Grandeur: (Hamilton/Laurens)
Pairing: Hamilton/Laurens
August 27, 1782 at the Combahee River
Uuuuuuuuarrrrrghhhhhhh
Why?;___;
“Advances of this Kind:” A Hamilton/Washington Slash, Part II of III
“I am sorry you went away. I wish you were back.” ~ George Washington to Alexander Hamilton, after Hamilton left the Constitutional Convention for a break, 1787.
Early June, 1787
“I suspect Mr. Madison has never visited the forest of Venus before.”
George slammed down his pewter mug of whiskey and nearly spit out the bit that was in his mouth. He emitted one, loud laugh, the one he masterfully suppressed in public and reserved only for the jokes of those he trusted.
“You read my thoughts,” he said after he calmed himself. “I always supposed the same.”
Alex cupped his protruding chin in his left hand, which he had rested upon the wooden tavern table. The orange flame of the table’s candlestick reflected in his drunk, dreamy eyes. Somewhere in the tavern a clock chimed 2:30 AM, and a few men in another room laughed obnoxiously as they clinked their pewter mugs together in a toast.
“It is quite obvious, when one observes him long enough.” A wry smile crossed Alex’s full lips before he added: “I should not say such things about him. He is a brilliant and amiable man.”
“Just an innocent one. A very, very innocent one.”
Alex chuckled as he grabbed his glass of scotch. George relished the sound as if it was a piece of rare, sweet music.
The Indian Queen Tavern had become one of their favorite places to meet after the daily convention meetings. They remained there later and later every night, talking for longer and on much more personal terms than they ever had in the army.
Both men knew George allowed his public veneer to fade more easily once he had a few drinks, and although George understood the danger of this all too well, the positive way in which he and Alex interacted lately convinced him to relent. Although they still addressed each other in a formal manner, a closeness existed between them in conversation that George never previously felt. Perhaps the changing political atmosphere called for an alteration of attitudes, or perhaps Alex’s decrease in haughtiness towards George was the result of maturity.
Whatever the reason, George could not deny he enjoyed it greatly. He knew he should stay away from Alex as much as possible, lest something happen he did not wish to occur. Yet as always, whenever Alex requested something—including his former general’s company at the tavern or dinner table—George could never deny his wishes.
He reminded himself of this as he smoothly licked the remnants of whiskey from his thin lips. Alex tapped the fingers of his right hand gently on the table, producing a faint drumming noise as he did so.
“Then again,” George continued, the alcohol stirring his blood and spurring him to speak more, “the forest of Venus is not for the timid to approach.”
“Of course not.”
Alex leisurely lifted his scotch glass and, looking up at George, paused. Slowly he leaned in closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. George noticed a sinful flicker in the violet eyes as their owner murmured:
“And from what I have heard, the timid should certainly never attempt to handle the spear of Mars, either.”
Had anyone else said this to him, George would have stiffened in his seat and disapproved of the statement. Yet all he could do now was stare at his former aide-de-camp and feel his own face turn as red as a blooming Queen Anne rose in spring.
A moment of silence passed between them, and intensity emanated from Alex’s eyes as he leered at George unblinkingly. George’s heart skipped a beat as he questioned whether or not Alex expected a response.
He felt relieved when the tavern wench came by to refill his mug and broke the tension. After she left, Alex leaned back in his seat and assumed his typical self-assurance. He casually swirled the remaining brown liquid in his glass.
“We must remain on good terms with Mr. Madison,” Alex said, referring to politics once again. “We need visionaries like him on our side.”
Stunned—and his excitement beyond provoked—George continued to stare at him.
“Should we propose a form of good government and encounter resistance, I would like to have his notes as well. He is not one for rhetoric, but his writings on our opponents will prove beneficial once we need to defend our position.”
Alex continued to speak—as always, planning two steps ahead—but George was no longer listening. Although he could repress the notion that Alex had implied something with his earlier statement, George could not deny how greatly it had stimulated his imagination.
“Advances of this Kind:” A Hamilton/Washington Slash, Part I of III
“Indeed, when advances of this kind [have been made] to me on his part, they were rec[eived in a manner] that showed at least I had no inclination [to court them, and that] I wished to stand rather upon a footing of m[ilitary confidence than] of private attachment.” ~ Alexander Hamilton, regarding George Washington’s attempts to become closer in the army, 1781.
