Chapter Text
hate the sin, love the sinner.
Alexander knows that he has to get his debt plan through, and he knows that he’s willing to do whatever it takes. But every single one of his plans that he begins to formulate seems to fall flat. This is a delicate situation, and if he can’t succeed, then he may as well step down from politics altogether. And with each day that ticks by, Alexander’s stomach grows tighter and tighter with anxiety. He can’t think of a plan that he knows would work. He can’t take chances here; it has to work. Every idea he’s had so far is what other people would call classic Hamilton: they’ve all involved some kind of argument, some kind of lengthy blog post that would hopefully gain traction and gain great renown. Some form of attack. Guns blazing, torches burning.
But then Alexander sits with Aaron Burr one day at lunch. Now, Alexander doesn’t like Burr all that much. And Burr doesn’t like Alexander all that much. But somehow, sometimes, they find themselves sitting together at lunch.
This one particular time, Alexander happens to glance up from his laptop to see Burr smirking down at his phone. “What?” Alexander says instantly.
Burr’s smile drops, and he frowns at Alexander. “What?”
“What are you smiling about?”
Burr shrugs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just found out some good news.”
Alexander humphs at the vague answer and focuses again on his laptop, but his typing pauses once more. “What good news?”
Burr’s eyes flick up again, and he raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I’m curious; sue me.”
Burr lowers his phone and sighs. “It’s really not interesting. There was this chair I wanted on eBay, but some guy kept outbidding me. So I contacted him, under a different name, and, long story short, convinced him to buy a different chair. And now I have the chair that I want. Satisfied?”
Alexander blinks. For anyone else, their first question might be You went to all that effort for a chair? – but Alexander is the last person who could criticise Burr for going to abnormal lengths to get what he wants. No, the question Alexander has for Burr is: “Why didn’t you just outbid him?”
“I didn’t want to spend that much money.”
“He might have stopped soon.”
“But then I would have had to pay more money than I’m paying now.”
“You could have just contacted him under your name and told him to stop it.”
Burr gives Alexander a look. “And what do you think are the chances of that actually working?”
Alexander pulls back, mildly offended. “What do you mean? Of course that would have worked.”
“Yeah, maybe. But then you’d have gotten into a big fight with a stranger over emails about a chair.” Burr nods to himself and rises from his chair, picking up his coffee. “Not exactly dignified.” He takes a sip. “I’ll see you later, Alexander.”
Alexander watches him go. And suddenly, all the pieces start to fall into place.
No, he thinks to himself. I can’t do that. Surely not. That would be…
He smiles to himself. That would be so wrong. So, so wrong.
It takes a few weeks to formulate the details, and it takes a while for him to wrap his head around the fact that oh my God, I’m actually gonna do this. It’s an unorthodox plan, but this plan, as absurd as it is, seems more fool-proof than any other plan he’s had. If he wants to get his debt plan through, he has to be prepared to get his hands dirty.
Alexander wakes up on the day of execution with a smile on his face and determination seated deep in his bones. He makes sure to grab some lube and condoms – hiding them very well in his backpack, of course – and enough change for a lot of coffee and energy drinks. It’s going to be an energetic night.
He knows exactly how to push Thomas Jefferson’s buttons. For his plan to work, he has to argue with Jefferson enough that the man gets distracted from his work.
It’s not hard. Arguing with Jefferson comes as a second nature. They irritate their colleagues with their ridiculous rows, snapping at each other with unbridled loathing. And the more Alexander riles Jefferson up, the more irked Jefferson becomes, and so the longer the arguments last. They’re not sophisticated or mature arguments – at one point they start arguing about the microwave in the break room – but that doesn’t matter. It’s almost painfully easy.
The cleaning staff is used to Alexander being there after hours. And they’re used to him still being there after they’re gone. The security guard leaves him alone as well. Alexander has complete control over the office at night. Usually this thought barely occurs to him, as he’s too wrapped up in his work to notice.
But tonight, he’s well aware of this fact. And he’s well aware that, this time, he’s not alone. Because Jefferson spent all day arguing, he wouldn’t have gotten any of his work done. Which means that he must still be here, at the office. Just like Alexander planned.
Alexander slips a condom and the lube into his pocket, supressing a shudder of mild disgust at what he’ll be using those items for, and, leaving his backpack, tie, and jacket in his office, wanders down the hall to Jefferson’s office. He doesn’t knock; he just opens the door.
Sure enough, there Jefferson sits at his desk, looking a little worse for wear, his tie loosened and a few buttons undone. His hair isn’t quite as flawless as it usually is.
He’s tired. A blind man could see it. Alexander doesn’t blame him. It’s very late.
Jefferson looks up at the sound of Alexander’s arrival. “Hamilton?” he says, sounding unable to believe his eyes. Alexander doesn’t quite know why he’s – maybe he never realised just how late Alexander can stay to work.
Alexander leans against the doorjamb. It’s not instinct to be nice to Jefferson, but Alexander realises quickly that, for this to work, he can’t just dive in head-first, without preamble. He has to lead up to it. It has to seem somewhat natural, after all. Not like some evil concocted plan. Although ‘evil’ is hardly the word for it. ‘Concocted plan’, yes. ‘Evil’, no. “Jefferson,” he replies easily, crossing his arms.
