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It’s nearing 4am when Alexander looks at the clock. It’s been two hours since the last check. He sighs, pausing his rapid typing to stretch his hands and fingers. The ache is persistent, as it always has been. Considering Alexander rarely ever does the proper stretches before typing for hours at a time, there’s always a lick of hurt in his hands. It’s more annoying than anything. He’d love to write non-stop.
It’s not a due paper for school that he’s writing, which isn’t all too surprising. Alexander runs his own blog where he posts his opinions on government and its affairs, sometimes dipping into the aspects of law. He posts nearly 100,000 words a week, occasionally more if he’s really passionate about the subject. Right now he is writing a long essay on prison reforms because he saw an article about it that was clearly written by an idiot.
The pause is only a few minutes long as Alexander stretches his hands and fingers out. Right as his fingers press against the keys again, there’s a tap at his window. He continued typing, figuring the noise was just a jostled tree branch. Then it happens again, and again, and again, in quick succession. Annoyed, Alexander gets up from his desk and moves to the window to investigate.
He almost groans when he realizes what the sound was coming from. No, scratch that, he groans audibly when he notices. It’s long and drawn out as he unlatches the window and opens it, making sure the reason can hear his displeasure.
The reason being one Thomas Jefferson. He’s standing on the lawn, dressed like he’s ready to clock into a 9-to-5 job. A hoodie over what looks to be a light pink dress shirt, no doubt tucked into dark slacks, and polished shoes in the wet grass. He looks ridiculous.
“You sleep like the dead, Hamilton.” Jefferson says, scoffing at him.
“I wasn’t asleep, asshat. I was writing.”
Jefferson rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. He looks deeply unimpressed, as if it was Alexander throwing rocks at his window instead of vice versa.
“It’s four in the morning,” Alexander says, like he was planning to go to sleep soon. He didn’t feel like he was even halfway done with his prison reform rebuttal essay, and he wanted to finish and publish it before his class at 10am. He knows Jefferson is here for a reason, not just to bother him for a few minutes, so that plan goes out the window.
“Yes, well, we are going to the park. The one a few blocks down has a new swing set.”
“Are you five?” Alexander gapes at him.
It’s not the wildest thing Jefferson has done, honestly. He has shown up at Alexander’s house at odd hours of the morning before. Those were more like ‘let’s drive to that one Taco Bell thirty minutes away because I’m craving it and their soda machine isn’t all flat like the ones near us’ or ‘there’s this alleyway concert and James refused to go with me so do you want to go instead?’.
This might be the weirdest request he’s come up with so far. But, Jefferson is a rather weird person, so Alexander expects nothing less from him.
“I haven’t been on swings in ages, and James said he gets too sick when he goes on them, so now you’re going with me.”
Alex doesn’t ask why Jefferson can’t go on his own, or at least invite him to go during the daytime. Though he imagines it would be weird for two grown men to be at the park during the day, he could have the decency to force Alex to go when it’s not pushing four in the morning. Jefferson has rarely thought about people other than himself, though, so Alex digresses.
He sighs, “I’ll be down in five.”
The window is closed and latched before Jefferson can say anything back. Alex catches his smile though, and it’s not the typical smirk he wears whenever he gets what he wants. It’s softer, almost fond, but also might’ve been a trick of the light. As Alexander changes into warm clothes because the nights haven’t yet warmed up with the coming of spring, he imagines Jefferson is walking back around the building to meet him at the front door.
He thinks back to what Lafayette had said a few weeks ago — that these late-night adventures are Jefferson taking him on dates. Alex pushes it out of his mind, though. Jefferson has always been a direct person. If he wanted to ask Alexander out, he would do it. Not that Alex wants him to do that. He would never in a million years go out with someone like Thomas Jefferson. He’d sooner give up writing.
“That was longer than five minutes,” Jefferson pointed out when Alex turned around from locking his door behind him. He was even looking down at his watch, as if he had been timing him.
“Shut up. How far away is the park?”
Jefferson shrugs. “A ten-minute walk, give or take.”
Alex grumbles and holds his jacket tighter around himself. Now that his mind isn’t in the sharp focus that comes with writing, the tiredness is seeping in. The cold mixed in isn’t helping; his warm bed is calling to him now.
They spent the walk quietly. Alexander, running on about 14 hours of sleep in the past five days, for once has nothing to say, and Thomas seems content to keep the peace. New York is the city that never sleeps, yet in this suburban area it is still. They pass only two people on the walk over, nodding to each other in polite greeting. Alexander shivers from the cold the moment the park comes into view. He notices Jefferson giving him a side glance, and suddenly the man is pulling his hoodie off himself and tossing it onto Alex’s head.
