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Chapter Text

THE EVENING Alexander was presented with the opportunity to marry into royalty, he immediately jumped for it.

Not only would he be a celebrity, but he'd never have to worry again in his life.  He could have anything he wanted without limitations.  He would live in a mansion, with unlimited access to pretty much every place in the country— not to mention unlimited access to every book and archive and resource there was.

It would be heaven.

Except for one thing: 

He'd be a pawn to show a faux sense of acceptance and sensibility in America, make them seem like they can tolerate and coexist.  The idea of him having a say in anything was practically taboo for anybody in the higher-up part of the royal court.  And pursuing a political career?  Forget it.  What could he even do with his life if not that?  That was everything he'd been studying.

Then there was the whole aspect where he'd be marrying a stranger.  A prince who was going to be crowned king, but a stranger.  To the prince, Alexander was just going to be another nuisance. Another dull responsibility.  Another face for whom to perform.

And Alexander had only one night to decide if he wanted to go through with it.

A government agent had come to his house around dinner time with a summons.  She was around a decade older than he, with clear skin, tightly pulled and curled ponytail high on her head, her smile fake but radiant.  She introduced herself as Colonel Rodriguez and regarded Alexander with indifference, but was warm enough that he trusted her.  She showed her badge and official seal of the royal court, and asked him to sign some nondisclosure papers with the promise she had the offer of a lifetime for him (no, you won't be serving in the military; no, you aren't required to agree to it but you aren't allowed to talk about it; no, I won't ask you to expose, threaten, or kill anybody; no, it's nothing illegal... look, kid, do you want to hear the offer or not? Sign the papers).

Would he like to marry the prince?  Hell, probably, but "What's the catch?"

"There's a prenup," she said, setting yet another stack of papers in front of him.

If he was unwilling to go along with the scheme, allegedly he'd just live the rest of his life without ever telling anybody anything about this conversation, pretend it never happened, lest he be sued to oblivion and possibly arrested.  Don't worry, she'd said, we'd scrub away any evidence this happened and you'd be thought of as crazy.  With a bit of a smile threatening to crack his tightly-held face, he looked at the papers he'd just signed.  A student keen on becoming a lawyer and he hadn't even minded how tight the contract was, how fucked he was if he violated it.  He had been curious.  If he'd refused to sign the papers and turned Rodriguez away without ever hearing the offer, he'd have regretted it for the rest of his life, to multitudes he couldn't comprehend.

"You share with the media and those in your personal life only what you are permitted.  You will live this lie truthfully.  This must go down in history as the truth.  There will be no documentation of this marriage being fabricated or arranged in any way.  If you are more interested in exposing this scheme than playing along - to your benefit, might I add - you will face the repercussions as specified in the nondisclosure agreement to the fullest extent.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said, glancing off to a photo of his mother on the fridge. "What can I bring with me?"

"For the time being, no cell phone, laptop, or any sort of recording devices.  You will have to earn that privilege, as the safety of the royals is our number one priority.  No weapons, of course.  No illegal substances.  Other than that, bring anything you can carry.  I have a couple of suitcases for you.  Too many clothes will not be necessary - you will be provided with new ones - but if you have family heirlooms, memorabilia, a journal, books, whatever, that is all fine," she said.  

"What about the rest of my stuff?"

"We'll have it moved into a storage unit."

"I have time to think about this?"

"More or less."  The colonel handed him a card from her papers.  "I expect to see you at the courthouse tomorrow morning, nine AM sharp with your belongings.  You'll be briefed and will sign legal documents, then from there transported to DC. And above all, you must not tell anybody about this. Trust me. The CIA will know and they will take you into custody.  This place is bugged, your building's under surveillance, and any suspicious activity whatsoever will be reported immediately."

"Woah, what?  When did my apartment get bugged?"

She smiled.  "It isn't really a feat."

"This is crazy.  Can I at least tell my loved ones I'm leaving?"

"They'll ask questions you aren't authorized to answer."

"They'll ask more if I'm suddenly skipping town.  What about my classes?"  

"You can be withdrawn with the promise of readmission at any point in time at no additional cost to you.  You'll sign several contracts which will protect both you and your fiancé.  Now," she said with a sigh, "I know this is a lot, Mr. Hamilton."

"A little bit."

"But you're lucky.  This is a straight shot to a life of comfort.  You can focus on leisure and learning.  You'd be legally protected and always tended to.  It's a golden opportunity."

Alexander tapped his finger against his thigh nervously.  "I don't see what other choice I have when there's like, a pile of cash on the table... but I just don't understand the angle.  I thought the royal family was all... moderate, can't take a stance politically unless it's to reinforce traditional social views.  I thought the king was homophobic.  The late king," he specified, "since I guess his son is in his place."

"Not yet, not until after you're married.  As for King Henry - our late king may have disapproved but that means little to the younger generation.  His son will lead us into a new era and the political campaign of the century will be how his rule turns the tables in social justice, what with his marriage to another man."  She gave a smile forced only by indifference.  Not that she disapproved, hardly that, but she was numb to the political schemes.  No matter the agenda pushed by the monarchy, people would always suffer at the hands of wealth inequality, racism, sexism, and even homophobia - even if the king had a man by his side.

"Why can't the prince just find some other rich guy to shack up with?  At least it'd be somebody he knows."

"For one, it's not exactly easy to legally battle or otherwise fight a wealthy young man quietly if he tries to expose the plot.  You, on the other hand..."

"Wow.  Heard."

"Second, although his advisors made the match, the prince's only stipulation was that whoever he marries should be 'as far away from' his 'circle of rich snobs' as possible, his words, not mine."

Alexander chuckled dryly.  "Oh, good.  Flattered.  Who chose me, then?  I'd like to talk to them."

"As I said, it was a personal advisor.  The prince approved it, of course, but I'm told the decision was mostly made for him."

"I don't understand why me."

"Mr. Hamilton, you're young, attractive, and have made friends with a few people not far removed from the royal family, as I understand.  A few wealthy students and their families, your sponsor is a renowned tailor sought out by many high-status celebrities, you attend a high-profile university and interact daily with staff and alumni with status beyond your imagination.  Do you understand how close to the crown you are already?  Besides, your lineage isn't too unseemly, either.  You may be estranged from your family in Scotland but a few generations back, they were respectable and well-off.  Why you any less than anyone else?  You fit the prince's criteria as well as the criteria of the agent who picked you.  You're our most promising and most deserving candidate.  Now, give me an answer before I flatter you too much."

"I fit the prince's criteria?" he asked dryly with a raised brow.

"Oh, yes.  You're just his type to a T, or so he's said.  He was quite impressed by the profile his agent made for you."

"I have to be honest, I do not follow the hyped-up celebrity-type royal family bullshit so I've never even seen the prince.  I mean, I'm sure I have in passing, but not actually, you know?  I don't remember what he looks like.  Maybe he could come here to meet me first before I drop everything to be married to an ugly asshole.  No offense."

"He won't be meeting you here."

"And why not?  Shouldn't we get a vibe, have a first date before we decide to tie the knot?"

"Not how this works."

"I'm serious, I'd rather stay poor than taint my good name and face with a jerk I'd never consider sleeping with, let alone marrying.  It'd be suspicious at that point how someone like me ended up marrying an ugly dude if not for the wealth."

"A picture of him should suffice.  He's a handsome young man, I assure you."  She was already taking out her phone to search for a picture Alexander could have found himself - but she was quick and his phone was in the other room anyway.  Rodriguez held out the device.  "Does this answer your question?"

The young man was smiling with two younger boys who looked like they must have been his family, likely brothers with their resemblance.  He was clean-cut and properly dressed as royalty should be, so that was nothing surprising - nothing compared to... "He is a handsome young man," agreed Alexander upon realizing he'd let his mouth fall open.  Man, he thought that was just an expression - but his jaw literally dropped.  He cleared his throat, unable to hold back the smile.  "Do you know him?  Personally?"

Rodriguez's fave remained perfectly neutral.  "I have known him since he was about sixteen years old, yes."

"Do you like who he is behind that royal persona?  Be honest.  What's he like?  Is he a nice person?  Is he smart?  Is he sharp or a bit awkward?  Is he emotional or is he closed off?"

"You should find that out for yourself."

"Do you really expect me to marry somebody I don't know?"

She sighed, making eye-contact as she rattled off a list.  "He's smart, sharp, artistic, sarcastic, hard-working, obedient to his father and to his duty to the country, but only as much as is admirable without being heartless and passionless.  He's good to his younger siblings and loves them to a fault.  He likes animals.  He thinks you're a good match and this is your opportunity to marry unfathomable wealth.  You can work out the rest."

"...I'll be at that courthouse tomorrow, ma'am."

AFTER SIGNING HIS NAME a million times and being questioned over and over at the courthouse in Manhattan, Alexander was placed on a private helicopter.  He tapped his fingers against the armrest, glancing out the tiny window as the clouds obscured the sky below them.

About an hour and a half later, he'd arrived but did not know where; there he was escorted off of the plane and into a black car. The car drove him to the White House.

Outside stood the woman who visited him the previous evening. She was wearing more formal attire, a black suit with epaulets and a dozen commemorations, as opposed to the jeans and white shirt she wore last night. "Colonel Rodriguez?" Alexander felt some sort of comfort in seeing the kind woman's face but was surprised at her decoration.  "You are very high-ranking, aren't you?  Damn."

"Mr. Hamilton," she nodded curtly. "Good to see you.  As we go in, put yourself in the mindset of the role you're playing.  As far as you know, every person you encounter must know you are the prince's fiancé."

"When am I meeting the prince?"

"Right about now.  You will be having lunch with him.  After, of course, you walk through this metal detector and get your bags checked."

"They already checked me at the courthouse and before getting on the helicopter.  I bet you've taken one.  I felt very important."

Rodriguez laughed. "They need to check you again.  Standard procedure until you're a naturalized resident of the house."

It was odd, having a checkpoint at the gate of one's house.  

Not that they weren't thorough, but they finished their search quickly and gave Alexander a new ID - a federal form of identification that would give him clearance in and out of the estate.  Then they allowed them to go ahead.  Alex and Rodriguez rode in the sleek black car through the tall metal gates.  The house itself was farther than Alexander thought.  They drove through well-groomed trees on the private paved road for about a minute before they were, at last, at the real gate, a shorter metal fence with ivy and the brick and marble house not dissimilar - academic, private, grand.  They were buzzed through the gates, parked the car, and then climbed the few steps to the front door, where Rodriguez led him into the atrium of the great mansion.  

"This is the private residence of the royal family.  Here it will be just you, the family, and some of the family's closest staff and security.  The bedrooms upstairs are entirely private.  This atrium and the courtyard have video monitoring and security, but the rest is unmonitored space."

"Is it really unmonitored, or do you just have to tell me that?"

"It really is unmonitored."

"Can I use this to come and go as I please?" he asked, waving around his second ID.

"With a bodyguard, yes."

"Sweet, I get a bodyguard?"

"Your fiancé has enough to spare."

"My fiancé... damn, what do I say to him?" Alexander asked.  "Do I, like, kneel out of respect?" he joked.

Rodriguez sighed, mouth closed into a tight frown as she took a moment to think.

"He's going to be your husband," she said.  "Around other people, silence is a valid option or else you simply say what you'd say to a loved one.  For the public, you'll have a script, so don't worry too much about that.  And in private, well, I'd suggest you make a real effort to get to know one another."

"The prince is actually gay, right?  And he's not, like, in a secret relationship with somebody else?"

"Why would he marry a man if he wasn't?  What do you think this whole ordeal has been about?"

"It's an arranged marriage," he reasoned, "to make the monarchy look accepting by making the prince marry some poor sap from the city, show that it's not only the rich who have a say.  And for the diversity win.  You said that yourself."

"Sure, but it's only half the story."

"Then what's the full one?"

Before she could answer the inquiry, the hall opened up to the atrium. They approached the prince.  Behind him stood a tall, dark man in a suit. There was silence for a moment before John beheld Alexander with a smile.

"I'm glad to see you flown in safely," he began. "Alexander, this is one of my father's aides, Jakob."  He'd pronounced it like ya-kuhb.

He was caught off guard but smiled and shook the silent man's hand.  "Alex Hamilton."

Rodriguez stepped in beside the aide as John and Alex seemed to take their places together.  John began to ask him about the flight and his morning but all Alexander could hear was Rodriguez whispering, You were notified when we arrived, it's a bit on the nose to keep us in suspense.  What took so long?

Jakob responded in the same low volume, Cold feet.

"Hm?" Alexander found himself staring blankly at John.  "Sorry, you were asking about my flight?  It was good.  First class.  Very, uh, nice.  Sorry, can I plea jet lag even if there's no time difference?"

John smiled at his distracted eyes.  Nervous, just like he was.  "I don't think you can, no.  It was a short flight, too."

"Well, I'm pleading something."

"You can certainly plea 'first-time-arranged-marriage.'"

Alexander's eyes flicked over to Jakob and Rodriguez.

"Jakob knows.  We'll keep it hush-hush from this moment on, but it's not necessary to complicate an already unconventional situation.  So... lunch?"

Alexander felt shockingly at ease, all of a sudden.  He nodded with a smile.  "Yes, lunch."

"Thank you for escorting him, Colonel Rodriguez. Alexander and I are going to share a meal in private if you don't mind," he said to both staff members.

Rodriguez gave Alexander a firm handshake and handed over her contact card.  "Reach out to me if ever you need anything, if you'd like additional security or a peace-of-mind assurance of any kind.  I'm contracted to you as well."

"That something I signed, too?"

"Yes, it was.  It was nice meeting you."  

The colonel and the aide left consecutively.  Once they were far enough away, John tilted his head at Alexander and motioned for him to follow as they went out of the atrium, down a long hall, and into a dining room.  "For somebody on a pre-law course, you certainly seemed to have grazed the legally binding stuff."

"Oh," said Alexander with a smile, "that paperwork was legally binding?"

"Yeah, you're locked in, now."

"I'm contractually obligated to marry a prince, whatever will I do now."

John chuckled.  "And what a disappointment for me to have such a merited and attractive partner by my side.  Here.  The dining room is entirely private.  Nobody's listening here."  He held his hand out to Alexander.  "John.  It's nice to meet you in person, Alexander."

Alexander took it.  "This is nice," he said. "The room."

"Yes, it's excellent craftsmanship— the royal family has been living here for years. We're going to be ruling as the thirteenth generation."

"'We'?"

"We are getting married, you're going to give me your counsel, I hope," he said with a soft smile, pulling out a seat for Alexander and coaxing him to sit.

"Marrying you won't give me a title.  I'm not a duke or count or prince.  My paternal great-grandfather was a laird of a castle in Scotland.  I don't have any claim over it but that does make me a little bit of a noble."

"Laird."

"Kind of just short of being a baron.  I've done my research because I like to sprinkle it into conversation."

"I can see that.  So, son of a Scot," John mused with his still careful smile.  Raised to be a public figure, leader, and mediator.  He knew how to earn the trust of his audience without seeming too eager, without patronizing, and without being overtly fake.  "On your father's side, you said?  Why aren't you in line for the land?"

"My father's the fourth in line of his brothers and I have an older brother, too.  Lot of hoops before it would come to me, and it's not like there's a point in it, now."

"Ah, but what if I'd like to marry a laird?"

"Too bad for you, you're marrying a bastard.  But I'm not without my accolades."

"Oh, believe me, I know.  Our matchmaker was singing your praises for days.  Lunch should be ready soon, the chef has prepared several different meals."

"I'm not picky."

"Not a problem if you were.  There's food you like among the entrées." 

"How would you know?"

"Based on my aide's research.  I told him not to pry too deep, but you know, they had to be very thorough.  Turned out some of your more simple traits were, uh... written down."

"I don't like that."

John laughed.  "I didn't think you would."  He turned his head as the French doors to the kitchen opened and in came the chef with a cart.  "Owen."

"Gentlemen."  His accent was British, hailing from Essex, his voice low and lacking discernible inflection.  He did a short bow.  "Mr. Hamilton, I presume?"

"Alex is fine."

"Alex.  I'm Owen, I'm the cook and for special occasions, your waiter.  Come find me any time during the day and I'll be more than happy to make sure you're well fed.  May I offer you something to drink?  We have a fine selection of wines here, or perhaps something lighter?  I'm not quite a mixologist but I can figure something out for you."  He was setting two glass decanters of water on the table while Alexander deliberated.  "Seltzer here, regular water here."

"I'll have whatever he's having."

"Of course."  He picked up a bottle of white wine.  "Sauvignon, John?"

Laurens nodded.  "Please."  

As Owen poured, he said, "Shall I bring all the courses at once to leave the two of you to your conversation?"

"If that's agreeable."

"Of course.  Everything's ready."  He left the bottle on the table.  "I'll be back momentarily."

"Do you not drink?" John asked when Owen pushed the cart away.

"I'm still twenty."

"Jesus," he breathed a laugh.  "Technicality.  If you'd like something to drink, by all means."  

"I'm all right.  Thank you, though.  Can I ask, how old are you?  I just realized I don't know."

"Twenty-two.  You must've done your research?  Age is easily forgotten, I know, but it's readily available information.  I mean, I shudder to imagine what else you've read about me in tabloids and news."

"Don't worry about my preconceived ideas of you, I don't read celebrity news."

"'Celebrity'?"

"That's what the royal family is, right?  Glorified celebrities who represent the actual government employees.  My point is that I know very little about you.  Our slate is clean."  He looked up at John and gave him a polite thin-lipped smile.  "Is that a good thing?  What sort of shit does the press say that makes you 'shudder'?"

John looked taken aback for just a moment before he laughed, truly, not even a hint of condescension or contempt as Alexander had expected.  He touched his own throat with his index and middle fingers briefly, a nervous tic of his.  He said, "You know how celebrity gossip is.  Exaggerated BS. It's good that you don't know anything about me.  I know very little about you... my advisor offered more information to go off of but I figured it'd be better to ask you yourself."

"Good, then we're halfway to a normal first date."

Owen reentered with another cart, this time with a whole lot of food.  "Bread, my good sirs.  And to start we have caprese prepared with balsamic vinaigrette; here, some beautiful smoked ricotta tortellini; and an Italian wedding soup - I thought it'd be fitting!  Under this here is your Sicilian cheesecake with strawberry sauce.  Please let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.  I'll leave you to it."

Alexander leaned his face on the back of one hand, elbow on the table, smiling.  "Italian wedding soup."

"Bit on the nose."

"He's a sweetheart.  I'm excited.  Don't know that I'll be able to finish any of it if I'm to try it all.  I think you were bullshitting me about having learned even my favorite foods, though.  Most people like Italian."

"It was more to be sure you had no allergies, dietary restrictions, or aversions.  But according to your texts, bank statements, and internet searches, these meals were a decent match."

"That's so unsettling.  I know I'm marrying you, but I hate the government."

"So long as you don't say it in public," he said with a shake of his head.  He stood to serve himself and Alexander.  "...This wasn't my decision, I should say.  I didn't have a sudden whim to force somebody into a marriage with me."

"No?"

"You want the whole story?"

"Please."

"My father wanted me to marry.  A woman, that is, but he didn't specify that on his will.  It was his dying wish.  His close advisors wanted me in power as soon as possible so parliament couldn't flip a switch and shove somebody else onto the throne for political reasons.  Turns out his marriage wish was written in the legal terms needed for the coronation.  Since I refused to live a lie and marry a woman, and didn't have a guy lined up, his remaining advisors decided I should live a different lie and marry a man.  I said that was just as silly but they insisted and proposed finding a suitor."

Alexander raised a brow.  "You decided marrying a male stranger was better than just marrying a girl you already know?"

"I told you I didn't want to marry at all.  Two things: if I marry a woman and I try to have relationships with men under the radar, and I'm found out, it'd be a huge, unforgivable sex scandal.  Second: they decided it would look great politically if the whole country knew.  Especially harboring the crazy love story, the media will eat it all up.  And... I thought, well, it's a better cause.  And if I were to..." he left the thought unfinished.  He sat and laid his napkin upon his lap and took another sip of wine before continuing.  "So, my aide suggested a few candidates to me.  There was a very fine algorithm to the whole thing, like the world's most elaborate dating app matchmaking."

"So you had a few options laid out... I'd imagine some rich people and maybe better-known... and you decided...?"

"Well, he did all the digging.  I decided to take a chance and made my decision primarily on looks," he said with a smug smile.  

"I'm not surprised.  Look at me."

John let out the laugh he'd been holding in then began again:  "My father's aide, Jakob, the man you met before - he's the one who did all of the research and chose you.  I had no interest in forcing you to marry me.  Jokes aside, I hope you understand that this isn't my idea of a good time, either."

He swallowed the food in his mouth before answering, "Don't apologize.  I can now sleep easily at night not wondering if I'll have enough for rent on top of tuition.  There's plenty for me to benefit from in this situation."

"Exactly.  It won't be miserable.  Besides the wedding and public appearances, we don't even have to see one another unless we choose to.  You have a room of your own, for propriety before the wedding, but it's yours regardless.  Although my sister, Martha, knows the truth, the younger ones don't.  And only select officials, such as my father's aide, know.  None of that should matter."

"Okay.  I'm optimistic."  He put on a smile, relaxed even more.  "You've so far made a good impression and there's plenty to admire about your appearance, so I don't suppose this will be too difficult."

"I think my father's aide might have good taste in men."

Alexander laughed.  "So, do I look queer, or...?"

"I'm sure he narrowed it down before deciding if you look gay or not.  Considering all he's told me about you, I think he has access to a lot of spyware."

"Right, right.  They did say they tapped my apartment.  They also withdrew me from all my courses."

"I'm sorry.  If you still want to go to college, you should continue taking classes."

"Of course I do.  But I don't know what the point would be.  Before, I was going to go to college to make something of myself.  But here I am.  So I don't know where I actually stand on that."

"Education's important," said John.

"In our society, it's more of a means to an end.  Credentials and such." 

"I went to school."

"The integrity of your rule would have been called into question had you not.  Nobody cares whether the spouse is educated."

"That's not true.  I went to school in Europe, partially in Switzerland and partially England to gain cultural experience abroad.  It was enriching.  It had little to do with my credentials."

"Well, maybe I should study abroad, then, huh?"

"You could."

Alexander smiled.  "Nah.  It'd be lonely.  I've packed up and moved my whole life several times now.  Making new friends is far too difficult and like I said... I don't need much else now that I'm at this point, right?"

Suddenly a teenager on the cusp of her twenties stormed into the room, quickly halting when she caught sight of Alexander.  She slowed her pace, heels clicking as she came up behind John, placed a hand on the back of his chair.  She seemed exasperated.  She was wearing expensive jewelry and a slimming white pantsuit. Her blonde hair was curled, shoulder-length.  "Well, aren't you two dining like kings.  Alex, we've been eagerly awaiting you.”

Alexander stood and leaned over the table to shake her hand.

"This is Martha. My sister," John explained, turning to her. "We were just having an early lunch."

"How romantic."

"I thought you were with Mary Eleanor."

"Well, I was, but I'm not helpful to her right now.  She asked for you.  I said you were likely busy, which you clearly are -"

"I can go help." He stood.

"No, no, sit. She knows you're busy, she won't be too let down.  It's about time Margo came back from vacation, it's difficult to take care of children," she added quietly then said with a smile, "Alex, forgive my appearance, I thought you'd be in this evening for dinner.  I would have dressed up if I'd known you'd be in sooner."

"Pleasure's all mine.  And what are you talking about?  You look stunning!" laughed Alexander.  

Martha said aside to her brother, "Jakob has good taste in men."

"What'd I say?" John said with a smile.

Alexander was quite used to being the charming center of attention so it was to no great surprise he'd charmed both his fiancé and soon-to-be sister-in-law so quickly.  

"I'll leave you to your lunch, then.  I should get back to Mary Eleanor.  Alexander, I look forward to getting to know you better."

When the two had finished up their lunch, John coaxed Alexander out of the dining room.

"I want to show you around."

"Okay," Alexander said, smiley.  John led him from room to room, and even to the library and basement archives which got Alexander just a bit too excited.

"Can I come in here whenever?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes, of course.  I won't dictate what you do 24/7."

"So... if not 24/7, then will it be at all?" he whispered seriously, though the question sounded off out loud. John leaned back against a table in the library and sighed.

"I mean, I don't care what you do. Behind closed doors, we don't have to be anything more than acquaintances in a mutually beneficial domestic partnership.  In public, we have to pretend to be in love."

"And... what does that entail?  For you?"

It was difficult to imagine being intimate in public with a stranger just for some political scheme.  He had even raised these concerns to the supervisors involved, but they insisted he would be fine.  He decided, "It entails probably what you'd imagine.  But, if you are uncomfortable with anything -" 

"No," he said all too quickly with a smile.  "I'm not squeamish.  I'll have you know I'm an experienced lover."

John laughed.  "All right, sure.  Good to know.  Then, with that settled, shall we?"  John held out his arm, and Alexander linked his own.  "I'd like you to meet my other siblings."

"Give me a quick run-down so I can pretend I've heard all about them."

And so Alexander met Harry, a young teen who was slumped against the wall of his bedroom, on his phone.  He didn't seem to care much, other than making an off-handed joke about John being gay.  It was unintentionally mean and held much of a playful tone, but Alexander could tell it bothered John a little. Still, John just playfully messed with his brother's hair, did not scold him.

Then, John knocked on the bedroom door with a giant poster of a realistic spider on the front. "He put it up after our father fell ill," John whispered, seemingly in a trance as though he were telling himself more than Alexander.  "He never let him put it up, before."

The door was opened by another boy, younger than Harry but not by much, who stood there with a sullen expression. It suddenly picked up as he saw his older brother with Alexander.

"Hi!"

"Alexander, this is James. Or, Jemmy.  Jem, this is... my fiancé."

"Nice to meet you!" Alexander shook his hand. James went right in for a hug, smiling wide. John awkwardly pried him off.

"Hey, don't suffocate him. He's been here for two hours."

"I can't believe you've kept him a secret so long!" James exclaimed.

Alexander stood there with a smile.  It was cute, even if it wasn't real.  He missed his own brothers, his own James, and his Ned.  This part of him longed for marriage, for in-laws, for a family.  Well, the CIA had chosen him fit for this one, so that's half of the work done.  Like a matchmaker.  Ah, if only he'd been alive in the good ol' days of matchmakers and arranged marriages.

Except, of course, he was.

"I have to introduce Alexander to Mary Eleanor and get some work done, but we're having dinner together tonight so I'll have someone fetch you then, all right?”

"Okay!"

Once they were down the hall, James away in his room, John said, "Even if there are a handful of people who know, we'll interact with everyone as if we're really together.  I guess from tonight on, we're fiancés."

"Right.  Sounds good.  Not just some fake B.S., we really are going to be married.”

"Legally and in any other way it matters, yes, unfortunately."

"Ah, unfortunately?  I thought you said I was attractive."

"Of course you are."  That being said, John stepped away and turned.

Alexander followed him down the hall and to the final room, where a young girl sat on a light green bed while she read, Martha on her phone beside her.  Mary Eleanor looked up and waved to Alexander.

"Mary Eleanor," said Martha, "this is Alexander, Jack's fiancé.  Say hello."

"Hi," she said shyly. Alexander waved back with a slight smile.

"Nice to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you!"

"He's gonna live here now?" Mary Eleanor asked Martha.

"Yes, he is."

"So long as he doesn't steal my stuff."

Martha scolded despite Alexander's laugh at that: "Now, Mary Eleanor, that was a rude thing to say.  He isn't a thief."

"I'm sorry," she apologized very genuinely, a little nervous because the girl felt she always said the wrong thing and it would be considered rude and she couldn't understand why.  But she was sorry, for having offended. 

"It's okay," he said.  "I promise I won't bother your things."

"We're still working on developing a filter," Martha said apologetically. 

"Really, it's fine.  She's just speaking her mind.  I've been told you're a very bright person," he redirected to Mary Eleanor.  "What are you reading?"

"It's a chapter book," she said proudly.  

"Wow!  Already?  You must be even smarter than your brother let on." 

"Yeah, and it's about a first-grader, like me.  She's not as smart as I am but she's funny.  She thinks her teacher's name is 'Missus,' but it's not.  And she has lots of opinions."

"Just like you," Martha added fondly.  

"It's good to be opinionated," agreed Alexander.  

John, with crossed arms and a smile, said, "I knew you two would hit it off.  Mary Eleanor, Alexander, and I have a couple more things to do before we clean up for dinner.  We'll see you in a bit, okay?"

Chapter Text

"IS THIS ALL YOU BROUGHT?" John asked pointedly. He tossed a shirt from Alexander's luggage at him. "This looks clean, wear that."

"All of it is clean," Alexander retaliated. He sighed and stared at the blue dress shirt.

"That looks the cleanest.  But it needs to be pressed.  Tomorrow I'll have to have you get some new clothes..."

"You are my insanely famous, powerful, and wealthy fiancé, not my sugar daddy." Alexander pulled off his current shirt and then pulled on the button-up, tugging at the sleeves. "And this is fine.  Just a little wrinkled as the sleeves, but if I roll them up it'll be okay."  He began to button it as John forced himself to look elsewhere.

"You should have nice clothes, don't make it weird."

"This whole damn situation is weird," he reminded. "Don't think it could get weirder.  Just saying, egalitarian relationship."

"In which one of us has too much money not to get you something nicer to wear to reflect your newfound status, of course.  Tailor-fit clothes are a must."

"Damn, wanna watch me get felt up by the tailor?"

"You're the one making this weird."

"Me!"

"All you," laughed John.

"I thought there was a vibe, my bad."  He pulled off his shirt and swapped it with a tank top to wear under the dress shirt.  

"What's your tie selection like?"

"I wasn't aware this was a formal dinner."

"You knew you were meeting the royal family today and still chose casual.  Not to mention, to meet your future husband for the first time."

Alexander laughed, exclaiming, "Wow, you're just being a dick for the hell of it, now!  And a flirt!  I figured over-dressing to see my fiancé would be a little bit cheap, regardless of your family's status.  I'm all for the new-money look, like believe me, I will not be turning down the opportunity to dress like a pompous asshole because deep down that's who I'm meant to be, but I'm also the pompous asshole to wear casual designer clothes that make me look like one of those celebrities who are like 'guys, I'm just like everybody else!  Now buy whatever products are sponsoring me right now because I'm sooo down-to-earth and relatable!'"