Jefferson’s hand goes to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want now?” he says exhaustedly.
Be nice, Alex, Alexander thinks to himself, sliding into the room. “What, I can’t just visit my work colleague?” He smiles. If there’s one thing Alexander knows how to do, it’s play people. It’s as easy as breathing for him. And so he knows that his smile isn’t too cheerful, isn’t too friendly – there’s still some venom there, still some cutting sarcasm. Being too friendly would scare Jefferson off, after all.
“What do you want, Hamilton?” Jefferson says. “I’m just about to go home. You’ve already eaten up enough of my time today, and I’m exhausted.”
That’s the idea. “Stressed?” Alexander offers with a raised eyebrow.
Jefferson pauses. “Of course,” he says, sounding unsure. “Isn’t everyone here in a perpetual state of stress?”
Alexander doesn’t reply with more than a shrug and a mumbled sound of agreement, instead choosing the time to process Jefferson’s reaction. Compiling information as he goes. How Jefferson reacts to things Alexander says; how he behaves when he’s this tired. What draws him to people. How he’s turned on.
Oh my God, Alexander thinks for the millionth time that day, I’m actually going to sleep with Thomas Jefferson.
Well, if Jefferson takes the bait, that is.
He stops his meandering a few feet from Jefferson, his hands in his pockets. Not too close. Not yet.
Jefferson stands, and Alexander lets his eyes explore Jefferson in a way he’d never really done before. And, yeah, okay, now that he’s trying to put himself in the right mind, Jefferson is undeniably attractive. From an objective viewpoint – if such a thing exists – he’s hot. He’s tall, he has a nice beard, a slim waist and broad shoulders. He obviously works out, takes pride in his appearance. His fashion choices often leave much to be desired, but the last thing Alexander is worried about right now is clothing. In fact, it would just be better if all that clothing was on the floor.
And then, just as Alexander is warming up to the idea, Jefferson opens his mouth and ruins it all. “Are you here to bother me, Hamilton? Is this your bedroom? Do you want me to leave? I assume you sleep here.”
Jefferson is hot, Alexander chants to himself. Jefferson is hot, don’t think about the personality, just focus on the body.
Alexander feels his pulse jump with anger at the jab, and he has to take a moment to keep himself in check. No arguing. Be nice.
He shrugs. “No. I just heard that you were here. Came to say hi.”
Well, that was a stupid thing to say. ‘Heard that you were here’? No one else is in the building.
Luckily, Jefferson doesn’t pick up on it, and just snorts. Damn, he must be tired. “I didn’t realise that that was a thing we did now.”
“Well, why not?” And yes, there we go, Alex, that’s more like it. Leave him guessing. Leave him curious. Draw him in.
Alexander can see that Jefferson is definitely curious now. His eyes watch him, and Alexander can see the cogs turning behind his eyes. He’s trying so hard to understand what’s going on here. Alexander lets him think. There’s no way he’ll figure it out until it’s too late, anyway.
The thought brings a slight smile to Alexander’s lips, and he sees, just subtly, Jefferson’s lips press together in thought.
And then Jefferson breathes out sharply, and looks back to his desk. Alexander allows himself a victorious grin – but only for a second, and then he schools his expression once again.
It’s a reaction. It’s a positive reaction, in Alexander’s case. Jefferson is sensing the shift in mood. His exhausted mind and body is relaxing his guards, making him more suggestible.
“As stupid as you are, Hamilton,” Jefferson says with a sigh, his hands brushing over some papers on his desk – he’s trying to find something to do, “you’re not an idiot. I think you know the answer to that.”
Well, yes. There’s thousands of answers as to why not. Alexander chuckles, and Jefferson looks back to him with an expression that Alexander can’t quite place, but knows is definitely the kind of expression that means the situation is leaning in his favour.
Jefferson shakes his head, and starts packing up his belongings.
Okay, good. The seed has been planted. A suggestion that there’s some kind of connection between them. A connection of more than mutual hatred. Fire doesn’t always have to destroy, after all.
What else can Alexander do? Maybe plant another seed. “How’s Madison?” he asks, but instantly knows that’s the wrong path. He was hoping to bring in a suggestion about his debt plan, but no. Still too direct. Mentioning Jefferson’s closest friend won’t put him in the mood for anything Alexander is looking for.
Just stick with the plan. Don’t try to improvise.
So he steps closer, as Jefferson replies, “Fine.” Alexander sees an opportunity, and seizes it, letting his eyes land on Jefferson’s ass – not a terrible view, if he has to be honest – just as Jefferson glances over his shoulder. Alexander flicks his eyes back to Jefferson’s face, making sure that Jefferson notices where his eyes had been.
Jefferson stands up sharply, taken aback, and Alexander resists another grin. That worked perfectly.
He lets his eyes wander down Jefferson’s throat. Can he picture himself sucking hickeys there? Biting down, soothing the marks with his tongue? Feeling Jefferson’s moans vibrate through the skin?
The prospect doesn’t make his stomach turn as much as he thought it would. That’s a plus, then. A weird, unforseen plus, but a plus all the same.
“What are you doing?” Jefferson says suddenly, and Alexander blinks slowly, making it seem like he was distracted.
“Hmm?” he says.
