The door clicked behind George as he entered the room, yet Alexander’s blue eyes remain locked on his paper. His hand remained stationary, however, his quill filled with ink yet no words flowing out. George approached from behind, arms wrapping around Alexander’s slim shoulders. His grey blue eyes, ever observant, scanned over the paper. Words play across the page, yet a small drop of ink formed under Alexander’s stationary quill.
“You’re working too hard.” George murmured, lips brushing against the other man’s ear, voice soft like the air around them might break.
85 essays to be divided among three men. Yet, Alexander bore the responsibility of 51. John Jay had fallen ill after 5. James Madison was working through 29. Yet, Hamilton persisted, that stubborn passion that made George’s stomach tingle. That defiant attitude, his strong will even as fatigue covered him like a quilt, it was just few of the traits George admired.
“I am not.” Alexander’s gaze drifted to Washington’s arms around him, but they returned to the page soon after. How could he not write? He was running out of time.
George’s hand moved, gently caressing up Alexander’s neck, and then his chin.
“Look at me.” He whispered, yet the words were almost a loud echo in the silent room. His hand, firm yet not rough, tilted the other man’s head. Their eyes met.
“George, look-” His words were cut off by a soft whimper as the man’s lips, slightly chapped but still so soft, met his. His hand dropped his quill, body shifting to face him.
George resisted the urge to smirk. He was adorable, the way his shoulders tensed before relaxing, his eyes shut in pleasure, and *god*. Those noises, those soft whines and whimpers as George’s tongue sought entrance to his mouth.
The kiss started out soft, but progressively got more passionate, their britches suddenly feeling too tight and hot. George’s leg slipped between the other man’s thigh, a wonton mewl escaping Alexander.
“G-George! I-..ngh~!”
“Shh…be a good boy.”
And they were roommates.