Jamilton Oneshots

Here Are My Keys

Alexander planned on eating his chicken nuggets in silence, with Thomas doing his own thing, away from him. Sadly Thomas didn't do that. He refused to leave Alex's side, joking and laughing and talking all through dinner. Eventually Alex's mood gave. He cracked a smile as Thomas chattered animatedly about his favorite TV show, his favorite books, his favorite dog breeds, and what movies to watch with a friend over. Alex coughed. 

"You alright?" Thomas inquired, taking a rare breath to cast a concerned look to Alex.

"Yeah. Probably caught a cold or something, it was raining earlier." Alex sighed.

"I have some medicine if you need it." Thomas said, standing up. Alex grabbed his arm.

"You don't need to." He said. They just stared at each other until Alex realized he hadn't let go of Thomas's arm. He quickly retracted his hand, his face heated.

"Are you, uh...uh...Are you sure?" Thomas asked. Alex could tell he had lost track of what he was saying. He had noticed that the only time Thomas ever really knew what he was talking about was when he was at work, talking like there was no tomorrow, debating and discussing and arguing.

"Yeah." Alex replied, staring with determination at the empty plate in front of him.

"All right. I can take this." Thomas offered, taking the plate.

"No, no I've got it." Alex said quickly, standing up to take the plate from Thomas.

"You're my guest. What kind of host would I be if I let you wash the dishes?" Thomas argued, smiling.

"I insist." Alex tried to grab the plate, but Thomas lifted it high above his reach.

"Nope. My treat."

"Thomas-!" Alex yelled, jumping and dancing around, attempting to snag the plate from Thomas.

They laughed and giggled, shouts of "Please, allow me!" and "You are my guest!" ringing around the kitchen. Thomas managed to back Alex into a corner, his large build blocking Alex's smaller frame easily. 

"Fine! Fine! You win!" Alex said, laughter riding his voice as he threw his palms up in defeat.

"Of course I won!" Thomas shouted, feeling lighthearted and too giddy to care.

"I guess you can wash the dishes." Alex mumbled, taking a breath and flopping down on the leather couch. 

Thomas smiled and started to rinse the dish. Alex laid back, huffing and fighting to get his breath back.

"Okay, Alex, I finished the dishes. Do you want to watch a movie?" Thomas turned to sit beside Alex. But  all Thomas could hear was coughing. And coughing. 

"Alex?" He said again, reaching for his shoulder. Alex coughed harder, hacking by now.

Thomas thumped him on the back, waiting for the fit to pass. It did eventually, leaving Alex drained and exhausted.

"Yeah, you're sick." Thomas said, standing up.

"I...I'm not..." Alex tried to argue, his voice weak. 

"I'm getting you some cough syrup, some tea, and a blanket, okay?" Thomas told him, taking the bottle of cherry-flavored syrup from the cabinet.

"I'm not...sick." Alex grumbled, standing up defiantly.

"Sit that ass back down, you are sick."

"Not sic'." 

"Alex-"

Thomas sighed and clamped his hand on Alex's shoulder. He guided him towards his bedroom, practically shoving him into the blankets.

"Stay. Sleep. You can have some jello and chicken noodle soup in the morning." Thomas said firmly.

"No." Alex grumped, wrapping himself in the closest blanket. Thomas smiled at the sight of him in his bed.

"Yes." Thomas said, his voice daring to be challenged.

Alex finally sighed (and coughed) and turned onto his side, shivering and coughing every so often.

Thomas watched him for a moment before going back out to his kitchen. He sat down at the table, holding his head in his hands.

Alexander Hamilton is at my house.

Alexander Hamilton is in my bed.

Alexander Hamilton is sleeping over.

I'm not fucking Alexander Hamilton.

His lips quirked upwards at his last thought. 

Do I want to fuck Alexander Hamilton?

I like him.

oh shit I'm totally gay for Alexander Hamilton