Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thomas is rambling. James is listening.

Thomas talks exactly how he thinks, especially when he’s rambling; everything he says has rhythm, as if it’s been written as a poem. There’s often rhymes, but mostly it’s just the words in his head flowing from his mouth with no filter or even a thought to how the words are being said, and it’s beautiful.

It’s a song, an essay, and a poem, all at the same time, and James loves listening to it. He can (and will) listen to Thomas ramble for hours.

And, god, Thomas is beautiful when he rambles (rambles, not talks, because when Thomas is talking it’s careful, calm, controlled). His hands gesture in the air, waving and jerking like he’s painting the scene on a canvas. He often just stares at one spot in front of him, eyes bright but unseeing, deep in his thoughts and his words.

James is in love with him.

It’s a realization that had taken him completely by surprise a few years back, when he’d first listened to his best friend ramble.

It was about politics, James remembers.

James remembers the moment, clear as day.

It was ninth grade. They were in Thomas’s bedroom. Thomas had been rambling. James had been lying on the bed beside him. Thomas had shaken his head, his face bright and smiling and James had thought, God, Thomas, I love you.

Then, immediately after, Fuck.

But he doesn’t remember actually falling in love with him. There’s nowhere he can point a finger at and say there, right there, that’s where it happened, your honor, that’s where he stole my heart.

He remembers meeting, friendship, dinners, long drives, long talks, and the realization, but he doesn’t remember how it happened.

And James had promised himself that Thomas would never know the truth.

It’s hard, not telling your best friend you’re in love with him. Best friends tell each other everything. And it hurts, so much, to not be able to talk to your best friend, your confidant, the person you trust more than anyone else in the world, about something that’s brought you so much pain.

Good thing James doesn’t talk much.

“...and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are the perfect examples of feminine gender roles and Slytherin and Gryffindor are perfect examples of males and since two are mentioned more than the others that makes readers see them as better and it’s like the girls don’t even matter,” Thomas says all in one breath, gesturing wildly as if conducting a symphony. He blows a huge breath out and runs a hand through his hair. “And sometimes it seems like the two are only there for moral support like how Cho is simply a love interest and plays no real role in the story and Hermione should probably have been a Ravenclaw but wound up in Gryffindor simply because she chose to but if you’ll notice Harry was considered for Slytherin but not Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw and Ron was never considered for Hufflepuff like we all know he shoulda been—“

“Thomas,” James says, amused. “Breathe.”

Thomas sucks in a deep breath and melts back into the nest of blankets and pillows they’ve made on the floor. “Sorry.”

“No need,” James says, curling into his best friend’s side. “Just breathe.”

Thomas breathes, then keeps rambling.

James tunes him out most of the way, listening with barely half an ear, more focused on the movie and the sound of Thomas’s heartbeat.

A scene comes where the main character and her love interest are standing in the rain, tears streaming down their faces as they confess their undying love for each other, and James starts crying too. He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until Thomas stops mid sentence and grabs James’s chin in his hand, frowning.

“Jemmy? What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did I say something?” Thomas says, brows creased in concern.

James sniffs and shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“Obviously not. What’s up?” Thomas pauses the movie and sits up, manipulating James until the man is better situated on his lap. “C’mon, you know you can tell me anything.”

James shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll hate me,” James whispers, curling in on himself.

Thomas scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry, just forget it—“

“No, don’t apologize. What’s wrong? Is it something I said? I’m sorry, I was just rambling, I’ll try not to do it again—“

“It’s because I’m in love with you, okay?” James croaks, then immediately regrets his words. They blurt from his mouth as if pulled by some unseeable force, some angel or probably demon who wants to ruin his entire life.

Thomas freezes. His mouth falls open. James watches him swallow harshly.

Then,

“I... I love you too, James.” He smiles, and James is confused.

Oh. Thomas is giving him an out. ‘I love you’ is something they’ve said to each other millions of times.

James, idiot that he is, doesn’t take it.

He shakes his head, sitting up. “No, I’m— you don’t— you don’t understand. I’m in love with you.”

Thomas says nothing.

James bites his lip and looks away, tears pricking hot at his eyes. He’s ruined everything. Thomas is never going to talk to him again and he’s going to hate him and oh god he’s going to lose his best friend—

“I don’t...” Thomas pauses, picking through his next words carefully. “Um. How long?”

James wipes away more tears.

“Freshman year.” His voice cracks, and he curses it.

“College?”

“High school.”

Thomas nods absently.

They’re silent for a few long, long moments.

“I... don’t know what to say.”

James scoffs. “Just say you hate me and get it over with.”

