Falling Through Time: Basking in Firelight: Book 2

The Game isn't Over

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Warnings: Jefferson's playing a horrible matchmaker. Jamilton gets into some naughty stuff. Really, who let these children be presidents?

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"I'd almost forgotten how much work presidency is," Hamilton commented, shifting papers around his desk.

"It's not as heavy as it used to be when we first started, everything isn't three seconds from falling apart," Jefferson pointed out, signing a paper and setting on the stack he would hand over to Hamilton in a little while.

"Still, I don't miss it," Hamilton replied.

Jefferson smirked, "Missing the days when we didn't have to leave the bedroom?"

Hamilton chuckled, "Definitely missing those days."

Jefferson and Hamilton had been hard at work the moment they regained the title of President. They didn't move back into the presidential rooms, they decided to stick to the attic and let Burr keep his room. However, that meant that one of the rooms was empty since Adams retired when he failed at being reelected. Jefferson annoyed Madison about it until he finally moved into it. If anyone was going to be the president next, it would be him. Plus, Jefferson was enjoying the bonus of Burr and Madison constantly being in close proximity coupled with Burr's extensive knowledge of passageways. However, Jefferson and Hamilton did keep the presidential office, there wasn't much of a choice in the matter, the location was central and essential to running things smoothly.

The thing they missed most about having their old rooms was that they were connected to the office so they could easily make it to a bed when they were sleep deprived and ready to keel over. Now they had to stumble all the way back to the attic or just sleep right there on the floor. That actually happened enough that Burr had a couch brought in. Rather thoughtful, really.

The nation was doing extremely well. This made it year ten. The Eastern States were a decade old. So young. Young but stable, the nation was stable, there were no uprisings, debts were getting slowly and steadily paid off, the inner workings of the government was running smoothly. As founders, Hamilton and Jefferson were rather proud.

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"So what're you planning for the upcoming Presidential Speech?" Peggy asked one night while they were all sitting around the table for dinner.

"We have plans," Hamilton smirked.

"You know, typically, the presidents would recite a pre-written speech," Burr pointed out, hoping to avoid whatever shenanigan they had planned.

"I prefer to use my own words, thank you," Jefferson said, "Besides, we won't do anything too major."

Burr sighed and Madison patted his back as if to say, Just give up, there's no stopping them, believe me, I've tried. Burr dropped his head in his hands and massaged his temples, "You two are going to be the death of me," he said and starting picking at his food.

Hamilton came seconds away from retorting that he'd been the death of them but Jefferson laced his hand in Hamilton's under the table, knowing what he been thinking. Hamilton let out a breath and bit back the retort, instead, he leaned over and kissed Jefferson on the cheek. Jefferson kept eye contact with Burr the entire time and then glanced pointedly at Madison. Burr just took another casual bite of food, Madison completely oblivious to what was happening right next to him. Supposedly.

"Thomas, you're not a matchmaker," Hamilton whispered.

"Yes, I am."

Hamilton facepalmed as Jefferson took a drink of his wine, making eye contact with Madison and going through the same process. Luckily, everyone else at the table seemed completely oblivious to what was going on and was having their own pleasant conversations.

"Oh, just leave them be," Hamilton hissed.

"You were just as for it on that rooftop."

"We were alone."

"What does that matter, look at them, their head over heels for each other," Jefferson argued.

"Leave them be to figure it out on their own."

"Fine."

Hamilton slid his hand down Jefferson's leg and drew lazy circles on his inner thigh, "Just worry about our own relationship," Hamilton purred quietly.

Burr was extremely grateful to Hamilton for distracting Jefferson, even though he had no idea what was going on over there since he couldn't hear their hushed words. Jefferson, however, blushed darkly and grasped Hamilton's hand in his own, halting Hamilton's motions, and relaced their fingers. "Don't do that," Jefferson hissed quietly, Hamilton chuckled to himself, returning his attention to his food. That little bastard, two can play that game.

Jefferson freed his hand, and while keeping pleasant appearances, eating his food and conversing with Peggy, he ran his fingertips lightly up Hamilton's thigh. "This is hardly appropriate behavior for a president," Hamilton growled.

"You started it."

"You sound like you're seven."

"Would a seven year old know how to do this?"

Hamilton yelped, hitting his knee on the table, and swearing profusely. Everybody at the table turned and looked at him, his face was flushed, but Jefferson, the asshole, had a forkful of food halfway to his mouth and looking at Hamilton with confusion, copying everyone else's expressions as if he was shocked by Hamilton's sudden outburst as well. "Darin', what's wrong?" he asked innocently.

Oh, Hamilton wanted to stab him with a fork so badly. "Nothing, just remembered something extremely important that I need to do." He folded up his napkin and tossed in on his plate, "If you'll all excuse me." He got up and left the room.

Everyone looked to Jefferson, still slightly started, Jefferson just shrugged, "Hell if I know," he said, taking a bite of food. Everyone else seemed satisfied with the response, but Burr pinned him with a look, Jefferson just grinned back.

"He's gonna fuck something up, I better go after him," Jefferson said, standing from the table and stretching before going after Hamilton at a leisurely pace. That is, until he was out of sight, then he booked it.

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AN

IF YOU WANT THIS FIC TO END HAPPILY, STOP HERE. THIS WILL BE YOUR ONLY WARNING.