Jefferson’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, Alexander wonders if he’s gone too hard, too fast. “Don’t ‘hmm’. What are you doing? What are you doing here?”
Alexander shrugs, and opens his mouth to gain some ground back, but Jefferson doesn’t let him. “No, don’t bullshit me, Hamilton.”
Alexander’s gut twists with nerves.
“You ambush me when I’m just about to go home, when I’m physically and mentally exhausted, and you… you’re acting nice.” Jefferson points a finger at him. “You’re trying to get something from me, but I’m not having any of that shit. Fuck off, leave me alone.”
Alexander doesn’t allow himself to panic, and lets his lips stretch into a small smile. “What could I possibly be trying to get from you, Thomas?”
The Thomas bit was unplanned. The name rolls awkwardly over Alexander’s tongue.
But it douses the flames. Jefferson just finishes packing his back. “Any number of things,” he mutters, and Alexander knows that he can’t think of anything else to say.
Jefferson slings his messenger bag over his shoulder.
Alexander pounces on his vulnerability. Time’s running out: if Jefferson walks out that door, it’s all over. “Could it be possible that I just want to speak with you?”
Jefferson glares at him. “We both know the answer to that is no.”
“Why not?” Alexander blurts, and he hopes it doesn’t sound too desperate. He can’t help but laugh. It sounds a little too exasperated to be calm and chill. Get it back, Alex. Take control. You have the floor here. If there’s one thing Alexander knows how to do, it’s bullshit off the cuff. “I mean, Jesus, we argue all the time. Somehow, we never run out of things to argue about. There’s no such thing as an awkward silence between us. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Well, maybe that’s not complete bullshit.
Jefferson frowns. “No. There’s plenty to argue about when the person you’re arguing with is a brainless asshole.”
Alexander knows that he has Jefferson hooked again, and he smiles. “There are few people I know who I never run out of things to talk about with.” That’s also true. It’s a little worrying, actually, how many revelations Alexander is making tonight.
“We don’t ‘talk’,” Jefferson says firmly. “We argue. We fight. We piss each other off. We do not ‘talk’.” He throws his hands in the air. “Where is this coming from? Why don’t you just fuck off back to your little hobbit hole and let me go to bed?”
“There aren’t many other people who can match me, you know,” Alexander says, doing his best to ignore the thing about him being a hobbit. “I’m told I’m relentless. Unforgiving. A pain in the ass.”
“You’re all of those things,” Jefferson mutters.
“But so are you.”
Jefferson gives him a withering look. “Okay, good to know, Hamilton,” he drawls sarcastically. It’s a different kind of sarcasm, though. There isn’t as much heat. It’s more fed up than angry.
Alexander is on a roll. He feels like some kind of snake charmer. Which is appropriate, seeing as Jefferson is the slimiest, slipperiest snake that Alexander knows. “No, I don’t mean that negatively,” he says – although he does – and lets the words tumble from his mouth, his mind working in a blur. “We’re both relentless, unforgiving pains in the ass. Only we can tolerate each other.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jefferson sniffs. “Plenty of people tolerate me. More than that – people like me.”
“Really?” Alexander says, raising an eyebrow. “How many people can you actually argue with, huh? Before they just give up and agree with you?”
Jefferson falls silent. A second ticks past, then two, and Jefferson just looks at Alexander, and then he leans against his desk, sighing. “So what’s your point, Hamilton? Okay, we’re both loud, we both like to argue with each other. We both get our way, sure. So?”
Oh, yes. This is a perfect segue. Alexander uses the chance to wander closer, and then sit beside Jefferson, close enough that their elbows graze. At first, he’s worried that Jefferson might pull away from the physical contact, but he doesn’t.
“So, why can’t we just talk to each other?” Alexander asks.
“Why do you want to talk to me?” Jefferson counters bewilderedly.
Alexander leaves the question open, instead choosing to look up at him. He makes it look like it’s to study his face, but it’s really to give Jefferson a chance to study his. He watches as Jefferson’s gaze flick between his eyes.
Jefferson’s eyes aren’t bad, either. They’re a nice brown. Not exactly ones you could gaze into – not because they’re not a nice enough brown, but because of whose eyes they are – but nice.
And then, jackpot: Jefferson’s eyes dart down to his lips. Half a moment passes, and then Jefferson looks away like he’s been electrocuted, and stands up, clearing his throat.
Alexander smiles to himself. After an entire day of pissing Jefferson off, he invades his personal space, keeping him from finishing his work and going home to sleep – and there Jefferson is, staring at Alexander’s lips like they’re teenagers on a first date.
And he’s blushing like they’re on a first date, too. “Well, this has been just fantastic,” he says, but the sarcasm isn’t nearly venomous enough to be cutting. “So worth the energy. But, unlike you, Hamilton, I actually need to sleep.”
“You’re not going home to sleep, though, are you?” Alexander says. Jefferson looks at him, and Alexander answers the unasked question by nodding to Jefferson’s messenger bag. “You got all that work to finish.”
“Which I would have finished today, if it wasn’t for you,” Jefferson grumbles.
Alexander’s smile is cheeky. He shrugs. “Guilty.”
Jefferson is watching him again, with that same look from before, and he swallows. Alexander just lets him stare, lets his weary brain tick.
