Chapter Text
The days off from work are the worst. Washington insists Alexander stays home at least every few weeks – if not for your sake, then to stop me from getting sued by a union for working my employees to the grave, please son – but he doesn’t seem to realize that without work Alexander is more miserable than ever.
As per usual, he sleeps well into noon and wakes up feeling like he’s been in a coma for ten years, roams around his apartment annoyed and disoriented. He checks his email a dozen times even though the whole office is strictly forbidden from emailing him on his days off- a courtesy of Washington again. Still, nobody can stop him from scouring over the news, especially on the stock market, and writing down some rough notes on how they might impact their revenue this season. For a moment he feels like a rebellious teenager. Well, until he remembers that as an actual teenager he rebelled by getting wasted and having an active sex life.
He taps out of the news app and checks snapchat, rolls his eyes at Jefferson’s pretentious humble-brag ‘just casually having meticulously arranged fruit and berries on a porcelain plate for breakfast as usual’-story. As if.
Why Alex even has Thomas Jefferson added on snapchat is anyone’s guess, it just kind of happened during some work outing and they’ve been sending each other mean snaps on and off since. Mostly pictures of tiny cactuses by Jefferson, and toilet brushes by Hamilton, all captioned with “you”.
His screen lights up with another snap, this time from ‘JeffBoi’, a dude he met back when he still had a Grindr (the second best thing to come out of that app, the best one being the hilarious stories). They’ve hooked up a couple of times, casually. Jeff only ever snapchats for one reason so Alex isn’t surprised to be treated to a picture of a dick, already hard and leaking slightly, with the caption “come over?”. He never opens the guy’s snaps in public, or at least turns the brightness of his screen all the way down first.
It’s a bit crude for Alexander’s tastes, to open with at least. Nevertheless there is definitely a twinge of interest between his legs. It’s been awhile.
Alex glances sideways at the clock. He’s not sure how the guy thinks he’s supposed to make it over to his place in time if he’s hard already, and he doesn’t really feel like driving anyways (he would have to shower first, too). Still, he can play ball.
Alex settles comfortably against the sofa cushions, hikes up his t-shirt and pulls his sweatpants down enough to expose his treasure trail and the very top of his shaft. He pushes his tongue out for good measure and snaps the pic, accompanied with the caption “can’t, sorry~”.
Jeff is lightning-fast to reply: “Can I at least see you in the thing??”
Alexander snorts quietly, gets up and strips out of his shirt and sweatpants on his way to his bedroom. It’s not like he has anything better to do.
He digs into the depths of his closet and pulls out a pale pink body harness. It’s his favourite piece of lingerie because of the charming simplicity of it; a strap around his waist, connected to a long strap that runs all the way up to his neck and into a choker, held together by silver hoops. The cage design is slightly more elaborate on the back, which makes for a great view, or so he’s been told. He also digs out a matching pink ball gag, runs into the bathroom to give in a quick rinse and straps it on. The feeling of latex prying his mouth open immediately sends a thrill down his spine.
He throws himself onto the bed (thankfully he’d made it after waking up for once), arches his back slightly and tries a few angles before he’s happy with the end result. Alexander Hamilton doesn’t half ass anything, and that includes his nudes. This one doesn’t quite show his dick though - Jeff would have to put in some work for that.
It’s good, he’s not ashamed to admit that to himself. His hair is open and fanned across the white bedheets, and the pearly pink of the harness looks soft and alluring against his tan complexion, the straps wrapping around his slender form. He looks delicate, and yet debauched with his pink lips stretching around the ball gag. It’s almost too good to waste on a regular lay.
Alex gets up to his elbows to rest his strained arm. His finger slips in the awkward position, and he hits send automatically before he can stop the trajectory of his thumb.
Instead of JeffBoi, the snap goes to TJeffs.
An inhuman shriek echoes through the apartment - the ball gag does nothing to stop it as it comes out of Alexander’s throat, or perhaps his very soul. He hurls his phone across the room, immediately scrambles after it, picks it up with trembling fingers and messes up the passcode once. Twice. Trice. Now his phone is locked for a minute.
Fuck you, Apple, he thinks definitely not for the first time, but with more vigor than ever before.
He stares at the countdown as the seconds tick by and paces around his bedroom in anxious circles. This is it, this is how it all ends. He’ll have to change his name and move back to the Caribbean and never speak to anyone he knows again. Maybe, if he’s lucky, another hurricane will come along to end his misery and he’ll be remembered as a tragic victim of the elements, rather than the guy who accidentally sent a nude to his worst enemy and got fired for sexual harassment.
This is exactly why he shouldn’t have days off from work.
