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slowtoanger ([personal profile] slowtoanger) wrote in [community profile] amrev_intrigues2022-05-04 11:43 am

Private Storyline 7

The small clearing with the circle of cabins that has been their home the past week and a half is starting to thaw--the end of an unseasonable blizzard--dripping pine needles and mud and chill, crisp air.

Burr sits in a rocking chair, Theo bundled in a sash against his chest while the wagons are loaded, waiting for Hamilton to bear him into the wagon. Still sore, torn, unable to walk for more than a few paces, lest the surgeon or Hamilton or Washington begin gripping at him. Beside him, three overstuffed sacks--necessities from Mrs. Smith and Linden, who can never be repaid for their kindness, as well as his own possessions.

Washington inspects the wagons nearby, accounting for supplies, though Hamilton or Laurens has likely already been over the process three or four times. Tents broken down, flour counted. He spots Burr and his face softens, crows feet smoothing, a sight Burr thought he would never see, in the stoic general. Because he sees Theo, no doubt--a soft spot for children.

"How is little Theo bearing this cold?" He asks, as Burr rocks her, asleep, blessedly, before she will doubtless cry for the rocking wagon.

"Not awfully," Burr says. "Hamilton has wrapped her in our wool with enough care I thought we should never be ready, and I have here our extra blanket, should we need it. Laurens has tracked down some oiled tarpaulin, in case it rains, and I am sure he will have no reservations over ordering someone to pitch it over the wagon, should there be the first threat of rain."

Across the clearing Hamilton is tugging at his saddle straps, his back to Burr, a fine sight amid mud and pines, in a continental coat and freshly laundered trousers. Washington follows his gaze, shakes his head, though he is smiling.

"Come," he says, "I will help you into the wagon now before he spirits you away, lest I never have the chance to see little Theo."
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-04 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Laurens steps up, again, into Hamilton's shoes.

After Hamilton has been gone two days, he ventures, as they settle down for the night:

"Alex hasn't mentioned any more about it, so I wasn't sure -- I thought perhaps you didn't approve. But I want you to know: I would be honored to be her godfather."
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-04 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)
The look that Laurens gives Burr is long, and dark-eyed, but restrained. He holds himself back, though truly he would enjoy more time to be acquainted with Burr's lovely form.

"I think," he says, "that it is best I don't, unless you both invite me." His voice has a fond tone. "He'd be jealous. I think he'd rather we both love him more than we love each other." Interesting, how he views this fondly; Alex always wants everything, insatiable and unceasing. Alex was never first in anyone's world. Laurens, always the center of his mother and father's world, the only son, the heir to a plantation of repulsively-enslaved laborers, just doesn't have the same need.

A breath: "Though you are beautiful, and tempting, in ways..." He shakes his head. "I always thought omegas wouldn't be... man enough, to gain my interest." But you have gained it and held it, he does not say. "You caught mine from the beginning, though, before I even knew."

He glances up to Burr. "Do you need anything?" he asks, giving Burr the chance to stop the conversation there. "Does she?"
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 12:04 am (UTC)(link)
"And quite seductive," laughs Laurens. "All right. He'll just have to put his jealousy on hold. Come here."

Laurens lowers himself to the ground, sitting with his back to the tent wall, and when Burr comes closer, he lifts Burr into his lap, so Burr straddles him. His hand steadies Burr at the waist, so Burr is on his knees, so those terribly sore nipples are at just the right height.

With his other hand, he touches the taut and stretched skin, flesh heavy beneath. "Yes, I see the problem," says Laurens, mischievously. He lifts it, relieving some of the weight on Burr, directing it to his waiting mouth.
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
Burr's belly and his thighs are still soft from the pregnancy, and it lends a lovely taper to his waist and hips. Burr melts against him, warm and intimate, and he cannot help his body's own reaction to it. He does hope they invite him into their bed again, should they have the opportunity...

He does his best to banish those thoughts.

"There," and his hand massages the first breast, now softer. "A little better?" He lets that hand fall to Burr's waist, slide around to hold him steady at the small of his back. He sees goosebumps follow his touch, the path of his breath, and he lifts the second to his lips.

