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“You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this.”
“I love you, I mean that.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart” || “How is it okay?”
“Everyone I’ve loved has got hurt. I can’t let that happen to you.”
One
Two
Christmas
Sweat dripped down his forehead and pearled on his chest. His shirt has soaked it in and stuck to the skin, suffocating like the thick air full of dust. John closed his eyes as he hoped for the consciousness to drift away. The pallet gave space between them. The heat of Alexander’s body, on another occasion greatly desired, would be an unfortunate sensation for both of them at this time; yet, with no touch, the action of falling asleep was one much more difficult. John sighed as he shut his eyes tighter. Alexander’s fingertips found his and laid down next to them.
John dropped his head back as his hair got tugged and corrected himself on the ground. He relaxed between the knees wrapped around his waist. Short, bitten off nails were brushing against his scalp from time to time as Alexander gathered the unruly strands. A horse neighed somewhere in the camp; the mail must have arrived. Agile fingers played between his hair while the morning got ready for another day.
The fire was burning his face. He raised his torch higher as his kierpce hit the heels. The rhythm of oberek carried them around the bonfire, the grass scrunched under their shoes. Regular scurry was awakening the already deep night, jammed only by the shallow breath from between slightly upturned lips.
From afar made it to them the sounds of girls’ screaks, every round he saw the candles of wreaths flowing down the lake. The smooth sheet of water carried them calmly and unhurriedly. Many of them will disappear before the sunrise. Aleksander’s head whipped back after his shoulder.
The trees disappeared in the darkness. Above the bonfire, Jan’s face appeared in the murk. The fire was casting a red shadow on his jaw; clenched tight didn’t express breathlessness. His bright eyes were shining imperturbably when flames flickered in them.
A drum beat out the tempo. One, two, three, one, two, three. Catching the sight, he smiled wider, and his heart was beating even faster, lumbering with the blood in his ears.
The stump was barely burning, but the flame gave enough light to write. The drops on the counter suggested to lay the shaky wrist to rest, yet just a few paragraphs marked the finish line.
A tingling sensation across his chin made him freeze with his hand midway in the air. A quill ran up over his nose.
"Hamilton, you must stop here. You have been ambushed, my dear sir. Lay your weapons down.".
Alexander slowly put his hand down, how could he have not under such a blade, and felt his smile mirror the one underlying the order. "Laurens, you are truly an exceptional soldier. I had not heard a rustle before you spoke."
"You did not hear me for you are too tired to be in your senses." He plucked the quill from Alexander’s hand and laid it down away from his reach. "You are my prisoner of war now, and you shall do what I say."
"Aye, Colonel." He tried to stand up. If the quarrel came to physical force, he would not be a challenge to John. "Alas, what is your command for me?"
"Join me on the pallet." John put his coat from the chair onto his shoulders. "The night is cold."
Chill overtook him when they stepped out of the tent. Gusts ruffling his cravat brushed against exposed skin. The night was dark, but for a warden's fire in the far distance. No more that two voices were chanting a drunken song from between the stationed soldier's quarters; sleep had truly come already onto the camp, the hour was late.
While they strode towards their tent, John did not speak much. "You probably should know Greene-" Alexander began, before being cut off.
"Shhh, you will scare away the stars," John smiled as his arm landed in his waist. "The matter can wait until tomorrow, cannot it?" There was no protest to be made. "Aye. But you should probably know I am selfish with my acts. I miss a friend to rest my head in his lap in the evening."
"Do not tease me, Laurens." He swatted the palm resting on his hip.
"I do not tease you. I express my regrets. The night is cold. Will you keep me warm for tonight, Colonel?"
"For tonight."
She smiled. Softly, barely showing her teeth. Her cheeks turned pink, lightening her face up. Eyes, sweet in colour, were glowing coyly. Ruffles of her dress were hiding the hands folded in her lap. Seated between two candles, she was like the sacred mystery Knox has told him about. Tender, innocent, daring.
"Hello, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. I have been waiting for you, my sir."
The sheets smelled of rose perfume. Stranded light was falling inside through lace curtains, glowing with gold on the white pillows. Rose like the flowers of the perfume, Eliza's lips were curved into a soft arch. She ran her fingers through his hair. The corners of her eyes got adorned with tiny wrinkles as she smiled at him.
The skies turned sour - stygian clouds poured buckets on them. Woollen coats had soaked up with water, boots waded through mud. Lowered heads hid their grim expressions from the pounding.