He sputters, stumbling over his feet as he claws the clothing off his face. Once it’s in his hands instead, he glares at Jefferson. Who smiles teasingly back at him, shrugging his shoulders before turning around and walking towards the park once again. Alex slips the hoodie on because while it is Jefferson’s, he’s cold as shit. (He feels a minor thrill that it is Jefferson’s, but he suppresses the feeling, locking it away with his other strange romantic thoughts about Jefferson.)
The hoodie helps to block out the night air, but the warmth that comes with it increases Alexander’s tiredness a little more. He has half a mind to turn around and walk back to his place so he can get some sleep for a change. But Jefferson is already at the swings before he can do so and looks at Alex with expectancy. Alexander sighs and begins making his way over.
“I can’t believe you made me go to a park this early in the morning,” Alexander griped as he sat on the cold plastic of the swing.
“You weren’t even asleep. And I bet you weren’t planning on doing that soon. What were you writing about this time? The legalization of hard drugs? Why the death penalty should be abolished?”
Alex rolls his eyes. No one was supposed to know it was him behind the popular blog he ran; a good few of his friends still didn’t. But Jefferson had figured it out quickly. Saying, ‘Other people don’t write so much about objectively stupid things’. Which had left Alex seething. Later on, he had found out from Madison that Jefferson actually enjoyed his writings and would talk about them regularly. Which left Alexander with smug satisfaction.
“For your information, we should abolish the death penalty so that those who commit horrific crimes can live the rest of their lives in a small cell, as they deserve. Anyway, no to both. It was about prison reform. Some moron published an article saying that prisons can’t violate human rights because they’re criminals and should have thought about that before committing an illegal act. I was simply writing a response.”
Jefferson raises an eyebrow at him. They haven’t started actually swinging yet, only swaying moderately for the time being. Alexander kicks some woodchips on the ground and wonders if it will hurt if he falls on them when he jumps off the swing later.
“Ending a criminal’s life is just as good, if not better than, locking them in a cell for the rest of their lives. That way, families and friends of victims get closure over the fact that the offender is dead and they can’t hurt anyone else again.”
Alex is quick to rebuttal, “Putting them in prison can do that too!”
“Not if they break out.”
“Prison breaks are uncommon. Especially given the technology we have now, it’s nearly impossible to escape.” Alex scoffs.
“Nearly. Those three guys in Alcatraz did it, and it was supposed to be impossible to get out of there too. Plus, most offenders, especially those who committed violent crimes, take joy in reliving them. Keeping them alive allows them to relive the crimes repeatedly.”
“I feel like we have this argument every week,” Alexander moves the hair out of his face back as he mutters the words. There’s a 90% chance he’s right. He and Jefferson debate more often than not. While exceedingly annoying at first, Alex enjoys the arguments now. No one else gets under his skin like the other man on the swing next to him; people can rarely match his wit. Most of Alex’s friends’ views align with his own, so it’s no fun trying to pick an argument with them when they always come to an agreement so quickly.
It was different with Jefferson. It always has been, Alex realizes as he watches the other man push off the ground and actually start swinging as if he isn’t a grown man. When the two of them had first met, it had felt like hatred at first conversation. They disagreed with everything the other said, immediately throwing insults at one another like they were lifelong enemies and hadn’t met mere minutes before. It was much the same for the next few months. Argument after argument, the two of them could rarely have a civil conversation.
These late-night escapades seem to be the only time when they are something closer to friends instead of rivals. But Alex thinks; do friends do this kind of stuff together? Do they, like Jefferson, throw rocks at someone’s window to get them to come down at late hours of the night? Do they, like Alex, agree like he does every time? Does it run deeper than friendship or rivalry? Or is the box Alex keeps locked in the back of his mind leaking out, infiltrating the normal aspects of him and Jefferson’s… whatever they were.
He wants to call John, or Hercules, or even Lafayette at this point. Even if the Frenchmen will give him nothing truly helpful besides insisting Alex is in love with Jefferson and that the other man feels the same. Lafayette feeds into the locked box Alex stores away, something that will most likely come back to bite him later on.
“Hamilton, stop thinking and swing, you dolt. I didn’t drag you out here just to sit here. It’s called a swing for a reason.”