“What? No.” Thomas is shaking his head violently. “No, I could never. Well, maybe if you kidnapped and raped children, but that’s— No. I don’t hate you. I love you too, Jemmy, just not... like that.”

James swallows and backs himself up against the couch, arms wrapped around his knees.

“You’re my best friend,” Thomas says helplessly. “You always will be.”

“I understand,” James says.

And he does.

But, still, it hurts.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m... I’m gonna go,” James says.

Thomas’s face falls. “Um, yeah, okay, that’s fine. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow? For debate?”

James leaves, walking down the dormitory hallway and up a flight of stairs until he stops outside of a dorm room door. He knocks.

After some muffled cursing, the door opens, and his friend’s face appears.

“James?” Hercules says, confused.

James lets the sobs loose and leans forward into his friend’s chest.

“James,” Hercules soothes, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into the dorm. “Shh, I know. What happened?”

“I told him.”

“Oh, James,” Hercules sighs sadly, sitting on the couch and pulling James with him, holding him tightly as James cries into his shirt. “How’d it go?”

“How do you think ,” James snarls, voice cracking.

“I’m so sorry,” Hercules whispers, chin resting on James’s head as he rubs soothing circles on his friend’s back.

“I love him,” James cries.

“I know.”

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“He must hate me.”

“Shhh,” his friend soothes, and, honestly, thank god for Hercules Mulligan.

Hercules lets him cry, doesn’t stop rubbing circles into his back until the racking sobs fade into sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

“I’m sorry,” James croaks, voice raw from crying.

“It’s okay. I’m here for you, James.”

“Thanks.” James sniffs and sits up, grimacing as he wipes at his red, puffy eyes. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Yeah, a very important Friends marathon,” Hercules teases, poking his shoulder.

James forces a laugh.

“Seriously, though, you okay?” Hercules asks.

James shrugs lamely. “I will be, I think. I just... I don’t know. Fuck. I can’t stop fucking crying.” He grits his teeth in frustration, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Hercules says sternly, grabbing James’s wrists and forcing them to his lap. “Hurting yourself is not going to make this better. If you can’t stop crying, it’s because your body needs to cry, so just let it out, okay? I’m here for you.”

James nods. “Can we— can we watch Princess Bride ?”

“Of course,” his friend says, grabbing the remote off the coffee table.

They watch the movie, James pressed into his friend’s side, staring blankly at the screen. At the end, he cries, because Buttercup and Westley are so in love, and he’ll never get to have that.

Thomas is the first and only person he’s ever truly loved, and he’s the only one he’ll ever want.

“It’s gonna be okay, James,” Hercules murmurs, pulling him closer.

Is it?

“Why doesn’t he love me,” James whispers, so quiet he’s sure that Hercules won’t even hear him. “Six years, Hercules. I’ve loved him for six years, and for what?”

But Hercules just shakes his head, his face a mixture of sadness and helplessness, and pulls James closer.

Chapter Text

James stays at Hercules’s that night, curled up on the bed next to him in one of his friend’s huge black hoodies. Hercules had frowned when he’d seen James’s state, joking “You used to be as big as me, man, what happened?”

James had shrugged, pulling on the hoodie and wrapping himself up in it, feeling it hang off his thin frame.

James doesn’t sleep. He stares at the ceiling, thinking, Hercules’s arm a welcome weight across his chest.

Why doesn’t he love me? He wonders. It seems to be a recurring question in his brain, spinning around and around and around, bouncing off walls and corners until it’s all he can think about.

You’re ugly, snarls nasty voice in his head, making him flinch. You’re fat. You eat too much. You’re clingy. God, it’s a wonder he kept you around at all. You should just give up. Put everyone out of their misery. You’re such a burden.

He listens to Hercules’s roommate, Lafayette, get home around midnight, stumbling (obviously drunk) around the room before collapsing into the bed on the other side of the room. He immediately starts snoring.

Hercules’s alarm goes off at seven and James starts, listening to his friend groan and slap at his phone until the alarm shuts off.

“Ugh,” Hercules grumbles, laying back down with his face in a pillow, voice muffled. “It’s too goddam early.”

“We have class,” James whispers, voice hoarse from last night’s crying and disuse. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes, and climbs over his friend and out of the bed. “C’mon, get up.”

Hercules yawns, sitting up much slower than James had and wincing as his feet touch the cold wood floor. He runs a hand over his hair and looks James up and down. “You got clothes here?”

James shrugs. “I was hoping I could just wear this.”

Hercules looks at James’s borrowed sweats and hoodie dubiously. “That hoodie has my name on the back.”