Jefferson shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. Without another word, he begins to leave. Alexander panics for a moment, but then Jefferson stops and says, “Why did you come to talk to me tonight? Waste both of our time?”
Alexander takes a breath in, hesitating – should he work with the subtlety a little longer or just go for it? – before deciding that the risk of Jefferson actually leaving is too great to play any more games. So he stands up from the desk, and sidles up to Jefferson, almost toe-to-toe. “I can’t say for sure,” he replies. Which is a goddamn lie if he ever told one. “I like a challenge.”
He cocks his head to the side. “No, that’s not the right word. I like… to be kept on my toes. A change of scenery.”
Jefferson doesn’t step away. He’s not about to lean down and kiss Alexander, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to march out of the office, either. “What,” he says, “and being nice to me is a change of scenery?”
“Not arguing with you is a change of scenery,” Alexander amends. “Seeing you in a different light.” He gives Jefferson a slow smile that he knows is a knockout, and goes for gold. All or nothing, at this point. “I have to say, it’s much more flattering for you.”
Jefferson’s brain seems to short-circuit for a moment or two, and then he narrows his eyes. “What’s your game plan here, Hamilton?” he says softly. “Why are you doing this?”
Alexander can’t deny that right now, his hands are almost shaking with adrenaline. The prospect of sex is enough to get his heart going, yes, but if this doesn’t work out, then he’s screwed – in every sense but the biblical one, which is, arguably, the most important right now.
And the fact that Jefferson is insisting on questioning his motives doesn’t exactly give him a vote of confidence.
He sighs, and drops his gaze to Jefferson’s shirt. Fuck it, he thinks, and raises his hands, resting them on Jefferson’s chest.
Oh. Oh, damn. Jefferson feels… Wow.
He mentally shakes himself. Don’t get distracted. You can’t afford to get distracted. Even if he does have a very nice chest. “You keep asking that,” he says, focusing back on task. “And, again, I’ll respond with the same answer I’ve been giving you all night.” He looks up, into Jefferson’s eyes, and his pulse jumps at what he sees. Jefferson is almost utterly transfixed by him. There’s still a slight hesitation there, but the way Jefferson is gazing at him would be enough to make anyone’s stomach flutter with butterflies. “Why not?”
He hopes it doesn’t come out as breathless as it felt it did. Fucking imagine that. Jefferson making Alexander breathless, and not from screaming his head off.
This evening is certainly turning out to be interesting.
“I can think of a few reasons why,” Jefferson says, but Alexander can hear he’s already lost his mental battle.
He grins. “Oh, really? You gonna try to rationalise your way out of this one?”
“It wouldn’t take much.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Thomas,” Alexander says – because he knows that Jefferson is right. “We’re both stressed. We’re tired. We’re alone. And we are both relentless and unforgiving.” He quirks his eyebrows. “And you’re a pain – in my ass.”
Implying that he’s fucked himself to the thought of Thomas Jefferson was not part of the plan. It isn’t the truth, either. But hey, whatever works.
Jefferson sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “No,” he says, his voice firmer than before, and Alexander tries to ignore that niggling doubt in the back of his mind. “No, this makes no sense. You’re up to something.”
And he moves away. Alexander almost blurts out, “No,” but he manages to hold back, watching Jefferson march to the office door, trying to frantically think of something to say, anything, that would make him stay.
Alexander may still be trying to figure out exactly how turn Jefferson on, but, by God, he knows how to rile him up. “You’re a coward,” he calls.
“Fuck off,” Jefferson replies, reaching for the doorhandle.
Shit shit shit shit no– “Bet you’re not even good.”
Jefferson seizes up and whirls around. “You’re so fucking childish,” he snaps.
Relief washes through Alexander, and he breaks out into a grin. “Oh, that’s what got you to turn around?” Thank God it did. “I had a whole bunch of insults ready.” He didn’t. “You’re too easy.” So far, that’s not proving to be strictly true.
Jefferson’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m easy?” he exclaims. “You literally walked into my office to try to get me to sleep with you.”
Alexander sucks in air through his teeth. If that was meant to be an insult, it was a piss-poor one. Alexander deals with being called a slut and a whore on a regular basis. He wears it like a badge of honour. “And it’s really pissing you off that you don’t know why, isn’t it? That you can’t figure it out?” And as he says the words, a realisation strikes him. That’s what’s holding Jefferson back; what’s also keeping him in the room. It’s that Alexander is outsmarting him, and he can’t stand being outsmarted. So he’s staying to try to figure this weird puzzle out.
Jefferson glares at him, and Alexander knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “How do you know I don’t know? I could just be pretending to be confused.”
“You would’ve said so if you knew.”
Jefferson sets his jaw, and then shakes his head, apparently letting the argument drop. Wow, Alexander thinks. He must be tired. “You know, just for the record, I am very good.”
Alexander feels excitement stirring in his stomach, and he smiles. “Are you, now?” he says mildly.
“I earned myself a reputation, back in France,” Jefferson insists. So arguing isn’t worth Jefferson’s time, but keeping up his reputation is. “I could’ve had any woman I wanted.”
“Is that so?”
“I did have any woman I wanted.”
“Sure.”