Alex groans, “Shut up, I am aware of what it is called and why. I was simply thinking of how to demolish your debate topic of individual rights versus public safety on Thursday.”
Jefferson scoffs at him, his words growing quieter than louder as he swings past him in a way that almost has Alexander laughing at it. “All of my reasons are airtight; there will be nothing you can argue against.”
Alex doubts that. If he cannot argue against anything in the speech, he will find other issues. Anything regarding Jefferson’s appearance is usually his go-to.
Alex gets to the point in the air where he’s high enough to jump off the swing and will get a little adrenaline rush, but low enough not to break something if he lands too roughly. Unfortunately, he miscalculated the height, and while he breaks nothing when he lands, he does still eat shit and fall onto the woodchip-covered ground.
From behind him, Jefferson instantly breaks into loud laughter. The kind where he can’t even get words out because he’s laughing so hard. Alex turns on the ground, watching as Jefferson’s swing slows into a stop and glares at him as hard as he can and wishing the other man would catch on fire. He does no such thing, instead breaking into even harder laughter at, presumably, the look on Alex’s face.
“You’re a dick,” Alex deadpans. Jefferson curls into himself, putting his arms across his stomach as he cackles. Alex stays sitting on the ground, eyes zeroing in on Jefferson as the man unfurls from himself and throws his head back in laughter.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t think Jefferson was attractive. Alex isn’t blind. Jefferson is objectively an attractive man. He knows others think so, at least. Lafayette has practically waxed poetic about his looks, and even John has admitted he’s thought about it once or twice. Afterwards, both of them reassured Alex that they had no plans to go after him. Which was confusing, but whatever. Why would Alex care if they asked Jefferson out? He didn’t own the man. (The thought of Lafayette or John being a couple with Jefferson made him feel sick, but he didn’t want to get into that feeling. Absolutely not; into the box it goes.)
They spent another hour at the park. They spent most of the time on the swings, but at one point, Jefferson threw a handful of woodchips at Alex, and Alex chased him throughout the play set. By the end, both of them are heaving for air, breathless smiles on their faces.
“Has anyone told you that you’re mean?” Alex says as he pulls woodchips out of hair.
“You have, many times.” Jefferson smiles smugly at him. He breaks into laughter mere seconds later. “I can’t believe you fell off the swing.”
“Oh my God, shut up! I jumped way higher than I thought! What if I had broken something? Would you still be laughing as hard?”
Jefferson wipes his finger under his eyes. “Probably. I’d ask if you were okay afterwards, though.”
“How kind,” Alex deadpans, rolling his eyes at him.
He checks his phone. It’s almost 6am now. If he gets back to his place soon, he might finish that debate article and have it posted before his first class starts. Jefferson seems to have the same idea of getting back home. He dusts woodchips and dirt off his knees and starts walking toward Alex’s place, saying nothing. Alexander walks quickly to catch up with him.
“Were the new swings up to your standards?” Alex asks, still pulling damn woodchips out of his hair.
Jefferson side-eyes him. “They weren’t new. But yeah, they were okay.”
“They- what? I thought you said the park got a new swing set.”
“I just said that so you would come with me,” Jefferson shrugs.
Okay… Alex doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he keeps quiet. He casts his gaze to the sidewalk, face screwed up as he thinks. Alex has agreed to all of Jefferson’s odd adventures, so why would he suddenly need to make something up to get Alex to come with him this time?
“See you later, Alexander.”
The words snap him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see they are at his front door. When his eyes move to Jefferson, he’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Okay. Bye,” Alex says, quick and short. He turns on his heel and heads into his house with fast steps. The front door closes before Jefferson can say anything else.
-
Alexander agonizes over it the rest of the morning. He tries to force it out of his thoughts so he can finish the damn prison reform essay. But he can’t stop asking himself the same questions.
It makes little sense that Jefferson would lie this time to get Alex to come out with him. Despite his being overdramatic about not wanting to go, and complaining the whole time he’s with Jefferson, he’s always agreed. He joins Jefferson every time the man throws rocks at his window at ridiculous hours of the morning.
Alex tries to think if he had said something or done something that would make Jefferson think he had to lie to get him to go along with his adventures. But he comes up empty-handed. While yes, he does gripe about being there, he’s done that since the first time Jefferson asked him to go out late at night. Their dynamic hasn’t changed.
He almost picks up his phone to text Jefferson and just ask him. But he hesitates. Would he get an honest answer? Does he even want an honest answer? He doesn’t know what an honest answer would look like, but it still makes him uneasy when thinking about it.
