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Mr. Adam Davenport and Mr. Jean-Marc Beaufort request the honour of your presence at the celebration of their union.

Saturday, the fourteenth of February, at Baron Von Steuben’s headquarters

Please save the date and burn this letter after reading it

With a quiet breath, John Laurens rose from the desk, where he struck a match and lit a candle, watching the flame stretch up before lowering it to the edge of the letter. The parchment curled inwards, blackening at the edges, the ink vanishing into smoke.

Behind him, he heard footsteps.

Hamilton appeared at his side, silent but not surprised. Wordlessly, he extended his own invitation into the fire, using the remaining heat of Laurens' flame. Their hands almost brushed as the paper caught.

“Did you also...?”

Hamilton offered a brief smile and leaned forward, blowing gently on the corner of his burning paper. The flame danced, then vanished. Ash drifted to the floor and Hamilton mindlessly cleaned the soot on his coat. “Yes.”

Laurens frowned. He did not find that idea amusing, instead, he thought it dangerous. They were being everything but discreet. And that could call attention to the others in camp, to himself, to Hamilton.

“He’s not serious, is he?”

Hamilton shrugged. For someone who should be worrying about the same things as John, he seemed very calm.

“Knowing Adam, he probably is.”

He made to leave, but John held his arm. He arched an eyebrow and Laurens immediately let go, yet his face was still serious.

“You cannot think this right.”

Alexander sighed and he looked up before answering. He had the tiredness he’s seen on every soldier after the years of war, but most of the time he was better at hiding.

“I think that life is already hard enough. On them. On us.” His hands brushed against Lauren’s. “Let them have fun, at least for one night.”

“Which part of this is fun to you?”

Alexander stepped forward and grabbed John’s cravat, pulling him down slightly. John felt his face get hotter, suddenly too aware that anyone could enter the room and see them.

He licked his lips and whispered next to John’s ear. “All of it.”

John relented. He leaned slightly, expecting a kiss, but Alexander let him go and he stumbled forward.

“See you Saturday, dear.” Alexander winked, before stepping away.

Besides Laurens and Hamilton, Lafayette, Meade and McHenry were invited as well, and they all agreed to go together to the Baron’s headquarters. John just put on his everyday uniform, while Alexander put on the waistcoat with golden buttons he only wore to balls. Laurens watched carefully while the other dressed himself, as he was always entailed by anything that Hamilton did.

“I did not know we were to be so formal. Should I powder my hair as well?”, he asked while looking at the small looking glass he owned.

“Tis a wedding, after all, my dear.” Alexander laughed as he finished braiding his own hair. “We must honor the moment. Even if the ceremony is to be conducted by a Prussian baron with no official standing in any church.”

Laurens let out a short crude laugh. “So this is what we’re doing now? Letting nobility play pretend as clergy?”

“Some molly houses in Europe do this all the time. This is not a promise to God, or to society, but to themselves” he answered, unbothered. “If it makes you feel better, I am nigh certain that Steuben is not actually a baron.”

“It really does not.”

Laurens focused on his hair. He dipped two fingers into the pomade, warmed it between his palms, and smoothed it down the strands, giving them a faint sheen and weight. Then, using the comb, he divided the hair into sections and began to twist and fold them into a low queue.

When it came the time for powder, Alexander showed up behind him and took the box of starch from his hand.

“Allow me,” he said, already dipping the silk puff into it.

The powder settled like snow, subtle against the blond, softening the gold to silver. He worked slowly, brushing it through with a clean comb to avoid clumping. Laurens met his gaze in the mirror, and something unspoken passed between them. Something tender, something certain in a life of uncertainties.

“There,” Hamilton said, tying a slim black ribbon at the base of the queue. “Proper and refined, as always.”

When they got out of the room, Meade and McHenry were already waiting for them close to the front door. Of course, Lafayette was still getting ready. It took him an extra ten minutes to get out of his room, with a strong smell of perfume acompanying him.

“What are we waiting for, friends?”

Laurens rolled his eyes as Meade urged them all out the door. They were almost out when a booming voice interrupted, Harrison’s voice.

“Where are you five going at this hour?”

They froze. None of them expected to find Harrison out so late at night. Laurens started thinking of excuses, when Alexander simply walked through them and said:

“There is a party happening at the Baron’s house. Oh, you should absolutely come with us!” he exclaimed, taking Harrison’s hand. “Please, it will be fun! And loud! And not end until sunrise!”

Harrison squinted his eyes and pulled his hand back.

“Not even dead.” He turned back, sighing. “Just remember we still have work tomorrow, you rascals.”

They finally got out, laughing.

“Mon ami, you are a genius.”

To the baron's credit — or perhaps it was all Adam’s hand — the place was more decorated than when they did the usual flaming shots parties. Someone had changed the tablecloth and even in those difficult wartimes, there was enough food and alcohol for a credible party.

