The Press (Whamilton)

Ch. 20

Halfway through writing this I remembered who I originally wrote this for, and I don't know how this story makes me feel anymore.

Washington had left yesterday, and Hamilton was already swamping himself with work. Jefferson had called, so now they were on the phone together arguing about whether its racist or not to do an impression of Sebastian from The Little Mermaid.

Hamilton huffed, "It's horrible, Jefferson! Like, it's severely racist to Jamaican people!" There was silence on Hamilton's end for a moment. After a long sigh he snapped, "YES! THERE ARE STILL JAMAICAN PEOPLE AROUND TODAY!" He was trying not to laugh as he organized papers in his study.

Jefferson was at home, relaxing on the couch with Adams in his arms. He huffed, "No, listen, I didn't say they didn't exist I just said they're in small numbers. I'm not making fun of the race, I'm making fun of the accent. The character, actually, to be more specific."

Alex argued, "Small numbers. You're right. They are in small numbers, which means not only are you being racist, but you're being racist to a serious minority!" Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Alright, I'm done arguing. Let's change the subject... Can we talk for a moment?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton sat down at his desk and got to work on some documents. "Yeah, what's up?" Alex mumbled, getting his laptop out. Jefferson ran a hand through Adam's hair, trying to resist the urge to smooch him.

"What's up between you and Washington?" Jefferson asked.

Alexander played it cool. "What do you mean?" The conversation continued.

"So you and that Hamilton fellow?" George teased as he made his tea. King George III was not a force to be reckoned with. In public, that is. But right now, in the private life of King George's home, he was just another rich, white human being. "What's between you two?"

Washington shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing. He's my treasurer and I'm his president." He replied nonchalantly. King George giggled and sighed. He handed the president a cup of tea.

"Now, now. We both know that's not quite true." King George said, "They don't just make up rumors like that."

"Yes they do," Washington chuckled, "That's literally their job, your highness."

King huffed, "Please! Call me George! Anyway, enough about my name. I don't want to stray away from the subject of you and your twink."

"He is not my twink!" George hissed at him, "Please refrain from that kind of language." King giggled and twirled his way over to Washington. He wrapped his arms around the president's neck and sighed happily.

"It's wonderful to see you." George rested his head on Washington's shoulder and continued, "I just feel like we never have time to see each other anymore! You know? There's always other stuff going on and getting in the way... Work, reputation..." He whispered in George's ear, "People."

Washington gently pulled away and sipped his tea. He said, "Your majesty, please try to be professional for this trip." King pouted as his crush continued to push away his affections. Ever since King George III and George Washington were in power at the same time, King had tried everything he could to smooch the man. It was a constant dance they did of battling professionalism and their true, sexual, lustful feelings. At least, that's how it always seemed to King George III.

To George Washington, however, it was an annoying, pompous ass trying to win over his affections when they were both supposed to be mature, important people in the world. In Washington's eyes, this wasn't kindergarten. This is the real world. (Washington liked to ignore how hypocritical his views on this topic were).

George sighed, "What do you see in the brat anyway? He seems so... hm... What word am I looking for?"

Washington muttered, "Beautiful?"

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Meanwhile, back in America, the ridiculous argument between Thomas and Alex- the one about The Little Mermaid- had gotten so intense that they were now having coffee at Hamilton's house. Jefferson rolled his eyes at everything Hamilton said while still looking 100% interested in everything Hamilton said. It was an odd talent.

Alex said, "It's horribly racist. You're horribly racist."

"I'm black." Thomas scoffed, "Like coffee."

"Black coffee can still be bitter and disgusting, no matter how much creamer you add." Alex argued.

"True," Jefferson countered, "Except not true because the literal point of creamer is to make it sweet, which it does."

"Yeah, but it's just covering up the truth." Alex smirked. He got up and messed with the thermostat, turning it down to 73. Jefferson watched Alexander walk to the kitchen. He got up, changing the subject.

"So," He asked, "You live alone?"

"Of course." Hamilton said, "Why?" Jefferson shrugged. Hamilton got a plate of cookies out of the fridge and munched on them. He grabbed one of the millions of pens from a random drawer and scribbled milk onto his shopping list.

"Y'know, doesn't it get lonely?" Thomas asked, leaning against a counter.

"I mean..." Hamilton never felt lonely. He was always in a skype call, or busying himself with work, or working out, or watching youtube. But the few moments, like when he was trying to sleep... "Sort of. Sometimes. I don't know." He rushed out with a shrug.

Jefferson scooched a little closer. "Must be lonely with Washington in Britain." He whispered, as if a million people could hear from the private of Alexander's kitchen. Alex calmly shook his head.

He sighed, "Jefferson, I don't know what you-"

"Don't." Thomas shook his head and said, "I saw you in his arms. After I left the office..." Alex was about to move out of the kitchen, but Jefferson blocked his way of escape. He kept his arms on either side of Hamilton, pinning him to a counter.

Alex snapped, "What is this?"

"I just figured... it might get rather lonely." Thomas said, his eyes gazing down at Alex. There was an odd yet interesting feeling in the air. Confusion and lust and curiousity all swirling into a wonderful mix of trouble.

Alex hesitantly nodded and looked up at Jefferson. "I suppose so." He shrugged, "... With George gone, I have trouble filling up my time." Why did he feel so open all of a sudden? Especially to somebody as disgusting as Thomas Jefferson.

Thomas whispered, "Maybe I could help a bit." He trailed his hands to Alexander's waist. He gave a gentle squeeze, immediately followed by a soft sigh from Alex.

Alex whispered, "I think I'd like it if you stayed awhile, Mr.Jefferson."

"Call me Thomas." The man purred, tilting Alex's head up and feeling the stubble. "Please." Their lips met, soft and pleasant and bitter sweet.