"I could see it."

"So, from now on, jeans are too casual?"

"No, but you could do with something more high-end.  Again, tailored.  They'd look so good."

“You can still see my ass in these," he observed, looking himself in the mirror.  "But you're right, could do with being more fitted on the calves.  Little shorter.  Little bit of a French tuck with some random designer brand that still uses sweatshops for its insanely priced product.  Really, though, you didn't think my turtleneck was cute?"

"I never said that."

"How's a turtleneck too casual, though?  At least it's not just a plain tee shirt."

"Ah, so you did go out of your way to dress nice for today, then."

"Not any more than usual.  You think it's too dressed down, clearly, I didn't do a good enough job," he said, unbuttoning his jeans so he could pull on his one pair of nice black slacks.

"You did a great job," John reassured him.  "Just wanted to hear your thoughts.  I think most people in your situation definitely would have overdressed."

"You agree, then, that it was a good thing I didn't."

“Absolutely.  You looked good, I was giving you a hard time."

"Good!  And how's this?  Should I really add a tie?"

"Yes."

"Cool, I don't own any."

"Twenty years old attending an Ivy League and you don't own a single tie," scoffed John.

"I'm poor and don't know how to tie one anyway."

"Not anymore."  John was already in his closet.  He grabbed a black tie.  "This is the best I can do with the white and black.  When we get you some range of colors and patterns, God, you'll look so good."  He laid the tie over Alexander's neck, popped his collar, and began to tie it. 

"Thanks."

"You look good," repeated John.  After he tightened the knot, he brushed it down over his chest and then patted his shoulder.  "Now, your hair—"

"What could possibly be wrong with my hair?"

He touched a curl and held it between his index and thumb.  It was soft.  "Nothing's wrong with it.  Just needs to be out of your face.  Do you use any product?"

"I usually just comb it through with my hands.  It's too curly to take a brush to without water, it'll make it frizz."  Alexander walked to the master bath and flicked on the lights.  "Fuck this is nice.   Is that a jacuzzi tub?  I'll be taking baths in here, thanks.  Jesus Christ," he exclaimed, opening the door to the shower, "it's like a whole other room in here.  There's a bench.  This is—" he suddenly thought about how great it would be to, "you had to have had some mind-blowing sex in here!"  

"Um, no.  I haven't.  This was my parents' bedroom up until recently."

"You're missing out.  Get some hot twink with his face pushed up against the—"

"You can stop."

Laughing at John's bashfulness, Alexander turned on one of the two faucets, wet his hands, and combed his hair back with his fingers.  "How's this?  More to your tastes, sir?"

John made a face.  "Don't you ever call me 'sir' again but yeah, sure.  Looks nice."

DINNER WAS WEIRD. Alexander felt like he was a part of a family, yet so out of place. Like a puzzle piece that was meant to fit but just couldn't turn in the right way to make it.

He picked at his steak and listened to the deafening silence. 

"How long have you guys been dating?" Harry asked in an attempt to make conversation. John and Alexander struggled for an answer before Alexander said:

"God, I don't know, a while, now," he laughed nervously and glanced at the man beside him. "Do you remember, John?"

"At least a year," John answered, holding a gaze with Alexander for a moment more before tearing away. "Maybe more, I don't know. But we've been waiting for forever to actually get married."

"Dad said it was wrong," Harry said.

"...He may have believed that, but so what?  Dad was wrong about a lot of things."

"Well, I'm just saying, it's pretty crazy you kept it from him for so long."

Martha interrupted. "Henry Laurens Jr., stop being a pain."

"Sorry, it was a compliment. Nothing gets past Dad."  He pushed the carrots around.  "I guess I could tell something was up, the way you were sneaking around.  I don't know how Dad didn't get to the bottom of it after that one magazine cover."

John sipped from his water glass and then explained, "Paparazzi will say any old thing to get a story.  They didn't even know what they claimed to know.  So, I took a trip, big deal.  They tried to accuse me of visiting a girlfriend, but they got that wrong.  For all they know, it could've been a pleasure trip.  Unfortunately, when you're a little older, you're going to understand the dozens of stories they try to run on you.  I mean, just a few weeks ago Martha had to deal with an article that said she developed and promoted an eating disorder since our father's death."

Martha nodded adamantly.  "So sexist!"  She looked to Alexander.  "I've been eating and exercising the same way I always have, and it's completely healthy and there's nothing disordered about it.  They want to speculate on something they know nothing about.  See a woman exercise and they flip but they'd be just as obsessed if I didn't."

Alexander agreed, "That's definitely sexist."

"Thank you!"

MARY ELEANOR knocked on the older sibling's bedroom door impatiently. After a moment John answered.

"What's up, Mary Eleanor?" he asked.

"I came to say goodnight to you and Alexander!" She smiled sweetly, looking past him and into the bedroom. She frowned. "...Where is he?"

"Well, Mary Eleanor, he has a separate room to sleep in because we're not married."

"Why?"

"Because those are the rules."

"Who made them?"

"Somebody made them a long time ago. Not everybody follows that rule, but Mama and Papa would have wanted us to, so we are."

"Why's it a rule?"

"Well... some people a long time ago decided that marriages would be more special if you follow certain rules.  It's like how we aren't supposed to have fun or leisure until we finish our work for the day, or eat dessert, but you have to finish your dinner first before you're allowed.  In all honesty, Mary Eleanor, these rules don't always matter and we only follow them because people have always followed them."

"Then why do we have to follow them?"

"They aren't always wrong.  Sometimes they do make things more special, and we also follow these rules because we respect people who are older than us and have more life experience, like Mama and Papa.  It's what they would have wanted and another part of life is honoring people who are no longer with us.  Does that make sense?"

"I don't know.  I think so.  I don't like rules."

"Well, when you're older, you'll understand why we have rules.  And maybe you'll even get to choose which rules you follow, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah.  For now, though, it's off to bed."

"But I wanted to say goodnight," she said.  "Papa said the rule is we always say bonne nuit and je t'aime."

"Well, bonne nuit et je t'aime, chérie.  Puis-je avoir des bisuous?  May I have kisses?"

"Oui, but monsieur Alexander has to follow Papa's rules too!" She reached up though until her older brother leaned down and they exchanged kisses on the cheek as she giggled.

"All right, we'll say bonne nuit to Alexander."

So he led her down the hall to Alexander's room. They knocked.

"Hey, Alex?  Mary Eleanor wanted to say goodnight."

Alexander said without missing a beat, "Of course." He knelt down.  "Good night, Mary Eleanor."  He held out a hand for her to shake.  "It was very nice to meet you today."

She shook it.  "Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit et fait de beaux rêves."

"Tu parles Français!"

"Oui, je parles Français!  Et toi, you brilliant child."

"Will you read me a story?"

Alexander glanced up at John and then back to Mary Eleanor.  John had begun to explain that he could read her a story and that Alexander was busy, but Alexander interrupted, "Of course, I'll read you a story.  Good bonding with my soon-to-be younger sister-in-law." 

She happily ran ahead, down the hall to her own bedroom. Alexander glanced over at John, who walked at a leisurely pace beside him.

"I'm sorry about her.  She's been very needy since our father passed and I find it difficult to say no to her," John whispered distantly.

"I understand.  It's totally fine.  She thinks I'm your boyfriend and she's looking to bond, so... it's okay.  ...Your father's death has to be hard on you, too.  You shouldn't shoulder all of it like the younger ones are the only ones affected."  He stopped walking and looked up at John.  They didn't know one another well yet, but Alexander wanted to make an effort to. He wanted to create a partnership. He also wanted to get a better sense of John before their first TV interview in a couple of days.

"Sure," said John, body language uncharacteristically closed off for somebody raised to appear charming, open, and easy. "It affects me, I mean... it's difficult.  I loved him.  He was my dad.    Both of my parents are gone and I'm going to be representing a country.  I'm going to be representing them, their legacy.    This is what they were preparing me for my whole life.    We all have roles to play in life and this is mine."

"I understand," Alexander repeated insistently. "But is it really the role you want?"

John nodded and continued their pace, just fifteen feet or so from Mary Eleanor's room.

Mary Eleanor held up a book that read "Grimm's Fairy Tales" on the cover. Alexander took it, settled down on the floor beside her bed.  John took the light blue rocking chair on the other side of the room.  He could see his mother in it, rocking baby Mary Eleanor to sleep, and he remembered holding her there himself: pink, squalling, eyes closed most of the time even when she was awake.  He remembered how he cried the first time he held her.  He remembered loving her so much, like she could be his own child, and how he realized how little he actually remembered of his other siblings' infancies being young himself.  Mary Eleanor was special. 

"Can you read me 'Le vaillant petit tailleur'?"

"Ah, you're putting me to the test, I see," Alexander smiled as he found the page, confirming it was the right one, and began to read. "'Par une matinée d'été, un petit tailleur, assis sur sa table près de la fenêtre, cousait joyeusement et de toutes ses forces.'"

Meanwhile, John sat back, listening to him read.  He had a good voice for story-telling.  He had been so good with the kids. It was weird to invite another adult into his life and watch that adult treat his siblings with the same care and tenderness as John did, like they were more his children than his brothers and sisters.  It warmed his heart.

"'...Le coeur lui frétillait de joie dans la poitrine comme la queue d'un petit agneau,'" he read tiredly. 

WITH A HYPNIC JERK JOHN AWOKE, somewhat in and out of sleep, when he realized Alexander had trailed off and stopped reading. It was almost ten PM. He pushed himself out of the chair to wake Alexander. The book lay limp in Alexander's hand, his cheeks flushed pink and his hair a mess. Mary Eleanor was more or less sprawled out, her darker hair plating against her pale skin. It was in braids, no doubt Martha had done them before bed.

John knelt down to nudge Alexander until he stirred. He took the book from his hands, shushing him, and whispering that Mary Eleanor was asleep.  As Alexander got up to make his exit, John pulled the covers over Mary Eleanor.  He longed to hold her as a baby again.  He'd give anything for her to be so cute and simple, to quiet her crying the moment he picked her up, to forever be something he could protect and hold.  One day she'd be out in the world herself, she'd feel all the pains and troubles of adulthood, of existence, and he'd be unable to protect her.  He didn't want her to grow up and feel the weight of the world on her shoulders.  He didn't want her to be unhappy for even a second.

He wiped away a tear as he shut off the light and exited.  He didn't know Alexander was waiting for him in the hall.  

"Is everything okay?" asked Alexander in a hushed voice twisting with sudden worry.

"Yeah.  You're great with her.  Thanks for reading."

“I always wanted a little sister," he said. 

"Little siblings are hard.  It's the worst pain and the best joy watching them grow up."

"I wouldn't know."

"Right.  You are the younger sibling."

"And I think there was a rift between my brother and I because of it."

"What happened?"

"He was almost an adult when our mother passed so while there were always people trying to take care of me, he moved out and moved on.  Not a lot of emotional support from the adults.  I didn't understand that then but I get it now and I'm sorry to see that in you.  A ton of responsibility with nobody to comfort you."

He nodded, arms crossed as they walked back towards his room. John's room was at the very end of the great hall, the landing of the grand staircase diving the two wings.  West wing, east wing.  John was in the east wing.  Alex wondered if it was lonely to be moved out of his childhood bedroom and far away from them.  Same old house, but no longer a child.  Wendy Darling.

"You have an accent," John said suddenly. "It's very subtle, but it's there.  Not New Yorker or from anywhere in the Northeast, it's definitely particular to the Caribbean."

"That an informed statement?"

"Partially.  I mean, there's something French with just enough of the islands.  I noticed it when you were reading.  It's pretty.  Nice," he said, as if 'pretty' was an adverbial modifier, not simply the singular adjective.

Alexander smiled.  "Thank you."  He was stopped in the doorway of his guest room.  How long until he was moved off into the cold master bedroom, too?  When would he cease to be a guest and assume his role as spouse?  "I'll see you at breakfast in the morning."

Funny, confusing emotions rose in John.  There was no way he actually was interested in his mail-order husband. He just liked that Alexander was the right pick for his family, that's all.  "Yes. Good night."

DOWNSTAIRS, Mary Eleanor was already talking Alexander's ears off about the horses at the stables as she held his hand and dragged him around downstairs. Most of the rooms he had already seen, of course, as John had shown him the day before, but he decided to play along with the young girl anyway.

After several rooms, she brought him to the kitchen. On their way there, however, they ran into John— looking sharp as hell, especially compared to Alexander's attempt at jeans and short-sleeved button-up — who greeted them and smiled at his Mary Eleanor.

"Good morning," he said, glancing to the dining room. "So, breakfast?"

"What's for breakfast?" Alexander asked as Mary Eleanor let go of his hand and ran out of the dining room. "Where's she going?"

"To tell her siblings to get their asses up." He smiled. "Something like that, at least."

"Surprised you don't have a butler going around knocking on the doors every morning."

"It's Saturday.  The nanny is on vacation while you settle in, too.  They'll be up earlier tomorrow for church.  So, breakfast, what do you want? Pancakes, scrambled eggs, waffles, omelets, bacon, sausage—"

"Oh, I don't— I don't really care," Alexander laughed nervously. "Sorry, I'm usually more decisive."

"Don't worry about it."  John began towards the kitchen, Alexander following. "You drink coffee?"

"Yes."

He realized how delightful the freshly brewed coffee smelled. It was as if it was detoxifying his brain.

The chef was shooing John away, insisting they go sit and he'd bring them breakfast as usual, but John argued lightly that he could bring the food while they got their coffee.

"We have different types of milk if you'd like," John said. Alexander looked up at the man.

"Regular milk's fine.  I barely know what I'm looking at with all this junk.  I've ordered cappuccinos before but never bothered to learn how to make them myself.  ...Can you make it?" he asked. John paused and turned to him.

"Sure thing.  You said cappuccino?"  He watched him nod.  "All right." He motioned for Alexander to come closer. Then, he grabbed the items he needed. "First, the espresso." He scooped freshly ground powder into a wand-looking thing. "Make sure it's packed tight, that's called a tamp.  Then we just pop it into the machine. ...Look at that pull.  Nice."  He poured some milk into a small metal cup.  "Steam the milk—" he paused for the loud steaming. "It's equal parts espresso and milk, then a layer of foam on top.  We aerated it extra to make it more foamy and instead of slow-pouring it like a latte, you release the foam and milk all in one go to get as much on top as possible.  And there you go. It's a little hot but should be fine to try it." John held up the spoonful of coffee and moved it slowly to Alexander's lips. Alexander cautiously accepted and, after only slightly burning his tongue on the liquid, made a small noise of approval.

"I love it. I could get used to amazing coffee on the daily."

John chuckled. "Well, you'll have to learn how to make it yourself. I'm not assembling it daily."

"Aw, but yours tastes the best. You're a coffee mixologist."

"A barista?  ...Are you playing dumb just so I'll make your coffee?"

"Nooo," he said with a knowing smile.  "I would never."

“You know, Owen would be more than happy to make you a cappuccino with your breakfast."

The chef said, "It is my job, yes."

Alexander playfully grinned.  "Owen wouldn't make it with love."

Owen replied as he shook the hot skillet, "That could be arranged."

Alexander scoffed and looked up at John again.  "You hear that?  You forego making my coffee and the whole wedding is coming down!"

John shook his head.  "I'm sure he wouldn't have the patience to put up with you in the long run."

"Wow, keep talking, see where that attitude gets you," he teased as he walked out of the kitchen with his espresso.

BREAKFAST CAME AT LAST, all of the siblings sitting down with the soon-to-be-weds. Alexander and John sat next to one another; Mary Eleanor sat beside Alexander; Martha sat across from John, next to her Harry on her right and James on her left. They were eating omelets, bacon, and toast (all of which were cooked to perfection).

"So," Harry began to pry, a slight smirk on his lips, "is New York where you disappeared to every other weekend?"

John tensed and glanced at Alexander. "Sometimes." It had been a lie, of course, but was rather conveniently placed.

"Bet Dad would've liked that."

"Harry," Martha scolded. "Stop.  Why can't you be happy for him for once in your life?"

"I'm just saying."

"I like Alexander," Mary Eleanor piped up. "He's nice even if he's gonna be a king.  We've only ever had kings.  I think it would've been nice to have a queen. Like Martha. She's a grown-up, so why does Jacky get to be king and she can't be queen?"

Martha covered her mouth to stifle laughter and John just sighed, the smile evident on his lips. John said to Alexander quietly, "She's very concerned about women's rights. All her life. Like, ever since she was really, really little. I don't know why."

"Because it's important to her," Martha defended. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"Maybe that's why," he joked as he stage-whispered, pointing to Martha. Alexander scoffed and went back to eating. 

"Sexism," Mary Eleanor said. Harry just burst out laughing, James being slightly indifferent as he drank his orange juice.

"How old is she, again?" Alexander asked.

"Seven."

"That's amazing."

John informed Mary Eleanor, "Alexander isn't going to be a king anyway, Mary Eleanor.  That's not how that works."

"Still, you're gonna be a king."

"...That's right, I am."

LATER THAT DAY, John led Alexander to get clothes tailored. Much to both their relief: Alexander was happy to have new, fitting clothing and John was happy to see him look so clean and sharp.    The day after, they were interviewed by the press several times, all times with John doing most of the talking.  It was crazy to think Alexander was a new face of the country... and for nothing.

"We did have to keep it under wraps for a while.  My sister Martha knew," said John, "but we couldn't risk telling anybody else.  You know how it is - we didn't want a whole big scandal ruining what felt, mostly, like a normal relationship.  I just wanted to feel like a normal person, not some... celebrity.

The interviewer asked him, "So, your solution was to slum it with a commoner?"

"Excuse me?" scoffed Alexander, grip tightening on John's hand.  When the heat rose in his face he worried his hand would become clammy like the rest of his body.

"Alex is not— that's not how it is.  It isn't about social status or class."

Alexander interjected, "To be honest, I didn't even put two and two together when we first met!  And learning that didn't change a thing about him."

John squeezed his hand.  "When I say 'makes me feel normal' what I mean to imply isn't that I went out of my way to vie for the attention of a... as you so rudely put it, a 'commoner,' but that he's always treated me like my status didn't matter."

The interviewer asked, "Forgive my assumptions, but were you ever worried he was using you for your status and money?"

"We never expected to get married," John admitted.  "Not for a long time, if it was at all possible."

"And believe me, there's going to be a prenup," added Alexander.  "I wouldn't want John's family or anyone thinking I'm so shallow.  It's insulting.  We're getting married because we love each other."

"Exactly.  I would trust him without a prenup but we decided together that that would be best.  It's unfortunate anybody thinks our relationship is any different from the rest."

Chapter Text

ALEXANDER WAS GETTING BEYOND ACCLIMATED to the Laurens family and the Laurens family to him.  Things were going well. Even after only a week, Alexander had grown to like the prince quite a bit.

Then things got even easier. Two weeks later, they still ate breakfast together, (John still making Alexander's coffee... he'd lost that battle somehow) and lunch and dinner, and pretty much spent every hour talking or just hanging out. Minus when John had legal duties and a country to run, or when they got somewhat sick of one another.

And then, a month had passed like a flash before their eyes.

And even more, still, two more weeks after that.  Alexander, when John wasn't around, spent his time with the siblings, getting to know them and speaking in French with them and trying to teach them other languages, too.  Martha was particularly fun to talk with because she was the oldest besides John and had a lot to say about the world.  The boys did too, albeit their ideas were still unrefined and new to them, but all the Laurens kids had opinions.

John, too, was quite opinionated and as they grew more comfortable with one another, he loved to give Alexander a run for his money.  They discussed and sometimes debated about politics, economics, philosophy, wars, social justice.  "See, John, standpoint epistemology is very important.  Very basic, Intro to Philosophy type stuff, but so important.  Your epistemic standpoint is different than mine because I've been poor all my life.  The knowledge we are able to have on our own about society is different."  So on and so forth.  Alexander was like fire personified once he got to speaking and for the first time since he was still in school, John felt that fire and wanted to be enveloped in its warmth.  He felt his soul alight and it incited violence and passion on his tongue which he was forced to chain within him ever since his father fell ill.  Seen and not heard unless he was offering neutrality and peace.  

John loved this returned feeling of chaos in his life.  It was like freedom.  it was comforting.

"CAN I CALL A FRIEND?" Alexander asked one day. It was just a month before the wedding and he hadn't spoken at all to any of his friends.

"Yes, of course?" John nearly laughed, confused. "Why do you ask?"

"Um, because Colonel Rodriguez told me I couldn't have my phone or any sort of electronic communication or recording device, then when I followed up with your aides about it, they reiterated the same?"

"They did?"

"You haven't noticed all this time that I've had no phone?"

"I suppose I assumed you were too polite to take it out when we're together, and there's no reason I'd need your number because we're always together."

"Oh, you're sweet," laughed Alex.

"You didn't think to ask me before?"

"I'm asking you now."

"Well, you can use my office phone because the number is private and can't be reached unless my secretary patches them through. You haven't talked to anyone since you left?"

"No, and they're probably concerned. All my friends have seen is media coverage about our 'engagement' without a word from me. I probably look so different to them..."

"You don't really talk about them.  Or your family."

"I know. I miss them, though. I told my friend I was leaving, and didn't really explain why other than that I was moving and getting married.  He seemed a little pissed because it was so sudden... probably thought I was doing something stupid.  But I had to tell him.   I couldn't exactly leave without explaining, just to get hitched to the prince.  King? Then he'd start asking around, make a big deal, spam the shit out of me."

"Landline is in my office.  You have to dial '0-1' before you dial the number."

Alexander nodded gratefully before turning down the hall to go to John's office, John not following. He waited for Alexander to go before slowly creeping after him, to eavesdrop unapologetically.

After the phone rang a few times, Mulligan finally picked up. It was sometime after dinner (nearly eight PM, as Alexander knew he got out of work at six on Fridays).  He began with a tiresome, "Hello?" and when he heard his friend's voice on the other end, his eyes opened wide.

"Mulligan?" Alexander smiled to himself. "It's Alexander."

Mulligan didn't know what to say for a moment. His silence made Alexander nervous. But at last Mulligan said, "Alexander!"

"Hey," he smiled wider. "Hey. Um... I wanted to finally talk to you.  Sorry it's been a minute, so rude of me, I've been crazy busy but it's no excuse.  How are you?"

"You're really marrying the goddamn prince. I've seen the news— it's really true?"

"Yeah. What, did you think that I was lying?"

"Hah, maybe." Mulligan laughed. "Thought maybe you ran again, used that as an excuse. The marriage thing. But when I saw on the news that you were marrying that tall glass of water, I had a heart attack. Can't believe you hid something like that from me."

"I hid it from everyone. You don't exactly go about blabbering when you date the crown prince."

AFTER SAYING THEIR FINAL GOODBYES, Alexander hung up the phone. He turned with a sigh to the door, where John was leaning against the frame, eyes carefully watching the scene. A mix between irritated and interested in the motive, Alexander asked:

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"...It's my responsibility to be sure you maintain our story."

"Do you not trust me?"

"It isn't that.  ...You never really mentioned any of your friends before.  I was curious, I guess, but out of line.  Sorry."

Alexander rolled his eyes.  He stepped forward with crossed arms, looking John in the eyes as he did so.  "Darling."

"'Darling,'" he repeated.

"I have a request to make of you."  Alexander uncrossed his arms to place a hand on John's shoulder.  He knew that open body language, close proximity, touch, and eye contact would made his request difficult to turn down.  How could John say no to him when he all but demanded: "I'd like Mulligan at the wedding."

"What is he to you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?  Are you jealous?"

"...Funny.  It would be compromising if you invited an ex or somebody too close not to know your whereabouts on a day-to-day basis and question you about them.  I know there was a friend from college you were sleeping with.  Jacob told me about it without divulging too many details but that's how he concluded that you were into—"

"Oh, shut up, you are jealous!" he said with a genuine, good-natured "gotcha!" laugh.

"I'm not."

"You are."  He smoothed the lapel of John's suit jacket though it already laid flat.  "Relax, honey, Mulligan is a family friend who's nearly twice my age.  We split the rent.  He took me in. He's the cousin of a guy from back on the islands who knew my family. Mulligan is one of the few people who has always, unequivocally been here for me, so I'm asking nicely, here..."

"The tailor," John said with new realization as he broke eye contact for a split second to look at Alex's hand.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say so?"  John's demeanor subtly relaxed.  "Consider him on the list.  Who else?"

"What do you mean?"

John uncrossed his arms. "Who else is of 'the few people' who have been there for you?"

"Um, well, there's Thomas and Edward Stevens.  Edward is like my brother and Thomas is his father."

"And...?"

"And, I guess that's it."

"Okay, I'll find their mailing addresses and send them all plane tickets and invites. We'll accommodate them in the hotel, all-expenses paid."

Alexander, baffled and caught off guard, removed his hand from John's jacket. "You don't really mean that, do you?"

"Yes, Alex, messing with you is funny," said John. He crossed his arms once again. In a more genuine tone, he reassured, "I'm inviting them unless you don't want me to."

"Yeah, invite them.  Um, thanks."

"It's the least I can do.  I'm sorry for all this.  I hate that you were dragged into it."

"You've said that."

"I know. But I really am sorry. I don't pity you; I'm sorry."

"I think we should just both be glad we can get along well.  I mean, I don't hate your guts, though I don't speak for you."

John laughed. "I don't hate your guts.  I enjoy your company and your..."

"My...?"

"Your face," he said with a smile. 

"Good.  Saying our vows will be easier.  We make a handsome couple.  All the interviewers are so obsessed: 'You two have great chemistry!'  If only they knew."

"God, you should see the social media comments.  Bet you didn't know we're trending on Twitter right now."

"Really!" He laughed.  "Show me!"

John took out his phone, scrolled a second, and found the Trending on Twitter.  There were tweets about how cute they were, #LoveWins, #RoyalWedding, how they're both so attractive, how perfect their kids would be if they got a surrogate, and so on and so forth.  

"The fucking edits!" laughed Alexander.  "This is so funny!  Look at us - we're pretty hot!"  He had one hand on John's forearm to steady it as they looked through the photos together.  "Imagine what they're going to say after the wedding.  That's going to be even—" he paused when he saw: "Is that a drawing of us?" 

"Of us making out?  Uh, looks that way."

Alexander could have fallen to the floor.  He was getting a kick out of it.  "They're a decent artist!  Looks just like us.  Hey, know what I realized?  We don't have any selfies.  You should post one for good measure."

"Oh, I don't really post..."

"Come on, aren't we madly in love?"  He laughed and put an arm over John's shoulder, on his toes.  

With a roll of his eyes, John switched to the camera and lifted his phone.  Alexander had put both arms around his neck this time and pressed his forehead close.  When John snapped a couple, Alexander lifted and kissed his cheek, which John couldn't help but smile more at, face hot.

"That's a good one.  Post that one," said Alexander.  

"What should the caption be?"  John was hyper-aware that Alexander's arms were still around him.

"Hm... 'Can't believe I'm marrying this hot piece of—'"

John cut him off.  "I can't put that."

"'Can't believe in a few weeks I'll be married to the love of my life.'"

"That... is actually a good one.  Not too cheesy, but... just cheesy enough."  He typed up the caption.  "Hashtag 'Royal Wedding.'"

"Hashtag 'Love is Love,' hashtag 'Marrying My Best Friend,'" added Alexander.

"Ooh, that's good.  It doesn't seem forced, does it?  Usually, I have to go through my social media manager to post things, but—"

"What, really?"

"Yeah, it's dumb.  But I figure this won't hurt, right?  It's fine?" 

"It's totally fine!"

More reassured, he whispered, "Yeah, it's fine."  And he posted the photo.

"We do make a cute couple."  Alexander released him, cleared his throat.  "Thanks again for inviting my friends.  Makes it more convincing too, right?"

"Of course.  Are you certain there's no family you'd like to—"

"John, it's fine."

"I feel bad."

"That I don't have family?"

"That..." He didn't know how to finish that.

"It's fine."  He put a hand on John's shoulder again and smiled, a little insincere.

"Hey, you know, you're really good with kids."

"Don't you start getting ideas," Alex joked.  "My womb is dry."

"No, no, I'm not saying— I'm just saying, you know, the younger ones really like you.  If family's what you're missing, you should allow yourself to feel like mine is yours.  We're going to be married, after all, and they already like you a lot.  Martha likes you too."

Alexander's expression had changed for just a flicker, his hand squeezing John's shoulder tightly at his words.  Rather than acknowledge the offer, he asked wryly, "Does she?"

"Yes.  I'm serious, Alexander.  I don't want you to feel like there's a loss as if you won't be able to find family if that's what you're looking for.  Just because this is a political arrangement."

In place of a proper answer, Alexander's hand dropped to John's elbow, then pulled him into a hasty hug.  He was embarrassed at himself by it and intended to pull away immediately when John squeezed him closer.  All the flirtatious jokes and the situation of actually being his fiancé was nothing compared to the reality of it all: my family can be yours; the weight of those words.  Alex could feel his heart racing fast in his chest and the blood hot in his ears.  He didn't want to go back to his own room.  He wanted to be held close like this as he slept.  He wanted to be real family.  He wanted to learn to love him like he had insisted he did to every tabloid and talk show host he'd spoken with these past months.  The horror of that was too much to bear.

"YOU INVITED HIS FRIENDS?" Martha asked with her eyebrows drawn together.

"Yes," he said, "I sent them the plane tickets and everything already so there's no backtracking. Alexander already talked to them each on the phone."

"You are an idiot," she whispered.

"Fuck is your problem tonight?  They're his friends.  The tabloids will be up my ass if we don't invite them."

"Ours, Jack.  Everything you do affects your entire family.  You know that Camille is going to be really upset when she finds out you're going rogue on the communications front."

"Humans communicate on their own.  Do we really need somebody holding our hands every step of the way?  We are adults."

"That's her thing, it's what she's paid to do.  She is educated and trained in the art of communicating with the public."

"Point is, they're Alex's family.  This isn't a communication with the public, it's personal.  He deserves to have people he cares about see him get married."

"I understand that, but I don't see why you would offer in the first place unless he asked because all it does is open us to liability."

