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Chapter Text

The door closed behind the last man left in the office besides the General and Alexander, and he let himself heave a sigh and rub a hand over his tired eyes. It was late, and he was stubborn–and so was Washington, which was why the man had long since given up on trying to send him to bed with the rest of the aides.

The General understood. Got him in a way most men never would.

Alexander liked to think they existed in some kind of silent mutual agreement; he was of course aware that he was most likely reading too much into it. Maybe Washington was just glad for the company and the work getting done.

An odd sound caught Alexander’s attention, and he paused, listened. Not a sound, he realised, no, what he had noticed was the absence of sound.

He turned to look at the General. Washington sat with his elbows braced on his desk, his fingers linked as if in prayer, mouth and nose almost entirely concealed by the shadow of his hands, shifting in the flickering light of the hearth. His quill was laid to rest; no more comforting white noise in form of the gentle scratch of its tip on parchment.

There was something golden in Washington’s eyes–the flames made those tiny specks shine, and Alexander swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He imagined that dark, intense stare with the golden accents, the heat emitting from it instead of reflecting off of it, and a familiar warmth nestled behind his navel.

Washington was staring. So was Alexander.

“Hamilton,” he said, and that snapped him out of that inappropriate daydream, even though the sudden heat beneath his skin did not dissipate.

“Sir?” he responded levelly and put his own long stilled quill down.

Washington stayed silent for long, creeping moments, his stare unwavering, and Alexander was accustomed to this, he really, truly was, but whatever was happening right now slowly but surely became unnerving. He would blame his nerves on the lateness of the hour, he thought.

“Sir?” he prompted again, and this time Washington lowered his hands from his face and folded them on the tabletop instead.

“I have recently been informed of something… interesting concerning you, son,” he said, clipped and professional, and the flicker of coiling heat in Alexander’s stomach extinguished just like that.

He forced himself not to react, even though his limbs seemed to weigh a thousand tons all of a sudden. The breath stuck in his throat and made the air in his lungs taste stale on the way out.

There were… many things the General could be talking about. Alexander was a fundamentally dishonest person.

It could be something almost trivial, like the fact that he had perhaps fibbed himself two years older when he had joined the army in order to be able to join in the first place. 

Or- well. 

It could be something that would cost him his life.

“And what might that be, Sir?” he said, focused on nothing but keeping the tremor out of his voice.

“That you apparently undress with your tent-flaps wide open,” he said, and Alexander’s hands balled themselves into white-knuckled fists where they rested atop the desk. His heart was beating in his throat, the room flowed apart into a soft haze of warmth and colour before his very eyes–the work of tears, he realised distantly–and his lungs sat frozen and useless in his ribcage, unable to expand and push past the dread that had filled his chest like a block of solid ice.

Washington hadn't said the words, but his meaning was glaringly obvious.

He knew. He knew about Alexander, and the only reason he hadn't burst into tears yet was the breathless paralysis that had gripped him by the throat.

“Sir-” he choked, but was allowed no more than that.

“Hamilton,” he cut in immediately, and even though there was no disgust discernible in his voice, Alexander knew he was done for. Best case scenario, he would lose his station and be booted from the army without anywhere to turn but the streets, worst case scenario-

Firing squad in the morrow.

“You need to be more careful.”

Alexander blinked. He didn’t think he had heard that right.

“C- careful?” he said, a quiet, pitiful echo of his commander’s controlled words.

“Careful.” Washington rose from his chair and rounded the desk, crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, and came to a stop in front of the hearth, his hands folded at the small of his back. There was a thoughtful crease to his brow as he regarded the fire, as if it held more of the secrets Alexander couldn’t afford anyone to know. “One person was- manageable, but by God, we cannot let anyone else find out my chief of staff is a woman-”

“I’m not,” he hissed, snapped out of the haze by a sudden burst of rage, and pounded his fist to the table.

They descended into silence, after, and only as Alexander glared back at the General did it occur to him that he had just interrupted him in a rather callous fashion.

Maybe it wasn’t too late for the firing squad. Better that than being called a woman to his face, at the very least.

“Hm. My source sounded rather convincing,” Washington said without malice, but with an odd spark in his eyes.

Alexander blew out a harsh breath and silently counted to ten before he let any of the words on his tongue loose.

“My body is not who I am,” he pressed out from between clenched teeth, and Washington raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth quirked up in rare amusement.

He narrowed his eyes at the man, daring him to say something to contradict him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be Alexander who they would have to dig a six feet hole for tomorrow, then.

“And who are you?” he said and turned, made his way over to Alexander’s desk, unhurried and as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Alexander’s nostrils flared with the renewed heat in his abdomen–for very different reasons than before–and he slapped his palms flat to the table and launched himself from his chair, leaning over the desk and glaring at the General, who to his chagrin only seemed to become more amused by the second.

“I’m Alexander Hamilton,” he bit out. “I’m a man.”

Washington stopped in front of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. The man had to look down at him, and Alexander straightened up to lessen the height difference.

It didn’t work very well; the top of his head still only just reached up to Washington’s nose.

…another kind of warmth stirred in his gut.

God-fucking-damned.

“No,” Washington said with a small grin and reached out to tap two of his fingers up against his chin, like he was a child- “You’re no man. You’re a boy.”

Oh, fuck him-

Alex gaped, the odd mixture of indignation, embarrassment, and fury cementing his throat shut and locking away all the choice words he itched to spit into his commander’s face right now.

He sputtered something indiscernible even to himself, and Washington snorted a laugh that made his already hot cheeks heat even further.

“You’re dismissed, son,” he said and turned back to his own desk, waving a hand at him as though to swat away a bothersome fly. “Please, do remember to close your door before you take your shirt off.”

Alexander stood, trembling with the amount of rage that was stuffed into the cage of his body, about to explode apart like a teapot that had been left to boil on the stove for too long.

“God, you’re-”

And yet again he was cut off before he could vent his frustrations appropriately.

“Alexander. I will not be repeating myself again,” he said with a pointed look over one broad shoulder. “Go to bed, boy.”

“Fine!” he called and threw his hands up in defeat, bristling all the while. “But do refrain from talking to me like you’re my fucking father! Sir,” he tacked on, quite suddenly remembering who it was he was yelling at.

Washington snorted, his back still turned. “Lower your voice, the others are asleep. And, Hamilton–I am not acting like your father. Trust me, you would know if I was.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed to slits, not that the General would notice.

“And what’s that su-”

Washington glanced back over his shoulder, all good humour suddenly evaporated. “Goodnight, Hamilton.”

Alexander snapped his mouth shut and forced himself to leave, before he really managed to piss the General off–a fate he had somehow avoided, despite his unconventional… situation.

Huh.

What a fucking night.

He told John about it. Of course he did, John was his best friend, and Alexander really, really needed to tell someone about what the fuck had happened that night.

After John had suitably chewed him out for poking him awake long after midnight, he sat and he listened like the good friend he was, Alexander packed into bed next to him.

He frowned down at the sheets pooled in his lap, eyes still a bit bleary.

“So, who ratted you out, then?” he said, and Alexander froze, his lips slightly agape.

He hadn’t asked.

Fuck.

John interpreted his silence correctly, of course, and groaned. “You don’t know?”

“I was a bit distracted,” he said, but John just shook his head at him.

“Um, Washington said he- managed it, though.”

“Managed it,” John deadpanned and flopped back down to the mattress with a sigh. “It’s your hide, Hamilton, not mine.”

Alexander huffed a breath to hide his unease and reclined next to John, wriggling around until he gave in with another sigh and made more space for him.

“Forget it, Laurens, I’m dragging you down to hell with me,” he said and shuffled onto his side so that they were face to face.

John squinted at him in the half-darkness of the room, but didn’t say anything else. Just shook his head to himself and closed his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Alex,” he mumbled, and Alexander cracked a small, surprisingly tender smile and pushed himself back up to blow out the candle.

He cuddled close once he’d settled again, draped himself over John and his warmth in a way he would never dare to with anyone else, and let out a pleased hum when John wrapped his arms around him in turn.

“Hey, John,” he said quietly, and John’s chest rose and fell underneath his cheek with an annoyed breath.

“Hm?”

“Is it bad I kind of want to fuck Washington?”

“God,” he groaned and ruffled his hair in the darkness. “You are no better than a bitch in heat.”

“And you love me,” he shot back happily.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Sir,” he said, approximately ten minutes after they had been left alone for the night yet again.

Washington heaved a long-suffering sigh, as if he had both expected and dreaded him to start a conversation, and finished writing his sentence before he put the quill down and folded his arms on the desk.

“Hamilton?” he prompted, and Alexander was struck by the familiarity of this scene.

Right. Their fateful conversation a few days ago had started out in a similar fashion.

“I was meaning to ask-” he began, and was at once interrupted by Washington’s exasperated sigh.

“The answer remains no. Why on earth are you even so adamant about getting a command? You realise that a return to the battlefield means injuries, which means treatments, which means perhaps ill-intentioned persons seeing parts of you they should not-”

“Sir,” he ground out and took a deep breath to calm himself. For someone who claimed not to act like a father to him, he sure lectured him a whole lot.

Nevermind the fact that he was right. He only begrudgingly admitted it even to himself, but a single injury could seal his fate even if it proved to not be lethal. Alexander knew that, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“If you would let me finish before you resume your lecture?” Washington waved for him to go on, and so he did, “I was meaning to ask who reported me to you.”

“Ah,” he said with a curt nod and tapped his middle fingers to his desk just once. “I don’t believe you’ve met him. The name wouldn’t ring a bell.”

“Oh.” Alexander lowered his gaze to the contents of his own desk and took to shuffling his papers into order. This was… good, he thought. Yes, any stranger would have ran to their commander to report him had they witnessed whatever this particular man had; his silent fear had been that the opposite had occurred.

That it hadn’t been a stranger at all.

That it had been someone he considered a friend.

