#hamdre

[hamihamstik]

my god Andre, you can hit a person with that flute.

well, this is finally finished and the drawing was dedicated to @lams-tallmadge and his wonderful trilogy. obviously you already know that I base myself on chapter 24 of Burn, but just to remember.

[dcbutinamrev]

I was bored. And I wanted to doodle Hamilton in a dress so here. Have another doodle of Ham in a dress-

(Cause I said so- )

(Click for better quality!)

And! A Hamdre doodle for your soul-

( under the cut! )

[hamihamstik]

So after reading the Helpless trilogy I think I developed a bit of interest in this couple.

Little Hamdré draw.

[dcbutinamrev]

Andre: May I have this dance?

Hamilton: You may absolutely not.

[dcbutinamrev]

Hm…

Them-

[dcbutinamrev]

Some Hamilton and everyone’s favorite villain John Andre doodles from my lams series: The Helpless Trilogy. Quote from the third book, Yrs Forever - ch. 49.

(Click for better quality)

[dcbutinamrev]

BESTIE I DON'T EVEN HAVE A PROMPT JUST

HAMDRE!

PLEEEEEEASE?

:)

KJSAKEJWWAKJEWKJE *screams* YES-

Sorry this is so late bestie, it took me all day to write this cause tumblr keeps distracting me-

But anyways-

But have some Hamdre for your soul.