Instead of asking Jefferson, he does something even stupider. Alex calls Lafayette. Because he knows John and Hercules would not be awake, but Lafayette has an 8am class and is definitely up right now.
The phone rings twice before it’s answered. “Alex? Did you not sleep all night again?”
Alex lets out a sharp breath. “Not important. Listen, I was out again with Jefferson this morning-” He ignores the suggestive ‘Oh?’. “-because he wanted to go to the park for the new swing set but then he told me he just said the swing set was new to get me to go with him and I can’t imagine why he would do that.”
“Because he wants to spend time with you, mon cher.” Lafayette answers simply.
Alexander groans and drags a hand down his face. “But I always go when he asks, so why would he need to lie now?”
Lafayette signs on the other side of the phone. “I don’t know, Alex. Why are you asking me and not him? He could answer your questions.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “You don’t get it. And you’re unhelpful. And I’m hanging up now, bye.”
Alexander hears another tired sigh before he hits the disconnect button. He should’ve known Lafayette would have just insisted he talk to Jefferson. He has always wanted the two to get along, and he really believes they secretly like each other. Which is just outlandish and wrong.
Alex goes to class, but he barely pays attention. He’s like that for the rest of the day. Lost in his thoughts more than usual, muttering to himself and trying to figure out what the hell Jefferson was doing to him. He sees the man himself only once in passing. He’s locked in a conversation with James Madison, not even noticing Alexander as they pass each other in the cafeteria. Rude.
Once he’s back at his own apartment, he has maybe a bit more clarity on the situation. He had asked John what his thoughts on the situation were, and John mentioned it seemed like Jefferson didn’t think Alex enjoyed going with him. Alex attempted to argue that, making the same points he told Lafayette, but John said he probably complained enough about it that Jefferson then felt the need to lie about it.
Which also brought up three more questions. Why did Jefferson even want to hang out with Alex so badly that he lied? Why did he suddenly care about Alex’s complaining? And the kicker is, why did Alex care this much?
He had realized just how much his thoughts revolved around Jefferson today. He hadn’t paid attention to a single one of his lectures, even Washington’s, which was his favorite! Alex will admit that he often thinks about Jefferson. About his stupid ideas and debate topics, about how he dresses in annoyingly bright colors, about how his southern accent slips through his words sometimes–
Alex drops some of the lettuce he was using to make a sandwich. (Or, a semblance of a sandwich. He has no bread or cheese, so it’s just meat and lettuce.) He bends down to pick it up off the floor, grumbling, when something stabs him in the thigh. He pulls a woodchip out of his pocket, and somehow, that’s what makes the revelation hit him like a ton of bricks.
Alex calls John immediately. It takes longer than usual for him to answer, and by that point the need to share the revelation has been sitting for too long, so he blurts out the words as soon as the call connects. “I think I might have a crush on Jefferson.”
Only the answering voice is not John’s. The drawl sounds too southern to be John, and Alex feels as if someone dumped ice water on his head. “Really now?”
In his haste, he had called Jefferson. Alex just called Jefferson and told him about his crush on him. Oh god.
“Um. I was lying, bye.” Alex hangs up the phone and throws it across the room.
He lay on his bed frozen for a few minutes. Then, he shoves a pillow over his face and screams into it.
“That did not just happen,” Alex says aloud, hoping that it will make the interaction disappear. He couldn’t even gauge Jefferson’s reaction. He said only two words before Alex hung up the phone in panic. But his imagination goes wild, and he thinks he heard smugness and amusement behind those two words. Then, he thinks about how Jefferson is going to be even more insufferable with this knowledge. He doesn’t return Alex’s feelings, and because of that, he’s going to hang it over Alexander’s head for the rest of his life.
He doesn’t think Jefferson is truly a cruel person. But the two of them are self-proclaimed enemies, and any dirt Jefferson can get on him will be used against him. This just might be the worst thing he can use. He’d take Jefferson finding out he was a murderer over this.
From across the room, Alex’s phone buzzes repeatedly. He knows it’s Jefferson calling to make fun of him or already sending texts making fun of him, so he leaves the damn phone over there and ignores it. Instead, he opens his laptop and starts working on the essay he couldn’t finish. His barely a-sandwich is forgotten in the kitchen. Not that Alexander could eat now anyway; his appetite was gone.
