(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

hamilton’s more manic than usual when he shows up, and as a result is more annoying, pressing harder, wanting more. washington gives him a good, hard caning, his back red, his body weak. but hamilton demands more, and more, touching him in ways he doesn’t like, mentioning things that he would prefer to leave quiet. washington knows hamilton only does it to upset him, knows that he’s giving in. but even so it feels so good to feel the man’s thin body collapse under his fist. hamilton knows what he’s getting into, baits him into rage. he gives in. he sees only being embarrassed in school and his mother annoying him and laurence telling him to shut the fuck up and board members telling him his ideas are bad. the symphony is not as good as the sound of the wet crunch of hamilton’s bones and flesh.

when washington comes back to himself, sweat-slick and burned out and pure exhaustion, hamilton’s spitting his teeth out, his body fetal. one of his pupils is larger than the other.

washington sighs, hopes the blood doesn’t stain his hardwood floors. hamilton manages a weak moan of pain when washington nudges him, which is an impressive first.

“get up,” he says, and hamilton pushes his hands to the floor, but the rest of him doesn’t lift accordingly.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” he says. hamilton doesn’t respond, save for the soft sound of blood drops in the blood pool. washington picks up the phone.

“Hello, Martha. I need a hospital bed. I think Mr. Hamilton has a fractured orbital bone, maybe a rib or two……..Sooner would be better than later……. Excellent.”

He frowns at his hand. There’s blood in the lines of his signet. That’s inconvienent.