“The only reason I don’t now is because I choose not to.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” The thing is, Alexander knows that Jefferson is right – he’s heard the stories. Jefferson was definitely An American Slut in Paris.
“Fucking…” Jefferson throws his messenger bag to the ground, storming over to Alexander, who couldn’t wipe the wide smile off his face if he wanted to.
“Will you fucking stop?” Jefferson growls. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking…” He struggles for a word. “You’re a prick. A complete and utter prick. How does anyone tolerate you? How do you have any friends? I’d say that you paid them, but you don’t have any fucking money.”
Alexander bites his tongue, resisting the urge to fight back. There’s something liberating about it. Jefferson is yelling in his face, and it’s not an unusual position to be in, but it’s a completely new experience just letting the words wash over him.
“What do you even do when you hole up here in this office?” Jefferson bursts. “Do you actually do anything worthwhile? Or do you just sit on Twitter like a fucking twelve-year-old? Or – or on whatever the fuck else you use? Do you just write sad little poems about how shitty your life is? Do you just sit there at your desk and jerk off? Do–”
He falls silent abruptly, his shoulders dropping. Alexander’s smile widens. Sure, it’s not where he expected Jefferson’s rant to go, but it means that Jefferson’s mind is where he wants it to be.
“Jesus Christ,” Jefferson says, his voice breaking. He’s not looking at Alexander, and he steps away, running a hand over his hair.
God, it’s intoxicating. This power that Alexander has over Jefferson. With the two of them, it’s always push and pull, both of them grappling for power, trying to snatch it from the other, but now… Jefferson’s just handed it to Alexander. On a silver fucking platter. “Sometimes I do,” Alexander says, trying not to blush like an idiot at the admission of it. “I work, yeah, but I’m only human. Sometimes my mind gets distracted.”
“No,” Jefferson says weakly. “No, no, I don’t want to know.”
“And because there’s no one here,” Alexander continues, because he knows that this is the breaking point, this is it, he has to drag Jefferson over the edge now or it’ll never happen, “I can be as loud as I want. And God, I’m loud. I’m so loud. And I almost get off to the thought of having a dick in my mouth. Sometimes a clit, but mostly dick. There’s just something so satisfying about just being mouth-fucked. Just used like some whore. I love it. I crave it.”
Alexander is breathing hard. He’s never admitted that to anyone before, not to that extent and not at all outside the bedroom.
Well, Jefferson’s certainly responding to it, if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by. How odd, Alexander notices in the back of his mind, that although Jefferson doesn’t know it, the thing that he’s truly responded to is Alexander’s honesty, rather than his lies.
Now, Alexander thinks, and strides up to Jefferson, snatching his belt loops. “And you get so mad at me,” he grinds out, rubbing his thigh against Jefferson’s crotch. He revels in the strangled gasp that claws itself from Jefferson’s throat. “And sometimes you look like you want to grab me,” Alexander continues, his heart galloping – he’s hard, too, completely drunk on this new power and the words he’s saying aren’t strictly true, but the more he babbles the more the starts to believe them himself, and suddenly he’s thinking of Jefferson in ways he’s never thought of before and it’s looking very appealing. “Do it. Fucking use me, Thomas. Just think of how much you hate me, and how much I hate you, and just fucking–”
And then Jefferson grabs his face and kisses him, and, just like all their arguments, it’s fiery and wild and probably not appropriate for the workplace. Alexander immediately starts trying to get Jefferson’s shirt off as fast he can. Once he’s done with the buttons, Jefferson pulls back to tear it off himself, and, although he’d be loathe to admit it, that makes Alexander a little weak in the knees.
And now Jefferson is shirtless.
Yep. His chest is just as nice as it had felt.
“Desk,” Jefferson demands, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly Alexander scrambles to obey him, hopping up onto his desk and spreading his legs.
Jefferson rolls his eyes as he heads over. “Fuck, you are easy.”
Alexander has no comeback for that. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” he pants, because, hey, if he’s going to lose his dignity, he may as well run the full mile, and he’s just realising now for the second time that night just how tall Jefferson is, and that’s making him a little desperate.
Why is he doing this again? Surely there’s a reason. He can’t think of it right now, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll remember it later.
Jefferson steps in between his legs and kisses him hard, biting his lip. Alexander lets out a filthy moan – shit, Jefferson’s right, he’s a fucking slut – and reaches down to palm at Jefferson’s cock. Jefferson lets out a moan of his own, and Alexander hates how hot he finds it.
Jefferson pulls away to tug Alexander’s shirt over his head and then shoves him flat onto his back, on top of pencils and pens and files and documents – and Alexander takes a moment to think that, as far as his plans go for getting what he wants, this is probably one of his better ones – and Jefferson starts fiddling with his belt.
It’s a sight Alexander never thought he’d see, but it’s one that makes his cock ache, and he whines impatiently.
“Stupid fucking fuck shitting…” Jefferson spits out, but finally manages to get the belt undone. Alexander doesn’t hesitate before lifting his hips so Jefferson can yank his trousers down to his ankles.
Jefferson’s looking even more dishevelled than before, and damn, it’s a good look for him. “Fuck, Hamilton, get your shoes off,” he gasps.
“Only if you get your pants off so I can see that cock of yours,” Alexander says, sitting up and toeing his shoes and socks off.
