Slipping Into The Future

Chapter 19

Hamilton wakes up to movement and pulls himself up, groaning from his sore joints cracking. He cards his fingers through his bed-ridden curls and gazes at Laurens, smiling with relief as his hand lightly grips his own. His eyes are still closed, but he seems to be slowly stirring awake and subconsciously grabbing Hamilton's hand.

"John?" Hamilton whispers, feeling his cheeks flush as Laurens responds by squeezing his hand. He hums and slowly flutters his eyelids open. Hamilton automatically takes the cool cloth from the bucket beside him and drains it before lightly dabbing the sheen of sweat from Laurens' brow. He releases Laurens' hand to place the back of his hand on Laurens' cheek and sighs with relief again; his temperature has lowered considerably.

"Alex..."

"Shh, Laurens. Don't speak," Hamilton coos soothingly, putting the cloth down to stroke his tangled honey locks away from his sticky forehead. "You've been ill. You are truly a fool for not seeking medical attention immediately after getting shot."

"I am well," Laurens replies hoarsely; a dry cough rips through his lungs to negate his statement.

Hamilton's lips tug downward as he raises an accusing brow at his friend. "You were shot and bruised your damn ribs, then you were stricken with a fever from the infected gunshot wound. You have been delirious for days."

Laurens gazes at him with glassy eyes. He seems so small being bandaged and sweaty in this lone cot, his skin is ghostly pale and riddled with various bruises from the battle. "I am fine. My health has improved immensely."

Hamilton shakes his head deliberately, feeling bitter tears prick his eyes. He squeezes them shut, refusing to show such weakness. "I thought I was going to lose you, John..." Hamilton's intake of breath is shaky and he furiously wipes the escaping tears. "I do not know what I would have done — had you not made it," he admits meekly.

The lone candle in their tent flickers with the draft, causing the shadows to dance across Laurens' concerned expression. "Alexander?" His voice is coarse and low; it rumbles like thunder.

"Damn you, John." Hamilton wipes another tear indignantly and grabs Laurens' hand, stroking it carefully and staring down at him with affirmed clarity. "You snuck your way into my heart and I am but a damn fool who be hopelessly devoted to you... You are the closest friend I have ever had, my dear. I cannot lose you."

Laurens' gaze flickers between Hamilton's deep violet eyes, tears clearly forming at the blunt fondness Hamilton is sharing. How dare this man steal into his affections? He truly should not care so much, but the thought of losing him as he lost his mother pains him so. Laurens lifts his binded arm as far as it may go, holding Hamilton's bicep. His other hand slips free from Hamilton's grasp to stroke his cheek and wipe the tears with his thumb. He pecks Laurens' jaw tenderly, his lips lingering on his face for a moment too long to be considered platonic. Hamilton's body ignites at the simple action and he subconsciously leans closer even as he pulls away to catch John's gaze again.

The air shifts into something familiar — into what they have been dancing around for a considerable amount of time.

Laurens' gaze flickers to his lips before looking back into Hamilton's eyes expectantly. Hamilton closes his eyes and Laurens fills the gap, gently pressing their lips together. Hamilton's heart bursts at the euphoric feeling and tilts his head, uncaring if he catches the feverish sickness from Laurens as he needlessly goes closer for more. Now that he finally has a taste, he will not let go. Laurens' hand delicately trails to the nape of Hamilton's neck and pulls him closer, causing him to slide his right leg over the cot to be overtop of Laurens.

Their kiss grows needy and desperate, finally ending their holy lent and feeding their darkest desires. Hamilton has wanted this since Laurens' second week on Washington's staff but he resisted — fearing exile or death for his sinful nature. His hands carefully caress Laurens' torso, bare aside from the binding wrapped around his shoulder and arm. He keeps his kisses and hands so gentle as to not disturb Laurens' wounds, yet he still winces when Hamilton's fingers brush over his abdomen.