(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

malapertqueen asked
sleepy, stubborn alex wanting to stay up and read/write more, and washington coaxing him to come to bed?

in all honesty, washington was not sure how he had become so lucky to have lafayette’s service. the man met him halfway down the road with a lantern, for both his and nelson’s sense was that they were very, very close to home, but even the moon was not enough to guide those final steps home. he had told lafayette he was going to be home that night, and his man, being the type that he was, had taken too laterns and meandered up the street until they had met. and they had been very close, indeed. lafayette’s laughter was merry in the darkness, and with the lanterns they made their way back to the estate. he immediately ordered the servant to go to bed; it was becoming almost so late it was early, and washington knew that he was powered only by the adrenaline of an exciting riding in the dark, and knew the upcoming crash.

he opened the bedroom door and saw a peculiar sight. alexander was still awake, and at his desk. one arm was stiffly between him and the desk, the elbow locked, as to stop him from falling forward. his other hand , of course, contained a pen, in which he was writing at the bottom of a sheet of paper. next to him was a good pile of written sheets of paper, and surrounded all around him were books. the last notable thing about this was that his head would continue to fall forward, but he would be stopped by some sense, and his locked elbow, and then would continue to write.

it was an impossibly charming scenario, even if washington was also nearly asleep standing up. he decided not to disturb it, but he closed the door with a significant click; if alexander was listening, he would have heard it. he stripped out of his clothes and pulled on his nightshirt and watch this process repeat itself, with the falling forward, and then the stopping and then four more words, and then falling forward, and such.

“Dearest,” he said, softly, and touched Alexander’s shoulder, “I think the bed would be more comfortable.”

“I cannot,” Alexander said, and he shook his head, as if to banish the cobwebs, “I am almost done, and this piece must go out tomorrow morning.”

“You are going to put your face in your wet ink.”

“I am not.” Alexander looked over his shoulder and glared at him.

“Alexander,” Washington said, and he sat on the edge of the bed, and felt the fingers of sleeping reaching all around him, and singing a siren song.

“I am almost done,” Alexander said, and turned back to his writing, and began with a few more furious words.

Washington fought off the warm promise of the night and stood, and he put both of his hands on his husband’s shoulders. “It will still be there in the morning,” he said, and he bent his head and pressed a kiss to Alexander’s ear. “You should sleep. You will have clearer thoughts, and better arguments.”

“I cannot,” Alexander said, staring at the words.

Washington trailed his fingers down Alexander’s arms. Alexander made an effort to shrug him off, that he rebuffed. Then, with exquisite aim, he plucked the pen out of Alexander’s hand.

“Give that back!” Alexander said, and unlocked his elbow, and threw it backwards. It thudded against Washington’s chest, though his husband, as much as he disliked it, was too exhausted for any real force.

“I shall not,” he said, and took the pen with him to the bed, forcing his husband to follow him, every step a stumble.

“You are abusing me,” Alexander said, sharply, as Washington held the pen away from him and forced him, torturous as it was, to crawl into Washington’s lap to attempt to retrieve it.

“So I am,” Washington agreed, and finally Alexander grabbed the pen. This only allowed Washington to hold him more firmly. Alexander wriggled against the hold. “Perhaps if you only closed your eyes for a few moments, you would be sharper. I will not even pull you under the sheets.”

Alexander stopped his wriggle, for a moment. He considered it.

(It shocked Washington, for a man of Alexander’s acuity, how often this worked.)

“Only a moment,” he said, “And no sheets.”

“No sheets,” Washington agreed, and he allowed Alexander to arrange them. His husband was asleep in moments. Washington shook his head, and let exhaustion claim him.