But no. The General thought he wouldn’t even recognise the name of the man.

Something akin to relief washed over him.

“You said you handled the situation,” Alexander spoke up again and glanced back at Washington. The man nodded, his face inexpressive.

“I did.”

His brow creased into a frown. “So, what did you do?”

A beat of silence, much heavier than this particular conversation called for, passed between them.

“I had him killed,” he responded at length, and Alexander’s eyes widened.

“You-”

“But enough of this, son,” he went on, talking right over him, and this once, Alexander didn’t take offence. “Either back to work or off to bed with you, it’s your choice.”

He stayed silent, watching Washington take up his quill and dip it in ink, seemingly done with the conversation. Alexander wasn’t ready to lay it to rest yet, though.

“You had someone killed. One of our own. For me,” he said, and it only sunk in just how ludicrous of a confession that was after he’d voiced it out loud.

Washington hesitated with the tip of his quill hovering just the fraction of an inch above the parchment.

“I would have had to kill someone either way,” he said slowly, not looking at him. “It was him or you.” A significant pause. “Him or you. I chose to save the more important man, as is my responsibility as a commander.”

Important. Alexander was important to Washington.

“Well,” he choked and cleared his throat, the weight of that rather obvious realisation stifling him. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Washington shook his head and finally set his quill to paper. “Your life was never in the balance, son.”

His life had never been in the balance.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He told John about this, too.

“He killed a man for me,” he repeated when John didn’t say anything after he’d finished his tale.

“Hm.”

“John. He killed a man. For me!”

“You are way too excited about the loss of this human life-”

“So, do you think he would fuck me?” he said, and John groaned and slumped against the wall at their backs, rubbing a hand over his face.

He drew his legs up onto the bed and crossed them, heaving an exaggerated sigh when he saw Alexander’s expectant expression.

“He’s married,” he said, and Alexander snorted.

“And? Aren’t you?”

John pulled a grimace so disgusted, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good God, don’t remind me. But that’s not the point, I mean, you’ve met Martha Washington!”

Alexander raised a challenging eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

“So!” John gestured wildly with one arm, but he had no idea what exactly he was attempting to convey here. He doubted John knew, either. “She’s a wonderful woman, you said you liked her! Would you really want to be complicit in her being cheated on?”

Alexander pursed his lips and thought that over. “I mean… if her husband was willing-”

“Oh, you’re impossible,” John interrupted with a shake of his head and very poorly concealed amusement, and Alexander shifted close and leaned into him, figuring that now that the conversation had pretty much moved to its natural conclusion, they could use the time alone for something else.

“So,” he began and got his knees underneath him, crawling over John and forcing him backwards and down onto the mattress. “If Washington isn’t going to fuck me–are you?”

“Aren’t you romantic today,” he remarked dryly, but still his hands came up to gently smooth over his hips. “But I suppose I could be convinced.”

“Well, then I better get convincing, right?”

“Exactly right,” he said with a grin and undid his breeches.

Weeks passed, and nothing happened.

Which was a bit frustrating, because Alexander was trying his darndest to make something happen; and unfortunately for- well, everyone involved, it was in his nature to strive. To climb.

It was a well-known fact that when something seemed unattainable, Alexander Hamilton would do everything in his power to attain it, and if it fucking killed him.

Washington pulling away from every almost-intimacy they shared and acting like it had never happened the next second was just adding on to his drive, feeding into Alexander’s unbreakable dedication to get himself onto the man’s dick.

The days were bearable, at least. They were always busy during the day, drowning in lists and correspondence, surrounded by the rest of the aides, plunged into friendly chatter or focused silence–the nights, though.

The nights were driving Alexander insane.

It had become impossible to stay focused once the last man left the office. All he could think about was Washington, how he was right there, just a few steps away, how easy it would be for Alexander to get up, bolt the door, and just sit himself in the man’s lap like he belonged there.

No one would know. The nights were just the two of them, the world outside the office fallen away into the abyss, nonexistent until sunrise.

It would be so easy, so perfect, if Washington just cooperated.

But no. Every time Alexander “accidentally” made their fingers brush when he handed him a stack of pages was dismissed as soon as the spark that zapped to life between them had died back down. Every time he leaned in closer than necessary when he showed the General something, and both of them got too distracted to even just keep the conversation going, ignored. Every time Alexander put his thumb to his own lips and pretended to be deep in thought, fully aware of Washington’s gaze clinging to his mouth, brushed off.

The man was just as stubborn as he himself was, and while that was usually appealing to Alexander, right now, he’d had enough.

This was harming his focus, his performance, his overall well-being, John’s sleep schedule–because usually when Alexander retreated to their room after a night of work and senseless cockteasing, he’d wake up John to work out his frustration in a more productive way than shoving his own fingers between his legs–and the General’s and his professional relationship.

This agonising dance had to come to an end soon, or he would snap.

And, well. Alexander Hamilton was a man of action; he was not above taking matters into his own hands.

The door creaked shut behind the last man, and Alexander wasted no time in stalking over and bolting it shut without a word to the General.

He turned back around and approached the man’s desk; he only spared him a brief, not all that interested glance, long used to his shenanigans as he was.

Alexander didn’t mind. He would have his full attention soon enough.

“You want me,” he said without preamble, and Washington slowly raised his gaze from the papers he had been studying to regard him with a blank stare. Alexander swallowed and forced himself not to back down now.

He had fantasised about this for too long already. Fuck, the thought of his General’s huge hands on his body, his muscular frame above him, the thought of his cock that surely was proportionate to the rest of him-

“I will pretend to not know what you mean by that,” he said and lowered his eyes back to the parchment in his hand, and Alexander’s jaw dropped open at that too easy dismissal.

Washington couldn’t tell him he didn’t want this, because he did, Alexander knew he did, he had been desired by enough people to know it when he saw it. The General wanted to bend him over that desk just as much as Alexander wanted to be bent over, he knew it.

“Don’t pretend you’re uninterested,” he said and licked his lips when Washington’s eyes fixed themselves to a specific point on the page and stayed there–he was listening. “I see the way you look at me. You want to know what’s under my uniform. I can show you.”

The man let out a long breath and lowered the paper to his desk. “I know what’s under your uniform, Hamilton. I don’t need a demonstration.”

“Fine,” he ground out, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “But maybe I want to know what’s under your uniform. Would you deny me?”

Washington stood abruptly and leaned over his desk, his shoulders set in a tense line and his palms flat on the table.

“Young man, I am married-”

“She doesn’t need to know. Or maybe she does, I don’t care either way-”

“Alexander Hamilton, you will cease this disrespectful and above all inappropriate behaviour right this instance, and if you’re smart about it, I might find it in myself to forget about this and pretend it never happened, do you understand me?”

The General glared from dangerously narrowed eyes, his jaws clenched so hard the tendons in his neck stood out. There was fire in his eyes, threatening, destructive; doubt flickered to life in the pit of his stomach, a queasy, almost nauseating sensation, and Alexander wondered if he’d truly gotten it all wrong, if Washington didn’t want him like this after all-

And then, almost by accident, his eyes flitted from the General’s furious expression down his body.

His breeches were looking very tight indeed right now.

Alexander swiped his tongue along his bottom lip–a quick experiment to be completely certain–and Washington’s eyes immediately zeroed in on that tiny movement.

He would risk the wager. It was now or never.

“If you want me to behave, Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to teach me how,” he said, his mouth dry.

Washington closed his eyes and hung his head for but a moment before he fixed that blazing gaze back on him.

The energy of the room shifted.

“Come here, Alexander,” he said, and he followed that order without hesitation, as if tugged along by an invisible string.

He was caught in the General’s gravitational pull, bewitched by the golden specks in those dark eyes, and God, he would do anything he asked of him, anything at all.

Alexander stopped next to his desk, and Washington straightened back up. His breath hitched, and he knew Washington noticed–the height difference was just so much more obvious up close, and Alexander had to resist the urge to rub his thighs together and relieve a bit of the delicious ache that was already starting to form between his legs.

He didn’t move an inch. Washington hadn’t told him to.

The General took him by the jaw, rough, strong fingers grabbing onto the bone and tilting his face up without a care, and just the blink of an eye later, unfamiliar lips covered his, and his brain turned into stew instantly.

Alexander could do nothing but stand there and moan helplessly into the kiss as Washington thrust his tongue past parted lips and plundered his mouth like it had always been his, hot and wet and so intense, he thought the only thing that kept him upright was the iron grip Washington had on his chin.

The kiss broke, and Alexander sucked in a few deep breaths. It was like he had been underwater for just a moment too long, and now his lungs strained for the precious air they had been denied.

Washington regarded him with an entirely new kind of fire gleaming from his irises. He gentled the touch on his face, grip slackening until Alexander could have pulled away had he wanted to, and just caressed his jaw for a long moment, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Bend over,” he said with a gesture at the desk and released him.

Alexander’s chest was against the smooth, cool wood of the tabletop in a heartbeat.

“There’s a good boy,” came the approving rumble from behind, followed by a long, appreciative stroke of a broad hand from the small of his back along the curve of his ass, and Alexander was glad the General couldn’t see his violent blush right now. “See? You can listen and obey after all. Who would have thought.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck, he had never wanted to be good this much for anyone before, just- Christ.

“Sir-” he whined even though he had no idea where he was going with that. Luckily, he didn’t have to come up with anything; Washington silenced him with a heavy slap across his ass. Alexander moaned obscenely and was very pleased to note the long exhale of breath he got in response from behind him.

It hadn't really hurt that much, as his breeches were still in the way, but he could also tell that hadn’t been his full strength, and good God, what was it about getting spanked like a naughty child thrown over his father’s knee that made him moan like a whore?

“Maybe I should have done this earlier,” Washington said, words still sure and steady but now also a bit choked, and he had done that. “You seem to quite enjoy disciplinary measures.”

Before Alexander could muster up enough brainpower to answer, the General hit him again. And again, and again, increasing the force behind his blows with every stroke, and soon not even the fabric of his breeches was enough to protect him from the sting and dull throb of every new impact.