They arrived seemingly at the right time. Most of the guests were already there. John knew a lot of them, as for they were the same guesses of the other parties, the same like-minded men who, if they were not prone to them already, were aware of the crimes against nature. It was nice to feel somewhat safe for a change.

“Friends!” Adam ran in their direction, throwing himself at Hamilton.

Laurens never really did like Adam Davenport. He thought him an egotistical deprived inconvenient snake-eyed man. But he was Alexander’s friend, so he learned how to deal with it, with him. At least, if that mock wedding meant anything, it should distract him a bit.

“I am so happy you came! Even you, Col. Laurens!”

Objectively speaking, Adam was fine. More than fine, he looked rather handsome, in a new suit, too expensive for a simple soldier salary, and his hair carefully braided. He guided them to the inside, where the inner group: North, Walker, Baron and Beaufort were.

“Congratulations, sir.” John raised his hand to Beaufort’s direction.

They sat across the sofas in the drawing room, John made sure to stay by Alexander’s side. Because of how many they were, the space was a bit crowded but given how Alexander was nearly falling in his lap, John did not mind.

“So, who asked?” asked McHenry, innocently.

“Oh, don’t start,” warned North, but it was too late.

The glances Beaufort and Davenport exchanged clearly showed there was something in that story.

“I did.” Adam raised his hand.

“You did not. That did not count.” Jean-Marc laughed, incredulous. “I asked him by the bonfire, ‘Adam, je t'aime, feras-tu de moi l'homme le plus heureux de la Terre et passeras-tu l'éternité avec moi?’”

“And the day before that I said ‘Beau, let us get married.’”

Beaufort turned to him, with a face of delighted annoyance Laurens knew too well.

“You were drunk out of your wits, mon amour.”

“Not as drunk as I could’ve been if I remember asking.”

“That was not asking!” Beaufort poked his partner's side. “That was a suggestion at most.”

Adam turned to the rest of the boys, smiling. “Fine. Then I suggested it first.”

Beaufort gestured at him, as if to ask ‘see what I put up with?’

Laurens laughed, twirling his drink in his hands. He was terribly aware of Hamilton's hand in his knee as he asked, “Are you certain you want an eternity of that?”

“More than anything.”

And, in confirmation of that, there was nothing but admiration in his eyes.

The ceremony was in both French and English, which suited the couple. Von Steuben spoke first and Duponceau translated it for the rest of the guests. It also meant that the whole thing lasted two times more than it should, to Laurens’ dismay.

"Dearly Beloved and Honored Guests, we are gathered together here to join Adam Davenport and Jean-Marc Beaufort in the spiritual union of marriage...” He started and as he went more deeply in his speech, about love and promises, Laurens observed Hamiton reaction.

Not that he meant something by it, he was only curious if that made him at least a bit touched. Lafayette, next to him, was already crying. Hamilton was serious, watching intently, but impassible. Before they started whatever the thing between them was, Alexander talked about marriage and legacy and children. He wanted to pass his surname, to leave something lasting in this world. Laurens, on the other side, had no hope of this. He was married. He had a child, a daughter. And he could not even mention her to Alexander out of fear of his reaction. To him, marriage was a duty, he would never marry for love. And the thought made his heart ache.

Duponceau’s voice took him out of his trance, “If anyone objects to this marriage, please say it now or forever hold your piece.”

Adam pulled something from his boot. A dagger. And pointed at the crowd. They all laughed, but Laurens was not sure that the man was jesting.

“Anyone?” He arched an eyebrow in defiance. “Very well. Please continue.”

The baron hesitated but went back to his speech. He did not ask for rings, only made them repeat the vow of commitment, Adam made his in French and Jean-Marc made his in English. Fine, that was lovely, John could admit that, begrudgingly.

“Par l'autorité qui m'a été conférée par moi-même… je vous déclare maintenant mari et… mari ! Vous pouvez maintenant sceller cette cérémonie par un baiser.”

They did not wait for Duponceau’s translation. As soon as the baron said that, Adam and Jean-Marc were already joining their faces and kissing each other passionately, which gave rise to cheers.

Usually, marriages were affairs to be made at early morning, with a lovely breakfast after. However, given the shadowy circumstances of their situation, it made sense for a union as theirs to be forged in darkness. The world did not allow them to love by sunlight, in public, and sodomites like them were forced to live in the privacy of night, in places where no one could see them.

There was a small group of musicians, chosen between any men who’d risk a tune, as they could hardly afford or allow professionals. And after the first toast, offered by Baron von Steuben himself, florid and a little tearful, they struck up a country dance. Jean-Marc led the first set, his coat discarded, and his hair now was struggling to stay properly in his queue. He was beaming as he spun Adam around to the delight of the gathering. Adam was flushed, grinning helplessly, his cravat askew.

