Hamilton one-shots

Endless Devotion (Thomas Jefferson x Reader)

Warning: SMUT

KINKY SMUT.

The man at the bar had been eyeing you for over an hour now. He was handsome. A mess of curly, natural hair sat a top his head, and he was adorned in a deep blue button up shirt, with a loose tie dangling around his neck. He was a tall, somewhat bulky, and definitely built man as you could tell by the way his arm muscles slightly bulged out of his shirt.  He wore black, shined shoes and pants to match. He was wealthy, no doubt. You had come to the bar alone, downing a few shots of whiskey to try and forget about the incredibly difficult work week, wincing as you took another shot and the bitter liquid seeped down your throat. You covered your mouth while forcing yourself to swallow. If this devil’s liquid was what it took in order to boost your confidence enough to talk to the man, than so be it.

Looking up, you checked to see if the man was still staring at you. Of course, he was. You knew exactly why he was. His eyes skillfully undressed you as his eyes connected with your face, bountiful breasts, and shapely figure. You finally mustered up the courage to make long, steady, eye contact with him, and smile. He immediately returned the grin, and lifted his hand from the bar. His right index finger pointed directly at you, then his hand rotated as he curled his finger up, let it fall back into it’s straight position, then repeated the action.

He was beckoning you.

You were taken aback, at first by the incredibly forward notion, then felt yourself relax. Then, if almost unwillingly, you felt yourself slither off of the barstool and make your way across the room to him. It felt as if he had control over you, and you trusted him immediately. You wanted to please him.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would wander over to me, little lamb,” the man said, in a deep, sultry voice.

“It was hard to resist your welcoming stare, I must admit.” you flirted, resting your hand on his arm. “Shall you continue undressing me with your eyes, or would you rather let your hands?”

His let out a soft chuckle as he continued to smirk.

“My name is (Y/N).”

He removed your hand from his arm, then gently pressed your knuckles to his lips, softly kissing them twice.

“I’m Thomas Jefferson. And what an absolute pleasure it is to meet your acquaintance.” He introduced himself, still with a firm grip on your hand. “Can I buy you a drink?” he continued.

“That would be nice,” you said as you scooted onto the barstool next to him. His hand snaked from your grasp onto your thigh, squeezing it gently. 

“Bartender!” he called out. 

The grumpy, older, salt-and-pepper haired man cleaning a glass grumbled as he made your way over to the duo.  

“What’ll it be, chap.”

“Two white Russians,” Jefferson started, beginning to slide his hand up your thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles over your soft, tender skin.

“Strong.”

******************************************************************

His arm was draped over you as he guided you back to his home. You melted into his side and giggled, not with drunkness, but with eagerness and desire. You had consumed a few drinks, yes, but you were really drunk on Jefferson’s suave, charming manor. His impeccable demeanor and little, gentle touches to your body had unfolded you into an entirely different mood. 

He was softly patting your butt and discussing as you finally approached his house. He led you by the hand up the steps, and released you as he began to dig into his pockets for the key. You wrapped you arms around his waist from behind as he faced the door, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades and grinning. He smelled of cologne and lavender soap. He had a toned back, and you could feel his muscles flexing and relaxing as he struggled with the door.