The distinct smack of the last hit rang out, but the hand didn’t lift from his ass again. It remained, rubbing back and forth almost soothingly, and was soon joined by the second hand, squeezing his faintly burning ass and feeling him up without shame.

Alexander was panting, his heaving breath creating little spots of condensation on the polished desk, the sweat cooling on his brow.

Having those hands so close to where he needed them but not actually anywhere near there was maddening. His core throbbed with need, and he couldn’t even imagine how heavenly Washington’s thick fingers would feel inside him, how they would stretch him, how far they would reach.

His own fingers were rather slender, and quite honestly, so were John’s compared to Washington’s.

And while he wouldn’t compare cocks, well. John wasn’t small by any means, and he had always felt amazing, so how would the General feel inside him? Would he even fit? God, he was dying to find out.

As if hearing his thoughts, Washington crowded in behind him. He slid his hands up to his hips, holding him steady with seemingly zero effort, and then he pressed his groin up against his ass.

Alexander choked on his own spit when he realised the full dimensions of Washington’s hardness. It was so fucking big and hot against his ass, even through both their breeches and undergarments, and he shifted backwards, gave an experimental twitch of his hips to assess the situation some more–Jesus Christ, he had no idea if he would be able to take that.

He really, really wanted to try, though.

Washington cursed under his breath and rolled his hips, and oh, Alexander could tell he would be really good-

The General bent and draped himself along his back, and Alexander was overwhelmed. Even just the fraction of his weight that was bearing down on him was wonderful, trapping in the best of ways, and the hot breath puffing  against the shell of his ear made him want to roll over and bare his throat, offer himself up for Washington to ravish.

“Alexander,” he murmured into his ear, the deep rumble of his chest right against his back, and his hands slipped from his hips up and along his waistband, down to the front of his breeches. “Did you learn your lesson, son?” 

Alexander blinked the haziness from his eyes. He hadn’t even been aware there was a lesson to be learned here. He opened his mouth, but the General spoke first.

“Just say yes so I can reward you.”

Oh.

Oh, he liked this game they were playing. “Yes, Sir.”

Washington hummed, pleased, and the sensation chased a shiver down his spine.

“Good boy,” he mumbled and put a single kiss to his pulsepoint, fingers trailing teasingly over his crotch. “I’ll take these off now. Yes?” 

“Yes,” he sobbed, and faster than he could comprehend, the weight along his back disappeared, the buttons of his breeches were undone, and the fabric was travelling down his thighs to pool around his ankles.

Washington stepped back, and then- stillness.

Alexander mustered up all his energy to raise his head and peek behind his shoulder, and what he saw made him groan.

Deep, blown-wide eyes raking greedily over his body, the exposed skin of his thighs, his ass, his dripping wet cunt. Despite the intense eroticism of the moment, something ugly and ashamed that made him want to hide himself welled up in Alexander.

It had taken him weeks of gathering courage to show John just his chest, and even longer to let him see- this, and John was his best friend, the person he arguably trusted most on this earth. 

This was his superior, the man who held his future in the palm of his hand, and what if-

What if seeing him like this would make him stop viewing Alexander as a man?

He squirmed on the spot and subtly attempted to shuffle his thighs even closer together so less of him would be exposed, when surprisingly careful hands settled back at his hips, and Washington caught his gaze.

The General didn’t break eye-contact when he slowly bent down until he could press a kiss to the small of his back.

“You’re a beautiful boy, Alexander,” he said, and something within him relaxed. Maybe… this wouldn’t change anything. Maybe Washington, like John, took his word for who he was, and not his body. Maybe he would remain a man in his eyes. “Now. I may be your commander, but you’re allowed- no, expected to say no in this, do you understand? You will not let me proceed if I do something you don’t enjoy.”

Alexander swallowed thickly and nodded his head, but Washington merely cocked a brow. “Is that clear?” he said pointedly.

“Yes, Sir,” he rasped, and that finally made him direct his attention back to doing instead of talking again.

"Good," he mumbled, lips brushing Alexander's heated skin, and he shivered.

Washington kissed a trail from the small of his back, down over one cheek, both his hands cupping his ass and spreading him apart so he had the perfect access to just bury his face between his legs.

Alexander choked on a scream when the first wave of pleasure hit so suddenly after an eternity of nothing.

His knees buckled, and he was glad most of his weight rested on the desk, or else he would have collapsed. He scrambled for purchase, but his sweaty palms slipped over the smooth wood without finding anything to hold on to, so he had no other choice than to dig his fingernails into the wood and hope it wouldn’t leave marks.

Washington licked into him without wasting any more time, going for the offensive immediately–typical–and eating him out like his life depended on it.

Alexander’s mouth hung open, a million tiny sounds stuck in his throat but none of them making it out. Those large hands slipped lower–and God, his fingers spanned the entire back of his thighs, thumbs pressing into the tender skin on the insides, pointers digging into the exact opposite point on the outside–and spread his legs a bit farther, positioned him just to his liking without seemingly any effort on his part.

That alone, this helplessness, being at someone’s mercy so fully and completely, would have been enough to make his stomach flutter under normal circumstances, but then there also was-

The hot, claiming strokes of a skilled tongue, lapping at the wetness between his legs.

His whole body tingled with overwhelming pleasure, a feeling like honey, sugary sweet and thick, radiating out from his core and into his limbs, making his toes curl in his boots.

Washington licked at his folds and curled his tongue into his entrance, and Alexander bit down on the heel of his hand to stifle most of the pitiful wail that broke from his throat.

“Sir-” he whimpered, his forehead sticking to the desk, and clawed weakly at the wood when the General let out a low hum that caused almost unbearable vibrations against his oversensitive cunt. “Oh, my God.”

His thighs trembled within the unyielding grip of strong hands, and the pressure behind his navel built, climbing higher with every well-placed stroke of his commander’s tongue- and with a sudden flash, Alexander realised that General Washington, head of their entire military force, was on his knees right now.

For him.

The pleasure came to a head, and Alexander whimpered helplessly into the desk when his orgasm hit like a cannonball and flung him off the peak he had been hurtling towards.

Washington worked him through it, slowing his laps when Alexander’s arched back slumped, and eventually pulling off entirely.

Alexander remained boneless and limp on top of the desk when the General stood. His heaving breaths calmed with every moment that passed by, and Washington placed a steadying hand low on his back, rubbing gently.

“Are you alright, son?” he asked, nothing but a slight hitch in his voice suggesting that he’d just been on his knees eating him out like he had never done anything else in life until he’d come on his face.

“What a-” he paused to gasp in a deep breath. “stupid question. Yes, Sir, fuck, thank you, Sir, that- fuck.”

Washington snorted a laugh, and Alexander did his best to get his weak arms underneath his body and lift himself back up from the desk. He managed to rise into a standing position, even though his legs were still trembling with the aftershocks of that mind-blowing orgasm, and turned to face the General with some difficulty, leaning on the table all the while.

The man regarded him with a raised brow–and fire in his eyes.

Alexander bit his lip and let his eyes flicker down to where Washington’s significant hardness was trapped by the tough fabric of his breeches.

“I think you should fuck me, Sir,” he said, point blank, and an almost surprised laugh burst from the other man.

“Well, I disagree,” Washington said, some of the golden heat in his eyes overtaken by amusement, and Alexander’s mouth dropped open.

No, he had to. What had he just done that for if he had no intention to let him have his cock?

“But-”

“No ‘but’,” he cut in with a dismissive flick of his wrist, and Alexander shut his mouth, chewing on the many ‘but’s already on his tongue. “This was enough for the time being.”

The time being? It would happen again, then. Washington would fuck him, he had to.

“...you’re still hard,” he said with a flutter of his eyelashes, and when that got him no reaction, he reached out and boldly cupped his palm to the bulge in his breeches.

Washington hissed out a breath but didn’t move away, didn’t even reprimand him, so Alexander rubbed his hand up and down, thumbing over the head.

He already felt so big just having him in his palm like this. God, he couldn’t wait to take him.

“I could help with that, you know?”

Washington blew out a strained breath, and Alexander grinned up at him, moaning quietly when the General reached out himself and grabbed him by the chin just as he had before.

“And here I was, thinking you had learned something from your punishment,” he muttered darkly and dragged his thumb along his bottom lip, flicking the tip past his parted lips for just a second. Alexander chased the retreating digit with his tongue, and Washington’s pupils dilated.

“It’s not really a punishment if I enjoy it,” he shot back, and the General made a sound like a snort at the back of his throat.

“Don’t always try to have the last word. It’s unbecoming.”

“Yes, father,” he said with a roll of his eyes, but then he shrugged his shoulders and flashed a grin. “Perhaps you could find some better uses for my mouth?”

The grip on his chin tightened, and a deep growl tore from Washington’s chest.

“You’re an impossible boy,” he snarled. It wasn’t meant as a compliment, but Alexander chose to take it as one, anyway.

Washington forced him to his knees, then, and made him take it.

His jaw and throat would without a doubt ache for all of tomorrow, but goddamn, was it worth it.

The first thing he did after he’d stumbled back to their room was, of course, tell John about it.

All he received in return for almost a full minute was a disbelieving stare.

“Washington,” he said, finally, his brow creased. “The General. The man who hadn’t even so much as cracked a smile for the first two months either of us knew him… bent you over his desk and ate you out.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alexander was still flying high on a successful seduction and the ensuing orgasm, so he nodded his head anyway, grinning from ear to ear.

John rubbed a hand along the bottom half of his face, letting it come to rest over his mouth, and regarded him with the demeanour of a man who hadn’t had a good night’s rest in seventeen years.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed with your dedication or horrified that our superior was so easily convinced to engage in sexual activities with his vulnerable employee who is literally half his age.”

Alexander’s mouth dropped open with immediate offence, and he crossed his arms and crowded into John’s space.