Of course, his thoughts are now so consumed by what just happened that he can’t even find the words to type. Alex’s fingers just hover over the keys, unfocused eyes staring at the screen. He needs to call one of his friends, but Alex does not want to see the smug messages Jefferson is no doubt sending him. Then Alex realizes he can just go over to one of their houses, and he slams his laptop closed and shoots off his bed.
Alexander grabs the first hoodie he finds, not even realizing it’s the one Jefferson had given him last night. He forgets to tie his shoes, doesn’t get his phone from the corner of the room, and then throws the door open.
He doesn’t scream when it opens to reveal someone standing on his doorstep, but it’s a near thing. A second later he processes that it’s Jefferson standing there. Dressed again like he’s on the way to an office job, with his hand raised as if he were intending to knock. The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds, both caught off guard by the other’s sudden appearance.
“Nope,” Alexander says after the silence.
Alex tries to shut the door, but Jefferson says his name. His first name, in such a serious tone that it has Alexander pausing in the doorway. He stares, and then turns on his feet and walks back into the house. Leaving the door open for Jefferson to decide if he wants to come in or not.
Jefferson follows him. His stupid pristine loafers tap against the floor as Alexander leads them to the kitchen. Jefferson sits at the kitchen island like he owns the place, and Alexander would glare at him if he had the heart to look him in the eyes.
“Really?” Jefferson says, his tone unimpressed as Alex pulls out a hidden tequila bottle from his cabinets. It’s an attempt on his part to get control over a situation he definitely does not have control over. The bottle itself doesn’t even have a cap on it. A hair tie holds the Saran Wrap on the opening because Lafayette had lost the lid of it months ago, and that was Alex’s brilliant idea to keep it covered. Alex removes the makeshift cap and takes a shot of it.
Alexander wrinkles his nose and tries not to gag afterwards. Tequila is disgusting and taking a shot of it without a chaser was a severe miscalculation on his part.
“Worth it?” Jefferson asks, with an amused tilt to his words.
It was not. It was already making him nauseous, and he suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten his almost-sandwich, which made it all that much worse. Alex doesn’t give Jefferson the satisfaction of knowing that, though.
“Hamilton,” Jefferson sighs, appearing to be tiring of Alexander’s lack of response or explanation.
And Alex wants to be in control of this conversation. So he blurts out words before Jefferson can continue. “John said you lied to me about the swings because you don’t think I want to hang out with you.”
Alex doesn’t look at him still; he keeps his gaze down on the fake marble counter.
“Do you want to hang out with me?” Jefferson asks, and Alexander can imagine him raising his eyebrow.
Jefferson is much like him in that they both would rather have control of any situation. Jefferson sidesteps the accusation, doesn’t offer an explanation, and instead turns the conversation back on Alexander.
“That wasn’t the question!”
Jefferson scoffs, “You didn’t ask a question!”
Alex’s statement implied a question. Arguably, the million-dollar question of; why? Jefferson knows him well enough to have picked up on the question, and Alexander knows Jefferson heard it.
Frustrated, Alex groans and drags a hand down his face. “You’re being difficult.”
“How am I being difficult right now?”
Alexander makes erratic movements, throwing his hands up in the air. He finally looks at Jefferson, glaring at him with his jaw clenched. Jefferson himself looks frustrated. He runs a hand through his hair; his face is pinched.
“Because! You lie about the damn swings as if I haven’t agreed to hang out with you every time, even though it was always in the middle of the night. And then I called you and said I might- that I- ugh! And now you’re at my house looking so nonchalant about the whole thing!” Alex rants his complaints. He’s started pacing in his kitchen. A response to the fact that he can’t figure out Jefferson’s intentions. Not knowing things has always bothered Alexander.
Jefferson responds quickly, sarcasm dripping from his words. “You consistently grumble when we hang out, so forgive me for thinking you disliked it.”
“Why would I keep agreeing if I didn’t like to hang out with you?!” Alex shouts. He’s much louder than Jefferson now. Alexander has never backed down when it came to a disagreement.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me you enjoyed hanging out with me instead of expecting me to pick up on cues?” Jefferson shoots back, crossing his arms.
Infuriatingly, he has a point. But that’s the complication of their weird relationship, isn’t it? They don’t tell each other the truth of how they’re feeling; they talk in arguments and insults. They expect each other to know each other well enough to notice the underlying implications.