(Some of the lines are from D&I when Hamilton met Andre-

(This is a long one- )

~~~

Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton sighs to himself as he sits at the long, rectangular table in the parlor, reading a letter from Laurens--no doubt upset again about Hamilton betraying him because of his marriage. Hamilton shakes his head, a slight scowl to his face as he grips the letter tighter, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously underneath the table, desperately wanting it to knock against a particular person's. He rests his chin in his palm, his fingers tapping against his freckled cheek. In his peripheral, he sees the aides eye him worriedly. They have been doing so since Laurens left for the South, but no one ever bothered to ask. But Hamilton knows his quietness and always forlorn expression, hurts his dear friend Richard Kidder Meade more than the Marquis.

"Oh, Jack..." Hamilton sighs, slamming the letter down flat, face down onto the table. He groans frustratingly, running his hands through his russet curls that are constantly always being out of place, as though every second of the day were he had just woken up. "Why can't you understand...? I love you both, you and her...why...why can't you see this...? I would never betray you...I would never lie to you--unlike you...The reason I...I didn't tell you of my Betsey sooner was because...because I didn't know how...Just like you feared of loosing me when you debated on telling me about your wife you left in England...along with..." Hamilton scoffs out a laugh. "God, a daughter..." He swallows the lump down his throat, blinking his eyes fast as he tries to control his breathing. "I...I was afraid to loose you too..." Another pause. He swallows again, licking his chapped lips, chapped and dry from the lack of kisses from Laurens. His hands shake. "But...I...I guess...I already have..."

Silence fills the room. Hamilton shivers involuntarily, shaking his head as he sits back from the table, running a hand through his dark red hair again before letting it slide down his face exhaustedly, letting his skin drag along with it.

"Do you always talk to yourself?" says a very fine familiar French accented voice Hamilton knows all too well.

He feels his burdens and worries lifted from his chest almost in an instant, his eyes slowly cracking open and he sniffs, rubbing the edge of his watery indigo eyes--the very same deep violet eyes Laurens had always find entrancing--with the heel of his palm before sniffling.

Hamilton scoffs out a laugh and shrugs as the Marquis pulls out a chair from the table and sits himself down beside Hamilton. He tilts his head to one shoulder, furrowing his brows.

"Are you alright, mon ami?" Lafayette asks, breaking the silence.

Hamilton sighs heavily through his nose, staring down at Laurens's elegant, beautiful handwriting. He swallows again and presses his lips together.

"I just..." Hamilton shakes his head. "I just...I'm terrified, Marquis..."

Lafayette presses his lips together tightly, keeping his expression calm and collected. Instinctively, he rests his hand upon Hamilton's slightly smaller one, squeezing it comfortingly. Hamilton tips his head up and smiles gently.

"I know," Lafayette tries.

Hamilton knows Lafayette is just trying to offer him some comfort, but Hamilton couldn't help but snap, "You don't know..."

Lafayette sighs. "Alexandre...Laurens is my friend as well. I care for for him as much as you. But--"

Hamilton yanks his hand away, clutching it towards his chest and letting out a shaky breath, glancing away from the Marquis. "You don't...You don't know..."

A pause.

"Have you heard anything on what the General has said on the condition for Major Andre?" Hamilton suddenly says, his voice tight as he turns back towards the Marquis over his shoulder.

Lafayette presses his lips together again and respectfully takes his hand back, resting it in his lap. He ducks his chin a little towards his chest. "He requests to see one of the General's staff." A pause. Hamilton raises an eyebrow, expecting for more. "He requested you specifically."

Hamilton eyes Lafayette for a moment before nodding once, standing up from his chair and pushing it in. He folds the letter into neat squares before tucking it into his waistcoat pocket. He begins to turn about, but Lafayette catches Hamilton's wrist, flashing him a pleading yet concerned look.

"Alex," he whispers.

Hamilton stares at him before yanking his wrist free and marching out the parlor, swinging the door shut and letting it slam shut behind him.

Hamilton stands in front of the closed door, his jaw clenched as he closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply, holding his breath for a few seconds before reopening his eyes and letting out a shaky breath.

"Oh, my Jack," is all he says, his voice cracking, before clearing his throat and marching towards Andre.

***

"Major Andre?" Hamilton says as the guard closes the door behind him. Hamilton scans the room, searching for a familiar coat of red, a mysterious braid, dark brown eyes--the color of coffee--searching for skin, pale as a peach.

"Colonel Hamilton." Andre stands from his seat at a circular table in the far back of the room, inclining his head respectfully towards Hamilton.

Hamilton stands a few feet away from Andre, his breath hitched in his throat and his deep blue eyes--almost indigo--widen slightly at the sight of the doomed Major in front of him.