John Laurens stood near the edge of the gathering, a glass of wine in his hand, watching them with something that was not quite envy, but very close. The music, the easy affection, the daring of it all, he felt it like a tug in his ribs. He wanted to think Adam and Jean as rebellious and inconsequential, but it was hard to frown upon them when they looked so happy. He could only try his hardest to hide how some deep part of him wanted all that.

Alexander leaned on the wall next to him, smiling. “Don’t make such a dejected face. It is supposed to be a celebration of love.”

“Tis a celebration of something...” His eyes darted to where Walker challenged North to drink an entire bottle of wine in one big gulp.

Then, to make matters worse, there was the bedding ceremony. John didn’t believe they were going to do this until the guests, now rowdy and eager, surrounded the couple, teasing, singing, and clapping as they walked toward the stairs. Hamilton watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and incredulity as a chorus of voices started up.

Laurens, however, was far less entertained. His cheeks flushed, and he avoided Hamilton’s eyes, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. He had always been sensitive to the eyes of others, his personal life a topic he carefully kept hidden from public view, especially in this context. The thought of Adam and Jean-Marc being led so openly to their bed was a sharp contrast to his own reticence, his constant internal struggle with his own desires.

They all pushed them to the room, singing loudly and making jests. Alexander stayed by Adams’ side, along with Meade and McHenry. On Beaufort’s side there were Walker, North and two French soldiers he did not recognize. John remained away from the scene, as the friends helped the couple to take a few garments off. As per tradition, they were supposed to help them undress and throw them on the bed.

Adam was only in his breeches and long shirt when he finally gestured them to leave.

Before being pushed outside, McHenry took a small vial from his coat pocket. “As a doctor, I cannot help but recommend this to whoever intends to indulge on the Greek vice.”

“Dear sir!” Laurens felt his whole face flush at the simple implication.

“What? I am trying to help.”

“We will be fine, no need to fret” Adam said, but Laurens noticed how he did take the oil. “Nothing we have not done before, I assure you.”

One by one, the guests leave until Adam closes the door on their faces.

“Well, I suppose we ought to give them some privacy” announced Walker, guiding the others back to the salon. “Please, let us be loud so as to drown out the noise.”

The musicians were back to their place, but people seemed more invested in loud conversation and drinks. When he looked at Hamilton, Laurens saw a small frown on his brow, as he often did when he was too focused on his own world. Laurens — perhaps by the effects of the alcohol — quickly kissed the tip of his nose, making Hamilton step out of his trance.

“What was that for?”

“You seemed to need it.” Laurens shrugged.

Alexander smiled slightly, uncharacteristically shy. “I guess I did. It is a cruel world that grants so much ceremony to love, and yet reserves it only for some.”

Laurens’ lips turned into a thin line. Could it be that Alexander had the same desires he had? He shifted in his place. “If it's worth something, I always found those traditions exaggerated and unnecessary.”

Hamilton looked as if trying to read his thoughts. John often worried he actually could do this.

“If it is the loudness that bothers you, I may have an idea.” He put himself right in front of Laurens and joined their hands, palm against palm. “I knew someone from the Society of Friends back in New York. And he told me of a tradition where they need no priest, no witness. Only to declare themselves married...” He curved his fingers with Laurens’. “And so it is done.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting John’s.

“Is this your way of asking for my hand?” Laurens asked, jokingly, but also a bit hopeful.

“No.”

Laurens looked down, deflected and pulled his hand back. He should have seen this coming, honestly. Of course Alexander Hamilton wouldn’t want to marry him. Even in this deprived mockery of marriage Davenport and Beaufort seemed so fond of. Alexander Hamilton just didn’t simply settle down; he was like a hurricane that could not be contained.

“I wouldn’t do this like this” he continued, nudging John’s shoulder slightly. “I would ask you under the stars, so we could have thousands of witnesses to our love.”

“Oh. That’s...” John gulped, suddenly forgetting how to speak. “Beautiful.”

Alexander pulled his cravat, making him lean on the other’s direction. Their noses brushed against each other's, their lips almost touching, until...

“Get a room!” yelled Meade, quickly walking in their direction. Then, he pulled Alexander's sleeve, away from John. “Do not boast your love in front of us desolate people. It is impolite.”

Laurens rolled his eyes, but did not say anything and followed Meade along with Hamilton to where the rest of their friends were, even if he much preferred to keep doing what he was doing.

“So, what happens now?” He sat by the couch, gesturing for Hamilton to take his side. “Does Adam become Mr. Beaufort? Or does Jean-Marc become Mr. Davenport?”

McHenry furrowed his brow, considering it. “I am not sure it applies to them.”

“I think I would want to keep my name,” said Meade. “I am used to it. I am not sure how it would feel to be called anything else.”

Hamilton answered almost instinctively, not fully paying attention to the subject, more preoccupied with a strand that fell out of Laurens’ queue. “I suppose you’d just get used to it.”

“Is that so, Mr. Laurens?” retorted Meade.

That got both Laurens’ and Hamilton’s attention.