James shrugs again, feeling the hoodie slip off one of his shoulders. “Smells good.”

It does. The hoodie smells like Hercules, and it’s comforting. James needs comforting things if he’s going to face Thomas in an hour.

Hercules huffs a laugh and stands. “Right. Imma go shower. Wake Gil up for me, yeah? He has a class in an hour.”

James shakes the man awake, smiling as he groans and flings an arm over his eyes.

“I ‘ave ze worst ‘angover, mon ami,” the man laments in a thick French accent. “Go, ‘Ercules, leave me die in peace.”

“Um, it’s James,” James says awkwardly. “Herc went to take a shower.”

Lafayette blinks at him blankly. “Ah. Apologies. You look... very similar. I am Lafayette.“

James pauses, amused. “We’ve known each other for two years, Laf.”

“Oh,” Lafayette rumbles as he pulls himself from his bed. He’s not wearing anything except a pair of boxers, and—

James looks away, fighting the heat that threatens to rise to his cheeks. The man bears a striking resemblance to Thomas, which means...

Well. James may be ace, but he can appreciate an aesthetically pleasing body. 

Lafayette grins at his reaction but begins to dress. “Where is ‘Ercules, James?”

James has always loved the way Lafayette says his name. Soft and lilting, almost musical, slurred. He swallows, pulling the sleeves of Herc’s hoodie down over his hands. “Went to shower.”

“Ah.” Lafayette finishes dressing, adjusting his rainbow colored scarf in the mirror. “You did not join him?”

James’s face bursts into flames as Lafayette raises an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “We— no. We’re not, uh, together. Just friends. Definitely not together. I don’t— no. Just had my heart broken, actually, so, I’m. I’m good.”

Lafayette turns, a sympathetic look on his face. “I am sorry, mon ami . Are you well? You look tired.”

James rubs his fingers over the bag under his right eye. “I’m fine.”

The man hums and opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the opening of the door.

“Good, you’re awake!” Hercules grins, clapping his roommate on the shoulder. He drops the towel around his waist and James pointedly looks at the wall. Hercules pulls a random boxers, shirt, and jeans combo from his dresser and wrestles them on, his wet skin making it difficult. When he’s finished, he looks at James, still sitting on the edge of his bed, and sighs. “James.”

James head snaps around to look at him. “Yes?”

Hercules holds out a pair of blue jeans and a white undershirt.

“Get dressed,” he orders quietly, carefully, giving him plenty of room to back out if he needs to.

James swallows. Does he? It would be so easy, to just do what Hercules says, let himself be told what to do, not have to make the decisions of clothes and food for himself, to not have to think...

He complies, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders as he does, and immediately pulls the hoodie back on as soon as he rolls the undershirt down over his torso, trying to keep them from seeing his (too round, too pudgy) stomach. The jeans hang off his hips and require a belt where they used to fit him perfectly and the voice says, darkly, Good.

Hercules silently nods his approval but Lafayette, he notices, is watching the exchange with a contemplative look on his face, and James hunches his shoulders and looks away.

“Breakfast?” Hercules asks cheerily, opening the door.

They make their way down to the mess hall and James stares at all the food choices, feeling sick. He’s hungry. He can’t eat. He ate too much yesterday, if he eats more he’s gonna get fat, fatter than he already is, and then nobody will want to be around him, especially not—

Hercules presses against his back, warm and solid.

“A poppyseed muffin and a bottle of water,” he murmurs.

James nods, relieved, and pays for the food.

“Good,” Hercules praises him.

James sits at a table next to Hercules, Lafayette opposite them, and stares at the things in front of him.

It’s too much , the voice tells him nastily. Too much sugar. Too many carbs.

Trust Hercules, another voice urges him, gentle but powerful.

The second voice, James decides, is probably right. Hercules wouldn’t lead him wrong, would he? He never has before.

James eats the muffin, washing it down with a swig of water, and stares at the crumbs on the wrapper.

Disgusting, the mean voice snarls. This is why you’re so fat, this is why—

“James?”

His head jerks up at the sound of Thomas’s voice, staring at his (friend? best friend? enemy? ex? James doesn’t know what to call him now) like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Thomas, mon ami!” Lafayette cries cheerfully, oblivious to the tension suddenly in the air. “I have not seen you in so long, since France—!”

“Hi, Laf,” Thomas says, and he looks, for once in his life, at a loss for words. “Jemmy—“

James flinches. Thomas looks stricken. He licks his lips nervously, starts to say, “James, can we—“

“Leave,” Hercules interrupts, twisting to look up at Thomas. “Go. Now.”