Season did not bring soothingness over the hardships of their daily struggles. Between the pending drill and insufficient communication with Congress, frustration rotted them from the inside. The steam had been used long ago to keep themselves warm in face of the non-existence of resources. Supposed energy did not allow to move mountains; John kicked a loose pebble. It tumbled down a few inches and splashed into a puddle.
The sound of the second pair of feet halted. He raised his head to the side.
Alexander had stopped. He turned his face up and gaped his lips as raindrops fell down on his cheeks. The corners of his mouth upturned giddily.
His finger trailed over John's wide back. Drowned in deep sleep, he looked quiet. It was not yet peaceful, but on an inhale for another hit the next day. The rock you build your house upon, in spite of the violent sea below. The rock stood, crumbled in a minute way, scarred, but stood. And when, with time, the force made it stand no more, the life you built upon it fell down into the vast depths.
He couldn’t see flinders crash into the dark water. He leaned into, lips to John’s ear, “I hope I die first.”
He was hot. His muscles were burning, skin was like gum. He needed air. Alexander opened his mouth and- He couldn't catch a breath. When he tried to inhale, all that came out was a dry cough.
“Shhh…” Bright light stuck sharp in his eyes. Eliza was sitting next to him, with a cold hand on his forehead. Pale on face, she frowned her wrinkly forehead. She pulled up a duvet over him, tucking in corners around his neck. "Rest." The faint smile in her voice was supposed to be encouraging, or soothing, he couldn't be sure.
His head was heavy. Everything was spinning. His stomach was upset. Bile came up to his mouth. He closed eyes and let his head fall down onto the soft pillow.
It barely got dark and something moved him upwards, an arm pulled on his shoulders. “Drink.” John put a jug up to his lips, holding up his head. “Alex, you have to drink. You're sweating too much…”
Water dripped down the corner of his mouth as he tried to swallow it down his sore throat. His muscles trembled as he attempted to keep himself up; his body went limp and he slumped into John's strong embrace.
The thin pallet shook his bones as he fell onto it. They didn't break, they'd never break, but it felt as if.
John wiped his face with something. As gentle as he could be, it still felt like a slap. How could a moist rag feel?
She put the cold towel on his forehead.
Head buried deep in the pillow. His eyes came up with mist before his pupils. Irony all his senses seemed heightened but the useful one.
The dirt that fell on the cot scratched his cheek painfully.
He vehemently twisted in half over the edge.
An arm held him up as he puked violently. Burning in the throat, mouth, nose. John was stroking him in the back. He caught his eyes, over a rusty bucket of his own sickness - grey under, red inside.
Eliza's sight oozed with worry. He didn't want her to worry.
“Give him an ice bath.”
Something dragged him and plunged in a chilled washtub. A bucket of freezing water splashed his shoulders. He flinched at the hit; it burned worse.
“It’s so- so cold-”
John pulled off his own coat and draped it around his shoulders. “Temperature is rising… I'll try to ask for more blankets, but we don't have any left.” He laid him down, careful.
His body was shaking.
“Stay with me.” John's warm breath tingled his neck. Arm wrapped around his chest, his own heated body pressed to him as tight as the coat. “Please, Alexander, stay.”
He kissed Alexander’s neck, sliding his hands into his waist. Stiff fabric crinkled under his fingers as his friend’s head fell back on his shoulder. The darkness around their tent barely hummed, faint, faraway. Everything had been left outside. John closed his eyes, moving from memory, the same trail he had gone a thousand of times, soothing his mind and senses.
The collar of John's coat shredded snow into the puddle growing under Alexander’s boots. He slipped out of the garment and laid it out close to the flickering flames of the faint fire. In the turn of his head, flakes fell from between hair and died in just enough warmth.
Sudden gusts of heat upset the reddened face. Seemingly burning skin oozed chill. John added a few legs to the burn. Hands upholstered with cracked skin differed from the wood in colour.
His own coat slid down Alexander’s shoulders with a new breeze. To rid himself of it or keep the throughout dampness was a dilemma unending in this weather. Yet now, a bit of dryness would make him give a part of his soul away.
He pulled a coarse blanket from their pallet and draped it over his shoulders tight as he stepped closer to the fireplace. His hands, grasped on the hems, keeping the blanket close to the body, were still shaking uncontrollably.
