behavior he had decided to curse John with as well — He was quick to latch a reprimanding squeeze on Alexander’s arm when the boy dared to smile so proudly at his declaration. They hadn’t discussed the topic at all after this morning, nor had John ever agreed.
“Laurens, if you wish, stay in solitary at the cabin. But I am attending. And you can slouch all you like, for as little as I care!” Alexander rips his arm out of Johns’ grasp with a hiss. Though their glaring is apparent, and it's not as though they are even attempting at being discreet — But their voices are hushed and snake-like hisses so their fury is not overheard by North. Who when glanced at by the two, retreats to admire something as if he is oblivious to their debate.
“You mean to leave without me tonight?” John is baffled that Alex would run off and have a joyous night without him. Based on the promising expression upon Alexander, tells him enough, it is not a fib — And the threat is truly plausible if Laurens does decide to stay at the camp.
“Maybe then if you are to join, you ought not to be so humbly lonely, good Sir.” Hamilton spares no respect or time to the heated blonde. He merely ends it off as such and turns straight once more in attendance, as his Excellency comes forth after inspecting the artillery march. The inconvenience of Washington's presence is enough to have the steaming irritation sizzle just beneath his skin — With the older man being so near, he cannot argue against the witty point of Alexanders’. Leaving tension to boil in the misty air.
“What am I to write to congress? That we hold no army, but rather an amount of nothing but indolent men!” Washington is furious as his stomping boots impale the snow, causing a trail of footsteps to scatter the ground — He stresses as his hand is sliding across his grayish hair and disgruntledly sighed. Washington's temper was one to fret for, but at least now it was at its minimalist. Though Alexander knew more was to come, and he would be the one to have to bear it in times coming.
"Hamilton, come, we must keep the camp in check or all is for not!"
Alex sneers at the command, it's worded like he's nothing but a lap dog that is to be at his heel when summoned — But he does know better than to fight with the general when he is practically a step away from lashing the entire army. For once, his pride is surpassed by his gut. Although Alexander understands to hurry when the general is already fast and down the pathway road, he also knows he has unfinished business to attend to.
"What will it be Laurens, decide now or find yourself alone in bed tonight." Alex grabs hold of the blonde's stiff arm, hissing with urgency. He has mere seconds to spare and Laurens knows well of it.
"You give me scarce shards of any choice."
"And so?"
"I will attend, damn it . Hamilton you must know the strings you play my heart with, do not act like a fool." Laurens sighs giving his dear boy an odd expression, one that was fury and fondness blended — The things he'd do for love, and the things he wouldn't do if Hamilton had the decency to leave him without committing such high risks. He did wish to attend, but god damn, could Alexander be the boulder worth of a push that convinced him anyway.
"I will see you tonight then, dear."
"Hamilton! I do not have all day!" Washington calls from afar, his figure is ironically small in the distance; the complete contrary when up close to the towering broad man. Yet, not any less intimidating, so Alexander is swift to nod goodbye, and is fast on the heels of his boots to hurry after his father.
John prays to whatever forces that prevail he has made the right decision.