“No,” Thomas practically snarls back, and James can feel him tense up even though he isn’t touching or looking at him. “He’s my best friend, I need to talk to him—“

“You broke his heart, man,” Hercules says, voice stern but understanding. “Give him a few days, at least.”

“I’ll leave if James wants me to,” Thomas says stubbornly. “We need to talk, Jemmy.”

James hunches his shoulders, mutters, carefully, “Please don’t call me that.”

Thomas is silent.

James takes a deep breath and turns to face him, but doesn’t meet his eye, instead focusing on a point just over his right shoulder. “We do need to talk. But I— I need a few days, at least.”

Thomas nods, crosses his arms over his chest, eyes watery, and looks away. “Yeah.”

“I’ll text you,” James manages.

“Okay,” Thomas whispers, and, god, he looks like he’s in so much pain, and James’s heart clenches. “I do love you, Jem— James.”

James turns back around. He picks at the label on his water bottle, listening to Thomas’s footsteps hesitate for a second before walking away.

“Merde,” Lafayette says after a long moment of silence. “Thomas is the one who—?”

James nods.

“Oh, petite, je suis désolé.”

“I’m fine,” James mutters. “I just—“ he takes a deep breath. “I just need to get over him. Heal.”

“That’s right,” Hercules says approvingly. “Good, James.”

James lets himself accept the praise and sips his water.

“Let me walk you to class, James,” Hercules says, tossing the core of an apple in the trash can and standing.

James does the same, throwing his muffin wrapper away and following Hercules and Lafayette out of the mess hall.

They walk him to his debate class in silence, the January wind chilling him to the bone, and he stands outside the door, biting his lip nervously.

Hercules’s hand rests heavily on the back of his neck, huge and warm and grounding, pushing his shoulders down until some of the tension leaves them. “Are you going to be okay?”

James nods.

“Okay,” Hercules says. “Call me if you’re not.”

He and Lafayette leave, and James squares his shoulders.

He enters the classroom.

Chapter Text

James is early. He usually is. There are a few others already there, two freshmen in the front row and a fellow sophomore up near the top.

James bids a quiet hello to Professor Washington, who shoots him a reserved smile and a nod, and stares up at the rows of seats. He and Thomas usually sit next to each other in the middle, so they can talk during class and James can get him to stop arguing with Hamilton, but—

His phone dings with a text.

Hercules

Sit with Alexander and John.

They’re friends of mine and Gil’s.

You

The freshmen?

Okay.

Hercules

Yes. Good. Thank you.

James takes a deep breath, the praise feeling a bit like a virtual hug, and pockets his phone, walking up and pointing to the empty seat beside Alexander Hamilton. “Is this seat taken?”

The two of them pause in their conversation, looking at him skeptically.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with Jefferson?” Hamilton asks, not particularly friendly but not hostile. He and James had worked together on a few projects, and weren’t on that bad of terms, even if Hamilton and Thomas did hate each other.

“Hercules sent me.” James averts his gaze. “Thomas and I, we, uh, had a bit of an argument.”

“Hell yeah! Dude, seat’s yours!” Laurens crows, grinning. “What happened?”

James shrugs and sits down, pulling his laptop from his backpack and powering it up. “It’s personal.”

Laurens pouts. “Aw, you’re no fun.”

James doesn’t know what to say to that.

When Thomas walks in, he sees James sitting with Hamilton and Laurens, and his face twists into an expression somewhere between hurt and anger. He flounces up to sit in his and James’s usual spot, glowering at the wall, and James swallows his guilt.

We’ll talk later, he promises himself. I can’t handle it right now.

“Alright, welcome back to everyone’s favorite; eight am class!” Washington says after clearing his throat. A few people make booing noises and he chuckles, flipping open the laptop on his podium. “I know, I know. Did everyone do the assignment of forming an argument for or against the Trump Administration’s decision to allow healthcare workers to discriminate based on gender identity?”

Shit. James had completely forgotten about that. Luckily, he had done it the night he had gotten the assignment, but he didn’t know if he was mentally capable of doing a full fledged debate today.

Shut up. You deserve it. This is your punishment.

The voice is right. James deserves this. He waits anxiously as multiple people go up to the front of the classroom to present their arguments, until suddenly his name is called, and he breathes out harshly. He collects his notes of taking points and makes his way up to the front, hands shaking. He sets his notes heavily on the podium and wipes his sweaty palms against his borrowed jeans.

