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Jun. 17th, 2017 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticityAnonymous asked
Wham for number 1?
Could you ever be happy with me?
At the time it was evident Hamilton had not been sleeping. This was not all that unusual. Washington had become accustomed to the signs. Usually it started innocently enough - some document or reading he was engrossed in. But then he became offended by sleep, and concerned the sleep would be worse, and afraid to show it, and find other things to do. There would be a hysterical, irrational edge to his behavior, a more terrible kind of wildness.
Washington was not sure if would be able to hold back, if someone accused Hamilton of being mad. But the less his husband slept, the more mad he seemed, until he stayed up under only the everburning flame of his soul.
Hamilton was talking but Washington wasn’t listening. Washington was busy watching, as he often did when he was so wild in this way that made his chest ache. Was this what Hamilton felt like, when he was in the dark pit of the sulk? This sort of terrible helplessness, and embroidered with a tiny thread of pity? That a man so wonderful could be like - this?
“–about the whole concept of the council, and how it is completely mangled by this horrific partisanship, and their attacks on you, and their attacks on our people, and their attacks on each other, and their attacks on you–”
Hamilton sat in the chair at their combined study for two seconds before he stood up so sharply the chair tipped over and made a dull thud on the study floor. Hamilton did not seem to notice. Washington moved as invisibly as he could, and righted the chair. Hamilton did not seem to notice that, either.
“Although it must be said that I am quite clearly the most obvious plan of attack for you, being what I am, and what you are. What else would a man say other than attack some low-born nothing like myself, when all your other walls are so tall? What else could have been attacked? How could you be defeated? Oh, there could be nothing, there is nothing, all of your walls are impenetrable, as they are, as you are, as this could be. And yet for some reason you have acquired – this –” at this he gestured at himself, and admittedly he was not so presentable at present, in his undershirt and long trousers - but that was not the point –
“You should speak less ill of yourself,” Washington said, as gently as he could, for it was easy to turn Hamilton upon oneself when he was so manic, and that would do either of them no good.
“This is only the truth! and you know it! hero that you are, noble and virtuous and dramatic, a prince of princes, and that you ignore your regal blood it becomes stronger, and then you deny your power makes it more, and yet you have acquired this waif, this bastard, this urchin, this lying thing, in these clothes…” he grabbed his overshirt, and gave it a tug, but the shirt was well-constructed and did not fray. “how could such a divine thing as yourself be satisfied with me? you could never be happy with me.”
washington sighed. he folded his hands and sat in the resettled chair. he did not look at his husband the way he wished to look at him, for he had done so on a previous occasion and it had had a catastorphic result. but he felt the way, and hamilton could at least not feel the way.
“i am very happy with you,” he said, as matter of factly as he could manner, “and moreso if you would join me in bed.”
“you do not need to comfort this scoundrel with your body, good sir,” hamilton said, and suddenly he was rushing away, and washington hurried to follow him down the hallway and down the steps and through the manor hallways, servants, servants turning away to ignore the scene.
“i am very happy with you as is,” washington repeated, with just a bit more firmness.
“could you ever be happy with me?” hamilton replied, stopping and turning so sharp washington nearly crashed into him, “even the greatest scholars of our ages cannot answer it.”
Wham for number 1?
Could you ever be happy with me?
At the time it was evident Hamilton had not been sleeping. This was not all that unusual. Washington had become accustomed to the signs. Usually it started innocently enough - some document or reading he was engrossed in. But then he became offended by sleep, and concerned the sleep would be worse, and afraid to show it, and find other things to do. There would be a hysterical, irrational edge to his behavior, a more terrible kind of wildness.
Washington was not sure if would be able to hold back, if someone accused Hamilton of being mad. But the less his husband slept, the more mad he seemed, until he stayed up under only the everburning flame of his soul.
Hamilton was talking but Washington wasn’t listening. Washington was busy watching, as he often did when he was so wild in this way that made his chest ache. Was this what Hamilton felt like, when he was in the dark pit of the sulk? This sort of terrible helplessness, and embroidered with a tiny thread of pity? That a man so wonderful could be like - this?
“–about the whole concept of the council, and how it is completely mangled by this horrific partisanship, and their attacks on you, and their attacks on our people, and their attacks on each other, and their attacks on you–”
Hamilton sat in the chair at their combined study for two seconds before he stood up so sharply the chair tipped over and made a dull thud on the study floor. Hamilton did not seem to notice. Washington moved as invisibly as he could, and righted the chair. Hamilton did not seem to notice that, either.
“Although it must be said that I am quite clearly the most obvious plan of attack for you, being what I am, and what you are. What else would a man say other than attack some low-born nothing like myself, when all your other walls are so tall? What else could have been attacked? How could you be defeated? Oh, there could be nothing, there is nothing, all of your walls are impenetrable, as they are, as you are, as this could be. And yet for some reason you have acquired – this –” at this he gestured at himself, and admittedly he was not so presentable at present, in his undershirt and long trousers - but that was not the point –
“You should speak less ill of yourself,” Washington said, as gently as he could, for it was easy to turn Hamilton upon oneself when he was so manic, and that would do either of them no good.
“This is only the truth! and you know it! hero that you are, noble and virtuous and dramatic, a prince of princes, and that you ignore your regal blood it becomes stronger, and then you deny your power makes it more, and yet you have acquired this waif, this bastard, this urchin, this lying thing, in these clothes…” he grabbed his overshirt, and gave it a tug, but the shirt was well-constructed and did not fray. “how could such a divine thing as yourself be satisfied with me? you could never be happy with me.”
washington sighed. he folded his hands and sat in the resettled chair. he did not look at his husband the way he wished to look at him, for he had done so on a previous occasion and it had had a catastorphic result. but he felt the way, and hamilton could at least not feel the way.
“i am very happy with you,” he said, as matter of factly as he could manner, “and moreso if you would join me in bed.”
“you do not need to comfort this scoundrel with your body, good sir,” hamilton said, and suddenly he was rushing away, and washington hurried to follow him down the hallway and down the steps and through the manor hallways, servants, servants turning away to ignore the scene.
“i am very happy with you as is,” washington repeated, with just a bit more firmness.
“could you ever be happy with me?” hamilton replied, stopping and turning so sharp washington nearly crashed into him, “even the greatest scholars of our ages cannot answer it.”