Holding Burr this way, he can feel the way the man sighs, the way he lets Laurens take more of his weight. His manhood awakens at the proximity of Burr's slight but appealing form, and at least Burr doesn't seem shocked by it -- nor does he devote any attentions to it, which is good.
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 02:51 am (UTC)(link)
Thinking of Alexander doesn't really make the.... situation any better.

"He could have been back by now," says Laurens. "If his errand was simple, and there was no trouble."

What a terribly erotic thing it is to have the taste of Burr's milk on his tongue, to know the little pebbled shape of his nipple, to stroke the swell of his breast.

Oh, Lord.

He breathes in. "I hope you'll forgive me, but I've just thought of an errand I must run. Right now. For about a quarter-hour." He gently but firmly shifts Burr off of him and onto the bedrolls. "I won't return before then."

That should be enough time to find a bit of private space, at least.
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 02:57 pm (UTC)(link)
It's that evening that men start to straggle in, New Jersey militia from an unexpected skirmish with the British, one that never elevated itself into a full-on battle because both sides were so surprised to run into one another.

A few of them have very important news.

Laurens bursts into Washington's tent. "Some of these men saw him yesterday," he says, not clarifying who 'him' is. "He rallied them, set fire to a few British supply wagons -- or tried to -- and then led the pursuit away from the main body."

"And that area is swamp," says Washington, "so he couldn't move fast."

"So he could still be on his way."
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Hamilton has had an exciting few days.

First of all, he made it easily to the New Jersey militia, only to find that the spy who had the allegedly thorough drawing of Trenton and Princetown's camps has been delayed and perhaps captured. He ruminates for several hours, considering the possible consequences of going after him versus returning empty-handed, and, in the end, chooses to try to obtain the information. It was his own idea, after all, to do this attack, and its failure could reflect on him and his family.

So, second, he pursues the rumor of this spy's passage eastward. He spends the night under a white oak, penning a letter to Burr that unfortunately leaves him missing his husband rather more, and finds that the British have been seeking a young man, several years younger than Hamilton, who was a servant at a Loyalist house where a British general stayed.

It's around this time that he runs into a surprise confrontation between part of the militia and a small detachment of the British, who have just finished "requisitioning" from a nearby town. The militia is in an ignominious retreat when Hamilton rides into their midst and shouts for them to follow him -- and, to his surprise, many of them do, enough to get to the supply wagons and set them aflame before fleeing. A few of them ride with him eastward, into the pine barrens of the New Jersey cape. It's his good fortune that they do, because between the handful of them, they are able to get some rest and keep watch for the British overnight.

One more night that he's away from Burr. They must expect him back by now -- at least by the following evening. It can't be avoided, though.

After, once it's clear they've lost their pursuit, he sends the soldiers back towards Washington and continues on, towards the village that was apparently the young spy's destination.

Hamilton works very hard to find the spy before the British do. Fortunately, the village is sympathetic to the patriots, and he finds a friend of Hercules Mulligan, a man peripheral to the Sons of Liberty, who helped hide the youth. This man agrees to hide the horse and some of the more distinctive parts of the uniform, and lends Hamilton a rougher coat that makes him look more like a local farmer. It's a risk -- he could be hanged as a spy, but with the uniform, he could also get summarily shot. And while a past Hamilton, before his marriage, might have kept with the uniform, he now wants to take his greatest shot at survival.

He has to spend another night there, and sets off in the morning.

Another day of searching, and he finally finds the young man, Elias Rolfe, terrified, taking shelter in a rough lean-to. The fact that Hamilton is obviously not British helps, and once he explains who he is, the youth lights up and says, "From the news?"

They agree that Hamilton is a farmer -- Alexander Faucette, taking his mother's maiden name -- and the youth is a foster child -- Elias suggests the name of a friend of his, Jack Taylor -- he is taking in as a servant, and in the morning they start back to the village.

Unfortunately, this is where they run into the British.

There is no running from them -- they're on horseback, and Hamilton and Elias are on foot. Hamilton makes no secret of his tension.

The commander, a Captain, begins to interrogate them. Asks about Elias's name, and Hamilton's. He doesn't like their answers, and presses them. The captain doesn't like Elias's fear, or Elias's resemblance to the description of the servant.