“Easily convinced?” he echoed, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Easily fucking convinced, he says. You don’t know half of the lengths I went to, Laurens, this took weeks, and he also almost threw me out earlier when I propositioned him, nothing about this was easy-”

“I can’t believe that is the only thing you took from that,” John interrupted with a shake of his head and a tired sigh that was quickly replaced by a tired smile. “Alright then, any notes you’re dying to share?”

Alexander vented the last of his indignation with a haughty breath huffed, but found back to his initial good humour almost immediately.

“He’s better than you with his mouth,” he said unapologetically, and John threw his hands up in defeat.

“Well, excuse me. I would like to remind you that we’re talking about a man in his forties here who also has a wife to practise on!”

Surprised laughter struggled out of his throat, and he took a moment to calm his giggles before he said, “John. I would like to remind you that you also very much have a wife.”

“How could I ever forget with the amount of times you insist on bringing it up,” he huffed, but his mildly annoyed expression softened the next second, and he reached out to ruffle a hand through Alexander’s hair. “Promise me you’ll be careful, though? I don’t want to see you hurt, and I don’t want to see you used.”

He sobered. “I’m always careful, John. I have to be.”

John shot him a saddened smile, and that was that. They went to sleep after with little more words exchanged.

Chapter Text

Alexander’s expectations were not disappointed–most nights, within minutes of them being left on their own, he would lay down his quill and bolt the door, met by not a single syllable of complaint from the General.

Washington needed less convincing with every time it happened, so exactly one week after the night of their first encounter, Alexander had become emboldened enough to just approach him and perch himself atop the man’s powerful thighs like he had daydreamed of doing for so many nights spent in the office by candlelight.

The General had leaned back in his sturdy chair and regarded him without uttering a word, the corner of his mouth quirked up in faint amusement, and one broad hand had come to rest heavily at the small of his back.

And that was how they had ended up like this; Washington as relaxed as he could be, reclining fully dressed in his chair with Alexander a writhing, whining, and sweating mess in his lap, his breeches shoved just far enough down his thighs to expose his cunt, two thick fingers sliding lazily in and out of him, over and over until he could hardly take it any longer.

Washington loved this, he had learned over the past week. Loved riling him up, loved teasing him, loved denying him.

Loved taking him apart with his fingers and tongue, but never giving him what he truly craved.

“Sir, please,” he gasped for perhaps the hundredth time that night, his head resting heavily on Washington’s shoulder, fingers hooked into the top of his waistcoat, holding on for dear life.

His chest rumbled with a low hum, and he twisted his fingers inside him, shoved them in as deep as they could go, drew them out again with care. Alexander moaned helplessly, trying in vain to spread his legs and give him better access, thwarted by his own breeches binding his thighs together.

Just two of his thick fingers were- God.

Alexander felt full. Not yet stretched, but he suspected that would change if the General were to introduce a third finger.

“Sir,” he tried yet again in his desperation and gave a solid tug on the man’s waistcoat; he was rewarded by a sharp smack to his asscheek, delivered quite viciously by Washington’s free hand.

He let out a high whine, the sudden sting only enhancing the torturous drag of those fingers inside him, and Washington’s breath hitched against the top of his head. Alexander didn’t even have it in him to celebrate that small victory, he was so desperate for anything at this point.

“Don’t, Alexander. If you want something, use your words. Lord knows you have enough of those,” Washington muttered and crooked his fingers inside him, and Alexander’s mouth dropped open even though no sound spilled from it.

This was- good. So good–Washington was solid and strong underneath him, and Alexander’s whole body thrummed with pleasure, the fire inside him grew and licked at his skin with every rapid beat of his heart, but-

It wasn’t enough.

“Please, I want to cum,” he said and twitched his hips down in an attempt to coax those fingers deeper again, but the hand that had just slapped him clamped down around his thigh and held him still without mercy.

“So?” Washington said mildly and pulled his fingers from his body, leaving him empty for the first time in what had to have been at least thirty minutes, and Alexander whimpered, burying his face against the General’s collarbone. Wet fingers trailed along his folds, the sensation feathery, barely there at all, and Alexander shuddered, moaning weakly. “And what’s stopping you?”

Oh, he was mean. A cruel, mean man- it made him clench down around nothing, his core throbbing with need.

“Oh, you know exactly-” he hissed, only to be silenced immediately by two rapidfire swats to his ass.

“Mind your manners, young man,” he said, seemingly unaffected by the situation at large. His fingers inched higher, ghosted over his swollen clit, and Alexander’s mouth hung open in a silent groan.

“Yes, f-” he bit down hard on his tongue. “Sir.”

The almost slipup went unaddressed, and Alexander could just so stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief. A sarcastic father here and there while they were exchanging good-natured jabs was an entirely different thing from straight up calling him that in the middle of actual sex, and Alexander did not want to go there, not at all.

“Please, just- this isn’t enough. Please, you know you’re teasing me, I can’t-”

“You can’t?” Washington mused and, after a beat of silence, withdrew his fingers entirely. His cunt tingled painfully, neglected and untouched between his legs, and Alexander didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just fuck him. “You’re dissatisfied with my performance.”

He groaned in frustration and leaned back by a bit to glare up into the man’s blown wide eyes. “That’s not-”

“So,” Washington interrupted him easily, as if he hadn’t been speaking at all, and his casual disregard of Alexander’s person stoked the flames behind his navel higher, to his absolute dismay. “I suppose you’ll just have to do it yourself, then. Take your breeches off all the way.”

Alexander blinked, his mouth still open from his cut off protest, and he let out a shuddering breath before he forced himself up onto weak legs to rid himself of his boots and breeches.

Washington watched from bottomless eyes, the desire sparking from them and the hard cock trapped within the constraints of his breeches the only things that betrayed his interest in the proceedings.

“Sir? What- what now?” he said, and later he would be annoyed at how meek he sounded, but right now–it added to this scene. Alexander, powerless and off-balance, standing before his fully dressed commander in only his shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat, awaiting the next instruction.

Washington took his sweet time before he answered, letting his eyes sweep over his entire form until they arrived at his face again.

Their gazes locked, and the heat of the room tripled.

“Up on the desk,” he ordered, and Alexander shuffled backwards and hopped up onto the desk without breaking eye-contact. “Good. Now, spread your legs for me. Feet on the desk.”

Alexander’s breath stuck in his throat, and his heart stumbled over itself in his chest before picking up speed and almost bursting through his ribcage. He drew his trembling legs up to his chest and planted his heels on the edge of the desk, the cool wood digging into the soles of his feet.

“Go on,” Washington said, breathless. His elbow was braced on the armrest of the chair, his chin resting casually on his loose fist, and he watched him like he was the only person in the world worth watching.

Lord have mercy.

Alexander swallowed thickly and braced his hands behind him on the desk, moving his feet apart along the edge until all of him was exposed to the dim room–and, more importantly, to the hungry eyes of his General.

Washington exhaled a long, deliberate breath and lowered a hand to his crotch to readjust himself in his breeches. A quiet groan broke from his throat, the first one of the night, and Alexander longed to breathe it in, swallow it down.

“Good boy,” he rasped in a deliciously low voice, almost a growl. “Touch yourself, Alexander. Come on, show me how you make yourself cum.”

Good God.

Alexander moaned, a sound of nothing but desperation, and reached a hand between his legs at once. Washington’s eyes followed his every move, glued to where his fingers rubbed at his sensitive clit. He threw his head back and forced down a whimper, his hips bucking into his own hand when he was finally granted some relief, but he forced his head up again, refusing to miss his commander’s reactions.

He was not disappointed.

The General watched him with hooded eyes, his breath becoming heavier by the second. One broad hand covered his crotch and stroked himself through his breeches, palm leisurely sliding up and down his impressive bulge.

“Just like that, Alexander, you’re being so good,” he breathed, still rubbing himself, and Alexander’s thighs twitched involuntarily, his back arched, hips stuttered forward–his whole body reacted to the praise, and Washington groaned quietly, because of course he noticed.

Alexander slipped his hand farther down, dragged his fingers through the dripping wetness between his legs, but couldn’t take putting on much more of a show; he shoved two fingers into himself–nowhere near as good as two of Washington’s fingers, but it would do–and thumbed at his clit, unable to hold any of his sounds back now.

Moans spilled from his lips in abundance as his hips rocked down into his hand and he brought himself closer and closer to the edge.

And Washington watched. His blazing eyes left a trail on his bare skin like his hands might have done. Alexander could feel them on him, scalding, consuming.

“Sir. Oh, God, Sir,” he gasped, and suddenly, their eyes met.

It was like two galaxies colliding.

“Fuck, Alexander,” he growled and bucked up into his own hand, and he moaned shamelessly at hearing him cuss like that, at having made him cuss like that. “Goddamn- come back here.”

Alexander slowed his movements and blinked his eyes in confusion, not quite comprehending that order. “I- what?”

“Come here, son,” he repeated and stretched an arm out to him, still relaxed back against his chair, trusting him to obey his every word. And goddamn, Alexander did.

He dropped from the table and back to his feet, his weak knees almost buckling under his own weight. Thankfully there were only two steps of distance to cross between him and the General, and he stumbled over, ready to do whatever he asked of him.

Washington patted his own thigh with a low, “Sit.”

Alexander turned himself slightly when he made to sit down, assuming he wanted him back in the position they’d started out in, but Washington tutted and shook his head.

“One leg on either side. Come on, sweetheart,” he said and tapped his thigh again, and Alexander’s face burned at both the unexpected pet name and the order itself.

He lowered himself to straddle Washington’s strong thigh, his cunt pressed up right against the fabric of his breeches, his cheeks on fire.

“Look at you,” he rumbled and reached out to stroke a thumb over one heated cheek. “Aren’t you precious?”

Alexander ducked his head, in equal parts embarrassed, aroused, and embarrassed to be so aroused. “What, um. Sir?” he said, quiet and meek, a bit out of his depth here.