- May, 1787
It had been years since he had last seen him.
He stood at the table of the Virginia delegates, talking to James Madison unassumingly. The rays of sunlight shone down upon him through the large glass windows, perhaps the final time they could do so before the delegates closed the shades to uphold the secrecy of the convention.
He looked every inch the lawyer he had become, with his auburn hair perfectly powdered white and tied back with a black ribbon. He wore a green velvet frock coat with a gold trim and a matching waistcoat with gold buttons. His black breeches and white, silk stockings accentuated his legs, and his black shoes with gold buckles complimented the rest of his appearance. One would not typically use the term “beautiful” to describe a man, yet George Washington could not think of a more perfect word to summarize the sight before him.
George swallowed hard and clutched his gold-handled, black walking stick more tightly than usual. He grew warm under his black velvet coat as he wondered how he was going to address the one man who he had not seen in years, yet whom he thought of every day.
He had tried so hard to forget, too. Once he finally returned to Mount Vernon after the war’s end, he had indulged himself in his family, horses and gardens, all the while denying that he felt the way he thought he did in the army. He displayed more affection towards Martha than ever before to assure them both of his devotion. Mount Vernon quickly became his ultimate escape, the place where he could finally achieve inner peace after six years of uncertainty and self-loathing.
Yet every time a letter from New York arrived on his desk—which was quite often—George opened it and remembered with dread how his newfound bliss was a complete charade. Indeed, it was one of those letters that convinced him to come to this Constitutional Convention and throw himself back into the national political arena. Even as he boarded his black carriage on the morning of his departure and waved goodbye to his wife and step-grandchildren, George could only think of the man he would find waiting for him in Philadelphia.
And there he was, laughing gaily with Madison and perhaps mocking the other delegates already. The little Virginian could not have appeared more captivated as the animated New Yorker gesticulated with his hands to accompany whatever story he was telling. George noticed how other delegates ceased speaking in their circles and turned slyly towards the colonel, curious as to what the pugnacious yet charismatic delegate could be discussing.
Then suddenly, as if adhering to a sixth sense, Alexander Hamilton looked over and his violet eyes met George’s stare. Their gaze remained frozen upon each other for a moment, as if all time had stopped and the bustling political world surrounding them no longer existed.
George’s heart beat quicker as Alex smiled at him, and it only increased as Alex turned to Mr. Madison and excused himself. Alex began to strut towards his former Commanding General in the confident manner George remembered. That military-like step never failed to draw people’s attention towards him.
“Your Excellency,” Alex said suavely. After stopping before him and bowing politely, the colonel added: “It has been far too long.”
Despite his wish to return the greeting genially, George retained his dignified, stoic air and unexpressive tone of voice as he responded.
“Indeed it has, Colonel Hamilton. I do hope this convention will afford us the chance to become reacquainted with one another.”
Alex skeptically glanced at a few Southern delegates standing across the room.
“If this convention proves as effective as the past few Congresses, we shall have copious amounts of time for recreation.”
Had it not pained him to do so, George would have smiled. It seemed Alex’s pessimistic demeanor had not decreased over time.
“Yet now that you are here,” Alex continued, “I feel more certain something shall be accomplished.” The colonel eyed him keenly. “These factions cannot unify without you. I think I speak for all in this room when I say I am very glad you are here, sir.”
It was the closest thing to direct approval George ever heard Alex grant him. For a reason he could not explain, George sensed that things were going to be much different between them than they had once been in the army.
“I thank you for your steadfast support, Colonel. I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”
Paul Gauguin/Emile Bernard artist slash set in 1888
A Life Lesson. Rated Mature.
“If it was experience he needed I would supply him with it, and what could produce any more feeling in a young artist than the pain of unrequited love?”
<a href=”http://puddlesmistakes.livejournal.com/6235.html”>Read here</a>
Please leave a comment.
Cold Fire
“Clark I-I must tell you something.”
