Archive of Our Own ^beta

The scent of tea is thick in the air as Hamilton sets his cup down.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jefferson chuckles as he takes a sip of his own cup, daring to repeat himself, a grin growing on his face as he stares right into Hamilton’s eyes. “I know you’ve been engaging in an affair with the President. How long have you two been lovers? Since your days in war?” he teases with enjoyment, revelling in the growing panic that was beginning to appear on Alexander's face.

They’re in Jefferson’s office, with Hamilton having attended per President Washington’s request, hoping for the two men to make amends upon having another heated argument during a cabinet meeting. It was getting a bit too common. Of course, chatting over tea is, undeniably, not the best solution.

“Nonsense,” Hamilton is quick to deflect, a smile on his face, pretending not to know what the man was talking about, yet Thomas isn’t falling for it. “Insubstantial claims, sir.”

“Are you sure? I seem to have caught a letter that tells otherwise,” Jefferson slips a piece of paper from inside of his coat, one Alexander recognised. Once his gaze fell on Hamilton’s frown, his smirk seemed to grow, waving the letter in front of him. “Did I strike gold?” — he sure had.

Alexander grows defensive, short-tempered as he always has been, “I don’t have to explain anything to you, sir.”

“Not even if I told you someone could hear of this? How bold of you, Hamilton.”

It pleases Jefferson to see Alexander so distressed, avoiding his gaze, clearly meditating what to do, how to solve the issue. But the young man has something to offer. “... How much?”

Thomas’ hearty laugh resonates across the room as he puts the letter alongside the rest of documents on one of his drawers, so that the young man had no access to it. “I didn’t think you’d ask such a thing. Is your reputation that important? Is it the closeness to power that motivates you?” he jests, before briefly sipping on his cup. “I ask for no money, but something else. Something far more important for you.”

“... Which is?” Alexander feels his mouth bitter just asking the question.

His nervousness peaks when Jefferson, instead of offering an answer, calmly gets up from his seat behind the desk, pacing around it, then leaning on his cane and closer to Alexander, and with his free hand, he takes hold of the latter’s chin, slightly tilting his head to the side, as if examining him. “Your dignity.”

What?

His face seems to respond quicker than his voice, because once again he’s the subject of ridicule in Jefferson’s eyes. “You heard right,” he confirms, as if he had heard the questions quickly formulating in Hamilton’s brain. “But I’m sure you aren’t quite… imagining what I am.”

Just what did this man have in mind?

Was he out of his mind?

However, Hamilton is known for not having the best temperament. “What, you want me to kiss your boot or something?” he mumbles under his breath, the frown on his face growing more pronounced.

Yet every thing he does seems to make the man laugh, being absolutely entertained having Hamilton completely cornered. “It’s a good start, so… you should sit on the floor, Hamilton.”

Grunting, the younger man stood up, trying to make up his mind — if he didn’t, the secret was out and both Washington and himself would suffer the consequences for having not only cheated on their partners, but also kept a homosexual relationship. With this in mind, he finally yielded, carefully letting his knees touch the wooden floor, although reluctant.

Jefferson thought of something even better, as he raised his heel just slightly.

Hamilton caught the man’s ankle, softly clasping it between his palms, and as crimson red invaded his cheeks, he lowered his head, pressing those soft lips of his against the vamp of the boot, and he was just about to pull away until he felt Jefferson’s cane right against his nape, keeping him down. Glaring with discomfort behind his dark eyelashes, Alexander bows down once more, his lips touching now over the boot’s toe box, carefully kissing it and keeping his head down against it, his hands gently holding the boot until the cane wasn’t behind him, pressing him to continue.

He then pulls away, using his handkerchief to wipe his lips as Thomas watches intently. “You’re quite obedient. I can see why Washington likes you… but I’m afraid I want something more from you, not just that.”

With the cane, he raised Hamilton’s chin just slightly, and as the latter expected instruction, Jefferson took a fistful of his soft hair and pushed him down against his thigh. “Why don’t you show me some of your tricks? I mean, I imagine you’ve done this for Washington before, yes?” and so, he continues to hold Hamilton’s head right against his crotch as he takes Hamilton’s seat.

“I’m no whore—” Alexander grunts, his hands pressing against the man’s thighs, trying to pull away, yet his scalp hurt the more he tried.

Jefferson chuckles as he hears this. “I doubt that. Now show me what you can do, otherwise… You know we’ll have problems. Same thing if you don’t keep your teeth away.” and so, he continued to sip on his teacup, the liquid now cold. He watched with attention how Alexander’s hands carefully unbuckled his pants, pulling them down alongside his undergarments… and his cheeks tint red the second he uncovers the older man’s cock, not quite soft yet not stiff either — right halfway. Jefferson was entertained, but he surely could enjoy this more.

Alexander then takes a deep breath, and holds the man’s member, carefully bringing it to his mouth, much to his distaste, and as he closes his eyes he wraps his lips on his tip. Gently so, he licks its underside, gently sucks on its head, presses it against his cheek and such. It’s clearly not his first time. He makes sure to drool over it, then wraps his hand around its length, pumping up and down, squeezing just about enough. He dares not look up, not wanting to see Jefferson’s expression, but he’s completely sure the man has the biggest smirk ever.