Washington chuckled and grabbed hold of his hips, tilting them forward before moving them back again, and Alexander gasped at the unfamiliar but stimulating sensation against his core.

“You are a clever boy, Alexander,” he said and raised his leg up by a bit, ensuring Alexander’s crotch was pressed up against it as much as physically possible. “I’m sure you can figure out what to do now.”

Oh.

Did he- was he telling him to ride his thigh? Get himself off, humping his leg like a dog?

The pressure in the pit of his stomach intensified, and his breath hitched with it.

Alexander let out a thin chuckle and gave an experimental twitch of his hips, biting his lip to stifle a moan at how unexpectedly good the drag of rough fabric covering solid muscle felt against his cunt.

Washington made an approving hum, one hand resting possessively on Alexander’s bare thigh.

“I’m going to ruin your breeches, Sir,” he croaked and repeated the motion, moaning at both the stimulation and the low laugh that made Washington’s chest rumble.

“A small price to pay for a view like this,” he said, and Alexander dropped his sweaty forehead to his shoulder, whining when he forced himself to let go of his inhibitions and rutted against his superior’s thigh without shame.

He braced one hand on his chest and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, clinging to Washington as he rode his leg.

“Oh, perfect,” the General murmured against the shell of his ear, hot breath tingling along his neck. “You’re such a good, obedient boy, Alexander. Can you go faster for me?”

Alexander let out a desperate groan against his shoulder and sped up the rocking motion of his hips without thinking about it, wanting to be good, to be obedient, to be perfect for his General.

Washington hissed out a breath against his ear and slid the hand from his thigh up to grasp his hip; not guiding, just holding, and Alexander sobbed and ground down hard, rubbing his clit against the fabric, damp with his own juices. The sparks shot from between his legs through his whole body, every fibre of himself tingling with electricity, vibrating with pleasure. His bare toes curled as his back stiffened and his thrust became increasingly uncoordinated, but he didn’t slow down. Maybe even sped up a bit more, desperately chasing his peak.

“Just like that, sweet boy,” Washington said, his voice thick, and Alexander couldn’t help but mewl at the pet name even though some corner of his lust-addled mind knew he would hate himself for it later. The General groaned into his ear in response, and his hips stuttered when that threw another log into the inferno tearing him apart from within. “You make the sweetest noises, you know that? My beautiful, clever boy.”

Oh, God.

“Yours,” Alexander choked, and the fingers clutching his hip tightened suddenly, dug into his flesh as a deep growl broke from Washington’s throat. He gripped Alexander’s hand resting over where his heart hammered away beneath layers of clothes, thick fingers wrapping easily around his wrist, and guided it down.

His palm was placed over hard, heated flesh straining against fabric, Washington’s fingers covering his, holding his hand in place, and Alexander struggled to raise his head just to be able to appreciate the visual of both their hands joined on top of the General’s cock.

“Sir,” he breathed. He sounded entirely out of it even to himself, and he didn’t mind one bit.

Washington cursed under his breath when Alexander moved his hand, rubbed him through his breeches as he rode his thigh.

The hand clamped around his hip disappeared, but before he could mourn its loss, it grabbed him around the nape instead and yanked him into a bruising kiss. He groaned into Washington’s mouth and let his tongue claim his without a fight, too focused on the continued movement of both his hips and his hand.

“Are you close, Alexander?” he mumbled into the tiny space between them once they’d pulled apart, pressing their sweaty foreheads together. A shiver chased down his spine, and he ground his hips in little circles on the man’s leg.

“Y- yes, Sir,” he said, stumbling over just the two words.

“Good. I want you to cum on my leg like a bitch in heat,” he said, and that alone was almost enough to shove him over the edge. He whimpered quietly, the shame burning high in his cheeks and hot in his stomach. “Mhh, you like that? Being my little bitch? My good boy?”

“Yes,” he sobbed and broke away, pressed his forehead back to his shoulder as he rutted on the General’s thigh, desperate to finish himself off.

Washington hummed, his voice controlled even as he thrust his hips up into Alexander’s palm, chasing his own release.

“Of course you do.” He put an almost gentle kiss to his temple and nosed into his sweat-damp hair, breathing him in. “Cum for me, son. Cum for me, now.”

Alexander stilled abruptly, his twitching cunt pressed to his commander’s thigh and his own strained thighs trembling on either side of his leg when Washington’s order severed the single thread he had been holding on by.

His orgasm punched the breath from his lungs, and he clung to his General, moaning, sobbing, gasping for air, his whole body stiff as he trembled through the unbearable pleasure of a hard earned peak. Washington ground his leg up against him and worked him through it, his fingers tight around his nape, murmuring to him how good he was, his perfect boy, and by the time the tension had seeped from Alexander's muscles and he rested limp on top of the man, Washington had let go of his hand, allowed him to pull it back.

“Are you alright, Alexander?” he said and stroked a hand through his hair, and Alexander nodded, his eyes still teary against Washington’s shoulder. 

“Yes, Sir,” he breathed.

“Mh. Good,” he said, and then, “On your knees, then. Mouth open.”

Alexander moaned weakly, his bones heavy with exhaustion, but worked to obey at once.

His legs shook when he climbed off the General’s lap, but luckily he wasn’t required to stand; he dropped to his knees, overly aware of the wetness between his legs, clinging to the inside of his thighs and cooling rapidly now that it was exposed to the room.

Something in Washington’s eyes shone golden when he regarded him from up in his chair, soaking in the sight of Alexander kneeling before him, his own eyes probably red-rimmed, tears still clinging to his lashes, and he found himself captivated yet again.

Alexander was tired enough to drop, but that wouldn’t stop him from doing everything Washington asked of him to the best of his abilities.

The General popped the buttons of his breeches open without taking his eyes off him and pulled his impressive cock free with a quiet breath of relief.

Alexander’s gaze dropped from his face to his cock immediately, and he licked his lips. It stood thick and painfully hard in front of his face, the reddened head glistening with precum, and heaven help him, he wanted it in him so badly.

Washington tutted from above, and Alexander glanced up to be presented with a distinctly amused but still disapproving half frown. He swallowed.

“Didn’t I tell you to open your mouth?”

Alexander’s jaw dropped without even a second of delay, and he stuck his tongue out, knowing what the General liked by now.

“There’s a good boy,” he said with a faint grin and threaded his fingers into Alexander’s mussed up hair.

Washington yanked him forward and down onto his cock without warning or any time to prepare, and Alexander choked and sputtered when he thrust deep immediately, gave him not a single moment to adjust–his core throbbed, and he could feel himself growing wet yet again.

He was careful to keep his teeth out of the way and tried to open his throat, but Washington’s quick, deep, unpredictable thrusts made it difficult to do anything at all. Alexander relaxed in his commander’s hold and focused on the salty taste of the hot flesh on his tongue, the way it filled his mouth, nudged at his throat, stretched his lips–the slight ache settling in his jaw after barely even a minute of this yet.

Washington forced his head down again and again, and Alexander choked every single time his thick cock thrust past the opening of his throat; not that he seemed to mind, if the way his fingers tightened in his hair was anything to go by.

“Eyes on me,” he snapped, and Alexander ripped his eyes open, not sure when he had closed them in the first place, and peered up at Washington, blinking a few times to clear his vision. His cheeks were wet all of a sudden–huh. “Christ.”

The General pulled him off abruptly but didn’t let go of his hair, and Alexander coughed and sputtered, gulping in deep breaths of air.

“Keep your mouth open,” he instructed, and Alexander did, sat there on his knees with his mouth open and tongue out, chest heaving, as Washington’s own hand worked over his cock.

It only took a few strokes, and then he was cumming with a grunt, covering his face in rope after rope of hot cum. Alexander only closed his mouth and swallowed what had landed on his tongue after the General’s quiet sigh had rung out and he had slumped back against his chair.

Washington tucked himself away and then turned his gaze to Alexander, still on the ground, his face covered in semen, sweat, and tears; not for the first time that week. He had taken a liking to finishing on his face, and Alexander really couldn’t complain.

The General patted his thigh without a word, but it was obvious what he expected of Alexander.

He struggled back to his feet, knees aching from his time on the floor and still wobbly and weak with exhaustion, and dropped heavily into his commander’s lap, one shoulder to him, the other facing the room.

Washington remained silent as he inspected every streak of cum slowly cooling and dripping down his face individually, and then, he raised a hand to his chin and swiped his thumb through the mess, pressing it past his lips without hesitation.

Alexander licked it clean happily, relishing in the salty bitterness on his tongue.

When Washington had looked his fill, he pulled a pure white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Alexander’s face with care, seemingly not giving half a shit that he would have to throw that thing away after this.

“You did well, Alexander,” he said, voice quiet and low, and a tranquil happiness unfurled in the abandoned space where need had smouldered away for the entire night.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said and leaned his head to his shoulder. Usually he wouldn’t allow himself such an intimacy after the sexual part of their encounter was over, but fatigue made his limbs heavy, and he needed a moment tonight.

Washington didn’t seem to mind, anyway. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer still, his other hand coming to rest on his bare thigh, thumb drawing absentminded patterns.

“Rest if you need to, son,” he mumbled against the crown of his head. “You were so perfect for me tonight, you deserve it."

Alexander hid a smile against his shoulder and let his eyes slip shut, warm and happy and safe–and perfect.

Washington still hadn’t fucked him yet, and Alexander couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He asked for it often enough–near every night–so it wasn’t that the General thought he wasn’t interested. No, the man knew exactly just how interested Alexander was, and yet, he kept denying him without a single reason stated.

He complained about this to John, of course.

“I just don’t understand him, he knows that’s what I want, but- do you think he doesn’t want me?” he said and snapped up into a sitting position from where he’d been sprawled out on the bed, turning to face John, who sat opposite him on his own bed, one leg folded up onto the mattress and covered by one of his shirts.

He was sewing up a hole right now, which was why their conversation had been rather one-sided these past few minutes.