"It's the least I could do for him. He doesn't want to be here. If I was in his position, I'd expect something like this.  You're acting like a freak."

"You're acting like a freak.  Bashing our late father over breakfast like it's nothing, being beyond charitable to - don't get me wrong, Alexander's a real cutie, but you're not even actually in love - in the end he's government propaganda, a mail-order bride."

"Watch it," he said, toeing the line between incredulous and angry.  "Don't talk about him like that, he doesn't deserve it."

"Why are you so defensive over somebody you just met?"

"A month ago.  And he lives with us.  For the record, I told him you liked him.  Don't make an ass of me."

"I do like him, but our family comes first."

"How does this affect our family?"

"You're not the younger sibling watching me get coronated alongside just some random guy who doesn't know the first thing about ruling a country. I've heard you telling him you'll rule together, and that he can share in the responsibilities, blah, blah, blah - he's a nobody and I am way more qualified than he is.  It affects me.  I admit it."

"Maybe you are more qualified but there's nothing that can change the order of inheritance," he said, but she didn't answer.  "Don't you think he's smart, though?  He has an incredible mind.  He knows his shit and he's well-rounded, bilingual, so good with people.  You do like him, don't you?"

"Sure, but not as much as I'd like him if you weren't getting married just to snag your inheritance.  This whole thing is ridiculous.  They should have put me up there if you weren't allowed the title of unmarried king."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at her.  "Too late for that.  This is what we're doing.  Learn to live with it or don't, but you aren't allowed to question my decisions regarding my wedding."

"So sorry, Your Royal Highness!  Enjoy your fake wedding and your fake marriage.  Your life choices are impenetrable.  You don't need my counsel, Camille's, Jacob's, or anyone else."

"I don't."

"Then don't come running when it blows up in your face because your fake husband—"

"'Alexander,' do him the courtesy of saying his name.  And at this point, can we even call him a 'fake' husband?  We are actually getting married."

"Regardless, his friends had no idea he was even seeing anybody and they're more likely than not to ask him all the hard questions."

"Alex can uphold his end of things.  He'll talk circles around them."

"Sure he will.  I sincerely hope it works out.  Save our family the embarrassment."

John rolled his eyes.  "I'm done here if you're going to be rude."

"My apologies, Your Majesty."

So with nothing left to say, he went upstairs to his bedroom, trying to calm himself down and failing.  When he walked down the hall, who was there but Alexander himself, leaning against the master bedroom door? 

"Alexander," acknowledged John curtly.

"Hey, lover, are you busy?  ...I overheard you and Martha talking, it sounded a bit heated so I decided not to listen in, but... I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't hear what it was about."  Lie, lie, lie.  He had made it his business to overhear.

"It's nothing.  Sibling stuff."

"Hey, do you mind if I show you something I wrote? I need an outsider's opinion."

John half-laughed and said, "I don't mind."

"Cool." He handed him a folded piece of paper. John unfolded it and scanned his eyes over each stanza.

"You write poetry?"

"It's kind of shit."

John continued to read, opening the door to his room and distractedly walking to the bed to sit on one end. Alexander sat on the other end several feet away. John had to read the short poem a few times before he could give criticism.

"This isn't awful, Alex. Honestly," said John. After several moments Alexander gave him a questioning look.

"But?"

"No but. All poetry sucks a little bit," he teased.

"Wow. Thanks." He looked at the blond man curiously, not believing him. "Any criticism is not only needed but wanted, just so you know."

"Structurally the poem itself is nice. You can't really revise anything about it and it's difficult to criticize poetry as-is.  But if I had to say something, it's just a couple of spelling errors."

"Spelling errors? No way, where?"

"Here, you spelled 'conscience' wrong."

"Did not!" he protested, sliding over to sit closer to John. John pointed out the word. "How is that wrong?"

"'Conscience' is spelled with a 'c' at the end, not an 's'."

"Oh, okay, Mr. Perfect. I'm sorry."

"Hey, you asked. You can't get all snarky with me when I fulfill your request.  There are other spelling mistakes, like here you—"

"Okay, okay. I get it. I'll type it out and put it through spellcheck sometime. If I get the privilege to use electronics ever again, that is. I'm practically a prisoner."

"To whom we serve crepes with whipped cream and strawberries."

Alexander rolled his eyes.  

"After we're married, I'll get you a laptop," John promised.  "They can't stop me then.  You just have to promise not to use it for malicious purposes."

"Malicious as in traitorous or malicious as in porn?"

"As in traitorous," he answered obviously. 

"Well, my only desire greater than truth and justice is a laptop and the promise I'll never work another 60-hour week in my life."

"Sixty hours?  You were a student!"

"I only worked 30 during the semester, but well over during the off-season.  Most I've worked is 63 hours in a week, and not only was I not paid overtime, but they cheated me of ten of those hours in my paystub until I threatened to quit. And I'm a privileged white guy.  Do the math, this is the society we live in."

"Jesus..."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"That, from a guy who's never worked a normal job a day in his life, makes me feel better."

John sort of sighed, sort of bit it back... "I'm sorry."

"Thank you for your concerns..." he said steadily, then shrugged, "but most people work shit jobs too many hours a week.  Hunter-gatherers only spent about 20 hours a week 'working' and the rest for leisure, learning, art, and relationship building, so, yeah, we all work too much.  You didn't create this world.  I'm not dumb enough to blame it on you, or your father, for that matter."

John nodded. 

"If you want to make it up to me, you can tell me some more about the things you know about me... since your father's aide told you everything on public or private record."

John chuckled uneasily.  "That doesn't sound fun for you."

"Oh, believe me, it will be."  He was grinning wide.  "And in exchange, you'll tell me all about yourself."

"Sounds like a lot of talking for one of us."

"I'd like to get to know my fiancé better."

There was a breath of hesitation before John motioned out of the room.  "Shall we, then, over a couple slices of cherry pie à la mode?"

"You know me," he said, and John did - at least he knew all of Alexander's basic information, like that his favorite dessert's ice cream. 

Once they were situated with their treats at the table, John started with the first of the information he recalled being told about Alexander Hamilton: a photo of his state-issued ID, his social media, pictures of him with his family... that he's a college student, lives in NYC, majoring poli-sci, minoring economics, works as a bank teller, tutors on the side... organized and led three protests on campus in his first two years of college, and two more by his third year... dead mother, estranged father and brother... lived with a family friend for a while, immigrated together with said family, lived with a different family friend... that he was really into Taylor Swift for a while... doesn't post a lot of photos of himself but is tagged in plenty... that he's been seen with both men and women in different settings... that he'd briefly had a relationship with his freshman-year college roommate... that he complains about loud music at concerts... and so on.

So as Alexander's face got redder and he'd eaten his vanilla ice cream off the pie, he asked John about his own misdeeds.

And John began with, "Well, I had a rebellious phase when I was a teenager, and I ended up stealing quite a bit of liquor."

Alexander laughed.  "Ah, he stole liquor."

"It was difficult to get away with things.  My father was very strict."

"I'd imagine."

John picked at his pie.  "Most I could get away was when I'd ride."

"Ride...?"

"My horse.  I could go anywhere, feel weightless.  Sometimes I felt like it was me against the world.  I'd picture myself as a cowboy or adventurer, or a mercenary, and it was so refreshing... to be somebody who I'm not."

"That does sound nice.  Cowboy, huh?"

"I'm a southern man in my blood.  My father's family hails from South Carolina and I used to take trips to the southern states all the time when I was younger."

"Cute."

He quirked a half-smile.  "I've shown you the stables, but you should see the trails."

"I'd like that."

John, who was finished by now with his pie, stood as he said, "Then what're we waiting for?"

Alexander was finished, too, the crust of his pie left on the plate, just as it was at dinnertime, but he did not stand.  "But it's already dark."

"That's the best time to ride!"

He said, "But I've never ridden before, do you think it's really a good idea to start now with even more limited vision than I have already?"

"Horses like to follow other horses.  You can ride behind me and it won't be an issue."

Alexander stood, but was unsure, still.  "I don't know... what if I fall?"

John took both their plates as he deliberated, walking them around to the kitchen with Alexander tailing close behind.  "You really think you might fall?"

"Yes!"

He thought for a brief moment.  "Well, you're light enough, you can ride with me on my horse, Delphine.  She's strong."  He knew Delphine could handle such a trek because he'd done it before with a one Francis Kinloch, a skinny thing like Alexander, and though he did not want to recreate this special moment, he knew that riding a horse for the first time could be scary and Alexander might benefit from a more positive experience.

"...The horse can really carry two adults?"

"Yeah, I told you, she's strong.  We'll keep it to a trot, just to show you the trails at night.  It's really special at night."

"Okay, but only because you're very excited about this."

John's smile returned. 

Once they were at the stables, as it seemed any other staff had already gone home for the night, John went about retrieving his steed himself.  He did not equip her usual saddle, instead using one with a smaller space behind the regular seat for a second rider.  He allowed Delphine and Alexander to get acquainted in the stables while he saddled her up.  Alexander nervously fed her a cookie, which she ate from his hand as gentle as could be.  John smiled at the way Alexander laughed when the animal's wet tongue and soft lips tickled his hand.

"She likes you already," John said.

Alexander pet between the eyes of the creature.  "She's the most beautiful horse I've ever seen."

"Yeah... she is."  He offered his hand to Alexander.  "The back part of this saddle's really made more for a child, but you're small enough, it shouldn't be too uncomfortable.  Let me help you up, and I'll lead her out of here."

"Are you sure I don't need a helmet, or...?"

"You won't fall.  I only wear the helmet when others are watching, because I'll be yelled at if I don't."

"Probably because it's an important safety precaution."

John made a noncommittal noise.  "Sure."

Alexander gave the horse another pat on her head, no longer quite so shy, before he took John's hand, one foot in the stirrup, and pushed himself up.  The first time, he had trouble with the momentum required to swing his leg over, but given a second go, he perfected the motion like he'd ridden his whole life.  John took Delphine by the reigns to lead her out, secure the gate, then handed the reigns to Alexander while he got himself situated in the front of the saddle. 

"Hang on."

"Are you sure— oh," gasped Alexander when John gently nudged his heel into the horse and she suddenly began to move.  He grasped the horn, first, but the bouncing of the walking horse made him nervous and he was squeezing his legs around her for dear life.

But as soon as they were off the open part of the property and in the woods, his shoulders relaxed, jaw slack.  It really was special.  Lanterns illuminated the forest path, and in the trees, lightning bugs flashed in droves like a movie.  And through the cavities of the leaves above their heads, the moon and stars were bright.  He felt so lucky they did not live right in a city... otherwise, could this have felt so peaceful?

"Isn't it something?" whispered John, as if he was afraid to disturb the peace.

"It's breathtaking.  I can see why you escape this way."

"Wait 'til you see the fairy ring." 

Without warning, he commanded Delphine, and the walk turned to a trot, and quickly then to a gallop as they rushed through the trees, and Alexander, suddenly frightened, now held onto John for dear life.  He protested the speed, of course, but within a minute, when the trusty steed slowed, he was still hesitant to release John's torso. 

"I'm sorry!"  He took his arms away. His face felt hot though his nose and fingertips had been cold.

John laughed a little.  "You're fine.  Look."

Alexander took a gander at the clearing.  It was darker here, the lanterns continuing on the path behind and beyond them, but between the fireflies and the moonlight, he could see a ring of red mushrooms, spanning maybe 30 feet in diameter, with a huge, old conifer in the middle.  Something so unnatural might seem eery, but in this light... he was in love.

"What the hell," he said plainly.  "That's... crazy.  I've never seen anything like it."

"It's been here since I can remember."

Alexander sighed whimsically.  "It's... magical."

John was in awe, no matter how many times he'd seen it.  He slid himself out of the saddle and offered a hand to help Alexander so he could see the fairy ring up close. 

"These are fly agarics.  It's grown larger since I was a younger kid, but only marginally.  Part of me was worried it might just disappear one day.  I would like to gather some of the mushrooms but I've also worried that disturbing the natural order of this phenomenon might do just that."

Alexander put a hand on John's shoulder.  "I'm glad I got to see it before it disappears, then.  Thank you for showing me."

John was suddenly reminded of kissing a boy against one of these trees here.  What could he say?  Criminals always returned to the scene of their crime.  "You're welcome."

And Alexander's hand slipped off.  "This is the perfect escape."

"Now you've got a story to tell about our romantic expeditions."  He messed with his hair as he added, "Just don't mention I didn't make you wear a helmet."

He laughed and swatted John's hand.  "Got it."

"Do you want to get dinner sometime?"

Alexander bumped his shoulder against John's.  "You asking me out on a date?"

"Well, yeah.  Our PR team kept insisting and I think maybe we should, somewhere a little more public.  I'll take you to a very nice restaurant.  We'll probably get some photos taken of us and that shit's exhausting.  It's like strangers think they own you, you know?  They take your photo without shame and they ask to take selfies with you and maybe it'd be flattering if it wasn't just for the aesthetics, like you're an exotic animal in a zoo.  They heckle you to your face.  It's not pretty.  If we were to get dinner, it wouldn't be a quiet night out, most likely, no matter how high-end the venue or private the table."

Alexander said, "We don't have to if all that really stresses you out so much--"

"But I think we should, to sate the public, and the advisors and press team breathing down my neck," he said with a nervous laugh.  "A big hoorah before the wedding."

"It would be romantic," he agreed.  

"Is this sort of thing fun for you?  The chauffeur and the interviewers?  You seem to enjoy it."

"Oh, absolutely.  It's always been my dream to be famous."  He was ambling around leisurely.  He leaned against the tree inside the fairy ring, the very same tree Francis pressed John against all those months ago.  The memory was so distant and yet it itched at John's skin.  He could scream.  Alex noticed his forlorn expression but misplaced the reason.  "Sorry.  I know you just said you don't like it.  I guess if I'd grown up that way I might hate it too."

"No, that's not it.  It is," he said, coming back to himself, "but what I... you're not supposed to be there."

"What do you mean?" he asked with a laugh, still pressed to the rough conifer like his shoulders were glued there.  It was seductive and it was purposeful.

"You shouldn't step inside fairy circles."

"Oh?  Why not?"

"Because, it's... you aren't supposed to."

Alexander didn't realize he was pushing on a bruise.  He put a hand on the tree and slowly walked around it.  "Is it dangerous?"

"You'll get stuck there."  He'd said it with rising concern, though not for the folklore.  He cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed that he'd said anything at all.  "It's an old Celtic thing.  People who step into fairy rings are said to get trapped there, doomed to dance with the fae until they die.  It's bad luck anyway."

"Bad luck," scoffed Alexander.

"That's what they say.  It's just a story, though."

"If it's just a story, why are you worried?  If I didn't know any better I'd say you believed in that superstition."

"I don't, but why tempt fate?"

"Why not?"  He was still moving around slowly.  He came to the edge and put out a hand for John to take.  "Are you afraid?"

"No."

"Maybe they warn you not to step into it because it actually brings good luck, not bad, and they wanted to control the masses, hide the earth's secrets."

"Bull.  ...I'm not going in it," he said with finality, staring at Alex's hand.

Alex wiggled his fingers.  "Come on.  You know you want to."

"Get out of there."

"Get in here."

John took a step back.  "I'm leaving without you."

"No, you're not.  Come on.  No fae have come to tempt me to dance yet."

When John looked at him in the darkness, all he could see was Francis.  He wasn't afraid to step into the ring when Francis had gone first and they tempted fate and bad luck rained upon them.  Maybe it was all superstition - then again, maybe it was the reason his father fell ill, the reason Francis moved away, and the reason he was stuck marrying somebody he hardly knew.  Why tempt fate?

Alexander stretched uncomfortably to swat John's hand once before getting a good grip on him. "See?" said John.  "You can't even leave the ring.  You're trapped."

"Oh, my God!  You are afraid.  Come here."  He tugged him closer.  They held hands like that until John was sick of this game and just to prove a point, he stepped inside the fairy ring.  "See?"  Alexander pulled him even closer, put a hand on his back like they were about to waltz.  "The only fairy here to make you dance is me."

"That's-- I'm not--"

"Dance with me."

John rolled his eyes and yet assumed position.  They clumsily swayed for a moment before Alexander burst out laughing.

"Okay, you can shut it."

"I knew you could do it," Alex whispered, grin wide.  "I'm so proud of you."

"Fuck off."

"To think, the crown prince is afraid of mushrooms growing in a circle, silly Celtic folklore invented to cure boredom and justify leaving babies with birth defects in the woods."

"I thought you didn't know about fairy rings."

"I know enough about the fae to supplement.  You're so silly."

"If it's not real," said John, "then why are we still dancing?"

"Because I'm waiting for fate, that sweet lover that answers our seductive call.  Oh, fate?" he called over John's shoulder.  "Come out, come out!"

"You're horrible."

"I'm giving you a hard time!  Thank you for this dance," he said as he released his body, but not his hand.  He kissed John's knuckles.  "I suppose I'll let you leave the ring before you dance yourself dead."

John squeezed his hand and stepped out of the ring, urging Alexander with him.  He glanced back at the empty darkness and tried, for the last time, to see Francis there - but his mind was clouded now with the new memory of dancing with Alexander.  He turned away with a solemn sigh.

Chapter Text

The dinner rehearsal came fast.  Alexander was thrilled to see Thomas Stevens for the first time in ages.  He made to shake his hand and introduce him, but Thomas pulled him into a familiar hug, patted his back, then pulled away with hands gripping his upper arms, smiling wide.  "Look at you!"

Alexander laughed bashfully.

"Look at you, boy, you're glowing!"

"Am I?" he laughed.  John had stepped forward with a smile.  Alexander motioned to him, "This is my fiancé.  John, Thomas Stevens."

John shook his hand.  "It's nice to finally meet you!  Alexander talks about you constantly."  He glanced behind them.  "Mr. Stevens, this is my personal advisor, Jacob."  Jacob shook his hand but remained silent besides the small, curt smile and nod.  "How are you finding your accommodations for this weekend?"

Thomas Stevens laughed, "They're nice!  Very nice.  Thank you for booking, and on such short notice."

"I'm sorry," apologized Alexander, "we meant to invite you sooner, we've just been so busy and I finally broke my phone beyond repair so it's been a crazy, crazy couple of weeks."

"When I heard the news from Ed, I hardly believed it!"

"I let him know he's welcome to the rehearsal dinner."

"Oh, he knows.  But that boy's off seeing the city."

"I should've known he'd milk the hotel room for all it's worth.  Hope he brings back somebody decent this time."

Thomas chuckled.  "He's hopeless!  Just like I thought you once were, you tomcat.  You sure proved me wrong."

John put an arm around Alexander's waist and pecked the top of his head.  Alexander leaned into him with a smile, quite real for what it was.  "Yeah, that's what everyone's saying."

"Don't be too put off by it," Thomas reassured John.  "He's a lover."

"Oh, I know it."  John chuckled and caught Martha's eye, waved her over.  "There's one of my sisters.  Martha," he addressed politely, "this is Alex's Thomas Stevens."

She shook his hand and the whole thing started over again.

The rehearsal was droll.  They ate good food, of course, but it felt teeth-grinding save for the moments Alexander would cuddle up next to John, kiss his cheek, and the smiles and laughs they shared.  Gosh, it was impossible, but Alexander could feel the comfort and want in his body... to touch, to kiss.  He'd been with plenty of attractive people, it wasn't difficult for him, but now he was getting married.  He didn't know this man well enough to be doing so... but at least he was attractive, kind, and the gentle touches did feel nice, nothing that scared him.  He relished it.  They were supposed to be rehearsing their vows - though John was keeping his true vows a secret - but Alexander kept laughing halfway through, and then John would laugh, and he'd squeeze his hands and they continued goofing around while their few rehearsal guests suffered through it. 

From the pew Thomas Stevens was sat in came a shout, "Skip to the kiss!"

Alexander laughed and shook his head, then turned back to John.  With a smile he whispered, "Well?  Think the kiss needs some rehearsal?"

John grinned in spite of himself.  "Only if you think it does."

"Maybe."  He held up the paper he was reading his vows from, ones written by him before being revised and approved by one of John's personal staff.  It hid their faces from the audience while the officiant rolled his eyes. They were so close, noses brushing, and Alexander felt his breath catch.  This was humiliating.  He wanted him so bad, in front of all these people, and there was nothing more he could do besides lean in and peck John's lips, shy and short, sweet.  He added in a whisper, "Couldn't give those thirsty sons of—"

"Alex, we're in a church," John admonished.

"—God what they wanted," he finished, giving a side-eye to the officiant who had been looking away from their kiss politely.  He put the paper down, took John's hand again. 

The officiant said, "All right, all right you two.  From the top.  And no distractions from the witnesses, please!"

At dinner, they held hands on the table, Alexander's left in John's right, and Alexander couldn't help but lean on his other elbow and smile at him.  John brushed it off, laughed bashfully, pretended not to notice his eyes. 

•

Back at the hotel, Alexander tried to stop by Edward's room but he was out.  He rolled his eyes and returned, ordered some room service, and he and John drank champagne.

"Looking forward to Italy?"

Alexander swished the bubbly around in his flute, half-sprawled across on side of the sofa, socked foot occasionally poking at John just to bug him as they talked with a good old-fashioned American sitcom on in the background, something from the '70s that had tinny audio and evidently was before widescreen. 

"I've never been," he admitted.  "Always wanted to go to Europe.  You've gone, you said?"

"Few times, for extended periods.  Finished out school in Switzerland, was going to go to University in the UK but my father got sick.  Thought it was better if I stayed closer to home."

"I'm sorry."

He waved a dismissive hand, sipped his champagne.  "Never been to Capri, I admit.  I hear it's beautiful.  Cooled off a little around this time of year, but we can take a boat back to the mainland and tour a bit.  See the sights.  You like caves?"

"Caves are cool."

"I've always liked them.  There are a few small caves that exit on the cliffs of Capri, you know, and sea caves.  There's the statue of the Virgin Mary in the Grotta Bianca, which is a cave that's a bright white color, as per the bianca in its name.  There's the Salto di Tiberio, where it's said Emperor Tiberius would push his enemies to their deaths.  On tours they'll tell you he even saw many lovers out with that method.  They jokingly warn you to never go for a walk with your partner to Tiberius' Leap."

"Should I be worried you'll push me?" teased Alexander, foot nudging John's upper arm.

John shoved it away.  He made a face.  "No."

"Tell me more," he said with a yawn, setting down the empty glass.

"Well, historically the island's been one of the gayest places to vacation and live.  There were all sorts of gay couples who had villas there, from ancient times through the nineteenth and twentieth century.  Now it's mostly just open season all the time for tourists.  Well, almost.  Luckily it'll be a little more bearable for us around this time of year.  Like I said, though, Sorrento's supposed to be beautiful too, and I'd like to walk around there.  Maybe we can find a karaoke bar."  He tapped Alexander's foot.  "Huh?  Show off that voice of yours?"

"Funny," he groaned.

"Hey, you have a good voice and you love to sing!"

"When I drink."

"Hence the bar."

Alexander chuckled.  "Yeah, yeah.  ...Is this the life you envisioned?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ever think you'd... get to be openly gay and get married like this, in your position?"

"I didn't envision an arranged marriage."

"Besides that."

"No.  I knew I was gay since I was younger but no, I never thought..."

"Yeah."

"It's nice to vacation and be myself more than I ever imagined I'd get to be.  Whatever, it's... Do you need to be topped off?"

He shrugged.  "Just a bit.  We should be refreshed for tomorrow."  He held out his glass, sat up a bit more, leaned forward.  He settled back down and put both feet on John's lap this time, unapologetically, and received no chastising for it.  He drank so he wouldn't let a smile slip.  He said instead, "Haven't seen Ed since he arrived."

"He wasn't in his room?"

"Nope.  Jackass.  Probably picking up a girl down at the bar." 

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine.  Same old.  I'd be doing the same if I visited for his wedding.  No offense, hubby."

"None taken."

"It's just weird.  I thought the people in my life would be more... I mean, I just up and left.  Stopped going to my classes, left home, no phone calls or texts... and I'm now on the front cover of Cosmo, you'd friggin' think they'd be more stoked or worried or something, anything."

"You didn't see Edward often before."

"No, and I guess I could've stood to reach out to him more often."

"Fuck those other people though," said John, having finished off his glass, pouring another.  "They saw you every day, and you're up and gone, no contact.  I'd be worried.  They should have been.  You're not wrong to feel slighted."

"Thanks.  Guess even if they were, they saw me doing something big and figured I was just too busy to mention it.  It should've pissed 'em off a bit though, y'know?  I'd be pissed!"

"I'm sorry, Alexander."

He shook his head.  "Like I said, I guess it's whatever.  I got you and Martha now.  Jeez, you need to make friends."

"I have acquaintances.  Many, actually."

"Yeah, you're royalty.  Introduce me sometime, damn."  Alexander sighed, downed the last bit of champagne, then situated himself a bit lower so his head laid on the armrest and his knees bent over John's lap.

John watched him for a minute, entirely unbothered.

"Hey.  You about to fall asleep on me?"

Alex smacked his lips, eyes still shut.  "Maybe."

"What happened to waking up refreshed?  You need your beauty rest."  He lifted Alex's legs off of him.  "Come on..."

"Get me a bottle of water?"

John sighed.  "Yeah."  He tapped his legs so they'd lift off him enough to stand.  They dropped back down on the couch.

"Thanks.  Such a sweet hubby."

"Yeah, don't push it.  Not 'til tomorrow."

"Will you rub my neck?"

"Is it sore?  Wait," he said suddenly, "You're pathetic!" and Alexander laughed loudly at him.  Got you.  "I said don't push it."  He tossed a water bottle at Alexander who shockingly snatched it right out of the air.  "All right, I'm brushing my teeth and going to bed."

"Nighty night, love you."

John shook his head.  "Night, Alex."

Alexander stayed on the sofa a while, comfortable, eyelids heavy from running around all day and the champagne.  He didn't feel beyond buzzed but the warmth was lulling him into sleep.  He thought he'd snap out of it and rise to get into bed... instead, he found himself drifting every time he managed to get his eyes open, the quiet laugh track and blue light from the TV more peaceful than disruptive.  He didn't know how long he'd been dozed off when he was roused by gentle shaking.  John was casting a shadow over him. 

"Hey, come on, you're going to actually get a stiff neck sleeping like that."

Confused and hardly awake, Alexander pushed himself up.  He grabbed John's hand to be helped off the fancy suede suite sofa.  He asked how long he'd been asleep but John didn't seem to understand the question as it'd come out mumbly.  Alexander walked away without caring for a response.  He felt like he was sleepwalking.

John turned off the television and followed him to the bedroom.  They'd flown to the venue a few days prior and neither of them really minded their sleeping arrangements.  They were adults, it was fine, especially now that they knew one another and were by this point thick as thieves.  Sometimes that feeling was confusing, like whatever genuine connection they might've had was muddled by the acting like a couple and the fact that they were actually getting married.  Oftentimes, John wondered whether he had real feelings for Alexander or if it was a big ruse.  Then shit would happen like — well, for example, at first when Alexander crawled into bed half-asleep, he situated himself so his back was against John, but then he turned and pressed his forehead to his shoulder — and John was confused.  There was nobody to prove anything to, no real reason to be doing this, but he found himself not at all disturbed.  He closed his eyes. 

Alexander, by this point essentially asleep again, was cuddling with John's arm, curled in fetal position. 

And in the morning he'd untangle himself and turn away so as not to expose his embarrassing need for touch.  He thought John would never know.

On the day of the wedding, Alexander joyously dragged Edward around to meet John's siblings. The reception was in six hours.  It was a surprisingly happy occasion. John was running around to frantically get in a last word with the wedding planners, Martha was rounding up the younger siblings, and Alexander was convincing himself it was all going to work out.

"John taught me how to ride. I'm not good or anything but I can at least stay upright while he leads—" He stopped his thought, seeing John walk by hurriedly. "John."

John hummed and walked backward slowly so that he could face Alexander, still in a rush.

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to say to take a breather, you've had your jaw clenched all morning."

"I have not."

Alexander grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles, still at arm's length.  "You need a brief distraction.  Relax."

"You've distracted me enough," John said, shaking his head as he spun back around and walked forward again. "This has to be perfect."

"He is such a groomzilla," he said softly to his guest.  Edward just laughed. "Ed... I'm glad you're here. Sorry for not telling you sooner."

"I understand!"  He high-fived him.  "Prince of the damn country - not bad, not bad at all, brother."  He pulled him into a hug. 

Later that day, after being forced into a white suit and being groomed for a more flattering camera appearance, Alexander was led out to a corridor. He was going to be married.  A taken man.  And there was John, fresh and handsome and smiling, hands folded neatly in front of him.  "You look handsome," he said. 

Alexander wondered if an arranged wedding was supposed to make him so giddy.  "So do you."  He looked behind him.  "I suppose little Mary Eleanor is giving me away," Alexander teased Thomas Stevens with a wink, glancing at the girl, who giggled. They were awaiting the church organ to begin playing. Just like at rehearsal.

"Nonsense," Thomas Stevens said, eyes cutting to Alexander. They suddenly heard the first familiar notes play.

"Ready?" whispered John, linking his arm with Alexander's.

"As I'll ever be, baby."

Mary Eleanor got into place, smoothing her dress, and watched the doors open.  Her brother whispered a, "You got this," before she began.  She held her basket proudly and led down the aisle with a wide grin. The church was filled more with parliament members and other wealthy people than with relatives. A few cousins, an uncle here or there, and that was about it. Everybody was dressed in high-end fashion.

Following Mary Eleanor was Alexander in his white suit, red curls gelled back and combed, arm-in-arm with John also in white, with Thomas Stevens and Martha Laurens behind them, Martha bearing the rings.  Harry and James waited patiently by the minister at the front of the church.

John looked at Alexander as they walked down the aisle - really looked - and saw somebody he had never seen before. Whether the smile was feigned or not was difficult to tell; it was usually relatively easy to read him. Was he really, truly smiling? It looked real, but what reason would Alexander have to genuinely smile on this occasion?

John ignored it and continued to smile himself. 

From Thomas, a hug for Alexander and a handshake for John, and from Martha, for both the grooms, kisses on the cheek.