“Excuse me?” He sat up straighter and, to John’s dismay, stop fussing with his hair. “What makes you assume I would take Laurens’ surname?’

“You wouldn’t?” John asked, almost offended.

“I...” he hesitated. “Well, I don’t like the assumption. Do you know how hard I work — how hard I am working, to leave behind the assumptions that came with my name?”

Laurens turned to him, suddenly very interested. “That is why you would do well to take mine. Laurens is an already established name.”

“I am on Laurens’ side,” said McHenry, even though as Hamilton would later notice no one had asked them to take sides. “His name carries a legacy. A weight. Laurens is a name of influence, of honor.”

Laurens nudged Hamilton’s shoulder and raised his brow as if to say “see?”, which made the young man promptly roll his eyes.

“I, for once, say the opposite. There will be another dozen of important Laurens to compete for a place in history. But only one Hamilton. And I trust our little lion. He has ambition, he will turn his name into something great, and it’d be wise for him to keep it.”

“Thank you” whispered Hamilton, genuine. Meade, in turn, touched his hand in recognition.

Lafayette appeared, coming up from behind the couch, a drink on each hand, which he took alternative sips out of.

“You should just hyphenate it. As someone who has a lot of names, I can safely say it has not brought me any troubles.”

“You mean like Laurens-Hamilton?”

“Doesn’t sound good.” Alexander turned his head to the sides. “Hamilton-Laurens is better.”

“Naturally, because your name comes first?” John couldn’t hide the amusement in his tone as he asked.

“I’m being alphabetical. Tis not my fault H comes before L.” He shrugged in response.

Laurens chuckled. “I don’t like it either way. Too European.”

Lafayette collapsed on the sofa they were in, throwing himself in both Laurens and Hamilton’s lap. “Then I suppose you two will spend the rest of your lives arguing about it.”

“Fits you well.” Meade chuckled.

Laurens liked whenever Hamilton would accompany in his walks in the forest. When he was young, he used to do the same, but alone in the quiet. But now, he had Alexander by his side and those walks were filled with his melodic voice, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Alexander thrived on nature, the sunlight glistening off him, the red hair in contrast to the nature’s green. He walked confidently, attentive to his surroundings even when he spoke.

His eyes darted to a large branch, where a small nest with two bluejays could be seen. Alexander stopped talking and pointed at them. John stood by his side, admiring the beauty of the two birds. They seemed like a couple, a smaller female and a male one, with brighter plumage.

“Did you know bluejays mate for life?”

“No.” Alexander squinted his face, curious. “How did you know that?”

“I just... read it in a book once.” John avoided the question, turning his gaze away. “They maintain a strong bond with their chosen mate, exchanging food or twigs to show their continued commitment.”

Laurens felt Hamilton’s hand brush against his.

“Like a wedding?”

He looked down, something on the ground calling his attention. “Or something like that, yeah.” He picked up a twig from the floor and offered it to Hamilton, still meeting his eyes. Finally, Laurens said, almost a whisper, “Would you ever say yes to me? If the world were different?”

Hamilton hesitated. Laurens’ heart almost stopped.

“You don’t have to answer,” Laurens said quickly, regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth. “I’ve thought about it. Recently… Oh, I am being foolish! Just forget it.”

“No,” Hamilton said, putting the twig down gently.

John looked away. His chest ached. Of course, what has he thinking? They had not been together for that long.

“No, I mean, I won’t forget about it,” Alexander added, leaning forward, his voice urgent and he took Laurens’ hand on his own. “Yes, I would have! God, Jack, I would have said yes before you finished asking.”

That was all that Laurens needed to pull Hamilton to a kiss. He felt his body get warm with happiness. His whole life, he never thought marriage was for men like him. He never even allowed himself to dream about something like this. That is until he met Alexander Hamilton.

He did not want to let him go. John would die kissing Alexander if that was necessary. It was Alex who had to pull away, smiling at the end of a kiss.

“We would only have to agree on a surname it seems.”

Laurens wasted no time, his hand on Alexander’s waist. “I think Laurens is the better choice. Short, strong, easy to remember.”

Hamilton shook his head. “Hamilton is sharper. More commanding. Besides, it reminds me of where I came from. You talk of high breeding, well, my grandfather was a Scottish landlord.”

“You mentioned that once or twice already, my dear.”

Alexander was a bit red with embarrassment. Because of people’s judgment on his birth, he would grab onto that backstory like a drowning man to a raft.

“So...”

“I keep my word.” John took Alexander’s hand and brought it closer, kissing the back of it. “My name represents four generations of Laurens’ men who lived and prospered in Charles Town.”

Alexander’s gaze met his. John grew up being called stubborn and it seemed like he had met his match. Alexander Hamilton was not backing down.

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“That it seems.”

Laurens hadn’t expected much from the morning. Just another day of writing letters, reviewing reports and translating French. There was also Hamilton’s incessant energy as he walked around, passing important messages as if he was Hermes’ himself.

