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They were supposed to be strategizing.
Maps were spread across the makeshift desk, flickering in the candlelight, but John Laurens couldn’t focus. Not with Alexander Hamilton pacing like a caged lion, his eyes alight with fire and impatience.
“You’re not listening,” Alexander snapped, finally turning to him. “The southern flank is weak — and if we don’t move, they’ll split us in half by morning.”
John blinked. “I am listening, it’s just—” He paused, exhaled. “You’re too damn distracting when you’re like this.”
Alex raised a brow. “Like what?”
Laurens looked at him — hair a little too wild, voice tight with command, shoulders squared in that frustratingly confident way that made John want to argue and submit at the same time.
“Like you were born to give orders,” John muttered. “And you know I’ll follow.”
Alexander stepped forward — slowly, deliberately — until he was close enough that John had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his gaze.
“You will follow,” Alex said, voice low, rich. “But not just on the battlefield.”
John’s throat went dry. “Is that so?”
Alexander’s hand slid to his jaw, fingers curling with just enough pressure to make John’s breath catch. “You act reckless in public,” he said, “but in private? You want to be told what to do.”
John’s heart thudded. “Do I?”
“You do,” Alexander said, leaning in. “I see the way you look at me after a command. I see how you bite your lip when I raise my voice.”
John didn’t deny it.
Instead, he let Alexander push him back — firm but slow — until he hit the canvas wall of the tent. Alex’s hands were already at his belt, but he paused, waiting.
“Yes,” John said, breathless. “God, yes.”
Alex kissed him hard — with heat, with hunger. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t meant to be. John groaned into it, grabbing at Alexander’s coat, but Alex pinned his wrists up instead, holding them against the tent wall with one hand.
“You always talk too much,” he muttered against Laurens’ neck, “but I like you better like this — flushed, silent, waiting for me.”
John arched into him, gasping as Alexander pressed their hips together.
Every move was controlled. Every kiss was calculated. Alexander wasn’t rushing — he was claiming, devouring, guiding. The commander in him didn’t leave when the uniform came off — if anything, it deepened.
“You take orders well,” Alexander whispered, his breath hot against John’s ear. “But tonight, you’re going to beg.”
And John — trembling, aching, utterly undone — whispered, “Then tell me what to do.”
John was panting by the time they were done, his face a deep shad of red, while Alexander stood there, a smug smile on his face. He stood up to examine his work: John's flushed face, fully naked, panting as if he just ran a marathon, bedsheets crumpled, pillows on the floor, it truly was quite a sight. Alexander smirked.
"Satisfied, John?" he asked.
John couldn't answer, he had just had sex with freakin Hamilton, his crush since he started working here! He was still a deep shade of red. Alexander's eyes gazed hungrily over his naked form and for some unknown reason he...enjoyed it?
John looked at Alexander and gosh, he was so hot. "So that was a good strategizing session, wasn't it John?" Alexander asked, a smirk on his face. "Y-yes," John replied. "I look forward to our next." Alexander changed back into his clothes, and was about to leave before he stopped and looked at Laurens, who had also changed and was ahead of him.
"John?" "Yeah?" "Bye." "Bye, Alexander." With that, John left the tent, a huge smile on his face. He liked Alexander, and Alexander like him back.