“Um,” he says, head down, unable to force himself to look at the audience. He clears his throat. “Right. Well, the Trump Administration is planning to reverse transgender health protections that were put in place by President Obama... this would— this would—“ Fuck. He wraps his fingers around the edges of the podium and squeezes until his knuckles turn white. “This would allow for transgender individuals to be denied healthcare, which, with the Coronavirus still a threat, poses obvious problems— um. Not only would these individuals possibly die, but also lower herd immunity, causing a domino effect that would—“ he swallows, mouth dry, the room suddenly too hot and too cold and too small and too big all at the same time. “—possibly be harmful to the wellbeing of the entire country.”

He’s breathing too fast. He needs to calm down, or he’s going to start hyperventilating.

“Thank you, James,” Washington says, looking concerned. “Those are some very good points. Full marks.”

James isn’t even close to done with his argument but he nods weakly and stumbles back to his seat, all but falling into it. He doesn’t move for the rest of the class and even after Washington dismisses them.

“Hey. Madison.”

James blinks, looking up into Hamilton’s concerned eyes.

“You good?” Hamilton asks.

James shakes his head to clear it, bending over to stuff his things in his bag. “I’m fine. Yeah.”

“I don’t know. This—“ Laurens gestures at him. “—doesn’t look fine.”

James shrugs, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I, uh, have something I need to do, so if you’ll excuse me—“

He tries to step past them, but Laurens catches him by the wrist. “Woah. No offense, dude, but if Herc sent you to us, it must’ve been for a reason—“

Right. Hercules. Hercules will tell him what to do. James fumbles for his phone, opening it to see a few new messages.

Hercules

How did your debate go?

Come to my dorm when you’re done.

You

Okay.

“I gotta go,” James mutters. He shoves past then and out the door, leaving the two freshmen in bewilderment.

He gets back to Hercules’s dorm in record time, on the verge of tears, and throws the door open.

“James!” Hercules says happily, setting aside his laptop. “How was class? Did you sit with Alex and John?”

James shakes his head mutely and crawls onto the bed beside him, immediately burying his face in his friend’s chest.

“That bad, huh?” Hercules says kindly, threading his fingers through James’s hair and tugging gently. “C’mon, lets get those jeans off, then we can nap, yeah?”

James nods, letting Hercules unbuckle his belt and the button on his jeans and slide them off his legs.

“You’re real thin, James,” he says, looking at James’s thighs with concern.

James shrugs, tugging at his friend’s shirt until he complies and lays back so James can curl into his side.

So, yeah, maybe he’d taken to eating a little less since realizing that the beautiful man that is Thomas Jefferson would never be interested in someone with a body like his. So what? Everyone goes on diets. It’s perfectly normal. James is fine. 

Hercules sighs, wrapping his arm around James’s thin torso and squeezing gently. “You need to start eating more.”

James nods, if not to actually agree, then to just get Hercules to stop talking.

They’re silent for a moment, staring into the darkness of the dorm room, listening to each other’s breathing.

“Did it help? Today?” Hercules asks suddenly. “Me telling you what to do?”

James nods slowly. It doesn’t mean anything, really (he’s not going to start calling Hercules daddy, or anything, no way in hell), but it’s easier, when he’s stressed and anxious, to just do what Hercules tells him.

“...okay,” Hercules says after a moment’s hesitation.

James lifts an eyebrow. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Hercules shrugs. “Whatever you need, man. Long as you don’t try and get me to fuck you.”

James shudders. “Definitely not.”

“Exactly,” Hercules says, amused. “Get some sleep. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were awake last night.”

James feels his face burn. He opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it at the look Hercules sends him, and huffs.

He sleeps easily.

Chapter Text

Fucking biology. Fucking wet dreams. Who the hell decided that he, an asexual, would also feel the need for sex? James would like to talk to the manager, please and thank you.

Not that he’s sex-repulsed, or anything, or even dislikes it at all; in fact, he likes it just fine. He just doesn’t love it, and he doesn’t need it, and he would get just as much pleasure from cuddling and kissing, and the only person he wants to have sex with right now would be Thomas. And maybe Hercules.

And, hell, James needs another nap.

Hercules drags him down to the dining hall for dinner and tells him to “Get a cheeseburger, James, and a salad” and then leads him back to the table they sat at earlier, where Lafayette, Hamilton, and Laurens are also sitting.

“Hey, Mads!” Hamilton greets, grinning, looking like an overexcited puppy with his mouth stuffed full of french fries and his long raven hair tied back in a messy bun.

“Hi,” James mutters. Hercules directs him to a spot between himself and Laurens and he goes willingly, their bodies warm and reassuring on either side of his own. He stares down at his tray of food until Hercules nudges him and shoots him a look. He sighs, picking up the cheeseburger and taking a small bite. He waves it a bit, looking at his friend.

Hercules nods.