But then, a young private entered with a bundle of correspondence and stopped in front of Laurens, saying, “Here you are, Col. Hamilton. Major Tallmadge asked if you could give him an answer regarding the next prisoner exchange this afternoon.”

Laurens froze.

Hamilton, seated beside him, glanced up sharply, his quill pausing mid-word.

The soldier, unaware of his mistake, simply set the letters down and waited for an answer, or at least a gesture of acknowledgment.

“I—” Laurens cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”

The young man hesitated, confused. “Col. Hamilton?”

Laurens felt heat creep up his neck. He glanced at Hamilton, who was already grinning, that sharp, knowing kind of grin full of confidence and self-satisfaction.

“Ah,” Hamilton mused, tapping his quill against his chin. “A natural assumption, I suppose. You do spend an awful lot of time in my company, dear Laurens.”

The boy realized his mistake and his face went red. Fast, he grabbed all the letters again and this time handed them out to the right man. “Forgive me, sir, Major Tallmadge only told me that you are usually on the left, I did not realize—”

“You are fine. Although next time you do well to ask for a description.”

“Of course! It shall not happen again. Pray forgive me, sirs, both of you.”

He left awkwardly, still muttering something to himself. He probably had no idea the mess he made of Laurens’ core. Alexander, of course, was far too proud of himself.

“You are blushing.”

“Shut up,” Laurens muttered, ears burning.

Hamilton’s grin widened. “Not so opposed to the idea, are you?”

Laurens shot him a glare, but his flustered state made it less effective. “That’s not... It was just unexpected, that’s all.”

“Unexpected,” Hamilton echoed. “Or perhaps… inevitable?”

Laurens groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I hate you.”

Hamilton only chuckled, setting his attention back on his papers. “Not according to Tallmadge’s aide, you do not, Col. Hamilton.”

“I refuse.” John hid his face behind his hand, hoping Alexander could not notice the uncontrolable smile on his face after hearing him call him that.

“It seems you have no choice. Fate has decided for us.”

“Hardly. This was simply an honest mistake.”

John hoped he would let the subject pass, but after signing a few letters, he pulled his chair so he could sit next to John.

“You did not even consider the possibility that he might have gotten us mixed up, did you?” He inclined in his direction to do so. John felt his whole body shiver with how he was whispering next to him. “No, you thought he assumed us married. And you liked it.”

He tried to not demonstrate the effect Alexander had on him. His face was still red and he put a hand in front of his face to cover it.

“That’s absurd.”

Alexander laughed and slowly touched a strand on his hair, pushing it off his face. “And yet true. I do not fault you, though, with all the talk of marriage that has been going on recently. Besides, absurdity is fun.”

Hamilton could probably continue going if Harrison had not showed up at that exact moment. He pulled his hand back and grabbed a pen. His skill with the theatrics made it seem effortless.

“Hamilton, did you sign the letter I sent you yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.” Alexander grabbed one of the letters and gave it to Harrison. “Here you go.”

Harrison skimmed through it, then wrinkled his nose, confused.

“Is this a jest?”

“Pardon?”

“Pray tell, why did you sign it as A. Laurens?”

Hamilton stopped laughing. Laurens’ eyes doubled in size. Initially, he thought that he was just hearing things.

“No, I did not.”

“Then please, decipher this.”

He delivered the letter back to Hamilton, whose face turned into shock as he realized it. Laurens leaned over, trying to read the signature to see it for himself, but Hamilton pulled back.

“This... It does not say that. I just had a cramp in my hand, and it caused those scribbles.”

“Well, this is unacceptable nonetheless. You must rewrite the letter and sign it again.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll do this right now.” Harrison rolled his eyes and left. John pulled his chair so he could sit closer to Hamilton. Finally, he saw. It was unmistakably his surname.

“A. Laurens, is it?”

“Stop it. I was distracted. You were the one who kept talking to me about the army’s lack of provisions while I was signing this.”

“And you were distracted by... provisions?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. He did not have John’s shyness, he did not hesitate to match his gaze and smile as if he was not the one being put under questioning. “No. By the beautiful man listing them. I was bored. I like hearing you talk. I must have been thinking of you, so I signed it wrong. It means nothing.”

“My dear boy, it means everything.” John grabbed Alexander’s hand. “You know, some men might call this fate.”

“Some men are wrong and stupid.”

He leaned in closer, pulling Alexander towards him by the chin. “Tell me, Alexander, why does it bother you so much?”

Hamilton opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I think, Col. Laurens...” Laurens whispered, his gaze was steady, teasing yet warm. “You want to take my name as much as I want to take yours.”

Alexander touched John’s wrist, matching his challenge.

“So, you do admit you want my surname.”

Their foreheads were touching now. One more movement and they would be kissing. Oh, how Laurens wanted that. Even if they were risking been seen.

“Only if you admit you want mine.”

