Hamilton x Washington: A Birthday Ball

Washington Sure is Beautiful

No. Alexander Hamilton, first Secretary of Treasury, was not getting attached to George Washington, the first president of the United States. No. He wasn't doing his work earlier and finishing it without leaving a single blot of ink on the corners just to please Mr. Washington. No. He wasn't greeting him every day to make Mr. Washington smile. No. He didn't love his smile or the way he would wave to him, or even the way his heart would flutter whenever his eyes caught his and he'd smile for him and him only. Far from it.

"Hamilton," Washington called, snapping Hamilton from his thoughts.

"S-Sir!" he stuttered, ultimately failing in trying to squirm out of his seat from his desk and hitting his lap at the top.

Washington chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. No need to act so formal; I believe we've past that point by now, Son."

Hamilton laughed sheepishly, scratching his cheek in discomfort. Washington was still smiling at him and he could feel his cheeks already heating up.

"O-Oh, sorry, Sir," Washington shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. "Er, I mean, Washington! Apologies!"

"No worries." Washington said before leaning over Hamilton's desk and looking over the reports Hamilton had been working on. "Anyway, are you working on the papers I've instructed you to fill out?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yes! I'm almost finished." Hamilton answered, placing his quill back into its inkwell.

"Oh? Is that so?" Washington pondered, glancing over the pages. "Then I guess you'll have to look over this invitation sometime after you've finished."

"Invitation?" Hamilton muttered, watching as Washington not so subtly slid him an envelope across the desk.

Washington placed a gloved finger over his lips and winked. "Do not open it until you have finished here." Hamilton stared at him dumbfounded before looking back down at the encased letter. "Do you understand me, Alexander?"

Hamilton's heart skipped a beat. Washington never exactly called him by his first name all that much; he'd rather call him Hamilton or 'Son', though he'd much rather prefer Hamilton than 'Son.' Whenever he called him by his first name was when they were alone together and weren't going through any business matters which almost happened never, so being called Alexander by one of his peers? You bet it made his face light up and his mind go blank.

"Alexander?" Washington asked, snapping his gloved fingers in front of the man's blank expression.

"H-Huh? Oh, uh, yea! Yes! I mean, yes! I understand!" Hamilton stuttered, accidentally flipping his quill from his inkwell. "Oh, fuck me."

Washington raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

Hamilton suddenly blushed at what he just said. Had he just said that in front of his commanding officer and the president of the United States, none less? He picked up his quill and began to sloppily write as he gave Washington a small, quivering smile.

"S-Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear anything, did you hear anything?" Hamilton lied, focusing only on the way the ink from the tip of his quill would beautifully coat the beige color of the paper he used into a midnight black ink. He slowly put his quill back before knocking some stuff off his desk and shaking it violently. "Woah! We're under attaaaack!"

Washington remained unamused, face still stuck in the same position as before. Hamilton sighed. For the amount of time he met him, Washington had always won these things. Hamilton slowly stopped shaking his desk until he realized the inkwell was falling right on top of his papers. Hamilton gasped and hurried to grab it, but he was too late.