“Hey, Mads, wanna come out with us tonight?” Hamilton asks.

James looks up, surprised, and finds that Lafayette has draped himself all over the smaller man, and he looks at Laurens in confusion. Laurens is eating his fries, either oblivious or uncaring, and James wonders if he and Hamilton haven’t actually been dating like he previously thought. And, wow, James really shouldn’t be thinking about this.

“We’re going down to the Yorktown for drinks,” Hamilton prompts. “You coming?”

“Uh,” James says eloquently.

Laurens nudges his side. “You should totally come, dude. They’ve got this one drink— it’s tequila and limes and orange syrup and it’s, like, 103% alcohol but doesn’t taste like it and it fucks you up so fast, it’s not even funny.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“You get cut off after two,” Hercules says absentmindedly as he scrolls through Twitter on his phone.

Hamilton pouts. “It sucks.”

Lafayette chuckles deeply and leans in to kiss him. Hamilton makes a squawking noise of surprise before kissing back, fisting Lafayette’s shirt in his hand.

James can’t help his stare. “Uh... aren’t— aren’t you dating Laurens?”

“Yeah,” Hamilton says casually, breathless as he pushes Lafayette off of him. “And Lafayette. And Hercules.”

James’s mouth falls open. He looks at his friend, smacking him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating anyone?!”

“Ow, fuck,” Hercules mumbles, rubbing at his bicep. “I was going to, but...”

“What?”

“Thought it might hurt your feelings... with Thomas, and all,” he says, looking guilty. “Sorry.”

“I can’t believe you,” James mumbles, annoyed but not really mad. He turns back to the others. “So, how does that, like, work?”

“What do you mean, petite?”

“Are you all dating each other? Or is Lafayette only dating Hamilton and Hercules is only dating Lafayette?”

“We’re all dating each other,” Laurens clarifies.

“Great, so I’m going to be fifth wheeling.” James huffs and takes a few more bites of his cheeseburger. He’s promptly rewarded with a pleased noise from Hercules.

“Non, non,” Lafayette says, waving a hand dismissively. “It is not date night, simply go to a bar and get drunk night. And maybe come home and have kinky sex night.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So? Are you, how you say, in?”

“I’m not going to be part of the kinky sex, am I?”

“Only if you would like, mon ami.” Lafayette cocks an eyebrow, taking a long sip from his Arizona Tea. His right arm is still slung over Hamilton’s shoulders, and James can easily imagine him in a smoky bar, drinking bourbon from a fancy glass, lounging in a booth. He shivers at the thought.

Lafayette continues, “I notice you have already started taking orders from my dear Hercules, but I would have you know that I am to be in charge.”

James promptly chokes on his burger.

~*~*~

James stands nervously outside his and Thomas’s dorm room, biting his lip. Hercules had finally kicked him out, citing that he needed to “talk to Thomas” and “get ready to go out.”

James is pretty sure he just wanted some space to fuck Lafayette. Or did Hercules bottom?

Nope. No way. James wasn’t going there.

James takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

It opens almost immediately, Thomas’s hopeful face appearing.

“James,” Thomas breathes, eyes wide.

“Hi.”

“Are you— are you okay?” Thomas asks, face almost impassive. Almost, James says, because Thomas tries very hard to always appear impassive, but his eyes are his dead give away.

“I— yeah,” James mutters. “I’m sorry for running off the other day... may I come in?”

“Uh— Yeah! Yeah, of course,” Thomas hurries, holding the door open wider for James to step through. Thomas shuts the door behind him and wrings his hands nervously. “It’s your room too, James, you don’t have to ask.”

James shrugs lamely. Thomas watches, anxiety evident, as he starts rifling through his dresser for something to wear.

James sighs, feeling Thomas’s gaze burn hot into his back. “Sit down, Thomas. Please.”

Thomas sits at the edge of his bed, his bad leg bouncing.

“Stop that,” James says, feeling exhausted. “You’re going to irritate your knee. Here—“ he grabs one of the fidget toys out of the bucket of them on the floor and hands it to Thomas, who takes it and immediately starts playing with it. “I’m not angry with you, okay? I promise.”

“I know,” Thomas rushes, face pleading. “I love you, James, I really do, I just— I—“

“Don’t. Just— don’t.” James sighs, sitting on his own bed and staring at his hands. “You’re still my best friend. You always will be. That hasn’t changed. I promise. But I need some time.”

Thomas nods, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever you need. What do you need?”

“I just need some time and some space to get over this. And I need you to tell me if I am making you uncomfortable, and I need to be able to tell you if you’re making me uncomfortable. Is that understood?”