Alexander stepped away just slightly. “Your argument lacks evidence.”

He put his hand on Alexander’s chest, where his heart beat fast.

“Is this not evidence enough?”

John and Alex’s conversation had long strayed from its original purpose — some discussion of troop movements or supplies — but neither of them seemed inclined to bring it back on course.

Laurens was sprawled across his chair, fingers idly toying with a loose thread on his sleeve. He glanced at Hamilton with a slow, thoughtful smile. “You know,” he mused, “if we were to marry—”

Hamilton nearly dropped his quill. “John.”

Laurens ignored the protest, eyes shining with mischief. “If we were to marry, I’d take your name.”

Hamilton blinked. “What?”

After so much back and forth about it, he supposed Alexander would be surprised by John simply accepting defeat. It wasn’t like him at all. But John had long realized he was arguing for the sake of arguing and, if it meant being with Alexander Hamilton for the rest of his life, he would let himself be called anything.

“I’d be John Hamilton,” Laurens said, testing the name on his tongue like a new taste. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Hamilton set down his quill entirely, turning to face him. “No.”

Laurens furrowed his brow. “No?”

“No,” Hamilton repeated firmly. “I’d take your name.”

Laurens sat up straighter. That felt even less like Hamilton. He never saw that man admit defeat in all that time working together. “Why in God’s name would you do that?”

Hamilton leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Because your name has history, John. It carries weight. Laurens means something in this country. Think of your father, your legacy. Hamilton is just the name of a bastard, an orphan.”

Laurens frowned. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” Hamilton shrugged, trying to make light of it. “But Laurens… that name belongs to something greater. Therefore, I should be the one to claim it.”

Laurens huffed. “Alexander Laurens doesn’t sound right.”

“And John Hamilton does?” Hamilton retorted.

Laurens grinned. “I think it does.”

Hamilton scoffed. “You only say that because you love me.”

“And you say no because you love me.”

Hamilton opened his mouth to argue, but Laurens just smirked, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction.

For once, Hamilton found himself at a loss for words. John took that opportunity to continue:

“Alexander, you are the one who built your name from nothing. Every letter of ‘Hamilton’ is signed with ambition and willpower." He tapped a finger on the table. "I inherited mine. You forged yours."

Alexander tapped his chin rhythmically, deep in thought. “Well, then I see only one solution for this.”

“Do you?”

Slowly, Alexander got up and moved in John’s direction. Laurens was startled, unsure of what the man was planning. But before he could do anything, Hamilton let himself fall on top of him.

“Alex!” John let out a muffled laugh by the weight of Alexander on him. At least he was not very heavy. His cries of protest and laughter were quickly shunned by kisses in his face and lips.

“You’ll become John Hamilton.” He gave John a peck, as if it were a period at the end of a sentence. “And I shall become Alexander Laurens.”

John put both hands on Alexander’s waist to support him. He realized he liked way too much hearing his and Alexander’s name next to each other. “I love you, my dear boy.”

They agreed to meet next to the river, away from prying eyes of camp, at dawn, where there would still be sun to brighten their exchange. Laurens really liked how the colors brought out the orange in Hamilton’s hair and how it seemed to give him even more freckles to his complexion, making him almost golden.

John Laurens took a steadying breath and faced Alexander. No officiant, no witness, no congregation, just them, as it ought to be.

“We have no church to bless us,” Laurens murmured, his voice gentle but firm. “No law to recognize us. But I stand here with you, Alexander, as I would before God Himself, and I say: I take you as my husband, now and forever. I will walk beside you in war and in peace, in triumph and in despair. Nothing shall part us but death. And even then, I will find my way back to you.”

Hamilton swallowed, his throat tight. He had given so many speeches in his life, argued cases, written letters that shaped the course of battles and policies. Yet now, standing before John, words nearly failed him.

“You are the only vow I have ever truly wanted to make, the only rock I wanted to tie myself down to,” he said at last. “And so I take you, John, as my husband. If history forgets us, let the earth remember. If the world denies us, let the heavens witness. I am yours, in this life and any that may come after.”

They had no fine rings or jewelry. Instead, Alexander had gotten two light blue hair ribbons. Laurens took one in his hand and saw that, really small, he could read a name engraved. His name. “Laurens?”

“That’s mine.” Alexander took the one in his hand and exchanged it to the one he, himself, was holding. “And this is yours.”

As John could’ve predicted, in the ribbon he was handed over was written, in the very same small font, Hamilton. He smiled to himself and tied the ribbon to his wrist, then covering with his shirtsleeve.

And with that, they were wed. Not by law, not by clergy, but by the only force that had ever mattered between them: will and devotion, the same force that turned them to the revolution. They walked together, their hands as close as they could be without actually touching.

The room Laurens had gotten was quiet but for the sound of their breath, steady and hushed, as if they feared the world itself might overhear. A single candle flickered, casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls, tracing the curves of their faces, the tension in their fingers as they held onto each other.