As he downs the man’s hardening cock, he feels his hand against his hair, grabbing onto it, forcing him to stay down as soft, quickened breaths left Jefferson’s lips. Breathing through his nose, Hamilton then runs his fingers over the man’s wiry pubes, savouring his length, forcing himself to not pull away lest the man grow less patient with him.

Soon it’s fully hard, and sheathed inside Hamilton’s mouth, and Thomas’ fingers are rummaging through Alexander’s soft hair, keeping him down, keeping those warm lips wrapped around him, as if he wanted to drive Jefferson insane with such skill. “Is this how you please Washington? Or are you making an effort just to get this over with?” he provokes, as Hamilton gives a particularly harsh suck that drags a moan out of his throat.

“Mm, maybe both.” Alexander mutters after dragging the hard length out of his mouth for a moment, a soft ‘pop’ sound filling the room after his lips let go.

Right after, he runs his tongue over the head of Jefferson’s cock, slow and warm, taking his precum, savouring it, closing his eyes tightly upon noticing he quite enjoys the taste. He shouldn’t. He wishes Jefferson didn’t last this long.

Well — there’s no time to wish. He moves his head back down, his tongue running over Jefferson’s long cock, then back to the tip and into his mouth, until it feels stuffed and he can’t fit anymore, until his nose is buried in Jefferson’s pubes, until his eyes itch with tears as he sucks him off, then bobs his head, his hand massaging the man’s testicles, spreading his legs further apart to have more space, until the man hisses and his hand clings to Alexander’s hair, forcing him down, earning coughs as the younger lightly hit his leg and tried to pull away when Jefferson came down his throat.

And once the man let go, Alexander immediately pushed himself back, almost losing balance on his knees as he lightly coughed, saliva on his lips and one or two tears rolling down his cheeks as he caught his air back. He had done so well until the end, yet here he was, ruined and trying to regain his composure.

But time waits for no one.

It seems Jefferson doesn’t, either.

His legs are quivering, yes, but he still gets up, holds onto Hamilton’s arm, pulling him up and against the desk, the latter yelping, just now processing what he was doing, when he felt Jefferson looming over him. He felt the man’s breath right against his nape, a whisper, “You don’t think I’m done with you, do you?”

When would he?

He kicks and squirms under Jefferson, feeling those hands right against him, those intruding fingers sliding under his coat, gliding over his thighs and upward, over the firm curve of his ass, where his trousers feel tight. “Wait— I’m not doing that.” he complains with a raspy voice, his throat used.

“Shame,” Jefferson cackles, keeping him down, immobile. “I’m in charge.”

His free hand continues to explore, down the space between Alexander’s thighs, his middle and ring fingers slowly pressing against his crotch, earning moans from the young man, and Jefferson thrives in his desperation. He pulls the green coat off of him, letting it fall on the chair, and runs his hand over Alexander’s waist, unbuttoning every button of his vest, caressing down to where he expects a bulge, yet upon finding none, he seems to grow even closer.

“I can see why Washington likes you so much,” he jests, as he runs his fingers over Hamilton’s butt, landing a smack with his open palm that makes Alexander jump. Fuck.

Hamilton doesn’t yield, he thrashes and kicks, hits Jefferson’s leg with his heel as he tries to get up from the desk, but it’s not enough, it’s as if Thomas were putting his full weight on him. “Let go—” he hurriedly says, tempting Jefferson's patience, enough for the man to snap–

“You want to do this the hard way, I’ll give you the hard treatment.”

He takes a shallow breath this time, nervousness getting the better of him, his heart and brain racing, thinking, what’s he going to do? What should I brace myself for? And then the answer arrives, when Jefferson steps off and unbuckles his pants, pulling them down, then pulling his white shirt up, his firm ass uncovered in its glory as Jefferson presses the side of the cane in its coldness right against his warm buttock.

“No— I’ll listen, alright!”

Thomas chuckles. “You’re not saving yourself, dear Alexander, so stay there, bite on your cravat if you so desperately need it. Brats like yourself, they need to know their punishment.” And then he’s pulling the cane away, much to Alexander’s horror, and he stays completely immobile, trying to prepare himself for the hell he’s about to live. “Twenty sounds like a good number.”

He doesn’t waste a second. As soon as he’s done talking, the wooden cane hits Hamilton’s soft rear, and the young man jumps in pain, squeezing his legs together to tense his muscles, relieve some of the pain, as much as he can. It, of course, doesn’t stop there, because Jefferson seems to have a full itinerary with Alexander, mercilessly smacking him with the hard wood of the cane, once, twice, thrice and more, as many times as needed before Hamilton is screaming that he’s gone past twenty, the light skin of his butt seared red with various, lovely crimson streaks.

Alexander presses his damp forehead against the desk, hissing and gritting his teeth, feeling his backside as if it were on fire. He hoped for a break at the very least, yet there didn’t seem to be mercy for him. Just how much more would he have to go through? He asked himself that as he felt Jefferson’s fingers trailing over the fresh marks, earning a whine.