The phone unlocks after what feels like ten years he would much rather spend in a chemically-induced coma, and he taps in the passcode carefully. A pained whine in elicited when he sees that the snap has been opened. There goes his plan to assassinate the man before he sees it. Hamilton’s thumbs hover over the keypad, trying to find a combination of words to undo what just happened, to explain it away or brush it off as a joke. Jefferson’s end is quiet, the man undoubtedly either spitting out his organic smoothie or sending it to everyone they know right about now. Think, think, think goddamnit!
There’s a reply. Hamilton’s chest heaves frantically, his heartbeat deafening in his ears. He opens it and chokes on his own spit despite of his mouth being as dry as a desert.
It’s a picture of Jefferson’s midriff, the top just cutting off his eyes. His shirt has been hiked up, like Alexander’s was a while before, exposing his disgustingly chiseled abs and the sharp v-shape of his hips. He’s biting his lower lip, and his free hand is pressing down on his dick through his pants (sweatpants, must be his day off as well). “A good look on you”, says the caption.
Oh.
Oh.
Hamilton’s lungs no longer know how to breathe.
Sure, the alleged ‘sexual tension’ between them has been a running joke at the office for ages (to both of their dismay), and sure, sometimes the lines between fighting, teasing and flirting kinda get blurred when they get into it. And yes, perhaps Hamilton sometimes catches himself staring at Jefferson’s backside when he’s leaning on Madison’s desk in that annoyingly nonchalant manner. What can he say, the man does know how to wear his suits, that has nothing to do with his southern-ness, his condescension, his politics-
The fact that the mere thought of Jefferson’s politics doesn’t immediately kill Hamilton’s half-boner is very troubling indeed.
Still. He has never, not even once, considered that it’s a would-be-down-for-sexting-if-you-offered -type of a thing with them. Certainly not on Jefferson’s end.
It has to be a trap. And yet, how can it be? The cat is out of the bag, if Alex gets fired for indecency, so will Jefferson, now that he has reciprocated. The snap is not timed, so Alex takes the time to inspect it carefully for… signs of deception. God, Jefferson is even more ripped than he’s ever imagined, not that he does, very often at least. It’s unfair. Alexander’s mouth is pooling with drool, which is difficult to swallow down with the ball gag.
And doesn’t it make sense, in a way? If anyone would get a hard on from the mere thought of Hamilton gagged, wouldn’t it be Jefferson? Alex rolls his eyes: a good look on me, huh?
He would show him.
With newfound determination Hamilton sits up and snaps a picture where his neck is craned back and his thumb is hooked under the waistband of his boxers tantalizingly, captioned “wouldn’t you like to see me quiet like this".
Jefferson’s lounging on his sofa shirtless in the next picture, the outline of his long shaft now clearly visible through his loose sweatpants. It doesn’t seem like he’s wearing boxers underneath. The caption says “darling you would be far from quiet if I got my way rn”, and it’s embarrassing really how ridiculously hard Alex gets from the mental image of Jefferson pounding into him so hard he screams into the ball gag loud enough to alert the neighbors.
“This is the only instance where I wanna let you tell me what to do so use it wisely", he captions a picture of him pinching his nipple, and edits the “I wanna” to “I’m inclined to" before hitting send. No need to give Jefferson any ideas about him being needy.
Jefferson replies with a picture of him stroking himself through the sweatpants, and dear God there’s already a slightly darker spot where the tip of his dick is. “Think you could get off by humping a pillow like a good little slut?” A shrill whine escapes Hamilton’s throat, which nobody needs to know about.
Tell him what do in an everyday setting and he’ll be sure to do the exact opposite purely out of spite, but being bossed around in the bedroom has always been… a weak spot, for him, and Jefferson is hitting it with mortifying accuracy without even physically being present. Alex can’t help but imagine how good it would be - that nonchalant, self-assured arrogance, and those strong, confident hands bending him over the bed frame. Or just having Jefferson sit there, not touching him, telling him to fuck into a pillow while he watches.
He wants it, he can admit as much to himself in this moment of weakness, but right now the best alternative will have to do.
He grabs a pillow and straddles it, shudders as the coarse, cheap cotton brushes against his flushed and sensitive cock, which he pulls out of his boxers. The shadows cast by his sharp hip bones and the way his knees spread wide apart makes for a pretty picture.
Jefferson most certainly seems to appreciate it; after a few minutes of needy panting and restless fidgeting Hamilton receives a short video clip of Jefferson stroking his cock slowly, his thumb tracing a thick vein on its way down. The tv is on in the background (Fox news from the sound of it), but Hamilton still hears a stifled groan escape his colleague’s lips.