Finally, the vows were exchanged.  They were holding hands. John could only notice how warm Alexander was.  "Alexander, you are the love of my life.  I was crazy about you the first time we met and falling in love with you made me crazier.  I'm not afraid to tell the world how much I love you.  You've stood by me through everything, in spite of the odds, and you made me unafraid to love.  You astound and delight every person you meet.  Every day I wake up counting my blessings that I'm the lucky one who gets to spend my life with you.  When we first started dating, I was afraid to lose you because I was unsure how we'd fit into one another's very different lives.  But with your wit and kindness and humor, you even managed to charm my father, and even though I was afraid to ask him, you managed to secure his blessing - you're that amazing.  You loved me enough to stand with me through the things important to me.  You inspire me to work harder, to be a better man, and to face the unknown with bravery and defiance.  You find new ways every day to make me love you more.  I never expect it to be possible until you do it.  Truly, I'm crazy about you, Alex.  I vow to always treat you with respect, to stand by you when life gets difficult, to always be as crazy about you as the day I met you - and to never let you forget it."

Alexander's hands were clammy and he wanted to pull away.  Quiet shuttering of cameras, his red face, his hot eyes.  He hadn't read John's vows to him.  It wasn't okay.  He wasn't okay.  He wanted to kiss him already.  It's fake, it's fake, it's all fake, he shouldn't feel this way.  

"And do you, John Laurens, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness or in health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish?"

"I do," he said, not hesitating. The words rolled off of his tongue and suddenly, it became an unbreakable bond. It was inescapable, now.  Martha handed them each their rings.

As John slid Alex's ring onto his finger, he looked into his eyes. Alexander was making an expression with his eyes, but what he was communicating, John did not know.  He truly looked happy. 

"You may now kiss."

Both stood there for a hesitant second, hands clasped together.  The hard part was over.

John leaned forward enough, Alexander meeting him in the middle and pressing his lips to his.  They'd kissed cheeks and heads and hands for the camera, even shared that brief peck during the rehearsal, but this was the real deal.  The "I Do"s and the kiss, God, it was—

After a moment, they pulled away, hearing a chorus of claps and cheers.  Alexander leaned in and kissed him again.  He needed it.  He needed it.  He needed the look of shock and contentment on John's face when he pulled away.  He needed to squeeze back when John kept a tight grip on his hand as they began back down the aisle together, followed by Martha, Thomas Stevens, James, Henry, and Mary Eleanor.

Soon, the church flooded to a larger, more open reception hall that was set up with chairs and tables, and an open middle for dancing. Something easier on the ears was now playing— live, of course— with some upbeat music in a chorus of string, percussion, and woodwinds. It sounded delightful. A woman in a black gown began singing softly, vocalizing almost as if testing the waters.  Fly me to the moon.  Let me play among the stars...

"May I have this dance?" John asked with a smile.

"In other words... hold my hand," sang Alexander quietly as he took position.

They remained close during the customary first dance of the newlyweds.

"Hard part is over," John whispered to Alexander once they were done dancing and left behind by the crowd. "Let's go stuff our faces, honey."

Alexander and John went on their way to get food first and sat at a table with a blue tablecloth, whereas the rest were larger with white. It was at the head of the room, piled on a table next to it were gifts. They sat with their food, watching as everybody else in the room went for it as well, now.

"Hey, you okay?" Alexander whispered to John subtly.

John, suddenly blinking eyes, answered: "Yes, of course."  His smile was so wide, so feigned—mechanical.  "I'm the happiest I've ever been."

"Really...?"

"Of course.  Marrying the love of my life."  He lightly brushed Alexander's arm and continued to chuckle.

"No, really.  Are you all right?"

"I'm great."

Alexander offered his hand.  Squeezed when John took it.  "Have you had some to drink already?"

John raised an eyebrow and glanced at his glass of champagne, still half full.  "No.  I'm sorry I'm melancholy, I ate... a 'gummy bear' about half an hour before the reception."

Alexander chuckled at him.  "Oh, John."

"Yeah..."

"Okay."  He covered his laughing for another moment.  "So... we just sit here, right? And eat and then before the cake Martha will make a toast."

"Yeah, Martha's gonna give a toast. And then we cut the cake, dance some more, have some drinks, et cetera, et cetera. Just relax and don't feel like you have to say anything to anybody you don't know unless you're with me or they approach you first, then obviously be... polite."

"Okay," he said, "I'll just stick to you the entire time. Like a fly on that sticky ribbon you hang from the ceiling."

"Romantic."

"John, Alexander," a figure said as he approached, smiling. He had a woman next to him, though she was more focused on Alexander. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," John said as he stood and shook the man's hand. It was amazing how quickly he sobered up.  "Alex, my aunt Mary and uncle James.  They came from London for the wedding."

Alexander stood as well with a smile as he shook each person's hand. "It's nice to meet you.  I've heard so much about you."

John tried not to laugh.

"A pleasure to meet you, too. Jack, I'm happy to see you're marrying off, finally," Uncle James laughed. "Your father would be... proud. I'm sure you're going to make a fine king. We will be in town for your coronation."

"Oh, I'm sure.  Thank you, I look forward to seeing you again soon," John simply continued to smile, though Alexander could sense something was wrong.

The aunt and uncle parted, giving Alexander and John some space. Alexander turned to him when he let out a caustic laugh.  "He wouldn't be proud of me. My uncle knows that." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose - a nervous thing, Alexander had noted before. "My father was never proud of me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"You wouldn't know. We're not... we don't have years of bonding and conversations for you to know what my family was even like before he died."

"I know, but..."

"I just wish I was okay with this."

"You're not?"  Alex wished he could place why that stung.

"You weren't the person I wanted to marry." Ouch.  He felt bad for saying it, but it was the truth.  "But I... think it doesn't even matter.  I'm just incapable of love.  I've tried to love... but I can't.  I couldn't get it right.  My father didn't make it easy.  I was so afraid of love but I tried it anyway.  It all ends bitterly."  He looked again to his ornate champagne flute.  "Is now a bad time to admit that I... I really wanted to marry this guy I... knew.  I'd been seeing him for over a year.  We were childhood friends."

Alexander's eyes narrowed.  He took John's hands and squeezed.  Tell me more.

Laurens, tired and high, whispered, "I thought I loved him.  Thought he loved me... but when I needed him, he wasn't there.  He left because I wasn't good enough.  Not even with everything I had to offer.  No amount of money or power could have made him love me."  His hand fell away from his glass.  He looked at his lap.  "It's all fine, now."

"You don't seem fine."

"I'm not," he mumbled, head shaking slowly.  

"Do you want to sober up?"

He seemed to ponder the question.  "...No.  It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does matter.  It's okay to not be fine," Alexander said, insistently. He touched John's wrist, which resided limply in his lap. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault.  It's mine."

"It's nobody's.  You won't be happy if you—"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."  He looked up and noticed Alexander's frown.  "But we can talk more after the party."

"Yes.  Good plan."  He leaned up and kissed the side of John's face, tender.  As much as it could have been perceived to be just for show, he meant it honestly.  He wanted to comfort him.  "I'm here for you."

John seemed suspicious.  "Are you?"

He nodded.  "I am.  And I love you."

"No, you don't."

"No," he admitted.  "I like you.  For all intents and purposes, considering this is our wedding, just believe it's true."  He kissed John's knuckles.  "Our love story's beautiful, huh?  Even have fanart of us."

He laughed sullenly.  "True."

"Almost makes you want to fall in love for real, doesn't it?"

John didn't answer, but he did squeeze his hand.  He exhaled heavily through his nose.  "At least..." A moment passed and it was clear he was struggling to finish that thought.

"At least what, John?"

"You're not half-bad," he offered lamely.  "You're pretty."

Alexander lifted a hand from John's to nudge his jaw with his knuckle.  "Yeah..."  It wasn't what he had wanted to hear.  "You're pretty, too."  

The two proceeded to greet people, still eating at the head of the room. After a while, when people were finishing up, Martha stood and clinked her spoon against a glass of water. She smiled as the room quieted and began to speak.

After Martha's speech, she gave room on the dance floor for Alexander and John to have another dance. The two set down their drinks and walked shoulder-to-shoulder to the middle of the room as slow music, led by an acoustic guitar, began. The singer didn't sing. The instruments almost resembled wedding bells played by the organ earlier.

John took Alexander's hand. He intertwined their fingers. 

"We should've practiced real dancing at the rehearsal, I've never danced like this before, besides whatever the hell the fae was making us do in the woods that night," Alexander mumbled under his breath to John. John let out a short laugh and took his other hand, pulling him near.

"Follow my lead and stay close," he said, bringing one of Alexander's hands to his shoulder. Alexander got the hint and put his hand on the back of John's neck, feeling John's hand at his side. They pressed a bit closer.

John led, taking a step back, a half-step to the side, then a half-step forward. He repeated this in variations while slowly revolving, dancing with Alexander closely. Alexander had to admit that this was fun and exciting; being in the center of attention, trying something new, dancing, it was spectacular. He laid his head on John's shoulder for emphasis, otherwise feeling awkward staring at the people around them. John leaned his own head against Alexander's, careful not to smother himself in his gelled hair.

"This is fun," Alexander said just barely. Even if people had noticed him moving his lips, ever so slightly, they wouldn't have been able to hear what he said. "You know, before I met you, I didn't know what to expect.  You've turned out to be fun."

In an equally soft tone, he replied, "You're a natural-born dancer."

Alexander laughed to himself.

"It's true," John insisted.

"Only 'cause we're moving slowly in circles. It's hardly dancing."

"Fine, I'll show you dancing," he whispered. Alexander felt him release his hands and pull away. John kept a hand on Alexander's waist and led him into a spin, then dipped him, making Alexander just laugh ridiculously. He stayed there, hovering above the floor, being supported by John's arms. John smiled and couldn't contain his laughter either.

Alexander, in one swift movement, leaned up and locked lips with John for several seconds. He let out a breathy laugh and pulled away, met with John's shocked blue eyes. John pulled him back up and they began to slow dance again, moving a bit slower than the music.

Under his breath, John said, "Way to sell it."

"You like that?" Alexander whispered. "I'll have you know that I had signed up for a theatrical performance class my first semester in college."

"Oh, good. So you're a professional actor, then?"

"Yes, I am," he chuckled. John shook his head and spun Alexander once again.  Alexander, when his waist was supported by John, brought his hands up to John's face to bring their eyes together.  "Feeling better?"

"A little."

"Should have let me in on your edibles.  We'd have fun high together."

John laughed. 

"Rule number one to acting: live your part. Plus, you can only move on from a breakup by distracting yourself.  Or something."

"You're ridiculous."

"Oh, come on.  Forget your ex and smooch me, baby," he teased, puckering his lips.  He dropped his hands from John's face and placed them behind his neck.  "Boy, wouldn't the tabloids love to hear me say that? "

John grinned.  "Maybe you've had too much to drink; you're very touchy and talkative."

"'Touchy'?  I'm touchy?  Your hands seem to be a little lower on my back than necessary."

John began to move his hands up a bit more.  Alexander grabbed them and urged them back down.  John felt curious, which was dangerous, but it was so easy to do anything he wanted—sate any curiosity—and claim it was to sell their marriage.  Alexander was flirting, he could tell, but how much of it was real?  How much of it was him being buzzed? 

Alexander laughed.  "You can touch my butt for the magazines.  I don't mind."

John tried to laugh it off.  "Jesus.  Drink less."

"I'm just playing with you."

"Yeah, stop it."

Alexander raised a brow.  He felt the heat on John's neck.  He could see it in his cheeks.  If he looked directly into his eyes, he could also see the subtle glow from the THC.  "Okay."  

He didn't flirt again during the dance—except when John misstepped and gave him a half beat to get closer, during which time Alexander remained close until it ended.  Head on his chest.  Safe in John's embrace.

He didn't know why.  He figured he really was drunk and curious.  He hated himself for it.

"I wouldn't call it a breakup," John whispered suddenly, comforted by Alex leaning on him.  "We weren't dating.  Just friends..."

"With benefits?"

John half-nodded.  "Something like that."

"Scandalous!  Sneaking around with your bro."

For some reason, Alexander's teasing made him feel better.  "I didn't get to grieve over the end to our... whatever.  Maybe I need to..."

Alexander pondered that whisper for the remainder of their dance, and would for the rest of the night.

The song came to an end and the two broke away.  Other people came to the dance floor and began to dance. John left Alexander to run off to the bathroom, so Alexander decided to dance with a girl in a black gown, who smiled at him and offered him her hand. She put her hands on his shoulders and they stayed about a foot apart, dancing slowly in circles.

"Congratulations," said the girl uncaringly.  She didn't put any effort into trying to sound like she cared. She looked about Martha's age, late teens, with black curls pulled half-up in a top knot. She looked an old Hollywood movie star glamorous. "Peggy Schuyler."

"Oh, yes, I know you," said Alexander, beaming. "You're one of the Schuyler sisters!  I've seen you guys in modeling."

"Yeah, thanks.  We're also social activists and entrepreneurs.  But thank you, for recognizing us from modeling. "

"Uh... you and your sister Angelica?"

"And Eliza," Peggy reminded.

"Eliza—?"

"Elizabeth.  Eliza.  She's older than me and younger than Angelica. Sweetheart, and unfortunately she kind of gets left out. But, I mean, compared to me, I can see how she'd get left behind."

"That's mean," Alexander said.

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Pardon me.  Anyway, cool for you to marry into royalty and all.  And with both the king and queen dead, you scored well on the in-laws checkboxes."

"Yikes."

"'Yikes' is right.  A crass woman, oh no."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Right, you're from the lower class."

"Are you close with John?  Like, no offense, but you're kind of a bitch."

She laughed.  "Thank you!  I thought bitchy people were your type.  You married John Laurens, after all."

With a reddening face, Alexander asked, "I'm sorry, again, do you know him personally?"

"I've only met him a few times."

"Then you can't judge his character. I'll have you know that he is nothing but the sweetest man. You just have to get to know him. If you'll excuse me—"

"Woah, excuse you, I wasn't trying to be rude. Being a bitch isn't a bad thing, you yourself said 'no offense,'" she paused and laughed.  "You're very protective of your beau.  It was nice to meet you."

"Yeah, it's been a real pleasure.  Call me up sometime and I'll put John on speaker for that dead parents joke."

She was grinning, mouth open wide, and she hit his shoulder.  "And I'll tell him you laughed!"

"I did not!"

"That's what I'll say anyway.  You thought it was funny, I know you did."

He sort of rolled his eyes.  It was a little bit funny.  But he wasn't sure if saying so would be used against him.  "No, really, go tell my husband that joke."

"Boo, I was hoping you'd be more fun."

"That a challenge?"

Peggy laughed.  "I'd like to see you try to prove you're fun."

"Okay, so it is a challenge.  Tell you what: I think you've got a sense of humor.  As I said, I like crass people.  And you know John already?"

"Of course." 

"But you could stand to know him better?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then actually do call sometime, and we should drink and have dinner, all of us.  Your sisters are welcome if they're fun, too."

Peggy was smirking deviously.  "Oh, they certainly are.  Our brothers, too."

"Perfect.  For now, I've got mingling to be doing.  Maybe I'll string some of my own friends along."

"Rager at the crown prince's mansion!  I'll let everyone know!"

He did give her a little laugh at that.  "We're going to be best friends, Peggy Schuyler."

"Sweet, an in with the king."

"You don't need any more of an 'in,' you're a well-bred wealthy woman whose father's in the senate."

"True.  I don't know what kind of in you could have had besides being pretty."

Alexander sighed, entertained but unwilling to give her any more laughs.  Eventually, he pulled away to move to the sidelines. John was by the food tables again, talking to some older people.  Family, aristocrats, Alex did not know.

Then approached a brightly dressed young man with pretty bowed lips with a gorgeous woman on his arm.  He opened them to embrace Alexander despite never having met him, exclaiming compliments in French.  Alex laughed and pulled away to shake his hand.

"Gilbert!  It's been two years and you didn't come to see me when you flew in?" said John, reaching for a hug as well.

"Oh, my dearest friend, I have felt the most awful.  Bad, what is it?  'Jet lag.'  I slept the entire day away and had to get this suit tailored because it had become too big in the waist after I bought it last month.  You will not believe who I went to!  A friend of mine recommended this wonderful man, un ami d'un ami, you might even say - the friend and, hm, mentor of this handsome husband of yours.  Might I say," he lifted his arms and gave a turn, "he is quite good!"

"Gilbert, Adrienne, this is Alexander.  Alexander, you've heard of Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de La Fayette.  This is his lovely wife, Adrienne de Noailles, the Marquise de La Fayette."

Alexander smiled.  "Of course I have.  Very nice to meet you."  He took Adrienne's hand and shook it as well.  "And you, Adrienne.  Your dress is so gorgeous.  And you, you said you got your suit tailored by Mulligan?"

"Yes, of course!  As I said, he is quite good and very charming conversation.  Adrienne just adored him."

"Oh, Monsieur Mulligan, le tailleur?  Oui, he was lovely!" she exclaimed.  "Monsier Laurens, Monsieur Hamilton, how nice it is to meet you.  You have lovely suits.  Our wedding gift to you, it is a beautiful portrait, did you like it?  Have you seen?"

"Oh!" said Alexander, connecting the dots.  "Yes, it came in just the other day.  John had it hung in the foyer with the other family portraits."

"Oui, yes, I know it is not a live-sitting, but the artist is very talented, a young British man of French descent, Huguenot, much like you, Monsieur Laurens.  His name is Jean André, have you met him?  We shall introduce you at once if not!  He is here tonight, a guest of Monsieur Franklin."

"I'd like to meet him," said Alexander, at the same time John said with distaste, "I've met him."

John explained, "He was in Philadelphia when we were introduced.  He was playing at an opera house there several months ago.  I was there visiting Mr. Franklin."

"He is staying with Monsieur Franklin," Adrienne confirmed.

"Really?  Why's that?" Alex butted in.

"Monsieur Franklin quite liked him when they met in Paris.  I think he was at the bar, I can go find him."

John, knowing it was a point of pride for Lafayette and he'd be remiss not to mention it, said, "Gilbert, it's been so long since I've heard your voice, your English has improved so much."

"Thank you!  I have worked very hard and my dear heart has taken to learning with me.  She learns quicker than I do.  She is a woman of endless intellect, isn't she?  Monsieur Hamilton, may I call you Alexander?"

Alexander smiled.  "Yes, of course."

"I have heard so much about you.  You are an handsome and bright man, I know you will be good for this country.  And for this man here," he teased.  "Oh, was I tearing up during your vows!  I remember our wedding, mon coeur,  just like it was yesterday."

"It was two years ago," Adrienne said.  "And what a perfect two years they have been."

He kissed her hand and squeezed it.  "I agree!  Ah, anyway, yes, we have heard so much about you.  Laurens says you are very, very smart and very funny."

Alexander put a hand on John's shoulder momentarily.  "Smart and funny.  I hope I haven't disappointed you."

"Not at all, I am very excited to meet you!"

Then Adrienne's favorite Billie Holiday song was being performed and she squeezed her husband's hand, exclaiming how much she loved it.

"Will you excuse us?  We are required to dance to this song!"

As they left he saw two men, one with a smile on his face and the other simply observing.  Alexander's face lit up just as John was being roped into another conversation with the elderly.  "I'll be back, John."  He strode towards them.  "Benny!" he exclaimed, then curtly, "Burr."

"Hey, Hammie," laughed Tallmadge. "Good to see you again, man!  Congratulations.  It's been a while. I didn't know you left until you ignored my texts for two weeks."

"And the news talking all about your marriage," added Burr.

"That, too."

Alexander laughed. "Good thing you're keen, Burr. I could've ignored you for three weeks and you wouldn't've noticed if not for the news."

"You don't ignore me more than I ignore you.  Your silence was a bit out of character."

"Hey.  As for my silence, I forfeited social media for a while during this... whole thing.  But what a pleasant surprise to see some familiar faces!"

Tallmadge said, "I don't know anybody here except for Burr."  A lie, but as it has no bearing on the plot, Alexander did not need to know Benjamin Tallmadge was essentially a spy.  He wasn't there to spy on the newlyweds anyway.

"We're in the same boat," he said.  "I know John and his family, and the Marquis and Marquise de Lafayette, but the rest of these elites are an enigma to me."

Burr nodded. "I know at least half of these people."

"Okay, trust fund baby."

"You're marrying into wealth, gold-digger."

"Not because he's rich.  I happen to actually like the people I get down with. Unlike you."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not marrying the future king for money."

Alexander, with a heavy sigh, looked up into Burr's eyes. Tallmadge watched with an amused countenance. Alexander said, "I like John.  Don't be a prick.  You're ruining my wedding."

A couple of seconds of silence passed and Alexander looked away. "You like him," said Burr. He repeated, "'Like.'"

"You know what I mean."

"Sure.  Just like I know what you meant when you were implying you fucked that sophomore at Meade's party, not two weeks before the news of your engagement broke."

"You are such an ass.  A, I didn't fuck the sophomore.  B, I may have joked about it, but that doesn't mean shit about my relationship."

"Uh-huh, as if the tomcat all of a sudden finds his one true love... who happens to be the soon-to-be most powerful man in the country."

"What kind of gall— Who even invited you?  You always do this shit."

"And you always say 'you always do this' when I tell you something you don't want to hear."

"John," Alexander turned away with a low growl, eyes searching the large room. "John!  Babe!"

John heard his name so he broke away from whatever conversation he was having previously with one of the Schuyler sisters and walked over to the trio. Alexander smiled sweetly at him and put an arm around his waist.

"John, this is Aaron Burr and Benjamin Tallmadge, a couple of my buddies from college."

John smiled. "Thank you for coming. I've heard a lot about you."  Actually, he'd only heard about Burr because Alexander hated him so much, so he said, "Ben Tallmadge, that is.  I'm afraid I might be experiencing a lapse in memory with you," to Burr.

Alexander laughed at the diss.  John's too good.

"You've been dating for the past year and he managed to keep his mouth shut about me," Burr observed with a raised eyebrow.

John was caught off-guard by the blatant rudeness but perhaps that was akin to Burr's personality; perhaps it wasn't with ill intent.  "Oh," he said innocently, "I'm sorry, should I know you?"

Alexander laughed and tightened his grip on John's arm, leaning on him to sell the picture. "C'mon, John, I ranted to you about Burr once or twice.  Intro to philosophy, freshman year?  Inability to take a stand on anything worthwhile haunts my dreams?"

"Ohh, that Aaron Burr."

"Yeah, actually, he was just calling me a man-whore and a gold digger."

John looked between them, realizing now the gravity.  "I'm sorry?"

"Yup!  No 'what a beautiful wedding,' it was just straight to the 'what a shame the poor groom's bride is a whore.'"  

"Are you joking?"

Tallmadge put a hand up on Alexander's shoulder.  "Hey, forget about it.  Just enjoy your wedding."

"I'll have anybody who wants to listen know that whatever was said is just untrue," John said pointedly but tried to carefully veer the conversation into a direction that wouldn't cause a scene, though with the grip Alex had on his arm, he thought he might.  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't as if Alexander chose this or as if any of them had the right to say anything, and he knew that even if the whole thing was real, people would still question and make horrible claims.  He felt defensive.  Burr didn't even look sorry. "I don't understand how anybody could possibly question his motives.  Not only is he loyal and loving, but he hates the current socioeconomic state of the government too much to marry into it.  When we first started dating, I thought it might be a deal breaker when I told him."

"Yeah, I literally did not know who he was at first."

Tallmadge said, "You wouldn't know Princess Diana if she rose from the dead."

"Mm, I'd marry her too, to be fair."

John said, "As lovely a woman she was, I don't think I could stand to share you."

Alexander leaned into his body, chest warmed by the possessive comment.  Jesus, it wasn't fair.  He wanted John to truly feel this way about him, to wrap an arm around him and make him his in a way that wasn't just for show.  He liked feeling wanted and wished it was real.  "Wow, not even for Di?" he teased.

John squeezed him a little closer.  "Alex is the furthest thing from a gold-digger.  He was obviously going to be rich and famous without my help someday."

"See, Aaron?" Alexander whispered as he leaned up and pecked John on the cheek. "I'm sorry that you can't possibly believe anybody could love the poor, immigrant bastard that is me."

There was tension now. John saw how hurt Alexander looked and deep inside just wanted to scoop him up and throw him around and lecture him about how lovable he is. 

"That can't be true," John whispered. He kissed Alexander on the forehead. "I love you."

He felt his lips burn and imagined a branded mark on Alexander's forehead.  He couldn't stop thinking about how much he enjoyed touching him, even if in the simplest ways... he'd been so deprived of touch and love... so sad since Francis had gone... and Alexander stood on his toes to properly kiss him on the lips, and he felt his heart swoon as if true feelings could possibly be involved. 

"You two are sick," complained Tallmadge jokingly.

"It is literally our wedding!" Alexander shot back with a laugh.  "And you're crashing it."

"Burr was invited and I'm his plus-one!"

"I don't know whose bright idea it was to invite that kvetch."

Before Burr could apologize, not that he was planning on it, Edward and Thomas Stevens approached, Thomas Stevens holding a full glass of alcohol.

"This is a beautiful wedding," Thomas Stevens said. "Congratulations to you both."

"Thank you!" Alexander said with a tilt of his head, like a "see?" to Burr, a "this-is-how-you-should-speak-to-me-on-my-wedding-day." He pulled away from John but John kept their hands together. "I'm so happy to see you both."

"Any word from James?"

"No, uh, he couldn't make it," Alexander said sadly. "But I'll send him pictures."  He put a hand on the back of John's neck and urged him down suddenly, whispered in his ear.  "Please think of an excuse for us to run off in the next two minutes."  He smooched John's ear before releasing him, John rolling his eyes.  "Hey, Ed, you talk to any of the Schuyler sisters?"

"Yeah, they're really nice and available," encouraged John. Burr let out a snort.

Edward shrugged. "I haven't.  Why, should I?"

"Go for it!"

"Go for Eliza," Burr said quickly. "Peggy won't give you the time of day and Angelica is, well, betrothed."

"I happen to like my women taken, thank you very much," Edward joked.  Peggy appeared behind Edward and leaned on him suddenly, wrapping a casual arm around his shoulders.

"What's this about taken women?" Peggy said with a smirk. A startled Edward jumped out of the way.

"Nothing, Miss!"

"Excuse me," said John suddenly, "I need to use the restroom."

Alexander shot him a look.  "Oh, you know, I'll come with you."  He grabbed John's hand and they excused themselves.  Peggy and Ed heckled them as they left.  "Wow!  Were you planning on leaving me?"

John smiled at him.  "Of course not."

"You're such a dick, you totally were.  Couldn't you have just said you left your phone somewhere or something like that?"

John pulled him along towards the restrooms.  "Come on."

"Great, yes, let's hide away in a stall and make out so they won't bother us."  

John was still stringing him along and didn't disagree, so Alexander thought he might actually fulfill when he pulled him up some flights of grand stairs where guests weren't supposed to be and into one of the many rooms in the fancy venue.  Alexander, back against the wall, was ready to lean in and finally, finally get to taste.  Then John patted around his pockets and pulled out a small, thin tin and popped out a cigarette.

"I didn't know you--"

John shushed him.  

"Really?" Alexander whispered.  "What is this, high school?  Running away to an empty classroom just to smoke a cigarette?"

John took it from his mouth with a grin.  "I'm not allowed to smoke where there might be cameras."

"Not allowed," Alexander spat out quietly.

"Nope.  Bad for public image."

"Well, they're crazy.  You look sexy as fuck with a cig between your teeth."

John offered it to him.  Alexander took a hesitant drag off of it before handing it back.  John whispered, "How long should we hide away?"

"Long.  The conversation's just so fucking boring, you know?  If I have to hear one more time how fuckin' grand this wedding is, I'm going to lose my mind.  No offense.  It's awesome, I know you were really worried, but God, the guest list is insufferable.  All rich people know how to do is gossip and be rude and fucking annoying.  It's like the only thing they live for are the parties and the weddings and the funerals.  I just know they're waiting around bored in their silly mansions, itching for the next time some other rich asshole kicks the bucket so they can put on their mourning gowns and find an excuse to snort a line."

"Yeah, that's kind of the life to which I was referring when I said I don't like being famous."

"Being rich is nice but being famous means somebody somewhere is going to hate you and everybody is going to talk about you or to you like they fucking know you.  Goddamn Aaron Burr, man."

"Fuck that guy."

"For real!  Fuck him.  I need another fucking drink."  He looked at the cigarette.  "Can you inhale those carcinogens any faster?  I know you're making love to that roll of leaves but my poison's alcohol."

"Tough.  You're the one who wanted to get away."

"Yeah, well..." mostly because he thought something fun would actually happen, not just to smoke.  "Unless we're gonna consummate this thing..."

John shoved his shoulder, took one more long drag before dropping it right there on the waxed floor and crushing it under his shiny black heel.

"Are you leaving that?"

"That was the plan."

"Pick it up, you wealthy prick.  The custodian isn't your nanny."

John blushed and knelt down to pick it up, test that the hot part had been fully stomped out before putting it in his suit jacket pocket.

"Very good," praised Alexander with fake sincerity.  "Let's go back to our own wedding now, shall we?"

Chapter Text

"Hey, Alexander, this is my sister, Angelica," Peggy said.  Angelica stepped forward and shook Alexander's hand.

"Hi, thank you for coming," Alexander smiled, "I've heard a lot about you."

"If it's on the subject of modeling, don't tell her," reminded Peggy sharply with a stage whisper. "She gets crazy."

"And so do you," Angelica said with a smile.  She turned her attention quickly back to Alexander. "Pleasure to meet you.  This has been a beautiful wedding reception."

"As I mentioned to Peggy earlier, I recognize both of you.  John has mentioned your names a couple of times, of course," Alexander cocked his head towards John, who just nodded.

"Yeah, our family is close with the royal family as we're the successors."

"Successors?" Alexander asked, but quickly wiped the confusion from his face. "Oh, of course."

"Right, but that's only if John like, died or something, or couldn't rule. And if Martha died, and Harry wasn't eighteen.  Then our family would take over."

"Your father, Philip Schuyler?"

"No, no. I'd be the heir."