“That’s it? I mean— yeah, yeah, of course! God, James, of course,” Thomas says quickly. “Anything. Yeah. Uh huh.”

“Thank you,” James murmurs. He stands and walks back to his dresser. “I’m going out tonight. What should I wear?”

“Out? Where? With who?”

“Hercules and his partners,” Jams says absentmindedly, pulling out two button-downs and holding them up. “Blue or red?”

“Blue. Hercules has a girlfriend?”

“Boyfriends.”

“What?”

“He’s pan. And polyamorous. Jeans or slacks?”

“Oh. Okay. Jeans. The black ones. Who are they?”

James changes into the clothes, saying, “Lafayette, John, and Alexander.”

Thomas scrunches his nose up in disgust. “The fuck?”

“They’re really not that bad.” 

“Laurens and Lafayette I’m fine with, but Hamilton? My god. What was Herc thinking?”

“I mean, he is kinda cute,” James muses, smoothing the shirt and tucking it into the jeans. “He’s got that ‘harried writer’ vibe, you know?”

“You disgust me,” Thomas mutters.

“Ah, so you’ve discussed me?” James grins, winking as he finishes their little inside joke.

Thomas snorts.

They settle into silence for a few minutes as James fights to get the diamond stud into his earlobe.

“Ma misses you,” Thomas says suddenly.

James pauses. “Yeah?”

He watches Thomas nod in the mirror, still clicking the buttons on his little fidget cube and chewing on his bottom lip. “Yeah. She called the other night. Asked about you. She— uh, she invited you down for Thanksgiving. If you want.”

“I... that’s only a week away, Thomas.”

“I know, I know. I just— she sounded like she really misses you. You didn’t come at all during the summer.”

“Sorry. My mom—“

“I know,” Thomas cuts in. “Please? Come? My whole family misses you, not just ma. And they’re your family too.”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, I’ll suck your dick.”

James chokes on his spit in surprise. Of course, this wasn’t odd (they’d fooled around frequently as teenagers and even up until a few days ago, steadily growing less and less recent as James fell more and more in love), but he wasn’t expecting it so soon after confessing his feelings. “Thomas!”

Thomas shrugs, flopping back on his bed. “If it’ll get you to come home for a few days.”

James stares at him incredulously. “I— you’d be comfortable with that? Even though—?”

“Even though you’re in love with me? Yes,” Thomas rolls his eyes. “I’ve been suckin’ your dick for years. If you’re okay with it, I don’t see why it should change.”

“And you call yourself straight,” James says drily.

“It’s not gay if you keep your socks on.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Well, there’s not much competition.”

“Debatable.” James sighs in exaggerated exasperation at his friend.

“So?”

“I’m not letting you suck my dick, Thomas.”

Thomas pouts. “But will it make you come home for Thanksgiving?”

“No. Sex should be consensual on both sides without incentive.”

“James, I’ve been sucking your dick for five years.”

“Oh my god.” James finally gets all his piercings into the cartilage of his ear and turns to face his friend. “You’re seriously offering? And it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re ace, so it’s not like it means anything to you anyway.”

James sighs. That’s a very good point. “Jesus. You really want to?”

Thomas nods eagerly.

“Fine.”

Thomas’s eyes light up. “Yay! Sit on the bed.”

James obeys, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs to give Thomas more room. Thomas sinks to his knees in front of him and reaches for the button on his jeans. Undoing it, he pulls out James’s soft cock and strokes it a few times until it gains hardness.

James sighs contentedly, placing one hand on the bed behind him and leaning back on it. The other, he threads through Thomas’s curls, not directing but holding him gently. He tips his head back as wet heat closes around his cock, Thomas’s tongue swirling around the head, the ball in his tongue massaging his head. “C’mon, we don’t have all day.”

Thomas rolls his eyes and takes James deep, pressing himself down until his nose meets James’s abs. James chokes on a gasp, hips bucking into Thomas’s tight throat. Thomas groans in response, the vibrations sending heat shooting down James’s spine.

“Shit,” James grunts in surprise. “Shit, Thomas, your mouth… I’m gonna fuck your throat. ‘Kay?”

Thomas lets his mouth go slack in response and James thrusts into it, moaning. “God, Thomas, so good. You’re so good, so good for me, such a good boy, fuck.”

He comes embarrassingly quick, shooting down Thomas’s throat. Thomas keeps sucking, swallowing him down until James grows oversensitive and bats at his shoulders.

Thomas pulls off with a pop, lips swollen and shiny with spit and come, grinning. “Good?”

“Always,” James mutters, boneless with his orgasm. “You need anything?”