Straightening his back up, John glanced at him through watery eyes. Alexander reached out for John's face. Numb fingertips traced his cheeks, rough under his feeble touch.
Words did not convey what skin did. The gentle brief flicker of your friend's palm against your hand behind any eyes flaming up your senses, his sharp kiss on your mouth, stolen between glances, strong thigh rubbed against yours. The burning heat of his flushed body in the immanent cold of stinging darkness, between coarse blankets with grains of dirt tangling into your hair.
Rushed breath on your earlobe, softly piercing moans escaping his throat, wet kisses on yours. Nails digging into your arms, leaving marks for time to come, grazing your stomach, flanks, your hands on his shoulders, gripped so tight. The stench of pillows soaked in sweat of weeks, stains of your pleasure on the thin pallet.
The smile of his eyes when he raised his head for a moment, waves glued together, snarled and matted by the cheap, grey powder. Curve of swollen, gaped lips, tempting to open them wider. Fingers trailing down to coax out of you sounds buried under their touch, grazing and groping.
Your teeth on his bruised collar, his pressure on your hips, brushing of ankles, engrasped hands. Reek of horse blankets. Promise of faith.
The branches were so blurry. Green smudges blended with the shaky sky without a horizon. His eyes felt so heavy, with the sun dazzling from a low height.
John swung himself upright and spluttered with all the water that fell into his nose. Only after rubbing out his eyes did his vision return to normal.
On the side, Alexander was grinning at him, perched on the bank. His usually wavy hair was now dark and heavy from the water, falling right below his shoulders. Not matted by the powder, it reflected the sun rays with a soft glimmer, reddish in colour. He had thought many things of Hamilton, some more frequently than other, but now, he could not ignore the one he spared surprisingly little time - how handsome he was.
"I couldn't help myself." Alex slid down to the water. "You are adorable, John Laurens." He paddled over to him and grabbed an out-sticking root to stabilise himself. His hand wandered over John's chest until it climbed his throat and pulled him down by the jaw, into a kiss.
The gentle shine, lover's saltish lips, quiet private morning, they were all ploys. Alexander's leg hooked around his knee and pulled him into the water. Strong arms kept him under the surface, and whenever he tried to break free, the embrace just tightened, and he received a jab in his ribs. They scuffled for a while, with John enjoying it more and more with each whack, received and reciprocated. As to say - too much. Kicking Alex off of himself, he flew him a few feet away.
He stood up in the second, looking around. A mistake. His leg got pulled again. Before he tripped, he counterattacked. Dragging Alexander to his face level wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be.
Alexander was grinning from ear to ear, panting to regulate his breath. "You won," he fumbled with sliding his wet hair to the back of his head.
The sun, though, early, was still powerful enough to be slowly drying the drops from their backs and send a shiver down John's spine. Before they got cold, he plunged them back in. "Rematch?"
Hard cot made his fatigued figure ache comparably with the saddle. Lined with but a saddlecloth, it also shared its odour. Finding a position that did not make him feel like his bones were actively attacking him was as easy as convincing Washington he should not be acting paranoid.
Twisting and turning in the effort to fall asleep without pain in his mind, John stared into the darkness above him. Despite the impenetrable black, his eyes did not consider it sufficiently lightless. In a desperate act of seeking rest, he brought his forearm over his face. His own odour was no better than the horse's.
He dropped the arm to the side and forced his eyes shut. Being given a tent to oneself had many benefits, mainly the comfort of privacy, but it exposes a man to the most bothersome lack of all; total silence. Nothing to occupy the thoughts while they try to escape to another one.
How much bearable would the cot be if another one was in there. John inhaled sharply as he hoped to recall himself to the present reality. He stopped counting both miles and days from where he had left Alexander; after all, Hamilton had moved as well, it would be pointless to calculate that way.
Yet, the memory of the soft skin on his chest had been going with him around. He had grown spoiled rotten, to think of resting in his lover's bosom instead of the next important move in the campaign. But when muscles declined cooperation, the mind sought for a bed with soft sheets and a faithful friend to hold onto.
His hand curled in the air, in the vain hope of finding the rough fingers that should be there.
Just a crumb of a smile.
No flash of teeth, no mighty laughter. Silent in the whoosh of sharp paper edges, easy to drop into the ink. Fed from lips to lips in the confidence of a gaze. Delightful on the tongue. Melting for passing hours. Lingering on the palate long after the dark shrouded the air. Awakening the beastly hunger of the stomach for more.