Alexander expected Jefferson to know that he did actually enjoy their time together, so he wouldn’t have to confirm it aloud. Doing that would solidify it in Alexander’s mind; it might be the key to unlocking the locked box. Would it have been a good communication decision and given Jefferson a sense of their friendship? Yes. Was Alex fearful that it would turn the other way and Jefferson would instead use it against him for the rest of time? Also yes.
You can see that it’s a difficult situation.
“You said you have a crush on me.” Jefferson states like an accusation.
Alex takes it as a challenge. “I said I might.”
Confirming it right away would be a vulnerability. Alexander doesn’t want to show all his cards yet, metaphorically speaking. He knows it’s most likely a losing battle, but he can’t help it. They are going to sort this out through conversation. Alex is putting off the inevitable.
Jefferson sighs heavily. He thins his lips and uncrosses his arms to tap a finger against the counter like he’s impatient. “Can you just be honest for once? Is it really so difficult for you not to speak in riddles? I can’t work my entire life decoding everything you say.”
“You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting,” Alex deadpans. Jefferson groans and looks up to the ceiling like he’s praying to God to give him patience. Knowing Jefferson probably thinks Alex is just trying to derail the conversation again, he continues on. “You get under my skin like no one else because you know me better than anyone else. You come to my house and throw rocks at my window just to get me to come out and spend time together. Every argument I make, you dismantle it like it’s so easy. You’re frustratingly attractive, so much so that it actually pisses me off. If you didn’t open your mouth, I’m sure you’d be the most eligible bachelor in New York. And I had to make an imaginary box in my head because I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
It’s the closest to a confession that Alex thinks he can do right now. It’s not the straightforward answer that Thomas was probably hoping for. And once again, Alex is hoping he’ll just read between the lines and find the underlying meaning.
The hidden meaning is this; ‘Yes, I have a crush on you and I’m not happy about it.’
Thomas blinks rapidly in shock for all of three seconds before he’s smiling. It’s a smile of amusement, but genuine. He’s grinning and shaking his head while saying; “It’s just like you to fit so many insults into an admission.”
“You’re a dick.” Alex frowns and crosses his arms, defensive.
“Alexander. We go to school together; I see you nearly every day, and yet I kept showing up at your house just to see you for a few hours. I started overthinking that you did actually hate me and didn’t want to hang out, so I lied about the swings so I could spend time with you.”
Alex’s tense posture collapses. He narrows his eyes at Thomas, and his voice comes out as uncertain. “Okay… but why would you care if I didn’t want to hang out?”
“You’re such an idiot,” Thomas replies fondly. In one quick movement, he’s standing from the stool at the kitchen island and walks to Alex.
Alexander takes steps away as he grows closer until his back has hit the back of the counter. Thomas stands toe-to-toe with him, his hands gripping the edge of the counter and successfully blocking Alex in. Alexander swallows, suddenly nervous at the proximity. Thomas’s face is mere inches away from his.
He whispers, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for months, you dolt.”
His gaze flickers between Alex’s lips and his eyes more than once. All at once, Alexander realizes all the things that Thomas left unsaid. His intentions, the things that left a question mark in Alex’s head, clicked into place with what he had just admitted.
‘Oh,’ Alex thinks. Not for the first time in his life, and it probably won’t be the last, he feels dumb.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Thomas mumbles, the words like an exhale over Alexander’s lips. He doesn’t have the chance to speak, only gets to nod before Thomas leans in and their lips are pressed together.
Their height difference really shows. Thomas bends down, and Alex quickly rocks onto his tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Thomas’s hands move from their hold on the counter and instead rest on Alex’s hips, holding him tightly in place as if Alex would ever want to leave this moment now that he’s here. And Alex’s hands move from the top of his shoulders, up to cup his face for a mere second before putting his arms around his neck. Alex pulls him further down, and Thomas complies easily even though the posture must hurt a little.
The rest of the world is lost for the minutes they just kiss each other. Thomas slips his hands under Alex’s shirt, pressing them against every expanse of skin he can reach. He drags his fingertips from Alex’s collarbone, down his sternum, over his ribs, until they rest back at his waist. It’s exhilarating; Alex feels goosebumps rise on his arms.
When they pull apart from each other, they don’t really move. The both of them stay rooted in the same spot with their hands still on each other. Alexander keeps his eyes closed, processing what just happened. He can feel Thomas’s gaze on him, and can practically hear the quirk of his lips when he says; “My hoodie looks good on you.”
Alex huffs. “I’m going to argue about that later. For now, just kiss me again.”
Thomas does. And for the rest of the night, that’s pretty much all they do.