"Oh," Alexander whispered, lips pursing.

Angelica smiled. "But, I'm glad that John is going to be king. If there's anybody I trust to be a fine leader, it'd be him."

John smiled. "Thank you."

"Enough," Peggy chimed in. "So formal. Why don't we talk about more interesting politics, hm? Hey, Your Majesty, what're you planning to do about the rich evading taxes?"

"What about it?"

"Don't play stupid, that's the worst ."

"No, really, what about tax evasion would you like me to do?  Regardless, you know I can't answer that. Not supposed to, or my supervisors would have at me," he laughed. Half of the group chuckled, and Alexander watched Edward slip away to go dance with some woman. Burr left as well, likely to hook up with a fellow aristocrat and have yet another affair. 

"Oh, come now, we're not the paparazzi," Peggy teased, not acknowledging the people who left.  

"Alexander," Angelica said to politely veer the conversation away from hot-button issues, "I understand you're new to this scene.  There are several key names you should introduce yourself to formally.  Have you met the Washingtons?  Livingstons?  The Adamses?  Jeffersons?  John Hancock, Dolly Madison and her husband, to name a few."

"No, uh, I haven't met any of those people," said Alex, looking distracted.

"I'd be more than happy to introduce you."

He waved a hand.  "Maybe later.  There's somebody on my side I've been meaning to catch up with all day and I see him at the bar.  Excuse me."  

He slipped out of John's arm around his waist and made his way to the bar, where Mulligan was drinking a beer and talking to some chick. 

Alexander sat on Mulligan's other side and put a hand on his shoulder.  "Hey, Herc."

"Oh," Mulligan put a finger up to the woman he was chatting with and turned to Alexander, "Hey, Ham!  I know I said it before, but this really is a beautiful—"

"Wedding.  Beautiful wedding," Alexander finished, "I get it.  I've heard it."

The woman leaned over the bar to get a better look at him.  "Congratulations, Mister Hamilton-Laurens!  Are you doing the whole hyphen thing?"

"No, just Hamilton still."

"Ah, well, I don't suppose we've met, but I'm Philomena Cheer."  She held out her hand.  Alex shook it.  "I'm an actress—"

"Oh, yes, I've heard of you.  You're in some of those big ones, like that new show on AMC and that one Shakespeare movie, what was it?  It was a King Lear film, right?"

"Yes!  You're so sweet, thank you for knowing!"

Alexander flicked his eyes between the two of them.  "So, you two crazy kids hitting it off?"

"Oh, no!  I mean—" she laughed, embarrassed by how quickly she shot down that notion, "we were just talking."

Mulligan corroborated, "Yeah, no, nothing like that.  Actually, Philomena, you were going to introduce me to your boyfriend?  The one who might like his fancy-boy clothes tailored by a renowned professional?"

Philomena stood up immediately.  "Yes, let me go find him now!  He was working the room a little bit ago."  She left them to it.

"Hey, kid, what's up?"  Mulligan asked.  "You've got a long face.  It's your wedding."

"I'm fine.  It's just— well, you know how I always feel like I don't fit in?"  Alexander asked, eyebrows moving together.

"Yes..."

"I don't fit in here.  This is my wedding and it's not even r—" he quickly corrected himself smoothly without Mulligan noticing, "—really about me.  It's about John.  And all these other fancy elite people.  I mean, a C-list actress?"

"She's probably more B-list."

"Yeah.  It's ridiculous.  I don't know these people and I find it hard to believe John knows them personally, either.  So why does my wedding have a damn red carpet leading into the building?  I guess that's part of why I didn't even want to tell any of you guys about John and me, even if I'd been allowed to," he fibbed, "'cause you all see me as some gold digger.  I feel so out of place even when I'm not supposed to be."

Mulligan shook his head slowly and put a comforting hand on Alexander's shoulder.  "Alex, you're okay.  You're doing great.  And what's this matter anyways when it's about marrying the guy you love?"

"That's— that's the thing," Alexander lowered his voice.  "I've gauged by social media and the news that everyone thinks I'm marrying into wealth intentionally."

"It looks real to me, kid."

"How?"

"What do you mean, 'how'?  It's your wedding.  You and John have a connection, I can see it.  And you deserve happiness."

Alexander, at this, just laughed to himself.  "Yeah, whatever.  I... didn't want it to be this way.  I didn't want to get married at first," he said, a little tipsy to be spilling fibs and secrets out in cohesion, "because I knew it'd be like this.  I love him."  Lie, lie, fuckin' lie.  "When he asked me, though, I wanted it to be quieter.  I'd rather date him in secret for another year.  For five years.  For a decade.  I didn't want to face the scrutinization of the whole damn country."  The truth.  If he'd really met John, he'd have preferred to have a secret relationship that was real over this shit.  Hated by the public, unloved by his husband, confused by his own feelings about him.  

"What changed your mind?"

He thought about it for a minute.  What answer should he give as the groom?  "I love him?  Besides, it wasn't sustainable.  I couldn't see him very often and we couldn't go out in public.  With his father passing away and the throne going to him, we just had to come out with it.  And we were ready for marriage.  That sounds crazy.  We hadn't been together all that long.  But when you know, you know.  I knew it the first time I saw him."  He'd truly felt it.  This man, he's special.  He's going to break my walls.  He's going to be the one.  This man is mine.  "Had to lock him down while I had the chance," he joked.  "Plus, people forget I'm sacrificing.  I withdrew from school until further notice for him.  I picked up and moved my life to him.  I took on the responsibility of complicating his positive public image.  I had to change my way of life for this.  I love him, and it's worth it, but he's not the only one sacrificing here."

"I understand, kid."  Mulligan smiled and went to ruffle his hair, but quickly stopped when he remembered that it was gelled and styled and combed to one side so perfectly.  So, he just gave a few reassuring claps on Alexander's back and said, "Done wallowing?"

"I guess."

"You should go enjoy your wedding.  Seriously.  Find that stud of yours and forget about appearances and the media.  Just remember how you're gonna get some tonight!" he teased, poking his arm insistently.

Except I probably won't.  But I can try.  "Yeah.  Guess that makes it all worth it."

"That good?"

"Absolutely mind-blowing.  Have you seen that man?  God, his body makes me wanna..." he shook his head with a laugh.  "I need a drink for the road.  Sorry I'm not sticking around to meet Philomena's boyfriend.  I don't think I care to, I'm sick of rich people."

Alexander hopped off the stool, rapped knuckles against the bar and waved the bartender over once he finished with the couple nearby them.  He ordered two drinks.  

"You might.  I know who she's talking about, he's famous too, and that boy is pretty!  You'd like him.  Best of both worlds for your bisexual ass."

He held up his hand and wiggled the ring finger.  "I'm promised to another.  And believe me, he satisfies all of all the worlds.  Every need I could possibly have."

"Mazel tov."

"You want to come back over with me?  Talking to some halfway interesting people, in spite of their wealth."

"That's okay, kid.  I've worked this room before.  You forget I'm high up enough on the ladder to have pushed my way into an event like this even if I didn't sponsor one of the grooms when he was fresh off the boat."

"Off the plane," he corrected pointedly and thanked the bartender for the two cocktails, "and no, it's hard to forget.  Tailoring wealthy clientele and trading secrets anonymously to tabloids makes you such a bootlicker.  Nauseating, frankly."

"Ahh.  Get out of here, ya jerk.  And say goodbye to me before you leave to swallow the fruits of your husband's loins."

"Really?  The fruit of my husband's loins?"

"I can read it all over you.  You love that shit."

"I am so glad you're not my dad.  You're fuckin' gross," he laughed.

"I'm glad I'm not your dad, either. But I'm proud of you.  Sad to see you married off.  Living too far for me to pick you up when you lock yourself out or to hem your clothes."

"You still can.  I'll have John send them to you instead of his friggin'... costumer."

"I'm flattered.  Hey, seriously, call more.  And I'm serious about saying goodbye before you leave because I'll be missing you tomorrow when you head off to Europe.  I'm out of here early in the morning."

Alexander nodded, two glasses in hand now.  "I will."

"Love ya, kid."

He nudged Mulligan lovingly before he departed.  He weaved through the crowded areas to find John, who was still talking to Peggy and Angelica.  Alexander got in beside him, handed over the drink he'd brought for him, and took his hand, giving John a second to recover from initial disinterest and squeeze back. 

"Where'd you go?" John asked.  Alexander squeezed his hand back with a smile.

"To get us drinks and to talk to Hercules," he turned to Peggy and Angelica, "Mulligan, not the hero."

"Well, I assumed that it wasn't the demigod," said Angelica.  Peggy grinned.

Elizabeth had broken through a crowd to grab Angelica by the arm, clinging to her with relief.  "I've been looking for you.  And you," she said suddenly to John and Alexander, now smiling, "I wanted to say congratulations.  This is such a gorgeous venue.  The food and music, perfect.  You both look so amazing, too.  I saw you taking photos."

"All day," John groaned.  "Nothing but photos, I swear."

"And being interviewed."

"Yes."

Elizabeth laughed.  "I understand.

Peggy chimed in, "Boy, do I know it.  Had the paparazzi talking to me like, all day.  I walked out onto that red carpet and it's all cameras in my face and questions about my dress.  Hello, I am more than the clothes I wear!  Damn."

Angelica rolled her eyes.

Alexander noticed in the beat of silence following that the song had changed.  "The Beatles," he said.  Simultaneously:

"Ooh, I love this song."

He looked at Elizabeth with a smile.  "Do you?"

She rocked her shoulders to Angelica, about to encourage her to dance to the upbeat rock when Alexander threw back the petite cocktail and handed the empty glass to John.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked Elizabeth.  She looked to him and at first thought to reject, but he was smiling and he was the groom so she figured she'd be polite.

"Sure."  She took his hand and he pulled her away.  She made a joke to her sisters as she left, waving at John as well.  He took both her hands and they began to dance—a sort of sloppy but fun dance to go with the song.

"I love this song, too," Alexander said.  He got a good look at her as they danced—her silver knee-length dress, bodycon.  She was so beautiful.  "You look great.  Tell me: did you have trouble picking your dress for the wedding?  My girl friends tell me guest dresses are pickier than wedding dresses."

Elizabeth laughed.  She was used to being told she looked great, but this question was a new one no reporter had asked her.  "Actually, no, not this time.  Other weddings, yes.  But there's no bride at this one so I don't have to worry about upsetting her."

"Why?"

"Because the bride doesn't want her guests looking prettier."

"Ohh," said Alexander.  "I see.  You don't mind looking pretty at this wedding because you know you're already prettier than I'll ever be."

"Oh come on, now.  You're plenty pretty.  And your accent is cute."

Alexander gushed.  "I get that a lot."  Mostly from John, but sure, a lot.

She relaxed more and closed her eyes, listening to the music and moving her body to the beat.  

| Oh we danced through the night |

Alexander moved closer and danced similarly.  He was having fun.

| And we held each other tight |

"I don't know why I haven't met you yet.  You're my favorite Schuyler by far."

"Am I?"

"Yes.  You're enchanting." 

She chuckled.  "Affairs come later in the marriage.  At least get through the wedding day."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, offended and yet smiling and looking her in her dark eyes.

"I wouldn't flatter myself normally and say this, but you're flirting with me."

He scoffed.  "Just because I'm so sexy you find yourself uncontrollably, madly, and undoubtably in love with me?  Dear, you flatter me."

"I wonder where I'd get that impression from," she said, unmoved.

"I hope I'm not losing you with my lackluster dancing."

"No, you're fine."

| Oh my heart went boom |

| When I crossed that room |

| And I held her hand |

"I'll be sad when it's over."

She sensed him closer than when they began dancing, but they were dancing quick enough that she thought nothing of it.  "Why's that?"

"I'll miss this brief moment we shared.  You could have been the one, pretty woman," he said dramatically.  He was kidding.  It was a joke, but it made him sad.  He'd never have another chance to pursue somebody.  No affairs for his straight-and-narrow, PR-pigeoned ass.  If nothing ever came of his relationship with John, he was trapped.  Back against the wall.  " Walking down the street, Pretty Woman."

"John wouldn't mind if he heard the things you're saying to me?"

"No, he wouldn't."

"You have a bold personality.  It's entertaining."  She finally smiled genuinely.  "Welcome to the elitist society."

"I feel very welcomed."

"You fit in well."

"Thank you, Pretty Woman."

That night, Alexander and John rode back to the hotel in a private limousine. Alexander stared at his hands from where he sat across from John.

"Hey," John spoke lowly. Alexander looked up. John half-smiled. "Happy honeymoon?"

"No," Alexander forced himself to laugh.  He hugged his arms.  "I am... sooo drunk, so sorry..."

"Yeah, I see that.  Don't worry about it."

"You?"

"No, I'm more sober.  I didn't drink much and the edible wore off."

Alexander nodded slowly and laughed.  "What a beautiful wedding.  Hey, guys, beautiful wedding.  Beautiful wedding!  Beautiful wedding.  Oh, what a beautiful— like we fuckin' get it, it was good.  Buy a thesaurus and shut up."  He rubbed his eyes.  "Grinnin', bearing it every time somebody said—"

"'What a beautiful wedding!'"

"Like!  Shut up!"

"Hey, it was a beautiful wedding though, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, groomzilla, it was great.  You really pulled it all together... ordering your loyal subjects to move the flowers and shit."

"Please, 'loyal subjects'?  Have you heard some of the things people say?"

Alexander shrugged.  "Everyone's got opinions.  Hear what they say about me?  You'd think I was marrying some decrepit dude who's gonna croak before our one-year anniversary."

"Gross."

"Yeah, I know."

"Fuck what people say.  You know?  Not going to lie to you, I was nervous about it, everything leading up to the ceremony, but it wasn't so bad.  And kissing you and all, that was..."

"Yeah?" he said almost hopefully—unsure what he was hopeful for.  

John breathed out.  "Weird."

Weird.

"You're not a bad kisser," Alexander said.  He was trying.  He didn't know why or what he was trying to achieve...

"Does that mean I'm a good kisser?" he asked.  Alexander shrugged.  He laughed.  "I'll take that as a yes for now."

"Should've taken me up on my offer to make out in the bathroom so I could give you a more detailed review."

"Funny."

"Herc said... to enjoy swallowing the fruits of my husband's loins.  God, how gross is that?" he laughed.  "Get it?  It's a phrase meanin' offspring."  Alexander slipped forward and flicked eyes between John's eyes and his lower half.  He laughed, fell to the floor of the limo, on his knees.  "Swallow your baby batter."

John made a face, trying to help him up.  "God, don't be so gross."

"Hey!  He said it, n'me!"

"'Baby batter'?"

"He thought I'd enjoy it!" he laughed, leaning his head again on John's knee.  John put a careful hand on his head, unsure whether to restrain him or bring him closer.  He let it fall and offered his hand.

"C'mon.  Get up."

Alexander shook his head.

"I'm serious, we don't need the doors to open and you're asleep on the floor."  He helped him up and urged him carefully back on the seat across from him.  "You good?"

"Fine."

"Hey, so, uh... I wanted to talk to you about what your friend, Aaron Burr, said..."

He quickly replied, "You're really good at husband. Playin' the role of... Never would have taken you for that sort."

"What sort?"

"I dunno. You don't seem like you'd be an actor, you're so, y'know, real all the time.  So I think, at least, right?"

"Alex, I've been an actor all my life. Most of what's seen on TV or in the news isn't even me. It's somebody I don't even recognize."

"I believe it," sighed Alexander. He paused and bit his tongue. Quietly, he said, "—That you act. I believe it. Who I knew from the papers and who I know now are two totally different people. You're... so much better than what I expected. You're good at pretending to be real in the media. And the fake you at our fake wedding felt real, too. But it's still different, you know? Because the real you is just... you.  I can't explain it. I appreciate the real you even though you're good at acting for the cameras."

John laughed and covered his face, leaning into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. The limo went over a slight bump and he sat up again quickly. "You have a way with words. And... you're not a bad actor, either.  You've been great with my siblings.  The interviews, too."

"I've also been acting my whole life, husband dearest."

"You were right about Burr being a prick."

"Burr is always a prick."

"Did you invite him?"

"No.  He's just an aristocrat... trust-fund, little... nepo baby. He slithered his way in.  Knows people, probably.  On your contact list an' you didn't even know.  He brought Tallmadge... Tallmadge is a good guy, though."

"Yeah, I liked him. But Burr was a dick."

"You're preaching to the choir.  And...?" he questioned expectantly.

John just sighed. "Don't know."

"Thanks for coming to my defense."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." 

"What exactly did Burr say before I showed up?"

"I told you," Alexander glared, "he was implying that I'm a gold digger and that it's unlike me to settle down, which is funny coming from him since he sleeps with tons of women and keeps a diary about it— I know 'cause I've read it— and he's a literal trust fund baby so he wouldn't know what it's like to struggle for money.  And everyone thinks that anything I do is solely for personal gain which is fuckin' dumb 'cause it's not.  There's more to me than some helpless fucking trash bastard from the Caribbean.  It's either, 'aw, Alex, we're so sorry for you!' or, 'typical gold-digging immigrant,' and nothing in between.  People will never see me. "

John didn't want to say anything about how, technically speaking, Alexander was only marrying him for money and how their relationship wasn't real; so, he kept his thoughts to himself to avoid upsetting him further. 

"Well?"  Alexander grew impatient.  "You wanted me to talk about my feelings, and there: my feelings.  I'm just a bastard from what you'd think is another goddamn planet and that's all I'll ever be even if I'm in the royal fuckin' family.  Poor me.  Everybody's going to call me a gold digger until I die a tragic death once you're finally sick of me and you've got your Camilla."

"Hey, hey.  Jesus.  Are you okay?  What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing.  I'm tired," he announced suddenly, then lowered his voice at last, "I just can't do this right now."

"It's okay, you don't have to stop altogether, I just—"

"No.  We need to not talk about it.  I'm tired." 

"Yeah.  Sorry.  Rest, then... It's not far to the hotel but I'll wake you up if you do manage to sleep."

"Thanks," Alexander said, stretching his arms back briefly, shedding his suit jacket to wad up, then laying down on his side of the cushy limo seats, using his arm as additional cushion to the balled jacket.  It was a little cold without it on.  He visibly tucked himself in more, rubbing a hand over his upper arm to warm himself unconsciously.

John took off his own suit jacket and tossed it at him; "Here."

"Thanks," he mumbled again. He laid back down and pulled the jacket over his shoulders like a blanket.  He noted the scent and tried not to allow it to drive him mad. It was overwhelmingly attractive.  He was angry.  He hated John's ex and he hated John for not wanting what was right in front of him.  He hated wanting him so badly, so blatantly.  He hated that they were a fake couple.  He hated that he was attracted to him from day one.  He hated that he had fallen so quickly, so madly.  He hated everything and he wanted to scream, hated himself, hated Burr and everybody at that party, hated that he wasn't allowed to find anybody else even if John didn't want him here and now and as much as he did.  God, why did he have to smell so comforting?

"I'm sorry," John said, "about Burr.  And about the way the public treats you."

Alexander feigned to be asleep so he wouldn't have to answer. 

When they were back at the hotel, John gently shook his shoulder.  Alexander jerked awake, startling John slightly, but quickly realized where they were and stretched, sat up. "Here?"

"Yeah, pulling in," said John.  "It's only been a few minutes.  I didn't think you'd actually drop off that fast."

Alexander had begun reaching for the limousine cooler.

"Really?"

He gave John a grin, the anger faded with his brief shut-eye and handed him a glass. "Have a drink with me."

John relented and they shared some champagne.  When John twisted off the cork carefully, it all began bubbling over and onto his hand, his dress shirt, and with a laugh, Alexander reached forward and drank from it, holding John's wrist to guide it.  

"Look, now I smell like a bar."

Alexander pulled his hand close and licked some of the spilled champagne, causing John to jerk away with a startled noise.

"Alexander!"

"Then don't complain."  He grabbed both of their flutes and held them as steady as he could while John poured. 

When the door was opened for them, Alexander took the bottle.  In case of press, John held Alexander's other hand as they walked up the stairs to the hotel, as they'd done every time they left and returned over the course of the weekend.

"Christ, every time I see that view," exclaimed Alexander before taking another swig.  "What time are we leaving for the airport tomorrow?"

"Noon."

"Good, I'm going to keep drinking, then."  He offered the bottle to John.  "Salut!"  He grinned and noticed a bottle of nice champagne was on fresh ice by the door, courtesy of room service to congratulate their marriage.  "Good, bottomless champagne."

"Now, maybe I'm missing something here, but I thought you didn't drink."

"Not all the time," he said, then whispered, "'cause I like it too much."

"Well, here."  He grabbed the new bottle and handed back the open one.

"You still have gummies?"

"That's a recipe for disaster."

"Hey!  It isn't my first time getting crossed!  I know what I'm doing!"

John shushed him.  "Okay, let's get to the sofa."

"I don't wanna walk too far to bed."

"...Yeah, okay, better idea.  We can go to the room."

Alexander grinned and led the way.

"A power nap was what you needed, huh?"

"It's our wedding night!  Think I would just go to bed by ten on a night like tonight?  We gotta get fucked up!" hollered Alexander.

"Were you ever in a fraternity?"

"I am too good for frats!  But I went to lots of parties!"

John put an arm around him to move him through the rooms and into the suite's romantic bedroom.  Alexander was drinking from the bottle like water as it spilled onto his chin.  He sat in one of the wing chairs while John dug his cannabis stash out of his suitcase.  "We have to finish this off anyway before going to the airport."

Regretfully, he gave Alexander a 5-milligram gummy bear.  Alexander bit the head off, grinning and staring down John, who sat in the adjacent chair.  They dressed down a little, shoes and belts off, jackets shed, ties loosened, the full nine yards. 

And it wasn't long before Alexander was pretty messed up.  He was giggling endlessly and rambling about nothing and in the moments he wasn't talking, John could have sworn he was staring him down with "fuck me" eyes.  

"Y'said you wouldn't share me."

John cleared his throat.  "Um, you know... I'm quick on my feet."

"Yeah, y'are..."  He looked over him again, eyes lingering on the seat of his pants, willing his mind to imagine him without them.  "Who's y' celebr'y crush?  Princess Di type, so, uh, dead or old now."

John thought for a moment.  "I don't know.  Maybe... like, a young JFK.  In his Navy uniform," he added.

"Ah, sexy.  I wou'n't share y'with young JFK.  Not for more than a night, if y'know what I mean."

"Um, yeah," John laughed, "I think I got it."

"But he had a lover.  Y'know that?  A guy.  If it was... back in the day, an' you were married to a girl, I'd gladly b'your Lem.  Tell me everythin'... and... only behind closed doors could we be in love, but it'd be... beautiful."

"Why would you want to be in the closet?"

"Be more romantic than a fake marriage.  So real that even if it risks ev'rythin' we still... fight for it.  Even if one of us stood to lose everything.  Still choosing love."

And he wanted that genuine connection with John.  He wanted to feel like he was more important than the mortifying possibility of losing it all. 

"Being closeted isn't fun no matter how you cut it."

"Good!" said Alexander, looking up from his body to catch John's eyes with his own hazy ones.  "Good thing we don't gotta be, then."

Their chairs were already rather close, close enough for slumped-down Alexander to brush his foot against John's, but Alex sat up on the edge of his seat to stare at John.  And John, though desire monopolized his body, knew better than to let this be a mistake they would make.  But Alexander was less out for self-preservation under the influence and more out for fun so when he touched John's knee then leaned over him on the armchair to put his weight on him and kiss him, he did not care where it would lead.  His body begged him to get laid, God, it'd been months, and he was so drunk and high and John was so hot and now his husband so it just made sense, right? 

John pushed him away and told him that was a terrible idea.  He warned him that sober Alexander would regret such a thing, if he even remembered, not to mention how comparatively sober John was despite being high himself and having had some champagne since they started drinking tonight.  But Alexander could hardly keep his eyes open and from the sluggishness and slurring in his rambles, he was fucked up.  John didn't want to take advantage of whatever feelings the wedding had stirred.  And Alexander did not talk about it.  Embarrassed, he downed more alcohol.

Following the unspoken incident, nothing more happened besides drinking, talking, and laughing, and John giving Alexander a couple of bottles of water to down so he wouldn't feel so sick in the morning.  Alexander fell asleep in the chair, so John picked him up, and his drunk-man strength allowed him to get him to the bed.  

Alexander slept through the night like a baby.  When he awoke in the morning beside John, who was still sleeping, he rolled himself closer and pretended to be none the wiser when John awoke.  It was okay, if a little dishonest, but he wanted to test those waters.  He'd made a real move.  Kissed him and everything. 

Yet after that, and after how he'd held him the night before their wedding, he couldn't help but think about how restful his sleep might be if he were in John's bed every night.

And after a day's consideration during their flight to Italy, plus considering how distant John had been even after his hangover subsided, Alexander's embarrassment seeded doubt and he convinced himself it was all a terrible idea, just whims of his drunken haze and the not having been laid or really even touched by another human lately, and the wedding bringing up feelings that were decidedly... whims.  And nothing more.

Suspecting John was annoyed by his close proximity, he gave him space.  Withdrew more than he needed.  So long as it might make him forget he felt anything at all.

They drank every day during their honeymoon.  Alexander didn't try again, even if sleeping beside him felt nice.

Even if John offered his bed when they got back... and even if Alexander accepted said offer. We're married now, right?  Doesn't it just make sense?  How long could we possibly do the separate rooms thing, anyway?

Chapter Text

Martha was on her phone at the table, texting while still having a verbal conversation with Alexander, who was pushing yogurt around in a bowl in lieu of a real lunch.  The kids were at school, John was working, and Martha had just got back from a walk.  She was always exercising.  Alexander was always drinking whenever he didn't have to be on TV or actively in one of those stupid etiquette lessons which, yeah, he still had to do.  He had a phone now, but detoxing for so long had been nice and he found that social media only upset him.  All the folks he needed to talk to lived in this house, save for maybe Lafayette, for the Schuylers on occasion, even sometimes others but they were all so busy while he was still having trouble adjusting to being so wealthy that working would never again be necessary.

Martha sent a text and switched apps to scroll through social media.  "So, you guys are... sharing the room now."

Alexander confirmed nonchalantly.

"Isn't that weird?" she asked.

His eyes darted to the kitchen where Owen was doing meal prep and cleared his throat with the tilt of his head.  She rolled her eyes, certain he wouldn't hear.

In a low voice, Alex said, "It's fine."

"Yeah?  How'd you decide to do it?"

"He offered and we agreed it would be weird not to; your siblings would start to get suspicious sooner or later, the staff..."

"Makes sense.  How do you feel about it?"

"Like I said, it's fine.  I prefer to share a room with somebody else anyway."

"And a bed?"

"Bed's fine, too.  Have you seen it?  It has more than enough room."

"Cool," she said.  "That's good to hear, I guess.  And you guys still get along, which is cool."

"For the most part.  Everybody argues sometimes.  He's still my friend."

She chuckled shortly.  "Yeah, it's good to be friends with the man you're married to."

Alexander didn't find it as funny, much more sensitive these days, not in a joking mood.  He didn't laugh or respond.

Alexander readjusted his bowtie in the mirror.  His eyesight wasn't blurry but he couldn't focus on anything.  He groaned.  John reached around to fix it for him.  Alex swatted his hand away.  "I don't need your help."

"Sorry, you just seemed to be having trouble, huffing and puffing—"

"Why'd you even follow me?"

"Because this place is a maze and you specifically told me you didn't want to get lost."

"I take it back," he snapped.  He brushed his fingers over his hair, slick with pomade.  He pulled on the suit jacket, buttoned it, and straightened it out.

John asked with a newfound bite, "What's your problem?"

"What's yours?  We're at a social event and you keep pulling me away from every social call."

"You're drunk and behaving like a—" he stopped himself. 

"Yeah?" laughed Alex.  "Go on."

"We are under constant surveillance, especially at parties.  It is not appropriate for me to be associated with morally depraved behavior, so I have to stay relatively sober and I can't dance, do drugs, or stay here for too long.  We've been here a half hour and you're drunk and already wandering when we have to leave somewhat soon.  People will start to talk and rumors will float around that you're being unfaithful if you keep continuing the way you do."

"Please.  Nobody's thinking I'm cheating.   We've been on each other all night just like the PR team called for.  For once I want to enjoy a party, not worry about the way this looks or that or if my stupid tie," he forcefully pulled it from its bow and off his neck, "is straight or what.  It's a gross, drunken, drug-taking party for rich people who have nothing better to do.  Nobody's watching us.  Let me have some fun."

"Not if that 'fun' involves inciting a sex scandal.  Give that to me," he said as he took the tie from Alex's fist by his side.  He made him turn to face him, pulled his collar straight and began in.  Alexander smacked his hand away once more.

"I'm not wearing it!"

"Don't be a child."

"There are women out there bastardizing the twenties theme with sheer body-con dresses, I think it's fine if I forego the tie.  Jesus Christ.  'Sex scandal.'  I'll start a sex scandal if I want to."

"No," said John.  "You're not sleeping or flirting with anybody else.  Even if you say it's innocent, those kinds of rumors are detrimental to my career and they're disrespectful to me and emasculating."

"Aww, sorry, baby, let me be good arm candy for you.  Can't have my big, strong man feeling emasculated."

"I'm serious."

"It's emasculating for me to be your prop.  And I'm not even sleeping with you, so..."

"The whole world thinks you're sleeping with me so you're going to get your act together, we're going to drink a little more, then we'll call the car and go home.  Come on."

Alexander shoved his tie into his jacket pocket.  He popped the top two buttons of his shirt and messed up his hair a little.  John stopped at the door, hand on the knob when Alex had grabbed him by the bend of his arm.  "Wait."

"What?" John asked when Alex's hand went into his hair, too.  "Jesus.  Don't touch my hair."

"You're rude when you drink."

"I'm not drunk and I'm not being rude."

When the door opened, the previously drowned-out jazz covers came to life again, enveloping them in loud bass and amplified singing.  Alexander grabbed John by his collar and kissed him on the mouth before shoving him away to get lost in the party by himself.  John sighed, glancing around at the guests who likely saw them.  He understood now why Alex had made himself look disheveled.  He ventured to the bar rather than chasing him immediately.