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Jefferson counters, but does it anyway. It makes the hunger in Alexander grow to see that Jefferson is just as eager as he is. Who’s easy now?
They collide together again, and Alexander’s hands go to Jefferson’s ass. It is a nice ass. Jefferson kisses like he fights, unrestrained and electric. Jefferson arguing is one thing: he’s smug and proud, and he can keep his cool, which he often uses as some kind of superiority card over Alexander, who has no concept of the word ‘chill’. But Jefferson fighting is a different thing altogether. Alexander doesn’t get to see it often, but when it happens, it’s like he’s been thrown into a hurricane. It’s simultaneously the worst thing in the world, and some of the best fun he’s ever had.
Alexander pushes Jefferson back, and Jefferson goes without resistance, although he doesn’t look happy about it. “What is it?”
“Get back,” Alexander says, and Jefferson shuffles back further – which pleases Alexander greatly. When he’s far back enough, Alexander slips off the desk and drops to his knees in front of Jefferson.
Alexander tells himself that this is part of the plan, that this is about giving Jefferson everything he’s got, anything to help sway things in his favour; but really, it’s been a while since he’s done anything with another human being instead of just his hand, and, he really just wants to be fucked.
He mouths at Jefferson’s cock through his boxers, and Jefferson moans, “Oh, fuck.”
Alexander stops, grinning up at him. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”
“Hurry up and suck my dick so I don’t have to hear you talk,” Jefferson replies, and Alexander laughs.
“Yes, sir,” he says sarcastically, and pulls Jefferson’s boxers down.
Alexander’s first thought is that it’s big, although he guessed that earlier. Not big enough that it takes Alexander aback or makes him nervous in any way – although it would have to be huge to do that – but definitely big.
And then it’s in his mouth. Jefferson’s hands go to his hair, and it’s good, but, surprisingly, it’s not hard enough. Alexander likes his hair to be pulled so hard that it hurts; he likes to be bruised and battered until his throat is raw either from screaming or from abuse.
They can lead up to that. The fact that this is happening at all is weird enough.
Alexander pauses to spit into his hand, and swallows Jefferson’s cock again, pumping with his hand whatever he can’t fit. Which isn’t a whole lot. If anything, he’s experienced.
He knows his limits, and he likes to push them. He almost gags in his efforts, and he moans. Jefferson’s hips jerk forward as he hisses, “Shit,” and, yes, that’s what Alexander wants.
He pulls off, saliva dripping down his chin, and he continues to pump at Jefferson’s cock with his fist. “I meant it,” he says. “Fuck my mouth.”
Something he never thought he’d say to Jefferson. But hey, when in Rome.
“Actually?” Jefferson says, which takes Alexander by surprise. He thought Jefferson would leap at the opportunity to abuse Alexander in any way possible.
Jefferson’s eyes are a little glazed over and his chest his heaving and Alexander realises that he’s probably having trouble focusing on anything other than Alexander jerking him off.
Not his problem. He runs the flat of his tongue over the slit of Jefferson’s cock, and Jefferson sucks in a sharp breath, his hips bucking.
Alexander huffs. “Christ, of all times, now is when you second-guess yourself?”
“I’m not second-guessing myself,” Jefferson snaps. Alexander twists his hand in just the right way, and a shudder runs down Jefferson’s spine, a delicious moan dripping from his lips, and Alexander has a sudden desire to record the sound of it for his spank bank. “Fuck, okay, fine, yes.”
If only winning an argument with you was this easy, Alexander thinks, but he doesn’t voice it. Probably best not to push his luck.
Instead, Alexander breathes out, and closes his eyes, wrapping his lips around Jefferson once again. Jefferson begins to rock into his mouth, and yes, yes, come on, fucking come on.
Alexander relaxes his throat, focusing on his breathing. His jaw aches, and he has to make an effort not to gag, but God, he loves it. Jefferson’s grip tightens in his hair, and he reaches down to palm at himself. He could get off to this, and he has before – sometimes his partner doesn’t even realise that he’s already come just from being mouth-fucked. All orgasms after that are just bonuses.
Jefferson’s thrusts grow a little erratic, and Alexander prepares himself for the inevitable explosion in his mouth, but it never comes. Jefferson tears himself away, spitting out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” and clenching his fists.
Alexander clears his throat, getting his breathing back under control, and wipes at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes and the spit around his mouth. “What?” he croaks. His loves it when his voice is hoarse.
Jefferson is looking very frustrated with himself, but also very determined, as he gestures violently to the desk. “I want to fuck you before I come,” he grunts.
Alexander moans, biting down on his bottom lip, digging the heel of his hand against his cock. “Oh my God,” he whimpers, and he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into, but boy is he glad he did.
“Up,” Jefferson says urgently. “I have a…” He blanches. “Shit, I don’t have lube. Fuck.”
“I do,” Alexander blurts, reaching for his trousers, grabbing the condom and lube he put in his pocket.
“You came prepared,” Jefferson says with raised eyebrows.
“Be thankful I did,” Alexander says, joining Jefferson at the desk.
“Underwear off,” Jefferson says sharply, and Alexander kicks his boxers down his legs and away, then sitting on the desk. It’s cold on his ass, but that’s his last concern at the moment.
