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 already did 48. 

15. shooting star

Hamilton was startled from his bed by the crash. He looked around; the other aides were still sleeping. Had he dreamt the noise? It had been complete, like a rumble in his soul. He had seemed too intense to be a dream. He tiptoed out of the bed and stared out the window. The moon, he thought, seemed incredibly bright.

He had a sense. He put on his jacket and his boots and his breeches and hoped he was not recognized; he did not feel like being completely dressed, and additionally it was too hot out, really. He took his pistol, just in case. It was loaded. 

He was sure the crash had come from behind the residence where the aides and generals were currently camped. He crept quietly down the steps, keeping maids and cooks asleep. Guards at the door; he climbed out a back window instead. 

There, strangely silvery, was General Washington. Or maybe it was not him; he seemed odd, like someone had constructed him out of mist or ocean spray. He was unclear, and Hamilton could not completely see his face, but he knew without a doubt it was him. General Washington seemed to be in the middle of some complex dance or ritual - he spun his hands in strange patterns that left sparks in the sky. 

Washington looked at him and flicked his fingers, and Hamilton felt something inside of him become odd and misshapen. He could not describe it otherwise; it was as if someone had reached into him and put a box around some bit in his throat. It was not uncomfortable, precisely, but was extremely odd, and he rubbed his breastbone. 

“Good evening, Colonel,” the general said. He looked more silvery the more Hamilton looked at him, like someone had poured him from pondwater or mercury. “It is a strange time for you to be awake.” 

“I heard a noise, Your Excellency,” he said. There was something strange about the words, or maybe his voice, or maybe his muscles, or the sound. 

Washington’s eyebrows, or the shape in the water that was his eyebrows, went up. “Did you?” he asked, and glanced away, “That is wonderfully fascinating. Would you come here, please?” 

Hamilton’s feet moved before he told them to. It was a strange circumstance, not unlike his chest-feeling. He felt a bit dazed, not like one had drank too much, but rather smoked a strange pipe, or perhaps had laudanum. His thoughts and his body were disjointed and unclear. 

“Would you tell me more about this noise, Colonel?” Washington asked. He took Hamilton’s hand in his, running his fingers along the lines of his palm. Hamilton could not remember Washington ever touching him like this, and especially in this bare manner. 

“It seemed as if a star had fallen from the sky, sir.” He answered. There was something placid about him in a way he did not understand. There was no urgency. He was with the commander; he could trust the commander; he could be utterly honest with the commander; he was the commander’s tool; he would obey him without thinking. 

Washington seemed to solidify. “You will assist me with a matter, sir?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You will not be upset if I cut you?” 

“No, sir,” he answered. 

“Thank you,” Washington said, and pulled a pen-knife from what seemed to be thin air, and made a wound in the meat of his palm. He turned Hamilton’s hand sideways and allowed the blood to drip onto his own palm. Against Washington’s skin, his blood seemed almost black. Or maybe it was black. It was hard to be sure. 

Washington released his hand and pressed his palms together, smearing Hamilton’s blood between them. “If you would, Colonel,” Washington said, “Imagine for me a person that you desire.” 

“Desire, Your Excellency?” Were he not so placid and calm, he would sense the danger of the situation. For Hamilton knew about his desires, and kept them hidden unless his company was carefully chosen. But it seemed impossible for something dangerous to occur with Washington. What was important was he be honest and thorough with Washington. Obedient, yes, that too. He was Washington’s servant. Somehow the danger was utterly muffled. 

“Ideally the sort of person that you take yourself in hand with, and imagine doing carnal things with.” 

“Of course, sir.” There would be danger, had things not seemed so light. His head was dull. But oh, he could imagine who he desired. It was easy with the man, as utterly peculiar as it was, standing here. He imagined how he might like the general to have him, how he might like to see that bare flesh, how he would kiss and lick every inch of that powerful flesh, as he would moan in exquisite pleasure as he was sure that man would get so deep inside of him –

Washington opened his hands like a blooming flower. In between them was a very tiny, blood-red General Washington, who seemed like a doll to bark out orders. 

Washington stared at his little copy, and then a strange smile slid across his face, like a new creek. “It is me you desire, Colonel?” 

“Yes, sir,” he said, because he felt no danger, or for that matter anything else other than the calm sense of utter nothingness. 

“You would like to do carnal things with me?” Washington folded his hands back together, and the tiny Washington disappeared like red mist. 

“Yes, sir,” he answered. 

“Would you like to do them now, here?” 

There was something sharp in his fog. Now, here? With the general? Outside? Something inside of him seemed hard in his soft brain. There was confusion. Why did Washington look so – strange? Why were they outside? His hand was bleeding. What had he said? What had he said – to this man? What had he–

“Colonel Hamilton, listen to me,” Washington said, and his voice seemed to shake Hamilton’s spirit. The sharp cold dissipated. His world became easy and placid. He took a calm  breath. 

Washington took his face in his hands. Those hands were warm and firm and strong. He had had dreams, like this. He looked up into dark eyes that seemed like storms. “If you would like for me to know you so completely and give you the most exquisite ecstasy you can imagine, I must do so now. Would you like to kiss me?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered, and stared at those beautiful lips, “Very much.” 

Washington stared at him, so he kissed him. God, it was ecstasy to kiss him. He had never had a kiss like this. It was like pure electricity burst between them, like they stood in a storm and were pounded by hail. There was some sort of feeling between them, like they were the comet, like they had been shackled together and the links were pulled inexorably closer. 

He felt a strange, hot pain in his chest, where his heart was. He reached to touch it, but Washington grabbed his wrist and placed it on his crotch. He could feel how impressive Washington was, even now. He could feel and he wanted, and he wanted, and he wanted. He squeezed and Washington groaned and he forgot the pain. Washington lay him in the grass and he begged to be taken and was. 

He woke up gasping in his bed, and startled hard enough that the bed disappeared from under him and he hit the hard wooden floor. He’d had a dream that he had – that Washington had — that his secret had been exposed — that Washington had done — that — 

“Go back to sleep,” John groaned, in the other bed, “Quietly, god, I barely slept.  Crazy dream where stars fell on me.” 

Hamilton touched his heart and looked at his sleepshirt. There was no stain at his groin indicating he had dreamed lavisciously, and yet his thighs and ass ached, and he felt as if he had been bitten all over, and his lips and his throat were sore. He felt drained as if he had rode all night, horse or otherwise. Had he tavern-hopped in his sleep? 

“John! Alexander!” The door to their room rattled open. John cursed, and Hamilton looked up from the ground, still feeling as if several wagons had rolled over him. “God himself has struck down the British! You should see the newspaper! A fire decimated them!” 

“We will, please dear god, free us from this shouting demon,” John retorted, and put his pillow over his head. Hamilton crawled back to his bed and stared at the ceiling. He took two deep breaths and stood up, everything aching. He put on his clothes and went downstairs. Washington was there, with the other aides. He sat in the corner and watched them celebrate. When Hamilton looked at him, Washington’s eyes seemed bluer, like the ocean.