John glanced up at him and blew a stray curl of dark hair out of his eyes.

“Considering all the things he does to you behind closed doors–all of which I have learned about against my will, by the way–I truly doubt he is uninterested,” he said and flickered his eyes back down to his needle and thread.

Alexander bit his lip and heaved a sigh.

It was a ridiculous fear to have, but still, he couldn’t help it sometimes. Of course he knew that Washington wasn’t… repulsed by him. The way he reacted to him, the way he treated him, spoke volumes, but why then-

“Why doesn’t he want to fuck me, then? I don’t get it,” he said and dropped back down to the mattress, his gaze sliding along the nondescript wooden ceiling before finding John again.

He cracked a small smile at the focused expression on his face–he had come a long way with that. Alexander thought back fondly to the evenings and nights spent teaching John all the basic skills his upper class upbringing and many boarding schools hadn’t covered, but which had been ingrained into himself since earliest childhood.

John hummed, but didn’t say anything for a few long moments. Just as Alexander assumed he would be left without an answer, he said, “Maybe he thinks you’re a virgin.”

He snapped back upright with such force he almost catapulted himself off the bed.

“What?” he hissed from between clenched teeth and went on when John merely shrugged his shoulders. “A virgin? If that is what he thinks, he truly isn’t being a gentleman about it with all the things he’s made me do, oh, you don’t even know the half of it-”

John ripped his gaze away from the garment in his grasp and turned borderline terrified eyes on him.

“All the shit you’ve told me isn’t even the half of it?” he said, and Alexander barked a laugh.

“I think you would stop respecting me if I told you everything,” he said, and John turned away with a shake of his head.

“Wonderful.” He set two more stitches, and Alexander watched in silence. “But maybe that’s where he draws the line. I wouldn’t necessarily want to fuck a virgin, either.”

He snorted. “You fucked me.”

The needle slipped, glinting in the dim light.

“Ow, shit-” John yanked his hand back and set aside the shirt, the needle still speared through the fabric, to lick the tiny bead of blood off his finger. “I’m sorry,  what was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said and tipped himself over to lay on his side, tucking his elbow underneath his head.

John stared at him like he had just admitted to being a British spy, and Alexander rolled his eyes; he had always been sentimental, and he should have known he would take issue with this–rather obvious, in Alexander’s opinion, because who else could have come before him–revelation.

John, for all his talk and jokes, was a gentle lover. Nothing like Washington. He kissed him when they fucked, and he liked it when Alexander wrapped his legs around his waist, when he clung to him and held him close. That was just the way he was, and Alexander was happy to indulge him, because he loved John.

“Goddamn, Alex,” he muttered and averted his gaze, blew out a low sigh. “Could’ve said something.”

“Uhuh,” he said and raised an eyebrow, and John glanced back at him, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tiny smile he was obviously trying to suppress. “Do you not realise that you’re already the most sentimental bitch on this planet? I shudder to think what sappy horrors you would have subjected me to had you known.”

John huffed, haughty. “I do apologise. Would you prefer I slapped you around in the future?”

“No,” Alexander said and rolled onto his back, glancing over at John from the corner of his eye. “That’s what I have Washington for. You two balance each other out decently, I’d say.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, and Alexander snorted a laugh that turned into a sigh halfway through.

“I still don’t know what to actually do about Washington, though. I’m going insane, do you know how painful it is to have such a perfect cock in front of you, but you’re not allowed to sit on it?”

“We’ve been over this,” John said with a deep sigh. “You need to stop describing this man’s cock to me. He’s my boss, you know. I can barely look him in the eyes now as is.”

“John. I need you to understand that your suffering here is not nearly as great as mine.”

He sorted with a slight shake of his head. “You’re impossible. Anyway, have you perhaps considered asking him why he’s torturing you so, instead of me? Because, and I don’t know how much clearer I can possibly make this, I have no fucking idea why he’s doing what he’s doing. I don’t even particularly like what he’s doing, but you’re already aware of that. So please, for both our sakes, just ask him. I’m begging you.”

“Fine,” Alexander said with a dramatic wave of his arm. “I’m asking him. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Lucky me,” John replied dryly, attempting to seem annoyed–an attempt that thoroughly failed when he couldn’t keep himself from smiling at least a little bit in response to the cheeky grin Alexander shot him.

Alexander pushed the door to the office open and, finding it empty except for the General, bolted it. He had been sent out to deliver multiple messages earlier that day and returned long after nightfall, but he wouldn’t complain. That was his job, after all. And at least he’d gotten a dramatic entrance out of it.

Washington glanced up at the sound of the door latching.

Their eyes met, and the air grew heavy.

“Why are you refusing to fuck me?” Alexander demanded, and Washington’s brows inched up his forehead. He made a quiet sound like a snort and directed his attention back to the papers in front of him.

“A good evening to you, too. Your journey was agreeable, I hope?”

Alexander huffed out a breath and stalked across the room, boldly placing his hand on the parchment in front of the General as he leaned over his desk and waited for him to return his gaze. Washington contemplated his hand for a few moments, perhaps wondering when Alexander had acquired the sheer nerve to be so brazen, before he folded one arm on the tabletop, his other hand balled into a fist at the corner of his jaw, and his eyes ticked up to meet his.

They were darker than usual–maybe he was already coming up with punishments for Alexander’s behaviour as the transgression was occurring.

“Do you think I’m a virgin? Is that it? Because I assure you, I am not.”

The man honest to God chuckled at that, all low and delicious, and Alexander stomped out the tiny flame that flickered to life in his abdomen.

“Oh, I know you’re not a virgin, son. I’ve had virgins, and trust me when I say it is a very different kind of experience,” he said, and Alexander’s mouth was dry all of a sudden. He’d… had virgins.

Well. It must have been a very different kind of experience for them as well to have Washington be the one to-

Yeah, he wasn’t going to contemplate this any longer.

He swallowed and wet his lips; the faint heat in his stomach sparked back up when Washington’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue, but he shook it off yet again.

“Fine. Are you afraid you’ll get me pregnant, then? Because I don’t think I even can get pregnant, I don’t really get any bleedings, you see, and John fucks me all the time and he’s never gotten me pregnant, anyway-”

“As fascinating as all of this is,” Washington cut in, his free hand raised in the universal gesture for keep your mouth shut. “That is also of little concern to me–I don’t think I could get you pregnant either. As far as I’m aware, it has never happened before. Also, that- the absence of an, ah, cycle doesn’t seem healthy.”

Alexander blinked, hit over the head by the sudden realisation that the General had no biological children to speak of; very unusual for a married man his age. Huh. So even if Alexander had the ability to get pregnant, he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

And then, the other thing he’d said registered with him.

He scoffed. “Yes, Sir, I shall seek medical attention straight away,” he said, heavy with sarcasm, and Washington cocked a brow.

“Watch your tone, young man.”

“Yes, father,” he shot back immediately, and Washington gave a barely there roll of his eyes.

In truth, the extreme irregularity of his bleedings hadn’t worried him in years. There wasn’t a lot of written word to find on the topic, obviously, but he suspected from what he’d heard from women who had grown up in similar circumstances as himself that him pretty much starving from ages twelve to nineteen might have something to do with it.

Honestly, whatever had caused this, he was thankful for it. One less thing to worry about.

“Also–John Laurens?” he said, and Alexander was ripped back into reality.

“What?”

“John Laurens,” he repeated. “He’s the John you- engage with?”

Alexander snorted a laugh, beyond amused at this stilted language after all the abhorrent, filthy shit this man had whispered to him as he was fucking him on his fingers or choking him on his dick.

“Yeah,” he said with a half shrug, figuring it was only fair to tell the General about John and himself after he had spent a good amount of time describing–in great detail–what Washington’s cock was like to John. Nevermind that he hadn’t asked him to; sometimes Alexander just talked, and whoever was near had to deal with it.

Washington leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze leisurely travelling up and down his body.

“Hm,” he said, a bemused quirk to his lips. “And yet, you insist on bothering me as well. Is one man not enough for you? You’re truly insatiable, Alexander.”

“I’m seldom satisfied, Sir,” he said and took a step backwards and away from the desk, crossing his arms as well. “Like right now. You never answered my question.”

“Why I’m refusing, as you put it, to fuck you?” he said, all businesslike, and Alexander shifted his weight, his patience dwindling by the second.

“Yes, Sir, if you would enlighten me-”

“Well,” he said and gave him another quick once-over, and Alexander did his darndest not to squirm under the scrutiny of those burning eyes. “You’re… small. I wouldn’t want to break you.”

Alexander’s mouth dropped open, and his arms fell back to his sides. Washington forced the mischievous grin from his features and made to return to his papers, but Alexander lurched forward and swept them aside.

“You think I couldn’t take it?” he bit out, never one to back down from any challenge–and never one to take it lightly when his abilities in anything were questioned.

“That’s what I think,” he responded levely, and Alexander had to muster up all his self-control to keep himself from clambering over the desk and throwing himself into the man’s lap.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to prove it to you, won’t I?”

“Is that what you suppose?” he said, eyes growing darker and darker around the golden accents highlighted by the flame of the hearth.

“Yes, Sir,” he ground out, his own eyes narrowed, stomach churning in the face of Washington’s relentless teasing.

“Fine. Strip.” He relaxed back into his chair and watched him with a faint grin curling his lips, and Alexander tore himself away from the desk. He ripped his coat from his shoulders and made quick work of ridding himself of both his waistcoat and shirt, dropping the garments to the floor haphazardly. 

The intense eye-contact didn’t break once, even though this was the first time he was bare-chested around Washington, but the man barely seemed to take notice. His smouldering gaze was fixed to his face, and his stomach twisted with it.

Boots, breeches, and undergarments joined the pile of clothes on the floor, and there he stood, completely naked, chest heaving, in front of his commander; who had yet to lose a single piece of clothing.

He swallowed, somehow hotter without his clothes on than he had been with them.

