(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

At 3AM, phone rings. Washington is awake immediately, having never lost the urge from his military days. He picks up the phone, looks at the caller ID.

“Hamilton?”

“Hi,” says his assistant, in a breathy, dazed voice. There’s something tinny about it. Speakerphone, Washington thinks.

“What is it?” Washington asks, sitting up in his bed and things about all the things that could be wrong. One of his appointments rescheduled. A meeting cancelled. Something with their flight to Bangalore in two weeks.

However, this is not exactly a normal hour for a business call, which means it’s the other option. Washington’s stomach twists with irritation at the thought.

“I’m thinking about you,” Hamilton says. Washington can hear him sigh with pleasure, and he bites back the frustration. Fucking his manic assistant every other week is one thing in terms of the mixing he has always told himself not to do, and perhaps harmless; Hamilton calling him at 3AM masturbating is another thing entirely. “You’re in your bed? I bet you have a nice big bed. Hard.” Even though the speaker, Hamilton’s voice is unreservedly lascivious. “Will you ever fuck me in it? I bet the sheets are so soft, too.” Hamilton groans, and then says, “Guess where I am.”

Hang up, Washington thinks to himself, and doesn’t. “Tell me.”

“I’m in your office.”

Washington startles, and stares at his phone. He hits mute, and listens to Hamilton’s breathing and the sound of clothes rustling, He thinks, because he has always been a very good thinker.

Hamilton wants him to ask him to prove it. Hamilton wants him to start video-chat from his phone, so he’s forced to see Hamilton masturbating in his chair.

He unmutes. Hamilton groans. Washington’s cock twitches.

“Get out of my office,” he growls into the phone.

“But your chair is so comfortable,” Hamilton veritably purrs. “It’s so… big. So leathery and soft and well-used. And yet - powerful, and encompassing, and magnificent,and intimidating. Fits me so well. We complement each other, me and this chair. I was thinking I might stick around for a while.” Then he does something to wring a gasp out of himself. “Are you ever going to fuck me in this chair? You don’t even have to do anything. You can just – sit here. I’ll bounce on you. We could both fit, if we really tried. You should really fuck me in this chair.”

Washington thinks a complaint, but it doesn’t reach his mouth.

“Or maybe over your desk,” Hamilton continues, and there’s a different tempo to his voice now, quicker. “God. That’d be good, right? Bend me right over your desk and fuck me as hard as you can. It’s got this nice edge design here that I could hold onto while you rammed me. Or maybe you wouldn’t let me hold on. Maybe I’d just be sliding fucking across it. Or you could hold me down, keep me in place. Smash my face into it.”

“Keep your bare cock off my desk,” he growls, which has the opposite effect. Hamilton isn’t currently talking - an amazing feat - but Washington imagines without meaning to what’s taking up the space. Hamilton working himself over furiously, two fingers in his mouth or stuffed inside himself.

“Fuck, you know–” Hamilton begins again, and his voice this time is desperate even through the tinny speakerphone.

Washington clicks end call. He lays in his bed in the dark and stares at the ceiling. He takes stock of his physical reactions: heat in his stomach, the buzz of arousal in his groin. He’s only a little hard, but his heart is pounding and he’s wide awake. He removes, with surgical precision, any thoughts of his assistant from his mind. Then, to improve his chance of being able to go back to sleep, he takes care of himself.

When he gets into the office the next morning, Hamilton isn’t in yet. He studies his office chair, making sure his most productive and most damaged employee hasn’t harmed the leather in any way, and then gets to work. When Hamilton does appear, maybe twenty minutes later, he only flashes a sex-satisfied smirk for a moment before he begins swiping through his iPad.

“First item on the agenda is…” Hamilton starts, and Washington forgets the night entirely.