He doesn’t stop there — his fingers slowly but surely find their way between his buttocks and down, pressing on his perineum and further down, finding his soft folds. “Be a dear and raise your leg a bit, yes?”

Hamilton sighs.

“Yes?”

“Yes, yes.” he utters with a wobbly feeling to his voice, supporting himself with his own hand to raise his leg and place his knee on the desk. Better not get on his nerves again. “... How long will we keep this going?”

“I haven’t thought about it. But it’s a bit too good for it to last only for today, isn't it?” Jefferson offers a predatory smirk, slowly plunging his fingers into Alexander’s soft cunt just as the younger man moans, burying his face between his arms, trying to keep quiet, to not listen to his own sounds, he can’t stand them. He sounds like he’s begging for it, almost, and he’s sure Jefferson will tease him with this, too. With how wet he is, with how he inevitably squirms in his place whenever those fingers curl deeper inside him, pressing right where he feels most sensitive. He despises just how his back arches, how his legs tremble and how his toes curl in his boots, and suddenly those fingers are again pressing against the best places and he’s grinding his hips against them.

Why can’t his body just listen to his brain? Why can’t the rest of his body hear the pleas in his brain?

And Jefferson may claim that’s just his body being honest, but heavens above, he knows this is not honesty, but dishonesty — he knows what he feels, knows every ounce of hate he feels every time the man touches him a certain way so that he reacts. Yet as much as he wants to beg (and as much as he hates the idea but recognises he wants it) he knows he cannot, lest he receive another punishment.

So instead Alexander tries to remain in his best behaviour, whining and moaning and giving Jefferson a show, tries to repress that need to fight back and run away as the man looms over him once more, those fingers sliding out of his tight hole, and he hates how lonely it feels down there — he’s supposed to dislike it, but the man knows how to use his fingers and he’s being so unbelievably gentle Alexander’s body can’t help but melt under his touch.

He seems to be done with what he was doing, though, and right after, he spreads his folds, careful, as if he cared. Hamilton quivers the very second he feels the man’s cock against himself, yet he can’t bring himself to stop him, instead clasps his hands over his mouth just as Jefferson pushes in with a brief, smooth thrust, muffling his loud moans.

And in truth, it had been a while since Washington (and himself) last had time for this. He was a bit out of practice.

Bottoming out in him, Jefferson grunts, and pushes a few strands of Hamilton’s hair to the side just to give a few light nibbles at his neck and clavicle, licking a stripe over his jaw and stopping at his cheek, just to turn Hamilton’s face and press his lips against the younger’s, just as Hamilton whined a quick “no” that went unheard.

And as their tongues met, with Jefferson taking a controlling attitude, Hamilton could feel his relentless thrusts, how he used him like he hadn’t just carefully prepared him, like he was but a mere object for his release. Just how long would this take? Hamilton asked himself, yet he was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a chuckle underneath him alongside a few tugs at his soft hair.

“Try to focus on this, yes? You’re getting a bit too silent for my liking,” and he continued, merciless, not even waiting for Hamilton to focus on what was a thought and what was really happening.

Then when he focuses it’s too much. The sensations — the hands groping his soft butt, all the way to his chest, then the pressure on his abdomen, Jefferson’s breath tickling his nape and his sudden bites, and the way he seemed to clench whenever Jefferson pulled out to dive right back inside — he could barely hold himself together.

Thomas continued thrusting, chasing his own delight, as Alexander’s body was just a mere tool for him to achieve it, and the latter sobbed and moaned against his arm desperately, the stimuli being too much for him, and soon he’s throwing his head back, trembling as unwanted pleasure overcomes every inch of his body, and he’s moaning just as Jefferson bites him once again, feeling himself grow wetter.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that again,” Jefferson laughs right behind him, then suddenly Alexander is whining because the other man was mercilessly rubbing his small clit. “Are you putting on a show for me, or are you really this lewd?”

He squirms, overwhelmed, a few droplets escaping his eyes as he kicks his legs in desperation, and he clings to the desk just as Jefferson catches his hair and pulls him back again, muttering curses under his breath as he orgasms, pumping into Hamilton’s hole, the latter’s eyes rolling backwards as he yelped once more and Jefferson got up from on top of him.

He expects another annoying remark from Jefferson, but the man soon is helping him sit back on the chair, and after a small “wait here a moment” he leaves the room, coming back shortly after with a small bucket of water and a small towel.

And as Alexander wondered what this was all about, Jefferson gently pushed him back on the desk, hooking his hand behind Alexander’s knee and spreading his legs apart once more, then dipping the piece of fabric in the water before carefully wiping him all around his crotch, his touch gentle, the most delicate it has been. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you’ve mostly been a good boy, haven’t you?” Thomas chuckles, hand on Hamilton’s thighs as he wipes him clean, despite loving how his cum oozes out of him. “You deserve some good treatment for being so obedient.”

Don’t say that.

“Turn around, let me have a look. We don’t want Washington finding out about this, do we, dear? I’ll treat you. Then we can have tea again, yes?”

Don’t be this nice.

“Alright, sir.”