The only thing Washington did was tilt his head to the side and jut his chin out in the direction of the desk, and that was all it needed for Alexander to step around it and lift himself up to sit on the table, legs spread just enough for the General to catch a glimpse of him.

They remained motionless for a few too quick heartbeats, and then Washington stood. He stepped into the space between his legs with slow, deliberate movements, gently taking him by the knees and spreading them farther apart to make room, and Alexander’s breath hitched in his throat, gooseflesh chasing up his thighs at the soft caress of those fingers. Washington towered above him, face inexpressive, Alexander’s legs spread to accommodate his powerful frame, and-

He could see what he meant now.

He was small. He felt small.

And he was embarrassingly wet.

Washington’s wandering fingers trailed up his thighs until they arrived where he needed them. Of course the General wasn’t about to make it easy for him, though, because when was he ever?

He let out a shuddering breath when Washington brushed his thumb over his clit, light and feathery.

Alexander attempted to glare up at the man, but Washington just regarded him with an infuriating smirk and slipped the tips of his fingers inside his cunt, and he couldn’t bite back his desperate moan, much to his chagrin.

“Lay back, son,” he muttered, and despite Alexander’s generally sour attitude, he scrambled to obey.

He braced his elbows on the desk behind himself and stared up at Washington, taking in the appreciative sweep of the entire length of his body, before the General dropped to his knees without another word, grabbed him around the thighs, and yanked him toward the edge of the desk with astonishing ease.

His surprised yelp turned into a too loud moan at once when Washington, apparently done with wasting any more time, buried his face between his legs, licking and sucking at his clit as he shoved two fingers into his cunt without preamble, crooking them straight away.

Stars exploded across the canvas of his screwed shut eyelids, and Alexander had to choke down an overwhelmed scream.

He thrust his fingers in and out of his dripping core with sure, quick movements, the slightest hint of teeth grazing the sensitive skin around his clit, his hot breath and even hotter tongue making Alexander’s eyes roll back into his head.

Washington didn’t let up, and Alexander’s thighs trembled where the man had thrown them over his broad shoulders. A third finger slipped in beside the two already plunging into him, and Alexander whimpered, the added stretch, the fullness, enhancing the torturous, slick heat of the General’s tongue flicking over his clit again and again.

The pleasure built way too quickly, he was being chased towards the edge, hunted, held underwater, his head pushed beneath he surface and he couldn’t fucking breathe-

The tight cluster of intense pleasure nestled behind his navel exploded suddenly, without warning, and a shockwave tore through Alexander that set his whole body alight.

His vision whited out and his ears rang, and for a beyond disorienting second, he wasn’t sure what was up and what was down.

The body keeping his legs spread shifted, and he couldn’t help but wince when the fingers slipped from his body.

Alexander pried his eyes open with difficulty, gulping in desperate lungfuls of air and still feeling out of breath, and peered up at Washington, who had gotten back to his feet.

Washington watched him with an odd mixture of smugness–of fucking course–and desire, eyes gleaming golden.

“What the fuck,” Alexander choked out between heaving breaths. “was that all about.”

Washington shrugged his shoulders as if he hadn’t just given him the quickest and most intense orgasm of his life twenty seconds ago, broad hands sliding up and down his still twitching thighs as if they couldn’t bear to leave his body for just a fraction of a moment.

“I want you as loose and slick as possible. Thought I would help it along,” he said, and Alexander would have laughed had he not still been reeling from whatever that man had just done to him.

“Great,” he wheezed. “Are you going to finally fuck me now, or what?”

“Hm. Ask me nicely,” he said, judging by the mischievous spark in his eyes, fully aware of just how much of a nuisance he was being.

He huffed out an irritated breath and, putting on the most scalding glare he could muster under the current circumstances, said, “Please, Sir. Please fuck me.”

Washington hummed a contemplative sound, pretending to think about it. "I think you can do better than that. All the words in that pretty little head of yours, and you can't come up with more than please?"

His eyes narrowed as Washington’s grin widened.

“Sir. Can we not be reasonable about this-” he cut himself off with an embarrassing whine when the General planted a hand on his abdomen, heavy and claiming, and idly rubbed at his oversensitive clit with his thumb.

He squirmed on the spot, tiny, overwhelmed sounds spilling from his slightly parted lips at the pleasure-pain of being touched like that so soon after he just came. His legs twitched helplessly, trying to close but being kept wide open by Washington’s solid form between them.

“Go on, son,” he said, his voice almost soft, as if he wasn’t currently driving him to insanity. “You can do better. Try.” 

“Please,” he whimpered even though he knew perfectly well that wasn’t what Washington wanted to hear. “Sir, I- I can’t focus-”

“Oh, I know. I’m enjoying it tremendously.”

Bastard.

Alexander swallowed his frustration back down, his hips jerking underneath his commander’s insistent hand, not quite sure if they wanted to twist away from his touch or encourage it.

He heaved himself upright, weak arms trembling under his own weight, and finally the General granted him some peace and slipped his hand up to curl around his waist instead.

“Please, I’ve been good for you, haven’t I?” he said, blinking up at Washington from wide, innocent eyes.

“You’ve been more of a brat than anything else, but sure,” he said, entirely unfazed. Alexander didn’t give into the urge to glare and unleash a smartass comment, he just tilted his head to the side and pulled a small pout.

“I can be good for you now,” he said. Washington just returned his gaze in silent amusement for a few moments.

“Does this work on Laurens?” he said finally, and Alexander groaned and dropped backwards onto the desk, catching himself on his elbows with a huff.

“John never needs this much convincing,” he said, a bit dejected, and Washington snorted a laugh and unbuttoned his breeches, much to Alexander’s delight. “Are you going to fuck me, Sir?”

“Mh.” The General leaned over him, bracketing him in with his body–and oh, this made him feel even smaller. Powerless underneath such a powerful man, like he had no choice but to take whatever Washington gave him.

And what he gave him right now was a soft touch to his jaw. A kiss that was nowhere near as violent as the ones they usually shared.

Alexander blinked up at Washington when he pulled back by a bit, his heart stuttering in his chest.

Well, that was- huh.

“Tell me if I hurt you. That’s an order, just so we’re clear,” he said and sealed his lips with another almost gentle kiss before Alexander could retort something sarcastic.

“Yes, Sir,” he breathed and licked his lips when Washington finally freed his cock from the constraints of his unbuttoned breeches. He gave himself a few slow strokes, and Alexander’s mouth watered.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he mumbled and only realised that he’d said it out loud when Washington glanced back up at him, something like surprise reflected in his dark irises.

“So?” he inquired, intrigued, and took Alexander by his thighs again, strong hands wrapping easily around his legs. He drew him even closer to the edge of the desk, shifted him, slid one of his hands up into the hollow of his knee and kept that leg bent up as he placed the other at his hip–positioning him however the fuck he liked, and Alexander lay there and let him as if he was nothing more than a ragdoll. “How long, then? Enlighten me.”

He huffed a thin laugh and bit his lip when Washington shifted close and took himself in hand, trailing the head of his cock up and down Alexander’s wet folds; teasing, always fucking teasing.

“Months,” he said, and Washington paused, his eyes snapping to his face. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Sir.”

After a moment of loaded stillness, the General bent over him, and Alexander whined when the entire length of his cock pressed up against him, hot and throbbing.

“You’re such a sweet boy, Alexander,” he mumbled and kissed him, and his stomach fluttered with the praise. Washington drew back only slightly, shifted just enough to place the leg he’d been holding up over his shoulder and brace that arm on the desk next to his head, reaching a hand between their bodies.

Alexander lowered himself from his elbows to rest flat on his back and tilted his hips in invitation at the first nudge of a thick cock. He sucked in a nervous breath and relaxed his muscles, staring up into Washington’s intense eyes, when he finally pushed in.

“Sir,” he gasped, struggling not to clench too much around the considerable intrusion, fully aware that despite his big talk, it would be a very tight fit. Washington stopped with just the few inches in and searched his face for any hint of discomfort.

“Alright?”

Alexander nodded his head and swallowed, his mouth dry.

“You know to use your words, Alexander,” he scolded mildly, the slight hitch of his breath the only sign that he, too, was affected by this.

“Sorry,” he choked and sucked in a deep breath. “Please. More, Sir.”

“Good boy,” he said, voice a deep, delicious rumble in his chest, and Alexander shook with a full body shudder, moaning desperately as he slid his own hand down his body to rub his clit. Washington groaned, and the comforting weight of his body pressing close lifted away; Alexander watched the General straighten up, his commander’s blazing eyes fixed to where their bodies were joined.

“Yes. Touch yourself, sweet boy, let me see,” he muttered and thrust in deeper, and Alexander cried out–too loud, way too loud, but God, he couldn’t help it–and sped up the movement of his hand, wanting to please, wanting to be good.

He was so full already. Stretched around the widest thing he’d ever taken, thicker than three of the General’s fingers, and so much longer-

Washington still hadn’t bottomed out.

“Sir,” he said, sounding fucked out to his own ears already even though the General wasn’t even entirely in yet. “All of it. Please, give it to me, I can take it-”

A deep growl ripped from Washington’s throat, and he slammed in the rest of the way with a single powerful thrust.

Alexander choked on the breath he sucked in. He made a sound like a sob, his cunt constricting and pulsing around the massive cock inside him.

It was almost, almost too much. Doing cartwheels on the tightrope between pain and ecstasy.

He was stuffed so full he felt like he barely had enough room left to breathe.

A gentle hand came up to cradle his face, thumb stroking away a trail of wetness he hadn’t noticed.

“Too much?” Washington’s voice pierced the fog, and Alexander automatically shook his head from side to side, the movement probably too small, lethargic.

“No. No, no, no, Sir- good. ‘S good. Oh, my God, so good,” he slurred and peered up at the General, blinking his wet eyes.