Alexander ran his hands along John's bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin feverish under his touch. There was something sacred in this moment. His heart pounded, not with the usual fervor of ambition, but with something deeper, something that terrified him more than any war: belonging.

Tonight, the night of the final consummation, I shall call you by my name. And you shall call me by yours."

John nodded in agreement. "One body, one soul."

“Say it,” Alexander whispered, lips barely an inch from John’s. “My name.”

John exhaled shakily, his hands tightening at Alexander’s waist. “John Laurens.” He leaned in, their foreheads touching. “My own.”

Alexander shuddered, his hands roaming over John's back, as if etching every inch of him into memory. “And you... Alexander Hamilton.”

Their mouths met in an urgent kiss, a seal upon their vows, a promise unbreakable. Alexander pulled John down with him onto the bed, their limbs entangling, their breaths mingling, the final barriers between them dissolving into heat and touch.

John traced a hand over Alexander’s chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat beneath his palm. “No witnesses but us,” he murmured. “No signatures, no documents, no oaths before men. And yet, I have never felt more bound to anything in my life.”

"The world might not be ready for us now, but history won't forget our love, dear. I won't let it."

He grabbed Laurens’ thigh, with such strength as if he was to make true to his words and carve his fingers there, pulling him closer, going ever so low with his kisses. Alexander loved using his mouth and, God, was he good with it. In the same way he’d argue and construct his speeches, he’d explore John’s body with his mouth, not leaving one part of his untouched.

When he finally got closer to John’s member, there was no hesitation. He took it in his mouth halfway through, sucking it slow, uncharacteristically patient. The act sent shivers throughout Laurens’ body, and he couldn’t help but put his hand on Hamilton’s red curls and, as he started licking his shaft, John started guiding the boy even lower.

“I want you to have me tonight.”

Alexander looked up, smiling wide, if not a bit surprised. “Are you certain?”

Laurens nodded. He usually was the one in the erastes role as it was what he enjoyed it most, but every so often he felt the need to change, to give himself away.

With renewed vigor, he lowered his head and his tongue around John’s entrance. John felt a shiver in his body and he rolled his hips in response, trying to help Alexander to get deeper.

Alexander was teasingly slow, his tongue exploring all of John’s lower body, putting more pressure towards the center, making him looser with each lick. It was a new feeling, a warm and comfortable one.

He saw Alexander lift his head to look at him, expectantly, slightly raise an eyebrow, as if asking a question.

“Why did you stop it?” John grabbed him by the hair and pushed him down again.

The boy laughed to himself and went back to it, poking his tongue farther in this time. John rocked his hips and forth and Alexander grabbed him by the thighs, ever in control.

There was no other word to describe him other than hungry. He treated the whole act as if it was a full meal, using his hands to guide John’s hips in a way which the blonde didn’t need to do much besides laying there and enjoying it. He was already hard, but now, after a good while unattended, his own cock seemed to be begging for touch.

John closed his eyes and one of his hands went to his cock almost automatically. As soon as he did that, Alexander lifted his head and let out an offended noise. “What are you doing?” The look in his eyes was almost a challenge. John can nearly hear it in his voice, something like, think I can’t handle it?

It was nothing like that, of course. John just needed the friction. He wanted to feel everything. And he wanted now. But Alexander wanted to do and control everything. With a disappointed tsk, Alexander got on his knees in the mattress, his eyes darting to the floor.

“Now what are you doing?”

Without answering, Alexander got out of the bed and got a small bottle of oil from his discarded pile of clothing. In a joking manner, he shook the bottle and retorted. “Since someone is in a rush today.”

John watched curiously and a bit tense as Alexander poured it a bit in his hand. The oil sent another warm sensation in his ass, and Alexander’s index finger circled his rim one before being inserted in, rather easily after that much preparation. Yet, Laurens held his breath, still not used to the feeling of something inside him.

“Are you good, dear?”

“Yeah, fine.” He bit his lips. It was almost annoying how Alexander made it seem so effortless when they did this.

The couple had done this enough times for Alexander to know what that expression meant and, more important, what John needed in response.

“You are perfect, my dearest. You are doing so well right now.” His free hand started massaging John’s thigh and he inclined downwards, leaving kisses in his stomach. “This is our special night, remember? We are married now. No need to rush.”

John took a deep breath. Slowly, Alexander started moving, preparing him for another finger. He knew it was time for the second one when John started moving his hips along with his movements, basically begging for more.

This time, Alexander went down on him again, one hand holding and massaging his balls while he took John’s dick in his mouth. John Laurens wasn’t sure he was going to survive this. Being inside of Alexander was one of his favorite feelings and nothing would change that. But having Alexander inside him and sucking him at the same time might be a strong second.

