𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 [𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳]

Help Comes Slow

It took a while for Alexander to gather a response from Jefferson, having to call him more than five times just to hear the phone ring more than once. He knew that Jefferson was manually ignoring the calls, Alexander wasn't clueless. Nor was he dumb. The most likely scenario was for Thomas to think that Alexander wants another fuck, even though it's only been, what, two hours? Three? After their meet. In all honesty, Alexander wasn't sure. He didn't keep his eye on the clock the entire time. He stopped caring for that moment.

Either Jefferson thought that Alexander wanted to fuck, or he thought that Alexander caught feelings. Which, neither of those things happened, of course. Not that Alexander knew of. Though, it was impossible for Thomas to already know what Alexander needed, to be able to read into nothing but a ringing cell phone and know all about Alexander, his past, and his present. It was simply impossible. Unless Thomas had known somebody in a similar situation, which Alexander doubted.

When Alexander finally heard Jefferson pick up, he breathed a sigh of relief, shifting so that he could get the phone under his elbow. He then managed to push it to his neck and over to his shoulder, him leaning his head to the side to press his ear against the thing, grinning when he heard Jefferson's already irritated voice.

He never thought that somebodies voice could bring him so much happiness, in all honesty. So much relief.

----------------------------

Thomas wasn't far too keen on being woken up in the goddamn morning by a ringing phone, one he forgot to silence before falling asleep. His mind was too busy wandering to other things to even think about doing so, his body and mind covered in a heavy and weighing exhaustion that only ever seemed to come to him after sex. Which, he had to admit, was the best he's had in a while, but he wasn't one to openly admit.

When Thomas turned over to grab his phone blindly, opening his eyes and squinting at the bright screen to see who it was, he rolled his eyes, hanging up on him. Hamilton shouldn't be fucking calling him at - what time was it? - three in the fucking morning. He was probably going to blow Jefferson's ear off with saying how he didn't want to continue, listing more than a million reasons why, before Thomas would end up hanging up on him. It was a realistic thought, but he doubted that was the case. Why would it be, when Hamilton could just text him like a normal person?

He was drifting off to sleep once again when he got the second call, furrowed eyebrows marking a confused expression on his face. He would call himself concerned, but he wouldn't allow himself to feel anything other than lust and loathing towards the immigrant. He didn't feel anything other than those two, either. Of that, he was sure. He hung up again, but didn't bother going back to sleep. He sat, and waited. And, like he had expected, he got another call.

He had to of hung up around four or five times before finally giving in, taking the call. It was like a game that he and Alexander had begun playing. Every call brought a small smirk on his face, slowly but surely growing it until it became an actual grin. Though, when he finally decided to pick up, he wiped the look off his face, allowing his tone to reader irritated and tired.

"What the fuck do you want, Hamilton? I'm trying to get some sleep."

The relieved sigh Thomas heard on the other side of the phone caused a small frown to play on his lips, an eyebrow raised even though Thomas knew that nobody could see him. He pushed away a pit at his stomach that grew with Hamilton's next three words, standing up and throwing a shirt on.
"I need help."