He is quite handsome, Hamilton thinks, quirking an eyebrow. Up so close, at least.

Andre tilts his head slightly to one shoulder, his brows furrowing together as he smiles slightly down at Hamilton, whose freckled cheeks suddenly turn a deep shade of red--almost red as his coat. Andre raises an eyebrow as Hamilton dips his head slightly, pressing his lips together tightly. Hamilton meets Andre's eyes and he swallows, his head still dipped low.

He is...beautiful, Andre thinks, curling his fingers to resist the urge to tuck back a loose strand of dark red hair out of his half-opened eye. Extraordinarily...breathtaking...with eyes like his...violet...

Brown...Hamilton thinks as his eyes up towards Andre once more. They're brown...and that braid...his accent...

The two stare at each other for rather a very unusually long time, perhaps roughly around fifteen minutes or so, the room filled with nothing but silence and their own breathing.

Andre clears his throat, blinking out of his daze. He bends, bowing respectfully which catches Hamilton way off guard. He watches Andre with wide eyes and flushed cheeks as he brings his smaller hand up towards his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to Hamilton's knuckles as if he were greeting a woman.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Major," Hamilton says politely as Andre guides Hamilton towards the small table.

Andre nods, a warm smile to his lips. "You as well, Colonel Hamilton."

"Alexander!" Hamilton bursts out instantly. Andre raises an eyebrow. Hamilton clears his throat. "Please...Call me Alexander, Major."

"Then you may call me John," Andre says.

Hamilton straights himself up taller in his seat, trying to keep himself calm at the name John.

"I was told you wished to speak to someone from the General's staff," Hamilton says. "I am here."

"Thank you," Andre says quietly as he shifts some papers around smoothly, graceful--almost like a dancer--before handing Hamilton a sealed letter. "I have a letter for His Excellency."

Hamilton takes the letter, eyeing it suspiciously as he chews on the inside of his cheek. "Might I ask to its contents?"

Andre smiles grimly. "It regards my execution."

Hamilton stills, his shoulders tensing as he stares at the General's full title, swallowing hard. His fingers shake. "I shall deliver the letter directly into his hands..."

Andre nods curtly. "Thank you."

Hamilton shifts in the chair but he does not stand. It appears Andre has nothing more to say, nor anymore specific reason for calling him. Yet Hamilton would rather not remove himself just yet. He finds the mysterious man quite...fascinating. Charming, polite, handsome...accomplished, from what the rumors have said. Hamilton wonders what they could talk about if Andre were allowed more time?

Andre must have been reading Hamilton's mind because he says, "You have such singular eyes, Lieutenant Colonel..." This catches Hamilton's attention as he tips his head back up from the letter. Andre grins, tilting his head to one shoulder as he furrows his brows. "They are such a startling blue...almost...violet...I would imagine they could make for an impressive portrait..."

Hamilton purses his lips together in an effort to control the smile which threatens his face. He clears his throat.

"You are...kind to say so..." A pause. Hamilton glances back up and his eyes catch a rough outline of a woman's hair, wavy and curly at the same time, sees the rough lines marking her thin shoulder, the fluff of her dress. He smiles slightly as he turns to Andre, his eyebrows high with curiosity. "Are you an artist yourself?"

Andre whips his head suddenly to Hamilton, blinking out of his daze. Hamilton leans forward slightly, his hands clutching onto the letter underneath the table. He raises an eyebrow curiously.

Andre smiles thinly. He nods. "Though I may confess...I have not painted in some years." He turns to Hamilton. "I blame your Revolution for that."

Hamilton sighs rather dramatically. "A loss indeed."

"A man need not only be a soldier."

Hamilton chuckles, a faint sound causing the corners of Andre's lips to quirk up slightly. Hamilton's eyes travel to the portrait of the strange yet beautiful woman before him on the paper. He frowns instantly, remembering the way Laurens would always sneak in a drawing or two whenever Hamilton isn't looking, remembers how delicate the lines were when he shaped out his hands and eyes and the curled strokes to indicate his curled hair, the dots on his cheeks to indicate his freckles.

"Are you well, sir?" Andre says, breaking the silence in the room.

Hamilton blinks out of his daze and tips his head back up to Andre's. Hamilton clears his throat, shifting around in his seat.

"Um...yes...my apologies...it's just..." He lets out a shaky breath, seeing Laurens in his head, running through the field to dodge cannon fire and bullets, slicing his sword against a Redcoat's chest, a Redcoat jabbing his sword directly--

Hamilton shakes his head, forcing a tight smile onto his face.

"It's just...he...my friend...he's currently in the South...but your style reminds me very much of his." A pause. "He is an artist too, you know."

Andre smiles politely, resting his hand on top of Hamilton's for comfort most likely. Hamilton stares at Andre's slightly larger one, his strong fingers curled around between his index finger and thumb.