He inhales shakily and his hips start to roll on their own accord. Now that he’s seen what Jefferson’s packing there’s no going back, the image of that long, flushed and leaking cock will haunt him for the rest of his life. Alex pants heavily and adjusts the pillow between his legs so that the firm edge presses against his crotch and imagines Jefferson splayed on the bed, his back arching off the mattress and his curls sticking to his sweaty forehead as Alex rides that cock like it belongs to him, rolls his hips just right and makes him curse and groan. Jefferson can posture all he wants, Alex knows he could make him whine for it.
Alexander’s hips stutter as his dick slides against the now dampening fabric, the mushy mass of the pillow between his quivering thighs frustratingly malleable when what he wants between his legs is a firm body, and yet the pressure numbs his senses with dull pleasure with every forceful thrust of his stuttering hips. It’s degrading, to be eagerly humping a pillow like a dog or a horny teenager, especially because some asshole told him to, and yet it’s somehow so much better that any of his latest hasty masturbation sessions. Not that he’ll be telling Jefferson that.
Alex pictures the way Jefferson’s hands would grip his hips, tight and demanding, the way his hips would start to impatiently rock up to meet his, and sends Jefferson a few videos of him rolling his hips against the pillow, his head thrown back and moaning and whining unabashedly - too late to be shy. He has to prop the phone against the bed frame since his arms are too weak to keep it steady at this point.
He wants to slip a finger or two inside, but that would only prove unsatisfactory, the fantasy is too raw and perfect, and besides he wants to be good and only come from humping the pillow if that’s what Jefferson wants. His fantasy version of Jefferson pushes his face into the mattress and fucks him from behind, so hard and quick all Alex can do is grab the sheets and take it, one hand on the curve of his hip and the other one grabbing the harness with two fingers maybe.
Hamilton’s phone rings and he picks up immediately with shaky fingers.
“This what you do all day when Washington drives you out of the office?” Jefferson growls, his voice hoarse and breathless.
Hamilton flushes even more if possible and wants to retort, but the gag only permits him to huff at the comment.
“Nothing to say?” Jefferson taunts. “I gotta say, this is pretty sweet.”
If only it worked both ways, Alex thinks and rolls his eyes, but then Jefferson makes a little pleased mmh- sound and heat surges through his belly and his hips press down into the pillow eagerly.
Jefferson groans. “Fuck, bet you look even prettier in person right now, grinding against that pillow like you’re trying to make it come.” Alex whines and drops down so that his shoulders press into the mattress, his ass up and thigh muscles straining as he grinds against the pillow even harder.
“You gonna come, babygirl?” Jefferson says breathlessly. “You gonna come and ruin that pillow just because I told you to?”
A little uh punctuates every thrust of Hamilton’s hips and he whines into the gag needily.
Apparently it makes for a good enough plea since Jefferson groans again, the slick, accelerating movements of his own hand now clearly audible, and says, “Go on then,” and Hamilton almost weeps, but not quite, thankfully. He fucks into the unyielding mass between his thighs frantically with stuttering hips and comes between the folds of the pillowcase with a strangled cry. Jefferson moans into his ear openly for the first time, presumably coming as well. Alexander shudders and keeps rolling his hips in small circles until he’s spent dry. It’s intense and yet somehow unsatisfying at the same time, like it tends to be when one gets off to an incredible but unattainable fantasy.
When Alex starts to slowly come to, he registers the drool dripping down his chin and grimaces. Of course he’s grateful Jefferson isn’t actually in the room as soon as he’s gotten off. He pries his upper torso off the damp, messy bedsheets, reaches up to undo the clasp of his gag and stretches his aching jaw.
With another grimace Alex reluctantly picks up the phone that he dropped in the midst of orgasming into his pillow violently and raises it to his ear. It’s sort of surprising Jefferson hasn’t cut the call yet.
He clears his throat. “So that was…”
“Yeah,” Jefferson deadpans.
An awkward silence ensues. What is one supposed to say after accidentally ending up mutually getting off with one’s professional enemy? ‘Thanks'?
“I’ll see you in Monday’s meeting when I’m forced to not laugh at your stupid opinions. Bye,” he snaps and cuts the call before Jefferson has a chance to get the last word in. He tosses the phone to the other side of the bed and lays back against the disgusting, sticky sheets. He really will have to throw away the proof of his shame, or burn them perhaps.
He said he’d see Jefferson next Monday but will he really be able to ever again look his adversary in the eye after what they’ve done? Not without dragging him into the nearest supply closet and dropping to my knees, at least.
Alex groans in disgust and throws an arm over his eyes. He is thoroughly and irrevocably fucked.