In the background, the fire in the hearth crackled and popped. Lewis held a stubborn expression, despite his chin quivering with what-fear, anticipation?- Clark couldn’t guess. It was just days before his departure to publish the journals of their journey and he had called upon him for a meeting at a discrete Inn. He had not made his reasons clear and chose to keep his dear friend in the dark. For his own sanity. To Clark, Lewis looked astoundingly worse than when they had last met, several months ago. His drunken rampages had started to be the talk of the town and he had had enough of it and went to talk some sense into his wayward friend. He had never seen his friend so angered and even now he shuddered at the vulgar words that were exchanged that somber day. Right now, Lewis was gaunt, his cheeks hollow and his petticoat somewhat loose on his now lanky frame.
“That came wait.” Clark said thin lipped. “Have you been eating?”
Lewis barked out a bitter laugh.
“I eat enough to survive and even then it’s too much.”
Lewis looked down towards the boarded floor to shield himself from the hurt on Clark’s face.
“Please old friend,” He begged quietly.
“Do not say such things. You have worried me greatly. You know I only look out for your best interest.”
There was an unearthly pause in conversation. Each staring each other down to get him to talk. Each wanting the other to say how they felt. Clark was the first to crack.
“Please, tell me what is ailing you so I can aid you. It pains me to see you waisting away.”
Lewis would not speak.
“Meriwhether-“
“What are your feelings for me William?”
Clark was taken at back and stammered out the beginning his answer.
“W-why you are a-a very close friend of mine Lewis. I care for you very deeply.”
Meriwhether walked closer to him and looked up into his eyes. They were chest to chest. Clark could feel both his and Lewis’s heart beating close in time. The throbbing rang loudly in his ears. The fire was dying out and the shadows around them darkened. With the remaining light of the fire, Clark could see that despite his sickly complexion Lewis a handsome man. Gorgeous, comparable to that of a crushed rose. Lewis held his breath as Clark brought his hand up to caress his cheek. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, happiness radiating from his being. He knew these hands. They were rough from their long journey and yet still held softness from his pampered upbringing. They had pulled him to safety in times of danger and hand punched him for being too stubborn. Now, they touched him with love. Then, they were gone. A mere dream that Lewis fought to grab ahold of while he tumbled down into the cold depths of reality. Quiet plagued them again, a constant ghostly companion.
“Clark, please tell me what you really feel. Please!” He was pathetic. Being reduced down to begging. However, the time for shame was over. The time for truth was now.
“I-I can’t Lewis. Julia…” William broke off, looking everywhere except at his friend.
Lewis had been prepared for rejection but this…this was worse. Clark had feelings for him but, he decided to hold back for that wrench! Lewis placed a clenched fist over his heart. It beat steadily. He wondered how when he felt so broken inside. He could no longer stand to look at Clark. That dark, warm gaze now mocked him with what he couldn’t have- and what belong to someone else. Summoning up every inch of his pride, he quickly collected his things and headed towards the door.
“Lewis wait,” Clark grabbed his forearm. “When can I see you again?”
Lewis gently wrenched his arm away.
“This, this might be our last meeting.”
Clark’s eyes widened as the door slammed shut, the wind blowing out the remaining embers of the fire.
“Lewis….Lewis…..Lewis…MERIWHETHER!”
But he was gone. Clark was left alone in the cold dark room.
“The King Washington selected as his prime minister an ambitious youth, a bastard he had picked up from the army, who in his quest for avarice seduced the monarch with promises of riches and power if he would grant him a bank, the tool of corruption with which he lined his pockets with speculators’ gold. I do not understand the circumstances that led to the affiliation, but I have since understood that Washington kept Hamilton as Zeus kept Ganymede.”
- Sir John Adams, The American Monarchy, Vol. I, pg. 716
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More evil King Washington/Prime Minister Hamilton AU
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Publius, you are an angel.
Very quick Lams fluff below the cut. Hopefully it helps combat the horrible cloud of depression that has been the most recent fics. Slash, though could be interpreted as friendship. Second person narration, Laurens’ perspective.
Below the cut is a fic-thing. It is sad. It is to be considered part one of more parts which are as yet unfinished, but I wanted to post something and it was going to get ungainly otherwise. It is intended as a follow-up to publius-esquire’s fic ’Security’
pairing is Hamilton/Laurens