Those parties Gatsby threw in the Maguire/DiCaprio movie?  Those were outlandish, insane, mathematically improbable, but that's exactly what sort of scene they were in. Some wealthy prick's idea of a swinging good time having his multimillion-dollar mansion trashed with performers and drunk and high rich people in over-the-top 20s-inspired dress.

Later, John would find Alexander sitting on the floor with his head against the legs of his newfound lady friend who sat on a sofa.  He wasn't being obscene, neither participant was, and she was engaged in lively conversation with the person sitting on her left, but jealousy sparked in John's chest.  It's unbecoming.  He's now the king and deigning to attend such a party was bad enough; having his new husband galavant and flirt was worse.  It was completely embarrassing.

Regardless, John put on his TV smile and extended his hand to interrupt the conversation which had nothing to do with Alexander.  It was difficult to hear so close to the live performers.  "Hello, I don't believe we've met!"

She introduced herself and said, "Ah, but I've met your husband!"

He asked what she does and if she's enjoying herself then apologized because he'd come to steal away Alex and go home.

"Good!" she said.  "He's been half-asleep on the floor there for ten minutes or so now anyway!"

John helped Alexander up, apologizing to her again for how embarrassed he was.  Alexander was leaned into his body, supported by him, but suddenly began to kiss him, one hand on his chest, fitting itself under the fabric of his waistcoat.  He was pressed against him as John tried to pry him away.  John turned his head so he kissed his jaw instead.  "I'm so sorry!" he apologized again to the people watching them from the sofa.  "Alex, come on.  Car's waiting for us."

The woman laughed.  "Newlyweds!  Bet you two had a good honeymoon!"

Alexander bit John's earlobe and he startled.  "Alexander!  Stop it!  Let's go!"  He pushed Alexander's face away from him though his arms remained tight around his waist.  "I'm so sorry again!  Have a good night, it was nice meeting you!"  He struggled to pull Alexander through the party.  "I'm serious, keep your teeth away from me.  Let's go.  You're embarrassingly drunk."

"I'm fine," he muttered, speaking for the first time since John had come across him.  Once they were finally outside, John helped him into the back of the car before following.

"Drive," John instructed their chauffeur before he slid the soundproof glass closed.  He turned to Alexander.  "Get buckled."

Alexander did so slowly, feeling he was about to get chewed out.

"You can't do that shit."

There it was.  "Do what?"

"I told you to stop touching me like that in public, there is no need for it."

"PR team told me to—"

"No, they didn't!  They said to keep it affectionate, not obscene!  You're too drunk yet again. And what were you doing with that woman?"

"Nothin'."

"You had your mouth against her calves."

Alexander turned away from him.  "I wasn't doin' an'thing."

"Yeah?  Then why'd she say she knew you?"

"'Cause we met tonight at the party!" he raised his voice, taking the bait.  "I hate parties!"

"You don't seem like you do."

"I do, 'cause you're always makin' them not fun!  I didn't touch anybody but you, why can't you stop bein' a dick to me?  I did good!  I talked to people, I made connections!  I talked abou' you!  I made out with you so people know we're madly in love and have an amazin' sex life!  Made it look like we had a good time in the bathroom!  What more do you want from me?  I'm trying, I— I did good," he repeated.  "So why are you being a dick?"

John crossed his arms and looked out the window.  He could admit to himself that, yes, Alexander had done well.  He always did.  He had no idea why he was so angry about seeing him with that woman.  Maybe it really was jealousy, proper jealousy, and he was lying to himself.  Whatever it was, he hated it, and he had no idea what to say.  He had practiced speaking and taking action his whole life but when it came to Alex he was useless.

And in his silence, he only worsened the issue.  "Whatever," said Alex.  "You're an asshole when you drink.  You get so fucking nitpicky and mean to me."

"I'm an asshole when you drink because you don't know how to act like an adult."

"Shut up.  Fuck off.  I don't know what you want from me."

"I don't want anything," he said and it felt like a lie. I don't know what I want, is what he should have said.  He knew Alexander was attracted to him, he'd shown it time and time again, but to take advantage of that would feel wrong.  He shouldn't want anything from his publicity-necessitated husband.

"I'm sleeping in the guest room."

"Fine," was all he could bitterly muster.  He knew even as he uttered it that he was icing him out again, like always, but he didn't know how to fix things between them.  He missed when they were friends, at least.  He missed arguing with him playfully, flirting with him only in good humor, getting to know him.  Now he knew him better and Alexander knew him, too, and there was distance.  Marriage had begun to tear at them and he didn't know how to mend the damage.

Alexander felt like he was in The Princess Diaries or something, balancing a stack of books on his head.  Except he had a stack of books in front of him and an etiquette tutor was giving him the what’s-for and who’s-who.  The first time he had to do this was funny, the second time was for the interviews, the third for the wedding so, sure, he could get why.  But really, now, what was the point of actually doing this every week?  

He hated feeling like a child in school.  “I had a tutor when I was younger,” he said, interrupting.  But he apologized when he realized he’d done it.   “Sorry.”

Reed sighed.  “I take it you weren’t even listening.”

“No.  Sorry, I’m listening.  I’m trying to.  This is so boring, though.  Why do we even have to do this?  I know how to behave properly, I’m not a child.”

“I know,” said Reed, “but the manners you were raised on are very different from the manners people expect of you in this position.  These lessons aren’t to patronize you.  Your husband’s advisors know it’s to your benefit to know how to navigate this realm so you don’t feel embarrassed or alienated.  It would be rude for them to leave you unprepared.”

“I get it.”

“You had a tutor growing up?” he asked.

Alexander crossed his legs.  “Yes, just for normal schooling, not this whole thing, but she was Jewish because my mom had converted to Judaism before marrying her husband before my dad, and the schools were Catholic.  So yeah, I had a tutor, and she was kind of a frigid bitch.  But I loved her.”

Reed smiled.  “Gentlemen don’t refer to women that way.”

“I would never say that to a woman’s face,” he said.

“The word is particularly derogatory towards women, you know.”

“No shit.”

“Regardless, gentlemen shouldn’t cuss, especially not in the presence of people older than them.  Or younger, because you have to lead by example.”

“I know that.  It was lesson one.  I’m giving you a hard time.”

“And I’m giving you a hard time.  Sit up straight.”

“I am. ”

“Straighter, then.  And that,” he said when Alexander glanced at his phone in his lap.  “Give that here if you aren’t going to respect the no-phones-during-conversation rule.”

“It’s John.  I haven’t heard from him all day and he’s finally about to be free.”

Reed looked at his watch.  “Almost dinner, then?”

“Yes.  He wants me to meet him, his… well, colleagues, I guess, reserved what’s probably the whole restaurant for just a casual dinner.  I have to go around six.”

“Is dinner at six?”

“Yes, so I should leave a little before.”

“You have to leave by five.  It’s quarter-to, so let’s get you ready for dinner now.  A gentleman is always early and I’m assuming you’d like to impress his friends.”

“Coworkers at best.  Sure, but I’m sick of brown-nosing.  It’s humiliating.  I wanted to be filthy rich and all but this is ridiculous.  I feel hypercriticized.  Nouveau riche.  I didn't think people actually cared about that because money is money, but they will always find some way to make you feel like you can never be them."

“Which is why these etiquette lessons are important.  Find out the details and let’s get you into a nice suit.”

Alexander huffed, asked John for the details, said he’d wear something nice, and stood.

“Gentlemen don’t make their contempt or exhaustion audible.  You should always strive to be a positive presence, no matter your mood or your company.  Show me you can fake it a little bit, Alex.”

Alexander put on his best customer-service smile and gestured out of the room, resigned to the fact that this man was going to insist upon helping him pick out a pocket hanky that wasn’t too gouache or whatever the fuck.  “Shall we?”

Pick out the perfect pocket hanky, he did.  He picked a nice green suit for Alexander with a white tie and a paisley pocket square.  He felt overdressed.  He always felt overdressed.  He felt good, he couldn’t deny it, but he felt aware of how overdressed he was and he knew he was just playing a part.  The role of gentleman and husband.  Gentlemanly husband.  Husband who’s charmingly intelligent but no matter how hard he tried, it seemed he was always fucking up.  John seemed to have a distaste for him lately and Alexander couldn’t place why that was.  He tried and he tried and John… resented him.  

Maybe these etiquette lessons would help.  He had made an ass of himself every time he tried to make things better - on their honeymoon, at that party, during their interviews - so maybe tonight he could fix things for real by proving how well he could listen.  Keep his mouth closed except to offer some witty one-liner and dazzle the pants right off of whichever weird congress members were going to be at dinner tonight.  He’d make John like him again.

Alexander didn’t have any sort of real affection for Reed, hadn’t let himself get to that point, but it was difficult to deny when he straightened his tie and smoothed his collar and expertly folded a handkerchief for his breast pocket that for just a second, he wanted him to be proud, too.  Reed smiled (a rare occurrence) and handed Alexander his wallet.  “Something on your mind?”

“Oh, come on.  A gentleman doesn’t divulge trivial information about his feelings to somebody he barely knows.  A gentleman is a positive presence for all he’s around.”

“Correct.  Don’t forget to smile, to pull out your partner’s chair, don’t cuss at dinner, listen before you speak, keep the conversation light, make good first impressions–”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And do not interrupt others.  I know you don’t mean to.  You’re still young and eager to have your chance to speak about all those thoughts bouncing around in your head.  But for the love of God, be thoughtful and listen.”

“Yessir,” he replied with a smile, suddenly hopeful and excited.

Who was he kidding?  He loved to brown-nose.  He loved feeling like he was a part of the elites, he loved showing off how much he knew (he was brilliant and there was no hiding it), and he loved to talk about himself.  He loved to talk about his ideas.  He loved to look fancy and feel fancy and know that he was elevating his social standing with every interaction.  He wasn’t kissing ass for a promotion, he could hardly get any higher, he just wanted people to like him.

So he met John and several members of Congress at the restaurant which, yes, had been cleared just for them.  He greeted John with a kiss on the cheek and shook hands with the three men and two women joining them.  He tried hard to remember their names and what states they represented and how they leaned politically but was so caught up trying to remember proper etiquette that it was all getting mixed up.  He pulled a seat out for John beside him, making a bit of a show of it, smiling.  John seemed awkward when he sat.

The conversation started off well.  Bit of a debrief that seemed to have carried over from whatever talk was being had before they left.  Then politics.  Politics!  Alexander was so great with politics, with economics, too.  So he butted in happily and didn’t know when to stop talking, just as Reed had warned.  Gentlemen never–

Then the subject was changed and Alex somehow butted in on that, too.  Then he misidentified one of the Congressmen for, let’s face it, some geriatric fuck who looked just like him.  He apologized quickly and admitted he was great with memorizing names but putting them to faces was not so easy and then John stepped in to apologize for him and sure, it was polite because he was taking the blame for not introducing them properly, yet still Alex felt infantilized.  Then their food came.

Alexander tried to remember the specifics of dining etiquette.  At least he kept his elbows off the table and mouth closed.  At least he didn’t spill anything on this priceless suit.  

“...Which is bringing about all this wokeness…”

Alexander’s head picked up.  If he’d caught John’s eye just then, he would have known not to take that bait, but he couldn’t help it.  He asked what they were talking about and regretted it immediately because it made his blood start to boil.  “If by ‘wokeness’ you mean being educated and pushing for equity and social justice, sure.  It’s not actually a slippery slope, either.  Not that you’ve mentioned anything that is the pinnacle of sin in society or anything.  It’s to the greater benefit of society–”

 “Oh, you young people.  Excuse me,” said the Virginian, “you aren’t a politician and you haven’t even finished school but you think you understand more about social justice than people who have been in the game for decades.”

“What do you know about social justice?” challenged Alexander.

“I am an active philanthropist and man of the arts.  I have also been dealing with cases about social justice since before you had your first kiss, boy.  Of course, the country’s under new management with not one but two young men who seem to care very much about the social justice aspect of politics.”

“Excuse me?” said Alex.

Jefferson smiled.  “I’m sorry for having brought politics to the table.  Where are you from, again?  Not born in this country, right?  I know you don’t look it, but there were whispers you were mixed, which may explain why you feel so strongly about certain things.”

“Whispers from where?  I’m a white-ass redhead.”  Gentlemen don’t curse in polite company.  “And what’s that even mean?  What the hell are you trying to say?”  He felt John’s hand on the bend of his arm but he didn’t stop.  “Both my parents are white but even if they or their grandparents or great-grandparents weren’t, what is that supposed to mean?  That I’m opinionated because I have skin in the game or that it’s because certain people are more prone to being opinionated?  I am opinionated because I am entitled to an opinion.  I will state that opinion because at this table full of white people in power, somebody has to be for real and step in when some affluent white guy starts talking his shit about how things are too woke nowadays.  ‘Wokeness’ is a term you hide behind to belittle people for educating themselves and calling other people out when they’re being racist.  You’re scared of people being woke because you know someday they’re going to dig up your past and find out just how much you devalue the lives of black people and then you’re going to lose your seat in the Congress and become a pariah just like you’ve made every young black woman in your office—”

John interrupted.  “Alexander, you’ll have to excuse him.  There are differences of opinion at this table but Congressman Jefferson was a very good friend of my father’s so his idea of joking probably sounded offensive to you - though I know it wasn’t intended that way.  Right, Mr. Jefferson?” he asked, not noticing how red Alexander’s face had become.

“Of course not."  Jefferson had a tight smile, a little embarrassed Alexander had ripped into him. 

“See?  Now, how’s everybody’s food?”

Alexander was quiet for the rest of dinner and dead silent on the ride back to their home.  A home he’d have to go and share a bed with somebody else.  Somebody who seemed to be sick of him and God, he couldn’t shut up, and it only pissed John off more.

“You've been quiet.  Are you okay?” asked John while they undressed for bed.

“Yeah.  I’m fine, but I’m going to shower first if you don’t care.”

“Not at all.  …You have to learn to ignore people like Jefferson, you know.”

“He was being rude,” said Alex.  “Not just to us underhandedly, but he was being racist, and if nobody stands up to him, we just let people like that get away with expressing objectively harmful political ideologies."

“I know.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you take my side?”

“I did.  I told him–”

“You cut me off so I would shut up and stop embarrassing you.  I understand because that asshole was about to get me really riled up but what I don’t get is how you weren’t reeling, too.  I know you have it in you."

“I was.”  He caught Alexander’s eyes.  “Couldn’t you tell, or have I really gotten better at hiding it since my father died?  I wasn’t cutting you off, although I wish you hadn’t let him see that side of you, because they only use that as more ammunition later.  I was more trying to cut him off because he was being unpleasant with his fake social justice bit and his insinuations about you were rude. The shit I’ve heard him say in private just in general?  God.”  

“Then why was he even at your table?”

“Because I need those members of Congress on my side.  I need them to support each other, too, or nothing is ever going to get done.”

“Fuck him.  If people aren’t going to be bipartisan for the greater good, they shouldn’t be in Congress.”

“I thought this job would be easier,” he admitted.  “But I can’t just remove elected members of the House or the Senate because I disagree with them, even if they’re bad people or they’d have me ruin this country to line their pockets.  Easy for me to say, right?  I’ve been wealthy my whole life.  I wish I could do more with it, though, and not just tolerate bullshit.  I thought the person in power could do something.  It’s more complicated than that and every day, I feel more powerless, and I feel for my father for all the times I ran my mouth to him or in public, making his job harder."

“The least you could do is defend me at the dinner table.”

“And make myself and you a bigger target in the process.”

“Have I made you a target?  Why?  Because I stood up for myself?”

“No–”

“Because I was just trying to do the right thing and make you see that I’m trying.  All night.  The only reason I’ve been listening in my etiquette lessons are to prove myself to other people and somehow, I end up stepping on people’s toes anyway.  But I’m never going to be someone everybody likes because even if I do it all perfectly, they’ll remember where I came from and bring it up at dinner and poke me like in my cage until I embarrass myself and you.”

John felt the fire he’d been trying to swallow all night, surging through him, through his throat into his mouth.  “He was wrong.  Fuck him.  He’s a horrible person and you humbled him righteously and I don’t hold that against you.  I was trying to stop myself from smiling when you did it.  Sometimes it’s the only way to defend yourself and you’re in a position where you can.  You have impunity, nothing to lose.  And after I’ve established myself, you better believe no one will dare to insult you in my company again.  That asshole is nobody.  And you didn’t embarrass me.  I wanted to defend you.  If I had, I think it would have emasculated you as if you can’t fight your own battles because clearly, you can.  The least I was able to do was stop Jefferson from continuing.  And, Alex, I would have felt more embarrassed if you’d stayed quiet.  Having manners doesn’t mean you have to be passive when you’re being attacked.  I'm on your side.  Always, us against the world, and don't you forget that."

Alexander felt the fire, too.  He never felt closer to John than when they were angry or passionate together.  Hating the world or loving it.  But he wasn’t at liberty to ask for more.  “Thank you.”

“...You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

It was past midnight and everybody in the house was asleep; Ever since the wedding and John's coronation upon their return from the honeymoon, Alexander had been acting odd.  He never did ask Alexander about the kiss, but... he wondered if his having "blacked out" was a ruse to mask feeling rejected.  It made him frustrated near to tears how they remained celibate behind closed doors, but angrier when Alex kissed him in public forcefully and with snark like he was making a point, which then only made him angrier still for being angry about it.  And they'd been bickering.  Maybe not fighting, but bickering.  It made him resentful.

He tapped his fingers against the wood table, having a conversation with his sister and pouring himself a nightcap.  "Life feels different without Dad."

"No kidding."  She was stirring her tea though the honey had been melted in for a minute now.  "Not to mention the additional person living in our home."

"Yes," he agreed, his own tone about the matter less because he felt Alexander shifted the balance for the worse - more because he was so confused about his own feelings for him in spite of enjoying his company.

"I don't know whether I wish things were like they were when Dad was still alive, but I wish they were more normal. "

"We have to give it time.  We haven't had enough time to adjust, yet."

"It was necessary, I know, but the wedding was ill-timed."

"Right," he agreed quietly.  His head was swimming and he didn't yet know what his sister was trying to get at.

"There's so much palpable tension in this house. I've been thinking, Jack..."

"Yeah?"

"You're in charge now and you fulfilled Dad's will, so now you can do what you need to."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Divorce is inevitable.  Just thought you should know I won't judge you for ripping off the bandaid early.  Wound will heal regardless."

That took him by surprise.  He downed his two ounces of amaro.  The only sound was the glass on the countertop.  "Excuse me?"

"I wasn't sure how you might take it but that was not the reaction I thought I'd get."

"Why would I do that?  We only just got married."

"Celebrities get married and divorced constantly.  People will think the honeymoon phase died and you're a couple of young people who've come to realize marriage is not all it's cracked up to be.  Your advisors won't care, now.  For Alex's sake, you know.  He's only here because they made him."

"Nobody made him do anything."

"It was that or be poor and who in their right mind would choose the latter?  Now he's given you what you need so you can send him on his way with some hush money.  Don't you think both of you deserve to move on?"

"No."

"But—" Her eyes focused on the ceiling.  "I don't understand.  Neither of you can be happy like this.  Did you actually plan on being married for the rest of your lives?  You don't love each other, you hardly know each other."

"Well, I... I can't just kick him out.  He's moved his whole life here."

"Him staying will make you and him and everybody miserable.  Life is too short for a performative marriage.  How long can you share your bed with a stranger?"

"He's not a stranger."

"No?" she laughed.  "God.  What, you think you know him?"

"You don't know shit about anything so I don't know why you're talking."

"Don't be rude.  You don't know him.  You might think you're friends, but you can't trust somebody who's motivated by money.  He'd do anything to appease you, sure, but it's in his nature to pick fights and rock the boat.  He seems drawn to chaos.  Besides, don't you think you both deserve to find real love instead of wasting your lives like this?"

"Martha."

"Jack."  She was glaring him down, now.  She couldn't understand.  "If you don't want to break the news to him, I can do it for you.  If that's your hang-up.  It's ridiculous to think this was going to last and I'm honestly shocked for how long everyone's allowed this to go on.  You just needed him to get coronated.  It's over now."

"Martha, come on.  Why do you even have this on your mind?  He doesn't bother anybody."

"That's not what I said.  It's because you two seem like you're always at odds."

"He's amicable and in front of cameras, agreeable."

"In front of cameras, yeah, but generally speaking, he likes to fight.  And I heard about what happened at that dinner last week."

"From who?  He defended himself because Representative Jefferson was being an asshole deliberately.  Alexander is good at the role he has to play, just like the rest of us.  He's good with the kids.  He's very nice to you, to our social connections, to the staff.  Why would I cut off that asset?"

"Because he is more than an asset," she argued.  "He isn't an actor hired for a role."

"He's being paid very well for his acting."

"You're approaching this from too detached an angle.  What about how he feels ?  How you feel?  I'm saying this can only go on for so long.  I won't ask you to make a move right this minute but you need to think about it - what life does he want, really?  What life do you want?  How can you expect somebody to be your partner when they're being paid for it?  It crosses a line in morality."

"He was never being coerced into it so I don't know what line you're talking about.  People have arranged marriages all the time, especially among royalty."

"We are in the twenty-first century."

"They happen all the time today, usually under more subtle circumstances, but they're still arranged.  And what would you have me do about that?  Break my end of the agreement because you think there's something morally reprehensible about the situation?"

"You're impossible to argue with."

"I'm not arguing," John said, considering pouring himself another, fist still around the neck of the bottle.  "I'm asking you questions.  I never said I wouldn't consider it but I won't do anything unless there's good enough reason to."

Alexander, who was around the corner eavesdropping, didn't stay to hear the rest of the conversation.  He silently made his way back upstairs by stepping only on the very edge of each stair near the rail, at its most supported point, then quietly into John's room. He wondered sometimes whether he thought of it more like John's room or theirs.  They were married, shared the plenty spacious walk-in closet, shared a bed, shared conversations full of meaning - soothings, histories, jokes, mundane day-to-days - but all of that felt odd without the rest.  John was like his roommate or a close friend with whom he had a sleepover every night.  A friend he ached to kiss until he was dizzy.  A friend whose sister evidently was sick of his intrusive behaviors: he was the guest who overstayed his welcome, ate all their snacks, and was always monitored on the notion he'd get the never-do-wrongers in trouble with their mother.  And John calling him an asset?  What an asshole.  He felt angry, too.

Downstairs the conversation continued and John argued that he had taken a liking to Alexander and Martha argued back, "Well, does he like you, too, or are you just holding him captive in this situation?" and John couldn't very well argue the former without indulging details about Alexander's inappropriate flirting, not to mention the distance that had grown between them since.  He didn't know.  Maybe Martha was right and even if there had been drunk flirting, Alex was trying to stave off loneliness because this wasn't truly the life he wanted to live.  

Upstairs, Alexander sat in the dark on his side of the bed.  He had already showered, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and dressed for bed before John returned, so all that was left to do was turn off the bedside lamp he'd been utilizing for reading and set his book aside after marking the page, it having been previously set face-down open on the bed when he heard the doors and the chatter that marked his husband's return.  

Normally his worrying was so animated, pacing or talking to himself or taking action.  He knew his course of action and had already decided it was worth the shot.  Either it is or it isn't.  If it isn't, well, they'd have to cross that bridge when they come to it.  

Footsteps, Oxfords on the lacquered hardwood, were coming down the hall.  Five minutes must have passed from the point Alexander quit spying (sad story: he'd been coming down the stairs to greet John after he had come home from his daily engagements.  Tonight he'd come back later than usual, having shared another dinner with some members of Congress after an address that ran for longer than usual, and against his will, Alex realized he missed his company.  It got lonely without him around).  Moments before the door opened, Alexander had laid down and feigned sleep.  In his best "I-just-woke-up" voice, he said, "Hey.  You're home later than I thought."

"Sorry.  I figured you were already asleep, I was talking to Martha."

"I hadn't fully drifted off yet," Alexander said slowly. John opened the door, hand moving to the light switch but he froze.  "Don't turn on the light," he mumbled. He heard the door close and John's footsteps approach in the dark.

"You sure I didn't wake you?" John asked. Alexander sat up slowly and made way for John to sit on the bed as well, but he didn't.  He remained away from him.

"Seriously, I wasn't out yet.  It's fine," Alexander said.  He reached to turn his lamp back on and did actually wince at its illumination, however dim compared to the overhead lights. "How was your day?"

"It was fine.  How was yours?"

"Good."  He hated mundane conversation. How was your day? Like please, learn how to fucking converse without the small talk.  "Dinner go all right?"

"Oh, yes, that was all fine."

"Is everything okay?  You seem tense."

John sighed as he turned on the light in the walk-in.  He had already loosened his tie and began to dress down to take a shower. "Honestly?"  He wrapped the tie around his hand in a moment of silence.  "I don't know."

"You... don't know?"

He shrugged.  "Do you feel like talking?"

"Of course," he soothed even as his chest tightened.  "What about?"

"I wish I knew," he said. "I'm... facing a dilemma... and it's eating me alive. I don't know what to do."

"What's wrong?"

"I... guess it..." John didn't want to tell him.  Why had he even brought it up?  "I guess it's nothing.  It's political and I don't know, it isn't something important.  I should leave my work at the front door, huh?" he said with a smile.  "I'm being weird."  He walked a mere three paces closer to the bathroom before stopping again, facing away from Alexander, still wrapping and unwrapping the tie around his hands, pulling it taught.  Alexander tried to push down the absolutely feral thoughts coming to mind, how much he wanted John to wrap that tie around his hands or between his teeth and...

Naturally, Alexander had already developed a plan.  All he had to do was make a move so he wouldn't kick him out.  His rationale was that he enjoyed this luxurious lifestyle. 

Besides, it wasn't fair that John was going to pull out of the deal and leave Alexander in the cold. It was bad enough already that he was a political pawn, and now this?  Was it dishonest to do so after he'd decided post-honeymoon that it'd be a bad idea to invest anything more in this relationship?  Or was it worse that he was only doing so to sway John's resolve? 

Alexander rationalized that because he came from nothing and life had never been fair for him, maybe it wasn't so undeserved to do what he had to at the expense of somebody who had never struggled with money in their life.  Who was really worse off in this situation anyway?  The man with all of the power whose feelings might get bruised or the man who figured that sleeping his way to the top was actually an option?

After several more moments of staring at John's back, at the tank top that'd been revealed beneath his vest and dress shirt, Alexander had made his decision. And since there was only silence between him and John, he decided to break it.  He slid off the bed to stand, nearing John, afraid to get closer as his heart pounded in his chest but he knew he had to.  This was it. "Are you going to shower?"

"Yes."

"Can it wait?"

"Yes.  Why?"

Alexander stepped closer.  When he stepped into a hug, he felt embarrassed at himself for having to ask for it, for being the one to initiate.  His head was on John's shoulder and his arms around his middle.  He felt John's heavy sigh as though he'd been holding his breath for too long.  Alex admitted, "I missed you today."

John felt his heartstrings pull at that.  He missed him, too.  It was too difficult to say it, though.

Hesitantly Alexander asked, "Can you lay with me for a minute?"

John replied by kicking off his untied shoes in the closet.  He cleared his throat as he pulled himself away from Alex's embrace.  "I probably don't smell good, I've had a long day, and in all the layers and walking around..."

"I don't care how you smell, John."

So he walked to lay on the bed.  It was odd, now, that his bed had become his side of the bed.  Sharing was weird.  He didn't mind and it made everything more convincing (was that the reason?  It wasn't discussed ahead of time, it just sort of happened...) but it also complicated things.  He hated how much he wanted to kiss Alexander when they laid together.  

Tonight, Alexander got in beside him and put an arm around him.  Words were difficult, even for him.  Sometimes he wanted this so bad he couldn't hold back.  John provided without complaint.  Being held was a nice feeling and maybe more people in platonic relationships should cuddle one another.  It's a basic human need like conversation or food.  Lowers blood pressure and all that.

"Thank you," Alexander whispered.

"Yeah."

"Does it irritate you that I want to do this?"

"No."

"Okay..." He often worried about it.  "It's just, um... you know, we don't have anybody else to do this with.  So it's nice."

John put an arm around him and rested his face against his head, in his hair.

"Your dilemma, though.  You said to leave work at the door, but can I help you solve it?  Quid pro quo?"

John shook his head slowly.  "I don't think so."

"Can I help take your mind off of it, then?"

John would've shot him a skeptical look if he could.  They remained in silence for another minute until Alexander said, "John."  After taking a deep breath, "I'm married to you.  It's the sort of thing that comes with the territory."

"'Quid pro quo'?" he repeated quietly.  "You don't owe me."

"So what if I want to?  You do so much, too much for me, and there aren't many other ways I can even the score when you have people you pay to do everything else."

"That's a horrible reason."

"It's not.  I'm offering it 'cause clearly I want to, too.  I suggested it ages ago because I was hoping you'd see what was on the table."

"It wasn't that I didn't see it.  I'm not stupid."

Alexander felt something snap in his chest, all this pent-up anger and sadness, as he pulled away to sit up.  "If you don't want me because you don't find me attractive or you don't like me, that's one thing.  But i t's not fair how much I want you.  I have to suffer through it being official by law, and we share your bed, and kiss in public.  Since that first night you took me riding, I just wanted to kiss you."  He was so worried he'd already screwed this up and maybe John wasn't interested.  But what was that look in his eyes?  "I thought it was the loneliness or the stress or the alcohol but it won't go away and it's killing me.  I want you to want me, too.  I want this marriage to be real, for both our sakes, I mean, it's--"

John kissed him.  It was brief and he immediately turned away but Alexander gently guided his face back.  

"Please don't change your mind."  He avoided John's eyes, guilt already chewing through him at a faster pace than he might chew through his lip.  He had pushed down any attraction to John for weeks since the wedding and only now, when he discovered he might be thrown out, did he act.  He felt like a liar.  He felt like he was lying, too, when he was still upset John had called him a well-reimbursed asset.  

And John said, "It is such a bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because you're just lonely, Alex.  You think you want this but you don't."

"Don't tell me how I feel."

"You could find someone else."

"I know you don't think that," he said angrily.  "You are obsessed with making sure I'm not cheating.  You're borderline possessive and jealous considering this supposedly isn't real–"

"You can't cheat publicly–"

"–And besides, I don't want anyone else.  Are you seeing other people?"