Thomas shakes his head, going to stand. “I’ll go to the bathroom.”

James tsks, pushing his friend back to his knees by his shoulders. “Wanna hump my leg?”

“Oh, fuck,” Thomas mumbles, pupils blown. “Yeah, please.”

James grins, sliding his leg forward and reaching for his phone. “Go on, then.”

Thomas reaches for the fly of his jeans.

“No,” James murmurs, not looking up from the tweet on his phone. “Leave your jeans on.”

Thomas whimpers and lays his forehead on James’s knee to collect himself, taking deep breaths.

“Bottom,” James teases.

“Shut the fuck up,” Thomas grunts. He straightens, wrapping his arms around James’s leg. He shuffles closer and closes his legs around James’s foot. He grinds against the shin pressed into his crotch, gasping. He gets himself off quickly, going stiff as a board and biting down on the inside of James’s thigh to keep quiet.

“Ow,” James grumbles, carding a hand through Thomas’s hair. “You okay?”

Thomas releases him and scoots back, nodding. He’s still breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead. “Need a shower now, though.”

A knock sounds at the door.

“Get that?” James asks.

“Got it.” Thomas hops off the bed and strolls to open the door. “Oh! Hey, y’all!”

“Thomas,” Hercules says stiffly.

“Y’all,” Alexander quotes, snickering.

“Hamilton,” Thomas replies, dry and mildly irritated.

“Is James here?”

Thomas steps to the side, allowing the four of them into the dorm.

“Ready for drinks?” Alexander asks, excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah. Are we walking?”

“You plannin’ on getting drunk?” Laurens asks.

James squints at him. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Then yeah.”

James nods and stands, brushing a wrinkle out of his shirt. “Let’s go then.”

Lafayette whistles lowly, looking him up and down. “The wrinkles, mon ami. Did you forget to hang your shirt?”

James shoots a guilty look at Thomas, who’s pushing down a smile, and Lafayette grins knowingly.

“Hush,” James mutters, sliding his phone into his pocket and pushing through them into the hallway.

“Be safe, y’all,” Thomas calls. “Call if you need anything.”

James waves slightly before following the other four down the dorm hallway and out into the cool November evening.

“So, mon ami,” Lafayette says, sidling up beside him and nudging their shoulders together. “The wrinkles.”

James rolls his eyes. “The fact that I have wrinkles in my shirt should not mean anything to you.”

“You never have wrinkles in your shirt,” John reminds him. Alex nods in agreement.

James huffs. “Fine. I let him blow me, alright? Y’all happy now?”

Alex wrinkles his nose, while John lets out a low wolf whistle.

Lafayette smirks at him, bumping his elbow with his own. “Aha! Tell us more!”

James shrugs, stuffing his hands in his front pockets to protect them from the chill. “He asked me to go home for Thanksgiving, I said no, and then he offered to suck my dick in exchange for me going. It was too good of an offer to pass up. And I had him get off on my leg.”

“What, like jerk himself off?” John asks in morbid curiosity.

James sniffs.

Alex stops, jaw dropping. “You made him hump your leg?”

“Nonya business, Hamilton.”

“Holy shit, you did!’

James rolls his eyes.

“Was it good?” Alex wonders, looking a little disgusted in himself for his curiosity.

“You think someone with a mouth as big as Thomas’s isn’t good at giving head?”

James presses his lips together to keep from laughing at John’s statement.

Hercules is frowning.

“Herc?” James asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Was that... a good choice?” His friend asks carefully. “You’re ace.”

“‘Asexual’ means the absence of sexual attraction,” James says, voice sounding a bit stiff even to his own ears. “I can still have sex. And, even if it weren’t a good choice, it’s mine to make.”

“Yeah, obviously, but, James, is having sex with him a good idea? Is going home with him, sharing a room and a bed with him, being with him constantly for a week, a good idea?”

James shakes his head. “My choice, Hercules.”

“James—“

James stops and glares at his friend. “The best way to get used to something is to desensitize yourself to it.”

“What?”

“To get over something, you have to get used to it. That includes being in love.”

“I don’t see how that—“

“My choice.” This time, it’s sharp, and James has to set his shoulders against Hercules’s concerned gaze.

He’s not backing down. He’s a grown man, for God’s sake, and though he might have Hercules boss him around every now and then, this is not one of those times.

Hercules sighs, lets his shoulders slump, and looks away. His jaw works as he tries to keep silent. He’s not happy about it.

That’s fine. He doesn’t have to be.

James nods. “Now. How far away is the bar?”

“We’re just gonna ignore that interaction?” John asks.

James ignores him.