Jefferson does work at this desk, he thinks suddenly. He’s gonna have to do work on this desk, knowing that my bare ass has been on it. Today is the best day of my life.
Jefferson grabs the lube, and then pauses, and says, “Off the desk.”
Alexander does so before even wondering why. “What?”
Jefferson sits in his place, and then waves at him. “Get up.”
“Huh?”
“Sit on my lap, you fucking moron,” Jefferson drawls, sounding much more like the Jefferson that Alexander is familiar with. “I don’t do this often, I want to make it as easy for myself as possible.”
Alexander can’t help but give him a smug grin, climbing onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips. “I thought you said you had an endless line of women in France.”
“Yeah, women. Not men.”
“You disappointed in that department, did you?”
Jefferson tries to shove him off, taking Alexander off-guard, and Alexander grabs onto his shoulders with a yelp.
“It was by choice,” Jefferson humphs. “Now stop talking. You’re much more bearable that way.”
“Fine by me,” Alexander says, even though he wants to say I could say the same about you, and wraps his arms around Jefferson’s neck, pressing their lips together. The action causes their dicks to brush, and both men moan into each other’s mouths. Jefferson’s arms curl around Alexander’s waist, bringing him closer, and Alexander begins to rock against him, and oh fuck, that feels so good.
Jefferson’s lips and tongue are intoxicating, and the friction against Alexander’s cock is incredible, and Alexander feels himself climbing, and then Jefferson mumbles against his mouth, “Stop it.”
Right. They still actually have to fuck. Alexander pulls back, and it takes every fibre in his body to stop his rocking. He bites his lip, pressing his forehead against Jefferson’s – which was just part of the plan, of course – his brow furrowed. Jesus, it’s hard, especially when the whole thing was just about to start getting really good, but he manages it. A shudder goes through him, and he finally opens his eyes, gazing at Jefferson. “Please fuck me,” he whimpers, because otherwise he’s going to spontaneously combust.
Jefferson wordlessly reaches for the lube and Alexander watches eagerly as he slicks up his fingers. He presses a finger against Alexander’s hole, and Alexander nods earnestly. “Please, please, please.”
Oh, great. Now he’s begging.
Jefferson enters slowly, a knuckle at a time. He’s unexpectedly careful – although, by this point, it shouldn’t be unexpected. What’s the phrase? ‘Expect the unexpected’?
Alexander lets his head fall back, sighing happily – finally something is happening – and Jefferson leans forward, kissing Alexander’s neck. Alexander moans, and he catches himself smiling as he does so, even more so when Jefferson nips at where his neck meets his shoulder.
Alexander is loving life. Jefferson is working him open and kissing up his neck and along his jaw, and it feels amazing. Man, maybe he should get Jefferson’s number. For booty call purposes only, obviously. He still finds the man utterly insufferable.
Jefferson gradually adds a second finger, and then, after a while, a third. He’s taking his time, and while it feels great and is certainly the proper protocol for this kind of thing, it’s not the hot, angry burn that Alexander was expecting. That Alexander wants.
Eventually, half wondering what is taking Jefferson so damn long, Alexander opens his eyes, and realises, when Jefferson flushes dark, that Jefferson has been watching him. Like Alexander is some fucking porno, and Jefferson has been trying to commit him to memory.
It’s flattering, sure, but not his main focus. “You gonna fuck me now, or just keep watching me?”
Jefferson clears his throat, avoiding Alexander’s gaze. He eases his fingers from Alexander, and Alexander lets out a whine at the loss, but perks up again as Jefferson reaches for the condom and lube.
Alexander watches, heart beating rapidly, as Jefferson opens the condom and rolls it on himself, and slicks himself up with lube. Alexander doesn’t have to be asked to position himself above Jefferson, and then sits down on him. It’s easier than it normally is – Jefferson really worked him open well – but it still takes time, and still burns wonderfully. And then Alexander is fully seated, and God, he’s missed the feeling of being filled by a cock.
Jefferson looks like he’s in Heaven. Alexander rocks his hips, and Jefferson’s eyes go wide. He grips Alexander’s hips. “Fucking move,” he grunts out.
And that’s all the prompting needed. Alexander starts riding him, fucking himself deep on Jefferson’s dick. Jefferson lets out another one of those moans, closing his eyes, and Alexander starts kissing and biting at his neck, rocking as he does so. Jefferson lets out a breathless laugh.
But it’s not enough. It’s not rough enough. Alexander wants it to hurt. He didn’t come here for meaningful sex.
He slows to a stop, shaking his head. “What?” Jefferson growls.
“I want more,” Alexander says, which is not the most descriptive thing he’s said, but it’s all he can say in explanation. He winces as he pulls himself off Jefferson and climbs off the desk. “I want you to fuck me, Thomas,” he says. “I want to bruise.”
Jefferson stands up. “All right then, if you’re so fussy,” he tuts, waving to the desk. “Show me. I can’t know everything.”
Alexander stands in front of the desk, facing away. “Bend me over,” he says, because if this doesn’t happen soon then he’s going to have to do something drastic, “grab my hair, and fuck. Me.”
He almost jumps in surprise as he feels Jefferson grab his hair and bend him over, pressing his head into the desk. Jefferson slides into Alexander and, without giving him any time to adjust, starts fucking him against the desk.