After several minutes of this, Hamilton starts to get a sinking feeling that they might not get out of this alive.
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Eventually, the soldiers decide to escort Hamilton and the spy into the village themselves, where, Hamilton is sure, there will be no one to confirm their story, and they'll be dragged off as prisoners of war or just executed.

He's already come up with and discarded several plans by the time they get there, and it's with an increasing sense of helplessness that he sees the village approach.

Until he sees Burr and Laurens.

Not in uniform.

Sheer surprise has him stopping completely, and one of the British officers shoves him to make him move again. Did Washington send them? Absolutely no way. Not a chance. -- Maybe the smallest chance?

"Aaron!" he calls. "It's my husband," he explains, to the officer, "and his cousin. Aaron, are you riding? So soon after birth -- why, you should have known I was on my way back," and he doesn't have to fake the worry in his voice, nor the indignant look that he shoots the British soldiers who stop him from going to his husband.
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
"He has been in hysterics," says Laurens, and he does not have to play at his exhaustion. "The doctor thinks perhaps his womb has drifted, interrupting the proper flow of humors, perhaps leading to an abundance of yellow bile."

"I had no notion that I left you in such distress," cries Hamilton -- "But, now, see, these men know I have nothing to do with the army, and I have brought back with me an orphan, as promised, to assist while you recover. I was always coming back."

Theodosia wails, at the abrupt changes in movement, the jarring impacts, and Hamilton scoops her out of the sling, hushing her and cradling her close to his scent gland. Gratifyingly, she soothes right away, sniffing through her little nose and subsiding.

The captain comes between them, ruthlessly shouldering Burr back a step or two. He also takes Burr's left hand in both of his. "If he is your husband," says the captain, "then describe his ring, in its entirety."

Hamilton puffs up in indignation. "A puzzle ring," he says, "embossed with our names both -- Alexander, and Aaron. And if it turns missing or damaged in any way, I will be complaining to your commander."

Burr pulls off the ring and surrenders it, reluctantly, to the commander, and Hamilton, in the meantime, digs out the letter he penned under the oak. "And, my dear, my mind never left you -- you can see, I wrote you here."

The officer snatches the letter, passing it to a subordinate. "Read it out loud," he orders, his eyes examining Hamilton. He passes the ring back to Burr, with an angry twist to his mouth that Hamilton dislikes greatly.

"It is not appropriate --" protests Hamilton, for show, as he knows the letter will help acquit him.

"I'll decide that. Read it."

The subordinate opens it, and begins to read. "My Dearest Little Captain--"

"Captain?" snaps the officer.

"Yes, of course," says Hamilton. "For he is the captain of my ship of domestic happiness -- and would he not be darling in a little sea-coat and hat?"

The officer makes a hmm noise, and gestures for the subordinate to continue.

"This night I make my bed in the tender embrace of a white oak, which forms a sheltering overhang in the side of a hill where the ground has eroded. There is scarce anything to recommend this as shelter, except that it is not open to the rain," the subordinate reads. "Alas, it is cold, and the roots make poor bedfellows. Instead of imitating your grasping arms, they seem more to imitate a particular--" And he stops, eyes widening.

"Go on!" the officer orders.

The subordinate gulps, looks from Burr, to Hamilton, to the officer. "--to imitate a particular appendage of mine, which likewise misses you dearly, and has solidified and stiffened in its loneliness. These roots must be suffused with longing; they are sadly exposed, though wherever they can, they plunge into the eager and waiting ground below, seeking within those wet, secret passages--"

The officer's expression has shifted to mortification. He snatches the letter away, with a muttered "give me that," and scans the rest. His face has gone flaming red by the time he is done, and he flings the letter back at Hamilton.

"Now that you are done uncovering the secrets of the dreadful colonials," says Hamilton, dryly, "may I care for my husband?"

"Of -- of course." He turns around to the rest of his men, who are mostly trying not to laugh. "Move out!"

Hamilton gathers Burr in his arms, and he does not release him until well after the British have left their view.
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
He pulls back enough to interrupt Burr with a kiss. It is a warm one, doubtless too obscene for the street, though, really, so was the letter.

"I am well," he breathes, finally, letting out the air it feels like he's held since he saw the soldiers hours ago. "I am very well, now." The tears are of relief, no more.