"No."

"Then you don't want anyone else, either.  I know you don't.  We are already married .  What is the harm?"

"If this ends badly."

"If it ends badly, what?" he challenged.  "Who cares?"

"I care, Alex.  I can't get... we should take it slow, married or not."

"Why?  We are already in way too deep.  We played a speed round and I'm ready for the real deal.  Why not?  Please, give me one good reason."

"I don't want to hurt you or get hurt."

Alexander pulled his resisting head back again and sat up on his knees now to be taller, just about ready to wrestle him down on the bed.  "It hurts to want you this bad.  At our wedding, it all just felt so good.  You know, to act like we were in a real relationship.  You felt something between us."

"...Yes."

"Then why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid.  I'm too old to be scared of things.  I don't feel fear like that."

"No?  This is just like the fairy ring.  You think something bad will happen if you indulge but it's all just folklore.  Nothing bad will happen, we're not going to get trapped, we won't die, and we won't curse this house.  It's real life here, not some damn story about the fae.  The mushrooms grow that way because that's how it works, not because of magic or some BS.  The spores reach out in circles.  With the right elements, it spreads its fruits in a stupid circle and when people couldn't explain it they made up stories, good and bad.  Don't be afraid of some mushrooms, John."

"I am not afraid," he repeated, firm this time.  "I wasn't afraid the fae were going to make you dance forever, that's stupid."

"Then what--"

"I was hurt to see you standing in the same place Francis stood."

Alexander scoffed and released his face. 

"I'm not afraid something bad will happen, I just don't want to go through that again.  You remind me so much of him."

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because that's just... it's wrong.  And why can't you just trust me?  I am not going to hurt you!"

"You don't know that.  He didn't do anything... didn't mean to."

"For one, he didn't want to marry you.  I did, I do, I would do it again.  Two, we're not teenagers, we can have the relationship we want if we act like adults and choose to have it.  What reason have I ever given you not to trust me?" 

"You said you wanted to 'even the score,' is that not childish?"

Alexander pushed down that guilt again.  "I'm... I am lonely.  But I want you.  Give and take is everything a relationship is about so here I am, trying to be an adult and using my words to propose we give and take.  Because I want to give and you're all I have, so I've been pretty afraid of getting hurt, too.  Everybody's left me."

"Who?"

"My friends, most of my family   Why would I do the same to you?  Why would I risk fucking up the last thing I have going for me?"  No, really, why?  Because all he could think right now was that he wasn't being entirely honest.  He was afraid of getting hurt, that was true, and before that meant he was afraid to get real - now he was afraid John was going to leave unless he did.  Did that solidify his feelings or discredit them?  He had no clue.   "I'm not asking for much.  I just... I just want to..." he swallowed hard.  "I don't understand why you keep rejecting me if you want it, too."

"I've never rejected you."

"That's a lie."

"When?"

"On our wedding night."

"...You said you blacked out and don't remember anything after the—"

"I was embarrassed.  I don't know why I even considered trying again because it was clear the first time."

"It wasn't, because I didn't reject you.  I didn't want you to make a rash decision while drunk 'cause I wasn't about to make that decision for the both of us."

Alexander stared at him blankly, understanding now.  He didn't think that that was how that night went.  

"I'm not outright rejecting you now either.  I think it's stupid to do this because it's there and it's easy."

"It's not just because 'why not,' it's because I want to and I mean, yeah, okay, why the fuck not?  This argument is making me crazy.  Do you want to make out or not, John?"

"I do," John at last admitted in an attempt to be honest.  He didn't know what he felt but that much was true.  Two things can be true.  He can want Alexander and not want to complicate things.  The former, though, seemed to be winning.

Alexander wished he had words to continue this but instead, he kissed him again with more intensity, something more sexual as he got closer.  The act felt more intimate than practiced.  No performance, just natural wanting.  John touched his face and hair and it felt so... nice .

He put his lips beside John's ear.  "All of this... has been making me crazy."

"I can tell."

"I want you.  More than just for the public.  I don't do that.  I'm not that talented, it has to be real.  It was always a little bit real."

John remained quiet, hoping he'd go on.  Jesus, Alex had offered a solution to his dilemma but now he realized this only complicated it further. He wouldn't divorce him or send him away and he got the answer to Martha's question earlier: does he like you, too, or are you just holding him captive?  And maybe, yes, Alex did like him, he'd initiated this, after all, but what if this was the easiest way to stave off the loneliness and he only felt compelled to it by the circumstance?  Would this have happened organically, had they met elsewhere with no precedent?  Would John have ever chosen Alex over Francis if he had the choice?

"Hey, you know... at our wedding, Eliza Schuyler thought I was flirting with her."

"I knew you were.  Out on the floor with... your hands on her waist..."

"We were dancing."

"But the way you looked at her and talked about her."

He smiled a bit.  "I did flirt a little.  Nothing damning, just... all in good fun.  Charmed her."  He felt more immersed in the moment, more like he was replenishing his need for touch.  He palmed at John's pants, unapologetic.  He breathed against his ear.  "You noticed it.  Were you jealous?"

John felt overwhelmed.  Was he jealous? Did he notice? Did he care? Why? Why should he have cared?  Why was he so broken that he had to end up falling for the first guy in his life since Francis?  Quite literally the first guy to walk through the door.  Maybe Alex was just charming him, too.  He couldn't help but crave his attention regardless.

Alex admitted, "I also was flirting with you , but you wouldn't give me the attention I wanted.  So I moved onto her for a moment.  And when you made me angry at that party a couple weeks ago, I wanted to flirt with that woman... God, what was her name?"  He laughed quietly.  "She was so attractive.  I might have flirted without meaning to, but I really was trying to be good, like I told you.  Not because I had a duty to this... role, but because I wanted you.  I wanted you to be happy with me.  For once.  'Cause I don't know, maybe it's me trying too hard and caring too much about what you think, but I always end up looking stupid."

John heaved and leaned in, but his neck felt stiff and his arms pricked with chills.

"So did it bother you?" Alex asked.  "Or did it just make you want me more?  When you talked about your ex and finding a distraction from him, all I could imagine was you with somebody else and the thought made me so... so, so jealous."

"I... I wouldn't have... tried to distract myself with anybody else."  He didn't have the time for that, or the desire to, not really.  He didn't like to have secret one-time affairs.  He preferred to love and feel secure in the fact that there was nothing wrong about what he was doing.  He hated feeling like he was being scandalous.  That's what hurt so much about Francis sometimes.

But with Alex... they were allowed to do this, weren't they?

"Good."

"...Wait."

Alexander took his hand away.  He sat back to look at John, expecting an explanation, but it seemed his partner was tongue-tied.  So Alex, sensing it was too much too quickly, said, "We don't have to– Sorry.  I know, I should have asked before touching you like that."

John was not expecting such understanding.  "Thank you," his words came quietly.  "You're okay.  I want to keep going, I just, uh, you should know that t his means more to me than keeping busy or relieving stress, you know?  Not quid pro quo.  I really like you."  But, Christ, why couldn't he stop thinking about Francis?

Alexander kissed him again, closer and softer, before it stopped being so chaste.  "I know.  Me, too."

John kissed Alex's cheek, face hot, breath heavy.  All he could think about, still, was Francis.  Alexander did remind him so much of him.  Not in looks, not really, but the slenderness of his face, the intent in his eyes, the way he spoke.  What he considered a priority.  All of the why don't we just do what we feel like doing? talk.  All the philosophizing and speaking his mind.  The natural taste for the wealthy.  Love for what was borderline elitism.  Love for arguing.  Sweet, sweet reassurances that he'd never hurt him, that he wanted him so bad.

He felt horrible. "I'm going to shower."

Alexander leaned in to kiss him one last time.

Then he left the room, which left Alexander alone to contemplate what the hell he had just done, and what the hell he was feeling. It was like some sort of hybrid of guilt from putting John on the spot, coupled with the guilt of knowing he had only pushed for it because he was afraid of being thrown out. His mind was a mess and his heart was racing. So, Alexander laid down, covered himself with the comforter, and wished there was some sort of way to erase himself from the face of the earth.

John emerged from the bathroom after having dried his hair.  He shut off the light so as not to disturb Alexander, who must've fallen asleep.

When he laid down, he got real close.  Alexander turned around and pressed his head against him.  John slung an arm over him as he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Chapter Text

"Morning," John said with a smile.  James was at the kitchen table drinking orange juice.  It was one of Owen's mornings off.  "I made your cappuccino."  John reached out, handing Alexander the mug. 

"Thanks," he whispered with a half-laugh, almost running into John and laughing even more with a more nervous hilt because of it. He set his morning coffee aside with a heavy sigh, like the weight of the world had been pressing on his lungs, and all of a sudden he could breathe once again.  Without preamble, he wrapped his arms around John's neck and gave him a hug before pulling back just enough to kiss him sweetly, relieved.

James glanced up from his phone to see the end of their kiss.  John laughed and kissed Alexander's temple, then let both of his hands fall away from Alexander as he stepped back again. 

"PDA," Harry declared as he entered the room.  "Gross."

"Come on," said the eldest brother.  "We've kept it to a minimum.  Give us a break."

Alexander grabbed his coffee before leading John out of the kitchen. They resettled in the dining room.

"This is a little odd," John commented softly, sitting across from Alexander. "It feels like a secret."

"Yeah.  A little weird.  But it's okay.  I mean, old couples did this back in the day.  You'd be shipped off to marry someone you don't even know, the metaphorical 'you' being me in this situation, and eventually, you have kids and maybe learn to actually like each other.  Most arranged marriages were probably fine.  Well," he amended, "women had it rough.  But how's an arranged marriage worse than a marriage where you think you know someone but back then it's not like it was proper to spend time alone or have premarital sex, so you get married 'cause you're horny or it's convenient and what's expected of you, and whoop-di-do, you have to have kids and you grow apart and have a bunch of affairs and hate each other.  Only if you're lucky do you actually like each other.  Rarely did people marry out of love.  It was a financial decision, something practical.  Women couldn't do a lot of things without a husband or father, like legally they were not allowed to, and good luck finding a job, as if anyone would hire a woman at a nine-to-five, and if they did, it was for less pay doing shit men didn't want to do.  So yeah, marriage was kind of a necessity.  We're lucky, huh?  At least one of us isn't a woman and it's the twenty-first century.  I mean, it wasn't expected that we should actually like each other.  Not like one of us has got to pump out some kids.  It isn't like that.  Your little matchmaker though, yeah, he's pretty good, huh?  I like you a lot, John.  Guess this arranged marriage is working out pretty—"

John leaned in to peck him, quick but gentle, just to get him to slow down. 

Alexander laughed softly.  "Anyway, I'm rambling."

"That's okay."

"I hope I haven't completely made an ass of myself."

"Of course not."  He touched Alexander's hand hesitantly under the table.  Alexander took it.  All things considered, it felt nice.  All of it felt nice.  He wanted to no longer feel guilty and let it continue to feel nice.  "You wanna do it again?"

"What part?"

John shrugged shyly.  "Would you like to ride with me again today?"

"Let me finish my coffee first," Alexander resolved.  As he said that, Martha walked into the room.  She smiled curtly at Alexander and shot John a look before going to the kitchen.  Alexander, testing how trustworthy he really was, asked:  "What's her deal?"

John tapped his fingers on the table.  "She seems fine to me."

Alexander found himself getting too comfortable.  It had been several weeks, during which John was very busy (as per usual) so Alexander had time to think.  John, too, had his thinking space, as Martha continued to encourage him to break things off.  He'd stall with questions like, "But where would he go?"  and "What if he tells people it was fake?"  He left out... well, the important part. 

One night, weeks later, Martha had to put this to an end. She told John off in the kitchen with harsh words, saying that they could send Alexander away with money if need be. Her main concern repeatedly was how sad she thought John must be; after all, his love wasn't even real.

Alexander heard this. He got nervous and went back to their room, listening for John's footsteps as they went up the stairs.  It was now or never.  He had to do something to convince John to let him stay, and if that meant what he was (quite guiltily) wishing for, then he'd have to act quickly.

Did he want this for selfish reasons?  Yes.  Did he want to satisfy his curiosity and longing?  Maybe.  Alexander debated and debated with himself in just the few seconds he stood at the door.  He told himself he was only going to do this because he had to stay; but why exactly did he want to anyway?  Besides money, what did he have?    Perhaps he was really feeling something for John because the mere thought of being kicked out and never speaking to him again gave Alexander anxiety that tore through his whole body, making him feel numb and... eventually, apathetic, like always.  To protect himself.

John opened the bedroom door.  He had been irate but hid his frustration when he saw Alexander.

"Hey," Alexander whispered.  John leaned onto the bed and kissed his cheek as if asking to kiss him on the lips.  Alexander, mostly subconsciously, decided to go right for the mouth.  John pulled away and stayed standing.

Alexander immediately sat up on his knees, positioning himself in a way on the bed that showed off the cut of his body.  He pulled off his shirt and wadded it up tight. 

John was stunned into inaction. 

"You mind?"

"Not at all..."

Alexander smirked proudly and shifted a bit.  "If you get the lights, you can also get my pants."

"I take it you missed me while I was away today?" John asked as he got on the bed as well.

"Yeah.  Just thinking about you, God, it gets me so hot," he admitted gently.  He touched John's jaw to draw him closer and kissed his cheek.  "And I've been thinking about you all day long."

"Just a minute.  Don't go anywhere."

He just grinned and watched John search the bathroom for the items he needed.  It faded to a half-smile as he fidgeted.  John soon returned with a condom and bottle of lube, turned off the light, and got back onto the bed.  

He began to kiss down Alexander's neck and slowly moved his hand to touch him through his boxers.  His breath was hot against Alex's tingling skin. "What'd you do all day?'

"Hm?" Alexander was distracted by the gentle touch.  "Oh, um... After breakfast, I went for a walk.  I helped your sister with her French after she got home from school.  I... uh..." God, why bother asking him a question if he was going to make it so difficult to answer?  "Talked to Owen for a bit.  'Bout his life back home.  I've been reading Gone Girl, it's pretty..." He exhaled heavily through his nose, clamping his jaw shut.  "I thought about you."

"You're perfect."

Alex smiled a little.  "I know."

John made a show of rolling his eyes.  "Perfectly cocky."

"I know," he repeated. 

"I want to make you feel good.  Tell me."  He took away his hand then slid it into his underwear.  "I like listening to you talk."

Alexander was quiet when he moved his hand over John's back slowly.  He loved the feeling of his skin: tight, muscled, and soft. 

But he felt so, so guilty.  He knew his body was tense.  His mind was distracted.  He was so angry that Martha didn't like him all that much, it seemed, and he was angry that though it seemed this conversation had been a continuous one over the past couple of months, John had said nothing to him.  Most of all, he was afraid.

"Hey," John whispered.  He began to pull away but Alexander grabbed his arm, and urged him back to his body.  It was an impulsive move.  He felt sick, but he wanted John so badly.

"Don't stop," he insisted.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes, it's good, don't stop.  My brain's so loud sometimes.  I need it quiet."

John gave him a worried look, but continued anyway and kissed his neck again.  He savored Alexander's warm skin on his lips, a feeling of contentment settling. 

"I just can't stop thinking about you."  He sat up and pressed his body against John's, eyes closed.  He traced his back and lowered his voice. 

John kissed him again.  He felt their weight shift as Alexander leaned back onto the bed, arms around his neck. 

No more words were spoken as John helped Alexander undo his pants, then undid his own.  Alexander hummed and pushed his hips up, encouraging John to just get on with it.  He found himself for the first time desperately wishing for a sexual encounter to be over.  The guilt was killing him... and soon that guilt would turn to regret, the regret to resentment, and the resentment to...

"God," Alexander whispered breathily.  He wrapped his arms around John and began to play with his hair.  That was a nice distraction.  His hair was soft and a bit damp, curling slightly where it was long.  Usually, his hair was slicked back these days to maintain a formal appearance, and he didn't get to see the reality of what it was: soft and textured, so delightful.

John found Alexander's responses to be encouraging.

He didn't talk.  He didn't feel it necessary.  He didn't want to talk.  He just moved his body up closer to Alexander's and pushed his nose against his neck.  Alexander was so soft and handsome, his neck smelled so good.  John prayed silently to himself that his bed would smell like Alexander forever.  Would they have to decide what they wanted to be, and then tell Martha and anybody who knew their marriage to be fake?

Alexander choked out a moan and held John's head against his neck.  He bit his lip with a force that could make it bleed if sustained.

When he got Alex off, Alex tried to regain air while John kissed his cheek and jaw. 

Alexander didn't want to say anything.  He felt so tired just from that, then suddenly felt angry and he wasn't sure why.  He had to get John off.  He also wanted to turn over and sleep without speaking ever again, embarrassed how little manipulation it took for him to finish.  He sat up and put everything he had into kissing John, a tender thank you.

Soon, his rabbit heart was slowing, and he felt at ease.  His racing thoughts calmed.  He didn't feel quite so distressed or guilty anymore.  The fact was that he liked it and John liked it and if he wore his heart on his sleeve then everything would be okay probably.

"I'm sorry," he added to his thanks, in a whisper, still out of breath.  John stopped kissing him.

"Hm?  What for?"

"It's just... I didn't think I'd come that fast."

John kissed his neck.  "Don't be sorry.  That was kind of my goal," he joked.

"I know, but—" it's embarrassing , when he was used to lasting longer, when his claim to fame was highly ambitious stamina.  He kissed him to quiet his own thoughts before saying, "Let me return the favor."

He dragged his nails down John's sides.  John got off of Alexander to lay beside him, where Alexander slid his hand down his stomach and to his underwear. 

John noticed the way Alexander was shifting and gently pushed his hand away.  "Do you need those off?" he whispered, voice low.  Alexander couldn't muster the courage to say anything so he glanced down at his underwear instead, and gave a small nod.  John took it upon himself to help him tug them off.  He wadded them up and tossed them somewhere to the floor to, with any hopes, be forgotten entirely.  They kissed for some more, and the longer they kissed, the more his mind wandered yet again.  Sure, he was enjoying himself, but he felt a surge of fear.

John provided him with a safety net, a comfort he never knew he needed.  He had been walking a fucking tightrope for so long by himself that when he was only halfway across he decided he didn't want to do it anymore.  He could fall, die, but who cared?  Not him.  Not until he realized he had that net there.  Then he could finally make a mistake without it being quite literally fatal.  And once in the net, he might choose to never again go back to that tightrope.  He could wrap himself up, latch onto the mesh, tangled limbs.  He could be so safe on the ground.

But if he were to leave, he'd have to go back up to the platform—no netting, nothing besides a feeling of loss and the tabloids down his throat accusing him of fucking up a good thing, like they were bound to do.  

John felt so good against him.  Alex had experienced both sides of trying to impress, to prove his worth, as well as being given a show because somebody really was enthralled by him.  John... he wanted to impress.  There was a nervous energy about him, a desire to do well by Alexander, to seek his approval - better yet, he was excitable.  He touched Alexander as though it were his first time being intimate with another person.  He continued to kiss him like he was scared to ask for more, like he would accept if Alex didn't get him off as well because that's just how much he wanted to be close.  But Alexander, no matter the situation, was completely taken: he would do right by him in return.  He always intended to do right by his sexual partners. 

His hands over Alexander's chest, on his shoulders, on his neck, then down to his waist and hips, John was already in heaven.  No, he really didn't need to get off to feel fulfilled by this experience.  He was even trying to bide his time before that happened so it wouldn't be over.

Meanwhile, Alexander was deciding whether he wanted to make him work for it.  He missed sex and he felt a sense of power.  Power in bed was his favorite fixation. As they got closer, John got better, and it didn't matter how much either had done in the past.  In bed, it was just them.

He kissed John on the lips, mind made up. 

After he finished, Alex got up, grabbed the damp towel hung up in the bathroom that must have been fresh from John's shower, and cleaned them both up.  He tossed it to the floor and climbed into bed.  Their legs entangled, heads nearby. 

"I was thinking about you today, too.  I want to sleep like this," John whispered.

Alexander touched his warm chest, laid his head upon it, and listened to his breaths.  He was good with that.  He was good with anything, just so long as he could stay with John.

Alexander awoke one early morning to John sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.  It was close to five in the morning but the sun hadn't quite cracked dawn.  "Hey."

John had heard him shift but the fact that he'd spoken startled him.  He cleared his throat and sat up straight.  "Hey."

"You okay?  Can't sleep?"

"No."

Alexander rolled to reach an arm, touch his back.  "Come back to bed."

"It's okay, Alex, you can sleep.  I just..." He considered getting up.  

"Tell me what's bothering you."

"I thought I'd be happier..."

"What are you talking about?"  Alexander sat up now, tired, but his heart began to pound in his chest and his ears.  He touched his shoulder.  

"I thought all my problems would go away.  That I'd get married and suddenly it'd be worth it."

"Am I worth... whatever it is?"

"It's not you," he whispered earnestly.  "Something's wrong with me.  I..." he was trying to find the words.  "My dad's dead.  I thought that would fix things.  Everything I wasn't allowed to do, the way he controlled my life."

Alexander rest his forehead on the back of John's shoulder and traced his hand down his arm so he could hold his.  He folded his fingers into his.

"I miss him, Alex.  What if it was my fault?"

"How would it be your fault?"

"I don't know."  He brought the sickness; he prayed too little and hated too much.  "I didn't appreciate that he loved me.  In his own way," he added, "but he did.  Now he's gone."

"I get it."

John shook his head slowly.

"You're always going to feel like you didn't appreciate him enough.  Let it be.  You can't... you can't stay awake wishing you'd done something different.  You just have to live."

"I thought my life would be better without him," he repeated, voice breaking, and Alex's heart hurt for him.

"I'm sorry, John."

"I'm everything he hoped I wouldn't be."

"You're charming and smart, you handle your responsibilities diplomatically and with grace.  He wanted you to be a leader, right?"  He felt John nod.  He kissed John's shoulder, rested his chin there instead.  "You're an excellent leader."

"I'm... yeah, and now, it's just me.  Mary Eleanor and James, they're still little, and I have to... be their father and their mother."

"No, you don't.  You're their older brother.  And you're doing a great job."

He shook his head again and felt a sob, bit it back, worrying his lip raw like he'd been doing all this sleepless night.  "I'm not."

"You're here."

"I'm not.  I'm... always gone.  Don't have time for... them, or you, or me.  Anything but the fucking crown.  It's all... public appearances and saving face and I... they're gonna grow up into a world that hates them for what they were born into and I can't protect them.  Couldn't protect Martha.  My parents couldn't protect me.  God, they tried to protect me, Dad told me never to come out, said I should marry a woman and never—"

"That's horrible."

"But it was the only way he knew how to protect me!  He... he didn't want the world to judge me.  To know me.  He knew it'd bring me pain and he tried to protect me from it, Alex, but the second he died I ruined everything.  I ruined it."

"Why is it ruined?  I like this.  I like you."  He tried to turn John's face to him but he resisted, jerking away.  "John, why is it ruined?"

"My decision doesn't just affect me.  It's always going to... hang over them.  And my family.  And my father.  It hurt you, too.  Uprooted your life to indulge my stupid, childish—"

"I don't care.  If I'd never met you and been with you... John, I like this life.  You didn't hurt anybody.  Think about everybody who'll look up to you, kids afraid to come out and be themselves."

"I made myself a symbol."

"You were always going to be a symbol.  That's what working-class people see the crown as - not real people, just... symbols.  Symbols of oppression, of history, of wealth or power.  Political, economic, social symbols.  Celebrities.  Your decision has positively impacted the history of this nation.  You're making a new history this country can be proud of, not just because you're the first openly gay royal but because of the policies you're pushing, the changes you want to make in your first year alone.  You are going to be fucking great.  Your parents would be proud."

John covered his eyes and Alexander could feel his shoulders shake.  He put arms around him.  

"It's going to be okay, John."

John sucked in a breath, voice still shaking when he whispered, "I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.  Is that crazy?"

"Not at all."

Chapter Text

WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" John asked, leaning over Alexander's shoulder.  Alex, with his earbuds in, was startled.  He hadn't even heard John enter the sitting room.

He popped his earbuds out and went to put them in their case, hands shaking.  How nice to afford such expensive new devices.  They didn't differ too much from the last three generations, they hurt his ears, and he was worried the Bluetooth waves were going to fry his brain. "Oh, uh, you know, these fan things, they're cool."  He clicked his phone off and reached for his glass of wine.  "Funny little things."

"Fan art of yourself?" John laughed, shedding his jacket.  He kissed the top of Alexander's head.  "You're hedonistic."

"What, like you don't look at them?"

"I prefer to avoid it."

Alex poured himself some more wine and sniffed away his dripping nose.  John hadn't yet seen the front of his face so he didn't realize his display of getting wine drunk with a blanket over his lap was accompanied by feeling sorry for himself.  He hoped he wouldn't.  Martha seemed to be in her room for the night and the nanny had put the kids to bed an hour ago, so he figured he'd be safe to let loose a little.  John was home sooner than he expected.

"I think it's cool," he reiterated.

"Sure, pretty cool to be worshipped by your adoring fans," John teased.

"I've never had fans.  And it's a good refresh from the mainstream shit that makes me out to be some gold-digging monster."

"That's why I avoid social media.  You've had dinner, I presume?" John was crossing the room to add a log to the fireplace.

"Haven't.  I think it's cool to see how much people love me, you know?  They make edits of me to music and draw pictures of me."

"Yeah, I'm just saying it's a little full of yourself.  Would you like to eat with me?"

Alex shrugged.  The lighting was dim with just the lamp beside him and the dying fire.  He hoped his faux spouse wouldn't look too closely at him.  "I'm comfortable.  I don't think I'm full of myself."

"Aren't you?" laughed John.

"Don't be a dick.  I'm not any more full of myself than anybody else would be.  I like knowing what people think of me and at least I know when I look at the stuff from fans it isn't going to be people dragging my name through the mud without even knowing me.  It's not wrong for me to enjoy being liked."

"That isn't what I was getting at.  I was joking."

"Okay, I just don't appreciate you acting like I'm egotistic 'cause I want to be liked.  Everyone's egotistic."

John still didn't get it.  "I like you.  I'll bring dinner into you, if you're hungry.  What'd Owen make?"

"I don't know.  I'm not sure he's left yet, though."

"I can manage preparing food on my own.  I don't want to bother him while he's portioning for tomorrow."  He crossed again to grab Alexander's bottle of wine, one arm on the armrest.  "Did you leave enough for me?" he asked, swishing it.  He made a noise as if it might be enough, but he was unsure.  He figured he didn't need much and Alex was on at least his second glass so he wouldn't grab more.  He looked at Alexander.  Though John cast a shadow on him from the firelight, what little illumination came from the lamp on the far side of the couch brightened his splotchy cheeks.  At last, he understood. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Alex..."

"I'm fine!" he insisted.  "Wine makes me cry.  I'm fine.  Go get food."

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Whatever you want to do."

"I want you to stop crying," he said.  "Are you sure it's just the alcohol?"

"It's because it's wine," he whined.  "I've already stopped crying.  It was just a little bit.  I've been fine.  Let's watch a movie and eat something."

John hesitated, still leaning over him.  "Okay."  He pecked him on the cheek and tasted the salt.  Just a little bit, my ass .  He was ready to practice some armchair psychology right then and there: you feel unloved.  You want people to like you.  You like that people like you enough to be fans and I just called you a hedonist.  I'm sorry.  "You know, you're right.  You deserve to see what your adoring fans are up to.  And you deserve to be egotistic."

Alexander felt a slight smile again, both at their proximity to one another and John's words.

John added quietly, "A god among men shouldn't have to feign humility, mon dieu de passion. "

He laughed.  "That is so stupid."

"But it's true.  I'll be back, okay?"

"Don't be long."

"Yeah."  His nose bumped Alexander's skull with the force he swooped to peck his head before retreating.

IT FELT GOOD to cuddle on the couch.  Cuddle , what a stupid word, thought Alexander, but that's what it was.  Nestling in, embracing one another, snuggling.  Gross, gross, gross.  He loved it.

After a while, cuddling became more.  Alex's hand was drifting farther from his thigh until he was making him uncomfortable beneath the blanket.  John wanted to kiss him.  He kept glancing away from the movie.  He wanted to take him to bed.  He never used to think this way.  He liked sex before, but lately, he couldn't stop thinking about it.  It was getting better and better.  He wanted to grab him and carry him away and hold him.  Sometimes he wanted to fuck him in stairwells and bathrooms.  He wanted to control and be controlled by him.

Alexander squeezed him over his pants.  John was already sweating but this caused a startle.  He grabbed Alex's knee beneath their cover.

It happened so suddenly: Alexander, without glancing at him, took the blanket off his lap and sunk to his knees.  Startled, John cupped his face.  He wanted to kiss him - Alex wanted to give him head.  He unbuttoned John's dress pants rapidly.

"Wait.  Wait, what if someone—"

"They've been in bed for hours and the staff's all gone, too.  It's fine.  Let me."

They'd never done this.  John had fantasized about it: standing or sitting, or being on his knees himself, and holding the back of Alexander's head, encouraging him.  His hands were shaking.  "Like this?  I mean, you've never—"

"I want to."

He ran a hand over his face.  "We're a bit tipsy.  You're—"

"Please, I want to suck you off."

John argued, "You keep interrupting me."

"Make me shut up, then."

John pushed his hips forward again.  He put his hands on either side of Alexander's head.  They didn't speak another word - John's brain racing considering how hot - God, he needed him.  Alexander's hands were on his thighs but then one was on John's, encouraging him to push a little.  He did so.

When they were finished, he swallowed to save the mess.  He rested his head against John's knee, breathing heavier.

John wanted him in his lap.  He wanted to kiss him.  He urged Alex up but Alex was slovenly and wanted to remain on the floor, head on John's leg, his hand in his hair.  He relished in feeling like he'd done well, pleased John, someone to be proud of.  Then they heard footsteps.  As Alexander sprung to his feet to reclaim his spot beneath the blanket, John pulled up his pants and buttoned them.  They fixed themselves just in time for Martha to enter.