Oh, God, yes. This is what Alexander has been craving all night. Words start falling from his mouth, and he has no idea what he’s saying but he knows it’s something along the lines of Jesus fuck this feels so good fuck me fuck me oh God harder yes yes Thomas fuck you feel so good your cock feels so fucking good oh right oh oh yes oh and he’s quickly climbing to the edge, and he wants to sob it feels so good, and he’s gasping for breath and he knows he’s going to have bruises on his thighs tomorrow and he starts babbling I’m so close oh God fuck yes yes please please please so close and then he feels Jefferson’s thrusts stutter to a stop, and Alexander hears Jefferson moan, “God, Alexander.”
Alexander sobs, so close yet so far, but then Jefferson pulls out of him, making him cry out, and straightens him up, turning him around so they’re facing each other, and curls a fist around Alexander’s cock and pumping. Alexander has to brace himself on the desk, and he’s whimpering Jefferson Jefferson fuck Thomas Thomas yes Thomas and thrusting up to meet Jefferson’s fist, and it doesn’t take long for him to come all over both of them like some teenager.
Well I’ll be damned, Alexander thinks as he struggles to catch his breath, leaning against Jefferson’s desk, idly aware of Jefferson sitting down beside him. Jefferson actually cares about making sure the other person comes. What do you know.
Jefferson chucks the condom out. There’s a minute or two of silence filled with the sound of both of them panting and the smell of sex and sweat. There’s come drying on Alexander’s body, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it just then.
“That was something,” he says eventually, his voice weak.
Jefferson looks down at his hand, which is covered in Alexander’s come. “Uh, did you come prepared for after?”
Alexander shakes his head. “I didn’t really think that far ahead.” That was half-true. Part of him believed that this wouldn’t work. “That’s fine, I got you covered.” He takes Jefferson’s hand and licks the come from it. He’s well and truly used to tasting himself – an ex of his had a fetish for him tasting his own come – and it doesn’t bother him to clean Jefferson with his tongue.
Filing that as yet another new self-discovery, Alexander thinks.
Jefferson laughs. It’s a tired laugh, but genuine, and it suits him well. Makes him seem like less of a dick. “God, I should’ve guessed you’re a kinky son of a bitch.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it,” Alexander says. He looks to Jefferson’s torso. “I’m gonna lick your chest.”
Jefferson says nothing as Alexander runs his tongue over his chest.
He didn’t have to do it that way. He could have used his hand, or his shirt, or underwear. But, hey, if this was only gong to happen once, he may as well take every opportunity as it comes.
Once he’s done, he pulls Jefferson in for a slow, deep kiss. Jefferson doesn’t question him, just kisses him back, and that’s kinda hot. Alexander pulls back, just enough that their lips brush when he talks, to murmur, “Can you taste me?” It’s only half a joke.
When Jefferson doesn’t respond – but his eyes go dark with interest – Alexander pulls back further to look him in the face, grinning smugly. “Admit it,” he says. “I’m hot.”
“No,” Jefferson says, deadpan. “You’re a hideous bastard with the personality of a dead rock.”
And, somehow, the childish, half-baked insult doesn’t piss Alexander off like it normally does. “You’re probably gonna jerk off to the memory of this for years to come.” Alexander knows he is, anyway.
“You wish,” Jefferson says. “Too bad you’re shit.”
“Is that what you thought when you came, buried deep in my ass, moaning my name?”
“I did not moan your name.”
“You did, I heard you. You said ‘Alexander’.”
“You said ‘Thomas’.”
“I’ve been calling you Thomas all night–”
“It’d better only be for tonight. It’s weird, hearing you call me that.”
“–but you called me Alexander when you came.” In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to Alexander that that would be a weird thing to say, but upon reflection, Alexander realises it’s the only time that Jefferson has ever called him by his first name. Just as tonight is the only time that Alexander has called Jefferson ‘Thomas’.
“You don’t have proof,” Jefferson says flippantly. “And it’s not as if anyone will believe you when you tell them.”
“Tell them?” Alexander shakes his head. “Oh no. This is just between you and me. I’m not telling anyone.” How the fuck would either of them explain this one?
“Good,” Jefferson says. “Neither am I.” He cocks his head. “Is that the reason you came here tonight, being all nice? Because you wanted me to fuck you?”
Alexander’s heart jumps with nerves, but he shrugs. “I heard you could be rough. It’s been a while for me. That’s how I like it.”
“Where the fuck did you hear that?”
“I have connections.” And he’s back to lying through his teeth.
He stands up and starts collecting his clothing, leaving Jefferson’s mind whirring. “Wait, who told you?”
Alexander smirks.
He gets dressed and leaves without so much as a See you tomorrow. He goes to his office and collects his bag, and then heads on home. It’s a bit of a dampener to realise that Jefferson will be driving home in his car like some fancy person, while Alexander has to catch a bus, his chest itchy and gross with dried come underneath his shirt, but he doesn’t let it phase him.
He almost bursts out laughing on the ride home. I can’t believe it. I just got fucked by Thomas fucking Jefferson. Thomas fucking Jefferson fucked me. Jesus fucking Christ.
When he gets home, he has a swift shower, and then curls up in bed. This debt plan is as good as gold.