First thing's first: "It is imperative that this young man make it to General Washington," says Hamilton. "Laurens, I hate to send you back on your way when you are so tired, but the urgency of the task..."

"What about you?" asks Laurens. "Both of you."

"If he takes Aaron's horse, then Aaron and I can go and get mine -- and proceed slower." He takes Aaron's hand. "What do you think?"
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-05 09:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Hamilton's face softens into an entirely different sort of astonishment.

"Really? Both of you?" he asks. "For me?" A bit of a smile, then, and he kisses Burr again, soft and brief. "You shouldn't have."

Hamilton considers, though -- "He has knowledge of the Hessian camps, and sketches." To Laurens: "Return quietly, I would say, so that you can ensure that Washington needs to weigh no considerations of broader morale or discipline. That is his first concern. And I'll write him a note -- containing neither trees nor roots -- to beg for his forbearance, at least until you and I should return.

"Does that satisfy?" He asks both Laurens and Burr. "I think he would be inclined to wait, and not take hasty action." It is Washington's character, after all.

"I would gladly risk it," says Laurens, "even without such assurances."
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[personal profile] non_stop 2022-05-06 12:55 am (UTC)(link)
The boy follows more cautiously, and Hamilton orders him a meal from the innkeeper, and then, after a moment of hesitation, more meals for all of them. They all look hungry and tired.

"We can wait," says Hamilton. "It would be stranger for a mated pair and a newborn baby to travel so hard, anyway." He kisses Burr's hand, held in his own left hand, as his eyes are focused on the letter he is writing with his right. "And I would be a terribly cruel alpha if I insisted on it."

He writes the letter in a way that conceals its purpose -- does not address the General as Your Excellency, but as Respected Sir, and writes in it that he sends his brother (Laurens, obviously) with a friend from up North to help with the new business. He also begs pardon for his brother's hastiness in departing without any word, and pleads that he wait for Hamilton and his husband to return before deciding what to do about it.

Satisfied that it is clear but that it contains nothing incriminating, Hamilton passes the letter to Burr and Laurens, to see if they have any suggestions or edits.

"Excuse me, sir," says an older man, who had been resting by the fire. "Are ye writing letters?"

"Yes, sir," returns Hamilton, a bit coldly, as it is an impudent way to begin a conversation.

"Your hand is very good indeed," the old man says. "Are ye a secretary?"

"A clerk, sir," says Hamilton.

"A clerk, a clerk. Sorry for the bother," says the old man, ducking his head, "but I can't read, nor write. Could I trouble ye to write a letter to my son? He's gone off to war, with General Putnam -- I'd very much like to send him a letter. I'll pay ye -- for the trouble and the ink and paper."

Hamilton's countenance has softened. "It is no trouble," he assures, "and little ink and paper. Wait only until I've had a bit to eat, and I'll oblige."

The man's face brightens up, wrinkled and sun-baked, into a genuine smile, though one missing a few teeth. "Aye, I'll wait -- gladly."

True to his word, after he's had a bit less than his fill (pushing the rest to Burr and to Elias), Hamilton approaches the older man and faithfully records his words, by firelight, his pen drawing careful loops on the paper. He is very patient with it, and addresses the envelope as well.

As he's finished, the innkeeper's wife approaches him. "Looks like you and that omega need a room for the night," she says, and she names a price.

Hamilton raises an eyebrow. "I would never insult a lady's housekeeping, madam," he says, "but that figure seems more appropriate for a flea-ridden shed, than a well-kept room."

A hint of a smile on the matron's face. "Ah well, you did a kindness," she says, with a nod at the old man. "Go on and take one, too."

He bows to her, and gathers his little desk, and his papers, and returns to the table, to Burr.

"Rested enough?" Laurens asks Elias.

"This's more than restored me," Elias boasts. "I could ride all the way to General Washington's camp tonight on a stew like that."

"Then we're off." Laurens focuses on Hamilton. "Be careful, both of you." Focuses on Burr, too. "I can't lose my family."

Hamilton's heart gives a little jump, at that word.

After they go, he turns to Burr. "I am sorry, for asking him to be the godfather, without asking you first -- she was only just born, and I'm afraid sentiment quite ran away with me. And then I couldn't think of the right time to ask you, and instead I let myself be distracted. I hope you approve of him."

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