"I think I would have liked to meet your friend," Andre says.

Hamilton nods in agreement. Andre furrows his brows, realizing Hamilton looks rather distant.

"You are scared?" Andre admits for him. Hamilton turns to him sharply. "For your friend?"

He swallows. "Yes..." He turns back to their hands on top of each other. "He was... he is...known to be...quite reckless. He would often come back injured after a battle. He was shot in the shoulder three times once, if I recall." Hamilton sighs heavily. "Sometimes I wonder if he only lives to frighten me. If so..." he scoffs. "He's doing a damn good job of it."

Andre couldn't help but chuckle a little. He glances up at Hamilton, who smiles softly. He clears his throat.

"What is his name?" Andre wonders. "Your friend?"

Hamilton sighs once more. "Laurens...John Laurens..."

Andre nods. "Of course." A pause. "But have faith and hope, Colonel Hamilton, that your friend will return to you alive and well and unharmed. He's a right thing, you know? For himself, for his country, for you."

"Why are you telling me this, Major Andre?" Hamilton asks.

"I'm telling you the truth," Andre says, lifting Hamilton's chin up to meet his eyes.

Hamilton's heart skips a beat and he breathes in sharply through his nose. He can see Andre's jaw clenched and lips pressed tight, clearly fighting off temptation for something. But his eyes shine with a look Hamilton knows well enough.

"Hamilton...Alexander...I know I only have known for the briefest moment...but I must confess, you are truly indeed beautiful. I have never seen someone with such exquisit eyes as yours, a shade of auburn as your hair--" Andre grins when he sees Hamilton's freckled cheeks flush with color. He continues. "--But...since it maybe my last day here..." He clears his throat. "I'd very much like to kiss you..."

Hamilton's eyes fly wide.

"If you'll allow me, of course."

Hamilton swallows and without thinking he nods shakily. "Better make it quick, Major."

Andre smiles wide, leaning down to press his lips against Hamilton's, gripping Hamilton's elbow tightly. Hamilton grunts with some surprise as both of his hands fly up to cup both of Andre's jaw. Hamilton squeezes his eyes as Andre's lips presses harder against his, groaning occasionally, shifting himself closer so his chest is flushed against Hamilton's. Hamilton argues back, fighting for dominance but he knows Andre will win at this game.

After a few minutes, Hamilton pulls back slowly, a lopsided grin on his face. Andre huffs as he tries to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against Hamilton's.

"Thank you," Andre whispers.

Hamilton nods, his eyes closed. "Of course, Andre."

Andre pulls back and stands, squaring his shoulder. He grabs hold of his braid in his left hand and with his right, uses it to grasp hold a small pocket knife and slices a small piece of his braid off with a grunt.

Hamilton stares wide eyed as Andre places it gently in his palm. Andre nods.

"Keep it," he says. "For I'll have no means for it."

Hamilton never lets it go.

***

The following day becomes Major John Andre's execution, the sky a dark gray, clouds rolling in followed by a soft warm breeze, the leaves shifting from the dark evergreen color to more oranges and browns.

Hamilton stands among between General Washington and the Marquis among the crowd surrounding a tree. Hamilton closes his eyes softly, breathing in a couple of times, before slowly reopening them. Just as he does so, Major Andre's carriage arrives. Hamilton swallows the lump down his throat when he sees Major Tallmadge hop out first, swinging the door open and roughly pulling out a well, formal dressed British officer: red coat smoothed and ironed, almost looking new, dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the Major's typical mysterious braid shorter than before.

Hamilton breathes in again, clutching onto the braid beneath the cloak he wears to keep himself warm.

He sees Tallmadge guide Andre up to the wagon, flipping his coat around as he shifts to the opposite side. He pulls out a white handkerchief and hands it to him. Andre snatches it from Tallmadge's hands, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Hamilton's.

Andre smiles softly yet reassuringly when he sees the Colonel's eyes beginning to water.

"Will be but a momentary pang," he whispers into the chilled air to both himself and Hamilton.

Hamilton seemed to have heard for he nods his response.

Andre breathes in shakily, staring up at the sky for a moment before wrapping the white handkerchief around his eyes.

"If you wish to speak, now will be the time," Tallmadge says.

Andre breathes in, keeping his fixed on Hamilton's.

"Bare me witness...that I may bare my fate like a brave man."

Hamilton whimpers, flinches when he hears a shuddering snap, almost like a branch snapping against a person's knee. Hamilton whips his head over his shoulder, feeling a few drops of tears roll down his cheek. He clutches onto the braid in his palm as he feels the Marquis wrap his arm around him comfortingly, shushing him.

Hamilton's chest aches and squeezes. He stands among the crowd, letting the sight before him sink in.

He wishes Laurens were beside him so he may grip his hand tight.

And never let go.

[dcbutinamrev]

More Hamdre doodles. (I really don’t like how Andre looks but it doesn’t matter. It’s just a doodle!)