Washington let out a strained chuckle and kissed him once more, soft at first, but the instant Alexander’s arms came up and clung to his back, the very moment he hooked his free leg around his waist, he thrust his tongue past parted lips and plundered his mouth hungrily, swallowing Alexander’s overwhelmed moans.

“Fuck me,” he whispered once the kiss turned into just sharing breath, hot and painfully intimate. “Please, Sir. I won’t break.”

And that was all it needed.

A wild groan puffed against his lips, and Washington reached up to grip the edge of the desk somewhere above Alexander’s head to stabilise himself, his other hand digging into his hip to hold him steady.

He pulled out a few inches and slammed back in immediately, all semblance of gentleness and care vanished, evaporated by Alexander’s quiet pleas of fuck me, yes, harder-

“Alexander,” Washington hissed, and he returned his gaze with difficulty, eyes threatening to slip shut on every harsh thrust that jolted him on the desk. Alexander whimpered at the look in those eyes, the complete lack of control in the General’s usually so composed demeanour, the hunger and greed shining golden in the dim room, and Alexander could only cling to this impossible man and sob with the all-encompassing realisation that it was him. He had done this, he was on the receiving end of those fiery looks and possessive touches.

It was all him.

“How does it feel, sweetheart? Tell me,” he demanded, rocking into him in an unfaltering rhythm, pulling out and slamming his cock back in again and again, and all Alexander could do was hold on for dear life as the borderline uncomfortable stretch faded with each thrust until nothing but blinding pleasure and the wonderful, claiming sensation of being perfectly full remained.

Alexander threw his head back against the desk and made a helpless, pathetic noise. The question had him clench down hard on Washington, and he cursed under his breath, shoving himself in deep and remaining, rolling his hips in a way that made Alexander see stars.

He dug his fingernails into his back–not that he would notice, considering there were several layers of clothes separating his blunt nails from skin.

“So good, Sir,” he said, words unsteady and breathy under the constant onslaught of intense sensation. “So- so big, I’ve never been so full before-”

“Yeah?” Washington rumbled with a wheezy sound like a laugh and slipped the hand from his hip up, fingers splayed over his abdomen as if to see if he could feel himself fucking into him, Jesus Christ- “And you’re taking it so well. Didn’t think you could, but here you are, look at you, my God, you’re perfect. Just perfect, Alexander, so tight, such a good boy for me.”

Alexander mewled, his back arching clean off the desk, the hair sticking to his temples with both sweat and tears.

“Yes, you like that, don’t you?” Washington said and moved himself upright, Alexander’s hands falling back to the tabletop. He scrambled to grab onto the edge of the desk above his head at once, desperate for something to hold on to, his fingers without a doubt white-knuckled around the dark wood. “Always acting like a little brat, but what you really want is to be good. To be praised.”

Alexander nodded so hard he almost hit his head against the wood, and Washington grabbed both the leg around his waist and the one over his shoulder underneath his knees, pushing them towards Alexander’s chest and almost bending him in half, his wild eyes fixed to his own cock ploughing into him.

“Words, Alexander,” he growled, punctuated by an especially vicious thrust, and he whimpered, his whole body on fire, set ablaze by the General, his eyes, his touch, his words.

“Yes, Sir, yes, yes, I wanna- wanna be good, good for you, please-” he sobbed, barely even aware of what he was saying at this point, but God, did he so desperately want to find the exact thing Washington wanted to hear with his rambling.

“Oh, you are, darling boy,” he said in a tone that would probably be soothing if he wasn’t also panting for breath from fucking him into next week. “Just look at how good you’re being, so pretty and obedient, taking me so well-”

Washington groaned, and the sound immediately went into the steadily growing pool in his belly that would burst the dam away sooner rather than later. He spread Alexander’s legs with the iron grip he had just below his knees, tongue darting out to wet his own lips as his eyes roamed his body greedily.

With his legs spread so wide, he was even more aware of the punishing thrusts of the cock inside him, the perfectly slick drag out, the quick snap of his pelvis, pounding back in, the tiny roll of Washington’s hips every time he drew back that made Alexander’s toes curl.

“Play with your clit for me,” Washington said, blown wide eyes drilling into his own, and Alexander unhooked his fingers from the desk above his head and reached his trembling hand down, unable to break away from that captivating gaze even if he’d wanted to.

“Oh, yes,” Washington breathed and flickered his eyes down to his cunt, watched him rub his clit in quick little circles, his hips jerking helplessly between his own hand and the General’s cock. “Just like that. Make yourself cum, Alexander. I want to feel you cum on my cock.”

Oh, Christ. Alexander moaned, the sheer pleasure radiating out from his core overwhelming, too much. The quickening thrusts of that perfect cock, the intense stimulation of his clit, it was-

Torturous. Too good. He didn’t know for how much longer he would he able to take this, this sharp honey-spice feeling of being fucked within an inch of his life by the man he had fantasised about doing so for months.

His chest heaved with too quick breaths drawn, and his fingernails dug into the wood of the desk he clung to, his lashes wet with tears.

“Oh, God, Sir-” he gasped when the pleasure suddenly spiked. Fuck, it was like drowning in molasses, choking on sugary sweetness. His own hand on his clit sped up, and Washington’s hips stuttered when he clenched down hard with his approaching orgasm, the dam cracking behind his navel. “I, oh, I’m going to-”

“Yes, come on, show me. Show me how good you can be, Alexander. Let me see that pretty little cunt cum all over my cock.”

And that was the last nudge needed to make him burst.

Alexander came violently with a sound caught between a sob and a scream, his whole body tingling from the crown of his head down to his little toes, thrumming with boundless electricity as if he had been struck by lightning. The world fell away for a few blissful moments–so did the room, the desk that was sticky with sweat and his own juices underneath him, everything. 

Washington fucked him through it, and when Alexander resurfaced with a gasp, his hand now stilled and sticky on top of his swollen clit, his thrusts had become erratic.

He dropped one of his legs in favour of bracing that hand next to his head and hovering above him, eyes locked to his, when he shoved himself in as far as he could go with a low grunt, his cock pulsing, until-

A hot burst of wetness deep inside him. Alexander moaned weakly, a shiver chasing down his spine; Washington had cum inside. No one had ever finished inside him before.

God, it was intoxicating.

“Sir,” he croaked, his voice wrecked beyond recognition and quieter even than an average whisper.

“Shh.” Washington leaned down and kissed his brow, the corner of his mouth, his lips. His tongue flicked into his mouth lazily, not demanding, not claiming, his softening cock still buried deep, and Alexander kissed back as well as he could with the little energy and coordination left in his body, whimpering quietly.

After a few more moments, the General stood back with a sigh and gently pulled out of him–Alexander couldn’t keep from hissing at the squeezing emptiness he was left with, his cunt fluttering around nothing.

Washington held the one leg still in his grasp up and watched.

Alexander’s face heated with humiliation despite everything that had just transpired between them; he attempted to close his legs, overly aware of the slow trickle of cum out of his core, but Washington wouldn’t let him. His cunt twitched, the shame nestled thick and heavy into the pit of his stomach.

“I didn’t ask for your permission,” the General said, voice still deeper than usual and eyes still fixed to the mess between his legs.

It wasn’t an apology, but then, Alexander didn’t really want one.

“No,” he agreed weakly, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to put his clothes back on, nevermind manage the walk to his room on his own two feet. A slight tremor shook his whole body, and he had no doubt it would be a while before it subsided.

Washington hummed, and his eyes ticked up to his face, a faint spark to them that Alexander couldn’t place in the state he was in.

“Allow me to clean you up,” he said and, without awaiting an answer, lowered himself to his knees and licked a broad stroke over his cum-dripping entrance.

Alexander bit down hard on his hand to stop himself from screaming and readily spread his legs for his General.

He collapsed into his bed that night, completely out of it.

Washington had escorted him down the hallway, as poised as ever, because he truly couldn’t have made it on his own.

John had been asleep for hours now, probably, but he stirred at Alexander’s clumsy entrance and fumbled in the dark to light a candle.

“Alex?” he asked, all groggy and attempting to blink the sleep from his eyes.

“John,” he responded, still a bit breathless.

“What-”

“He fucked me,” he cut in. He was lying on his belly on top of the covers, clothes only haphazardly pulled over his so tired it ached body, hair sticking to the dried sweat covering his forehead.

Alexander hadn’t been fucked so thoroughly in his entire life.

“Oh. Congrats,” John mumbled, squinting back at him. “Can this wait until tomorrow, or-”

They both knew it couldn’t and that that was a stupid fucking question, so Alexander didn’t feel even a little bit bad when he interrupted him yet again, “I came three times.”

John stared in silence, his brows raised.

“Jesus fuck,” he said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Alexander still couldn’t quite believe the night that lay behind him; he was almost glad for the way his body ached, so when he woke up in a few hours, he would know at once that it hadn’t been a dream. That Washington had laid him out on his desk and fucked him until he could barely walk without help.

“How the fuck did he manage that?”

“Ate me out a bunch,” he replied, and his sore cunt twitched at the thought.

“Goddamn.”

“Uhuh.” He turned his face into the pillow and let out a long breath, parts of his body he hadn’t even been aware of up until now relaxing slowly. “He knows about us, by the way. Seemed interested. Maybe you could join us sometime.”

John made a sound between a chuckle and a sigh. “Alexander, I love you, I would die for you, but I draw the line at watching our boss fuck your brains out.” With that, he blew out the candle and plunged the room back into darkness. “Goodnight.”

Alexander hummed and shifted, revelling in his collection of forming bruises from tonight as he let his eyes close.

“I bet Washington would be happy to teach you how to properly eat me out, though,” he said, just to have the last word, and was promptly smacked over he head by a pillow.

“God, shut up,” John groaned, and Alexander snickered.

“Make me.”

“Goodnight, Alexander. Also, give me back my pillow.”

He threw the pillow back over with a snort and settled down, his exhaustion catching up to him.

It had been a long night, after all–and many more like it lay ahead.