He wasn’t used to this overwhelming sensation. All his sensitive parts seemed to be close to exploding and the pleasure just came from all the places. It was like the adrenaline of being in the middle of battle, but somehow more intense. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to ending the night there, so he tapped Alexander’s shoulder, making him stop immediately.

“If you keep going, I won’t be able to hold myself.”

Alexander smiled as if the idea was not so bad.

“Seriously. I’ve made you wait long enough. I want— No, I need you inside me.”

Alexander turned his head slightly and considered the idea for a few seconds before fitting himself right between Laurens' legs and guiding him to wrap them around his body.

“You know, it helps if you turn around.”

“No. I want to see you.” He held Hamilton’s face, thumb brushing against his cheek. “I can handle it.”

Even though that was what he said, and he did his best to sound confident, it had been a while since they reversed their roles. John quickly looked down and realized that all this time, while he was complaining about pacing, Alexander’s cock had truly remained untouched. And although Alexander was doing an amazing job at seeming composed, he couldn’t hide how red and swollen was his tip and how the base of his cock throb in want. He was just as desperate as Laurens. The thought brought a satisfied smile to his face.

Alexander’s cock was not far from Laurens’ in terms of size. A little smaller, but still bigger than most guys John used to fuck. He understood why the preparation. But he wasn’t scared, he felt ready. And the sight of it only made him want it more.

He was terribly slow. It was torture for Laurens. He could handle more, he knew he could, his body was already aching for it. Alexander did not enter fully, he started moving only half in, with restraint that drove John crazy.

He moaned, moving his hips down, essentially fucking himself with Hamilton's cock. Alexander let him squirm for a while, he even had the courage to laugh in front of him, before taking back control with one full and deep thrust.

John arched in pleasure, wrapping himself around Alexander as if they were made as one. Alexander established his own rhythm, with a slow roll of his hips, going deeper and deeper into John. The shocks of pleasure that went to his spine reminded him that they should really do this more often. Once he got over the pain, the sensation was just too good, too fulfilling. It was as if Alexander had filled a hollow part of him he did not know he had.

“Please…” John murmured. Or whined, more accurately. “Please, Alex, faster.”

Hamilton stopped immediately and Lauren’s whole body started pulsing in the rhythm of his heartbeat. He was to die like this, with Alexander buried deep within him and fucking refusing to move. On his grave, they would’ve written: ‘Sodomite gone too soon, died by doing what he loved.’

“Who?”

He was confused at first, his brain still foggy from Alexander’s dick inside of him, but suddenly he realized his mistake. It wasn’t Alex. Not right now. And that insane man would not let him forget it.

“John, John. Please, Mr. John Laurens,” he pulled Alexander by the neck, staring at his eyes. “Fuck me faster.”

“Oh, is it Mr. now?” He gave a single deep thrust and that alone almost sent John to the edge. “It’s amazing how desperate you get like this, how sensitive, how gorgeous. I love you, Alexander. I fucking love you.”

That was all he needed to speed up. And Laurens’ whole body burned, but he was too filled with pleasure to think of anything. His hands, shaking, were on Alexander’s back, pulling the man even more towards him.

“You are mine now,” he bit John’s neck, with enough strength to leave a mark. “And I am yours, only yours.”

He liked this, even if it was a lie, even if he could not see Alexander belonging to anyone. For those moments at least, they belonged to each other.

Alexander kept talking — he never did stop talking — and John could not respond beyond moans and whines and a mixture of his name, or Alex’s name, it was all the same at that point. He wasn’t even loud naturally, that was always Hamilton’s thing, and the other man seemed to enjoy all the sounds he could take out of him.

John’s breath hitched, and then Alexander was kissing him again, pulling him into the warmth of their union, the sanctity of this night. No ink nor parchment could have made it more real. This was their covenant, sealed not by law, but by love, whispered against sweat-slick skin and gasping lips.

Alexander seemed completely focused on John’s pleasure. One of his hands slipped down to John’s cock and he grabbed it firmly, moving up and down at the same pace of his thrusts. He knew he was coming, and he knew he couldn’t stop it. John felt as if he was walking back and forth to his paradise and now finally Alexander had pulled him to it.

“John!” he cried out one last time before giving in to the pleasure.

He came over his own stomach and probably part of Alexander’s. John relaxed his body, laying down as he tried to catch his breath. He hated the proud smile Alexander had on his face, as if John was some type of creation of his, another one of his essays.

Hamilton pulled out, still hard and throbbing. If Laurens could muster a word, he would ask how dared he still be fucking hard after all that.

“My own.” Alexander kissed the slope of John’s neck, his hand going to his own dick and rubbing himself, with the help of John’s hips.

It was almost rude, having Alexander using him for his own climax, grinding onto him with determination and John hated how much he actually enjoyed pleasuring like this. It was a shame it was quick, as Hamilton came soon after, probably just as overwhelmed as John was.

And so, as late night passed and the two drifted to sleep, Alexander Laurens and John Hamilton laid entwined, their names rewritten as they became one flesh.