She saw them sitting there on the couch, watching a movie and sharing a throw blanket.  She knew they were friendly with one another and at times affectionate so it didn't strike her as too odd.  It was too dim to see their flushed faces.  "Hey."

Alexander waved.  "Hey, wanna watch this with us?  It's pretty good."

John nudged him a little under the covers, annoyed.  His heart was still pounding and he could hear the blood in his ears, the anxiety at the idea of being so close to getting caught in the act.  He felt embarrassed despite Martha not having seen anything.  What if she could tell but wouldn't say it?  What if she's been a moment sooner or Alexander had stood a moment later?  

Martha glanced at the screen as it became splattered with the blood of a teen.  "Is this the new Halloween?"

"Yes."

"Sure, I'll sit for a minute.  I'm going to make some tea first."

"Can't sleep?" John asked her.

"Something like that."  She left the room.

John turned to Alex and whispered to him, "I'm not getting you off with my sister in the same room."

"Good, I wouldn't expect you to.  I'm fine."  He pecked John's arm.  "Just having you in my mouth was enough for me."

John pinched him.

"Ow."

"Don't be obscene."

"Is this how you repay my kindness?"

"Thank you."

"Yeah, you're welcome."  He shifted to get into a comfortable slumped position, head on John's arm.  He remained comfortable like that when Martha returned with her tea and settled in the large armchair.  She looked at them again and wondered vaguely about it before turning her attention to the screen.  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"This is the one where the main guy ends up—"

"Hey, hey!" interrupted Alexander.  "I haven't seen it, no spoilers."

"Right, sorry."  She couldn't help but look at them again.  "How are the two of you?"

Simultaneously they answered, "Good."

"Alex, are you scared by horror movies?  You look like you're totally at peace with," she gestured at the bloody TV, "whatever's happening there, but you have the blanket all balled up in your lap."

"Astute observations, but no, not really scared.  It has been pretty gory, though.  What'll be your area of study when you go to school next year, Psychology?"

"Oh, no.  Probably not.  Although that's not an awful idea, I do like it a lot.  So, John, how was that Senate hearing on gun control today?  Think you'll sign it into law?"

"I don't know.  I like guns."

Alex jabbed him.  "It's not that simple."

"Of course, it isn't.  Yeah, I think I'll sign it."

“I can’t believe you’re the king,” she said with an exasperated sigh.  “See, this is what’s been keeping me up lately.  You - you are the one making the executive decisions for our country.  You, who comes home without looking like you’ve stressed about a thing all day long.  You come here and you sit on the couch and drink your wine and joke about the policies you spent all day listening about.  You like guns, really?  Can’t you offer something more than that?”

“Maybe I don’t want to come home and turn our living room into a senate floor.”

“You two get to debate and discuss politics all the time.  Why can’t I?”

Alexander had, by now, sat up fully.  He cleared his throat but it didn’t interrupt John’s next reply.

“Because it’s different.  You just want to fight.  Alex isn’t like that.”

“Yes, he is."

“Hey, hey,” Alexander tried.

“When the two of you disagree on something, you let him speak without interrupting and you don’t shut him down.  You just go back and forth like arguing is your damn love language or something.  I mean,” she scoffed, incredulous, “I don’t even want to argue.  Who said I even disagree?  I just wanted to hear your thoughts on the situation, something more than an off-color joke.  Gun violence isn’t something you can make light of—“

“Tell that to the kids these days.”

“See?  There.  You’re interrupting me.”

“Can you calm down?”

She seethed, jaw clamped shut for a moment.  John looked back at the movie and it set her off.  “Why is it that women are always being told to calm down?  I’m not yelling or angry, I’m just frustrated.  Why can’t I be frustrated and voice that to you?”

“We're watching a movie.  Can you drop it?  Have some wine.”

“You know I don’t drink.  And no, I don’t want to drop it.”

“Well, I do.  I’ve been in endless hearings and meetings all day, unlike you who’s been - what was it you did today?  TV interview and pilates, or yoga, whatever it is you do?"

"Aikido."

"Sorry, Aikido.  You must need some peace and quiet way more than I do.”

“Excuse me?”

"Redirect that attack into some deep breaths."

Alexander tried again, this time pausing the movie to get their attention.  “I am trying to watch this.  Can you two quit it?”

Martha set her tea aside on its saucer.  “You know, that was a dig at you, too, Alex - since, of course, we did that TV interview together today?”

John argued, “He’s not picking a fight with me over whether or not I discuss gun control policies while we’re relaxing watching a movie.”

“No,” she said, “but he’s telling you to shut up in your own house.  Not like he genuinely contributes anything to the house or the income or our family relationships or to your public image.”

Alexander snapped, “Seriously?  As if you guys need more of an income."

“I'm just saying that he's all angry with me but when you, who has no right, tells him to stop talking, he's just going to lie down and take it."

“You’re just trying to make him fight with me, now.  You acted like we were best friends earlier today.”

“You mean I was listening to our PR team, unlike either of you here do unless you're on The Tonight Show.  And I don’t have to make you fight.  You’re always bickering about something or another anyway.  Sounds like fake marriage is hard on you.  Have you ever considered getting the hell out of our living room?  Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

“What’s your problem?”

John defended, “Did it look like we were fighting before you came in? ”

“You forget yourself, John,” she said as she stood and picked up her tea with a clatter.

“Yeah?  I forget myself ?” John laughed.

“You don’t care about Dad anymore.  You’re never home to care about family.  You pick this- this fake little trophy wife of yours over us.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re doing it right now.”

“This isn’t about Alex.”

“It’s always about him, you don’t think about anything or anyone but him.  Guess what, Alex?  My brother’s secretly super obsessed with you if you haven’t noticed.  Because he’s a fickle, low-discipline moron who thinks any kind of anything some random guy who was basically picked off the street has to offer is better than putting an effort into family or doing his job —“

“Shut the fuck up.  I do put in effort for my family.  I’m the oldest child, the most weight is always on my shoulders.  I'm the legal guardian of our little siblings.  Now I have to defend Alex when you’re trying to start something with him.  He just wants to watch the movie and you're being rude."

“In my living room.”

“Our living room, you miserable brat."

"It's more my house than it is his."

"It is his house, he lives with us now and we're married."

"I don't care about your stupid fake marriage, Jack."

"I don't care if you care about it!  This whole argument is about you coming in here trying to debate—“

“I was not trying to debate you.  I told you that.  You never listen.”

“I never listen,” he laughed again.  “Now, why does that sound familiar?” he said, nudging Alexander who was now partially turned away from the both of them with his arms crossed.

“Maybe it means something that you’re getting the feedback from other sources,” Alex muttered.

John shook his head.  “Collaborative sources, I’ll bet."

"Think whatever you want to," he replied.

"You see what you've done now, Martha?  He's going to act all mad at me for the rest of the night.”

“I didn’t do anything," she said.  "Maybe you should listen to your freeloading arm candy.”

Alexander spat, “I don’t get why you’re so hostile.  No, I don’t love your dumb fuckin’ big brother, and believe me, I never will, but it's just as much a shitty situation for me as it is for you.”  After those words came out, John refrained from looking at him.  “I married into the most irritable and bitchy family I could have.  You’re all miserable.  Act like you like one another for once 'cause it’s a blessing you’re taking for granted that you guys even live with your siblings.  You guys had parents, the same parents in your little nuclear family, who loved you and kept you all together and happy and comfortable in the same home all your filthy rich lives.”

“Our parents are dead,” Martha began angrily with a shake of her head.

“Don’t I know it!  But did you know my mother’s dead, too?”

"Alex, back off," said John.

But Martha overlapped with, “No.  I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.  Fucking think sometimes.  Both of you.  John, don’t be such an asshole.  She was just trying to have a conversation and she’s right, you’re quicker to shut her down because you don’t even try to act like you care about her opinions.  And Martha, for the love of God, your dumbass big brother loves you.  Know where mine is?  Embittered and estranged and he hasn’t replied to my calls or texts or emails in years, not until he realized I got married to somebody loaded and called out of the blue to ask for money.  At least you don’t have that for an older brother.  You have somebody who wants to protect you and make sure you’re fucking happy and I am so sick of both of you and if either one of you says another nasty word to each other in front of me, I’m going to lose it.”

She said, "I'm sorry."

John threw up a hand and slumped back down.  “There you have it.  You’re free to leave whenever you’ve decided you’ve pushed this far enough.”

“Did you not just hear what he said?”  She laughed bitterly as she took her tea upstairs.  “Like I’m the problem."

John said, "Maybe you can't sleep because your blood pressure's so damn high."

"One of us has to actually concern ourselves with the wellbeing of the country," she whispered, already out of the room.

John snatched the remote from Alexander and pressed play.  Alex shook his head, resentful.  He resented John and Martha for arguing; himself for falling into its snare; Martha for hating him and John for treating his sister like that.  Sometimes siblings fight, he reminded himself.  These two love one another and they’re usually so good but sometimes, you know, siblings have a rift grow between them because one gets crowned head of the country and the other is left with perhaps the least interesting, next-best-thing: sister of the head of the country; Princess Mar.  Which one is she, again?  The younger or the older?  Oh, she was on that one magazine, don't you remember?

Sometimes, siblings fight because one of them gets married and the other hates the spouse.

“We are not having a bad night tonight,” John said, voice taut and steady like he’d decided for the both of them.  The king who decides for the people.  “We’re going to watch this movie and enjoy it and forget about all of that.”

“Anything you say, your majesty.”

“What?" demanded John, pausing the movie again if that was how it was going to be.

“You know what.  You don’t order me around and you certainly don’t control whether I’m pissed.”

“Ha, believe me, I’ve learned the latter by now.”

“And you better learn the former.  I’m not your fucking trophy husband.”

“Did I ever call you that?”

“I gave you head—”

“You wanted to.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to do that if you’re not even going to defend me when your sister’s rattling on about how I’m your trophy wife— she said wife , John, fuck— and she also clearly doesn’t know yet that we’re not playing pretend anymore.”

“Does she need to know?”

Alexander slapped his knees.  “If she’s going to treat me like the crackhead cousin you let sleep on the couch but four months have gone by and he won’t leave.”

“Is this a situation you’ve dealt with?”

“We are not getting into the semantics.  Goddamn elitist silver-spoon son of a politician.”

“Why aren’t we getting into the semantics?  Are you afraid to divulge because it is true?” John teased, poking him in the side.

Alexander swatted his hand even as he laughed just a little.  “We aren’t talking about that, we’re talking about—”

“About how you begged to give me head, now you’re mad my sister was being the same old bitch she always is?  It’s not you, you know.  She’s mean to everybody she likes."

“First off, your sister isn't a bitch, she just wanted to talk.  You can be so rude to her and I know it's a thing siblings do but you're adults, you need to act like it."

"She's still a kid to me."

"Then why are you bullying your little sister? Treat one another with respect.  Stop being an asshole.  Second, I didn’t beg."

“Don’t lie.”  John replaced his hand on his thigh like they’d had it before.  He felt Alexander’s breath catch and silently applauded himself for getting so good at knowing what to say when it came to these things.  “Perjury’s a crime.”

He looked like he was considering kissing him for a moment.  He took back the remote and said, “Then I plead the fifth.”

John reached over to take it back and pause the movie again.  “Rejected.”

“On what grounds?  You can’t deny my Fifth Amendment right.”

“I totally can.  You were halfway through your testimony.”

“That’s not how it works.  I never agreed to testify.”

“You already began testifying.  The record shows that not a moment earlier you said, and I quote, ‘I liked doing it,’ 'it' being—“

“Okay, Jesus.  Didn’t know I was even under oath.  Where’s my bible?”

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

Curious where this might be going, he agreed, “Sure.”

“I’ll cut you a deal.  I’ll grant you full immunity from your testimony being used against you in any future decisions.”

“And this immunity extends to what, exactly?”

“Any future decisions,” John insisted.

“Wow, what a generous decision.  What exactly am I on trial for?”

John thought for a moment, not having considered this.  “You’re not on trial.  You’re testifying against your crackhead cousin.”

“So why’s fellatio a piece of evidence they’re examining?”

“…You’re being questioned about your whereabouts at the time the crime was committed and the record is unclear as to whether you enjoyed—”

“Is this what you do in court all day, John?”

John laughed and pushed at his face.  “I wish.”

“Are you sure I can’t come to hearings with you?  I’d hate to miss whatever terrible porn intros they’re filming at those things.”

“You can answer the inquiry for the record, Mr. Hamilton, and the jury will decide from there.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered with a grin, nose brushing John’s, “will the plaintiff’s attorney please repeat the question?”

“Was the question unclear?”

“Yes.  I think if he repeats it in excruciating detail I’ll better understand what is being asked of me.”

“Mr. Hamilton, did you or did you not—“

“Will the plaintiff’s attorney please refer to me by my first name?”

John laughed.  “This question requires a simple yes or no.  Alexander, did you enjoy getting on your knees… and putting my dick in your mouth… while I pushed your head to ensure you wouldn’t cease delivering oral sex?”

Alexander sat up a little straighter as their faces brushed close and John could feel his heavy exhale on his cheek.  “Yes.”

“And were you offered money in exchange for oral sex?”

“…No?” said Alexander as he pulled away a bit.  John cupped his face.

“Do you concede then, Alexander, that, as you did not receive compensation for the act, and as you enjoyed it, your role is neither the trophy husband nor the sugar baby?”

Alexander laughed.

“Well?  Do you concede?”

“You do know I don’t actually have a crackhead cousin, right?”

“You have exhausted this subject, I direct you to answer the attorney’s inquiry.”

“How come you get to be the attorney and the judge and all I get to be is the one on trial?  Wait, you’re also indicating I, a witness, engaged in sexual acts with the plaintiff’s attorney-slash-judge.  Your Honor—"

“You’re not on trial.”

“That’s your response?  I’m just the witness, then.  But what’s the angle here?”

“The cross-examiner is questioning your potential role in the crime.”

“So I am on trial.”

“Shoot, no, this isn't your hearing."

“If I concede?”

“Do you?”

"Under these terms, I think maybe I shouldn't.  I need a lawyer before I answer any more questions."

"As your attorney, I think it's in your best interest to concede."

Alex rolled his eyes and kissed him for a brief moment.  “I concede to the statement.  This is what's wrong with the courts, you've got one man playing for every side."

“We’ll reconvene after a five-minute recess.”  John grabbed his thigh and hiked it over his own, pulling him closer and startling him in the best way.  “Come here.”

“Five minutes?  You can work that quick before court’s back in session?”

“I know I can.  But you’re going to have to stay decent in case somebody’s headed downstairs again.”

“Better idea.  What if court’s adjourned and we finish this movie upstairs?”

“Court adjourned."

Alexander slid himself fully over his lap and kissed him.  "Will the plaintiff's attorney—”

"I said court is adjourned."

"—Please take me to bed."

Chapter Text

"SO, WHAT'S LIFE REALLY LIKE ON THE INSIDE?"

Alexander laughed.  "I'm not incarcerated, Jimmy."

"Oh, of course, poor word choice," amended the late-night talk show host.  "Life inside the Whitehouse.  Perched up there on your throne.  Do we still do thrones?"

"Absolutely not."

"You should get that changed."

"Right, definitely high on the list of priorities."

"Really, Alexander, what's it like being married to Prince— excuse me, the king— John?  Is it sort of a rags-to-riches tale?  Southside versus uptown?"

"'Rags-to-riches,' dang, did I really look like I wore rags?  I tried to keep my appearance neat.  How else would I have scored a guy like him?  Uhh," he trailed off with a smile, "life's good.  Yeah.  Marriage is good.  You'd think the honeymoon phase would have elapsed by now but really, it's like every day's the first day of our honeymoon.  It's easier than I thought it'd be.  So far," he tacked on like a joke, eliciting laughter.  

"I've heard you like to write, that right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Inside the Crown: Rags to Riches,' that should be the title of your first bestseller."

"God, you should never name your own books."  More laughter.  He looked on at the crowd in the studio, half-blinded by the lights.  He grinned, feeling elated by the attention.  "I'd probably call it... well, actually, can I say it on live TV?"

The host stood to lean towards him, motioning to his ear.  Alexander covered his mouth as they both turned off their mics and he whispered it to him, causing both to laugh. Jimmy said, as he switched his back on, "Even if you could say it, you definitely shouldn't.  Too much information, man!"

Alexander shrugged as he settled back down.  "It's a working title."

"You'd definitely sell some copies with a name like that.  But you'd also be blacklisted by libraries."

They continued laughing as the crowd joined in the shock, minds left to wander as to what could be so obscene.

"No, seriously, you should write something.  Different title, hopefully, but the public would love to see more of you."

"I feel like I'm on that part of the Hunger Games where they talk to the blue-haired guy on the late-night show."

Jimmy laughed.  "Get a load of this guy."

"I'm serious!  Maybe you should try something new with your hair."

"Maybe!"  He chuckled.   "So, your marriage is paradise... But are you ever going back to school?"

"Ah, not sure."

"Your life's busy, I understand.  But do you think being in college again would put a strain on your relationship?"

"If it wasn't clear enough, my marriage is strong.  Based on love, trust, and all that.  I'd miss seeing him every day, but I know it wouldn't put strain on our love.  Really... things are almost perfect between us."

JOHN SLAMMED HIS HAND AGAINST THE BATHROOM DOOR.  "I said I was sorry."

"Fuck off," yelled Alexander from the other side, having locked himself in.  He was in his underwear, tears in his eyes but he was so angry he couldn't cry.

"Are you going to shut me out for the rest of the night?" he asked.  "I'm sorry.  It didn't mean anything."

"Bullshit, it didn't mean anything.  How do you just let something like that slip?  How could you even think about him when you're with me?"

"I wasn't really thinking about him!"

"Yeah?  Bull!"

John pounded on the door again.  "Come out here and talk to me."

"I'd rather sleep in the bathtub."

"Don't be dramatic."

"Don't call me dramatic when you fucked up."

"And I'm sorry!  I seriously wasn't thinking about him, it was as simple as letting out a cuss at an inappropriate time!"

"'Ooh, it's so easy for me to say my ex's name while I'm literally having sex with somebody else!  Came so natural, like swearing,'" he mocked.

"Come on, Alex!  I've just had a bit to drink, I can't focus my mind.  I didn't mean to say it."

"I don't care!  I told you to forget him!"

"That's not fair."

"Not fair?" he scoffed.

"No!  It isn't!   I never asked to marry you!"

Alexander unlocked the bathroom door and pushed past him.  "Have fun sleeping alone tonight."

"I said I'm sorry!"

"And I said I don't care!  You know how shitty it feels?  What if I called you by the name of one of the people I used to fuck, while you were under me?  Jesus Christ, like, learn to have a filter!"

"I'm drunk!"

"You had your dick inside of me!" he yelled back, pulling on his pants.  "Put some fucking clothes on, I can't take you seriously with your—" he motioned to him.

"I have underwear on, melodramatic fuckin'..." he grumbled, watching Alexander pull on a shirt.  "I said I was sorry."

"I heard you!  But instead of talking to me about it in the first place you shut down and when I try to leave you grab me like the privileged rich boy you are, 'cause you think you have the right to own me and hurt my feelings like that, well fuck you, and fuck this!" he shouted, flipping him off.

"Don't leave."

"Give me one good reason not to."

John looked him over.  "Because... I'm sorry.  I don't know why I said it.  I don't know how to make it better.  But if you leave tonight..."

"If I leave, then what?"

"I don't know.  I don't want to fight anymore."

"I don't want to share a bed with somebody who thinks he can do and say whatever the fuck he wants—"

"I don't—"

"Bullshit."

"God, you're such a pain.  An impossible pain," he groaned, turning away, conceding himself not to continue this argument if there was really nothing he could say to get Alexander to stay.  

Alexander hesitated for a moment at the door, this time looking at John's back, his muscles, feeling a tight anxiety in his chest.  If he wanted to stay - if he didn't want John to consider Martha's words more seriously - he had to suck it up and behave.  He sighed, released the doorknob.  " I'm a pain," he scoffed anyway.  "That's rich."

"Aren't you?  You're ridiculous.  Locking yourself in the bathroom as if I was going to..." he shook his head, glanced back at him, and walked to sit in bed again.  

"You hurt my feelings."

"I know.  And I apologized the second it came out of my mouth.  But I wasn't going to hurt you , I didn't mean to grab you, I just... I didn't want you to go.  I didn't want my fuck-up to escalate into something irreparable, but you made it a screaming match, like always, I mean, we are always fighting.  But I guess that's my fault.  I fucked up in the first place so I shouldn't be pissed at your reaction.  I always fuck up."

"You don't always—"

"You act like I do.  You get wasted in the middle of the day and pick fights with me because I can't be here with you twenty-four hours—"

"Shut up, I do not!  Stop making me out to be a petulant child!"

"Stop being one, then.  You are so fucking needy."

"Sorry I'm insecure because you literally can't stop thinking about your ex!"

John put his head in his hands.  "It's not my fault, we were pushed together the second I got out of my last relationship—"

"But it's been months, John!  And it doesn't matter, we're married, and we fuck, and I want you to want to be with me, but you want him."

"And so what?  I never had time to get over him—"

"Fuck you!  You're a fucking pig if you think that's even remotely okay to say to me.  You better get over him because you can bet your ass I'm not going to share a bed with a man who treats me like some fucking piece of meat he can use to get over his ex.  You aren't allowed to treat me like shit just because you're mad I'm not him!"

"I don't want you to be him!  I wasn't saying that to hurt you, truth is—"

"Fuck the truth, keep that shit to yourself.  It hurts," he said, throat tight.  

"I don't think of you that way.  If given the choice between you two—"

"Oh, go to hell!"

"I'd pick you, Alex.  I like you.  I do want you.  And what I said in bed was an accident, it doesn't reflect my feelings about you—"

"So why are you being such a dick about it?!  I... can't live like this..." he said quietly as his voice cracked, eyes trained on the ceiling, hand over his mouth so John wouldn't see him cry.

"Fine.  Don't live like this, then."

"Is it that easy for you? "

"Doesn't matter what I want.  I told you what I want."

"Fuck. You."  The words came difficult, wavering.  He swallowed. 

"I don't even want to bother at this point," said John, full of regret and defensive anger.  "You pull me this way and that and implore me to grovel for you and chase you, well, I'm done.  Grow the fuck up.  Either stay or leave.  This argument is exhausting and if it isn't going to be resolved, it's better to just quit while we're ahead."

Fucking politician.  Alexander took another moment to compose his unsteady breaths and deliberate.  He couldn't leave like this.   He could lose him if they left things this way tonight.   Defiantly, he crossed the room and sat on the other side of their bed, catching John's gaze when he raised his head.  

"No?" demanded John.

Alexander shook his head and got under the covers, turned his back to him.  "Get the light."

So John turned off the bedside lamp and hesitantly laid down, staring at the ceiling.  He listened to Alexander's breaths.  His fists were tightening, wringing the covers, and Alexander could feel his tension.  He didn't want to argue, he didn't mean to raise such a dramatic response to John's utterance while he was inside of him, God , he was literally fucking him when he said his ex's name, yeah, that felt shitty, but if he was so difficult to put up with, John might throw him out.  He already had somebody in his ear telling him he should.  He didn't need any other encouragement to do so.

Alexander turned and got in a little closer, much to John's confusion.  He reached over John and grabbed his arm to put around himself.  John turned at once and kissed him gently.

"What changed your mind?" he asked, voice a little too thick when he tried to lower it.  He cleared his throat halfway through.

Silently, Alexander remained in his arms but tucked his head down away from John's mouth and closed his eyes.  He felt his body shake with the force it took not to sob, filled with sadness and bitterness.  Not like John seemed to notice, or maybe he didn't care.

"I'm really sorry," John uttered softly, holding him tighter.

Against his nature, once he'd cleared his own throat and took a deep, shaking breath through his nose to stop his want to cry in its tracks, Alexander mumbled, "It's okay."

"Good.  I..." he pecked his head in lieu of what he wanted to say.  "Promise that... that won't happen again.  I hate fighting with you.  I hate that I can't seem to stop upsetting you.  I hate when you storm off.  I... want things to be easier."

"Yeah," he clipped.

"Are we good?"

"We're fine."

Chapter Text

LATE ONE MORNING, Alexander leaned over the counter to attempt to make himself coffee.  Every day, John seemed to be gone before he was even awake, and that was life, it's how it had to be unless Alexander wanted to be up at the crack of dawn, but it didn't feel good.  He felt all sorts of wrong, maybe he was starting to get sick, maybe he was drinking too much lately.  He'd missed breakfast and turned down a staff member (he didn't even know her name, wasn't it sad?) who offered to bring him breakfast in bed.  Owen was cleaning and would soon prepare ingredients for lunch.  He'd said good morning, but Alexander just leaned on the counter with one arm, hand over his eyes with the other, pressing into them to rid himself of his headache.

"I can make your coffee," offered Owen.

"I'm not a child," Alexander snapped.  He felt the silence hang in the air for a moment and apologized quietly.  "It's too hard."

"Would you like me to show you how to do it again so you can do it yourself?"

"No.  I know how to do it.  That's not what I..."

"I see."  Owen swung his hand towel over his shoulder, folded his arms and sighed at Alexander.  "Marriage?"

"I don't know.  I guess."

"Talk to me.  I'll make some breakfast."

"You don't have to listen to me complain."

"That's what I'm here for."

"You're a cook."

Owen laughed.  "That I am.  But food is a lot like a conversation, so I'd say I'm rather skilled in getting people to open up.  We see one another every day, and I'm the one who prepares your meals, so humor me.  What's going on?"

"I don't know, man.  I'll talk to you but it's 'cause, you know, I don't have a lot of friends," he admitted.  "My old ones fucked off when I got to be too good for them and I don't think John's like me all that much.  Some of them like to party.  I always preferred to keep people at arm's length and compartmentalize my relationships: work, school, call for a good time, chat about homework.  Plus, before getting married, and things were perfect between us, I couldn't have ranted about him if things came up.  Couldn't ask for advice or anything without exposing the whole affair.  Now, I definitely can't talk about it because we're always under close watch.  If I told the wrong person, they'd just tell somebody else and it'd make its way to the paparazzi: Trouble in Paradise!  Scathing Words From The King's Husband!  It'd be hell!" he scoffed.  "Besides, I prefer not to pour my heart out to people regardless.  So it's best I keep it in."

"Why do you prefer not to pour your heart out?"

"Then they know too much."  He began making his coffee.  "But nobody's ever going to know everything and I hate the idea that people know parts of me and then make their own conclusions about the rest.  So I've never been close to people.  Like I said, John and I were dating in secret so we never did the whole making-mutual-friends thing.  I disappeared on the old friends.  I'm not good enough for the new ones."

"Why do you say that?"

"They've been rich their whole lives.  And me... look at me.  I can dress like fake royalty but I'll always be this... they think I married into wealth on purpose.  I know they do.  Without explicitly saying it, I know... they think I'm using him.  I feel like I have to clarify that I'm not, by the way."

Owen flashed a smile.  "I never thought you were using him."

He laughed at that.  "Thanks.  It's just hard, you know... I don't know what I'm doing with myself.  I feel like a spoiled housewife.  There's no reason for me to be so upset with my situation but I almost miss it - the constant working, the struggle of it all.  At least I knew who I was and I had a purpose.  And I love him," he fibbed, "and splitting is the furthest thing from my mind.  I just want it to be different."

"If you've lost motivation, it may be because you have no goals.  What are you passionate about?"

"Work."

"Then find work."

"I can't just 'find work,' I'm now married to the face of the government.  What is there to work for if everything is handed to me?"

"You're a writer.  There is a multitude of fields for you in journalism, publishing, screenwriting, activism, and so on.  Hobbies and learning new skills.  You have to be your own person outside of your relationship."

"But I want to fix things with him."

"Have you talked to him about this?"

"Not in so many words, no."  They paused as he steamed his milk for thirty seconds.  "I think it might push him away."

"Are you irrationally afraid of that happening or is it a realistic possibility?"

"I'm not sure."  He smiled.  "Look, I almost made a heart."  He held out the mug for Owen to see.

"Excellent work!"

He took a scalding sip almost immediately, burning himself.  "I'm worried he's going to get sick of me if I complain."

"Not if he loves you."

That's the problem, he thought.  "I'd get sick of me."  Petulant child.  You always do this.  So goddamn needy, such a pain, so dramatic, you're crazy.  "I leave the house to party or to meet some social media obligation.  Sometimes I go for walks.  I take his siblings out sometimes.  But I think I text him too much.  When he gets home he's usually so exhausted he doesn't want to spend time with me.  We used to have these romantic dinners and horse rides and walks in the woods.  I didn't want to be one of those couples that gets married and becomes stagnant."

"Relationships take work."

"I'm working.  I don't want to push him too far.  But damn it, I can't stop pushing."

"You should voice these concerns to him."

He considered it.  "Maybe I'll just drink with it all bottled up until it comes out on its own."

"This is the part where I tell you I disagree with that plan."

"Yeah, well... I think I'm being dramatic.  Things aren't as bad as they are in my head."

"If that's how you feel, though, that's not 'being dramatic.'"

"It is.  I can be over the top."  Alexander cleared his throat.  "Maybe I'll talk to him, though."

" LET'S GET AWAY. "

John, on the phone in the back of the car, made a small sound of confusion.  "What do you mean?"

" You're always busy.  Let's go somewhere, just the two of us.  Redo of our honeymoon."

"I don't think I can."

" You're the head of the crown now, I think you can go for a little vacation."

"Really, I have responsibilities to tend to.  Important responsibilities.  I'll be home before dinner.  Don't forget we're going out tonight.  Isn't that enough?"

" It's nice, but it's... I mean, I don't fit in here with your family, your butlers and nannies and shit.  I wanna go somewhere it's just you and me, stay in bed all day and drink."

"Are you drunk right now?" he asked genuinely, a bit worried.  Alexander had been drinking more every day and recently got his nose into some other sorts of drugs.  It was okay to party, but these days John worried it was because he was never home, because he couldn't physically be there for him.  It was... 

Well, it was a handful, and it made him bitter towards Alexander.

" You serious right now? " 

"...I worry about you."

" Fuck you. "  The line clicked.  John put his head in his hand and took a deep breath before trying to call back and being hung up on twice.

John didn't go home before dinner that night.  He texted Alexander that he was going to meet him at the restaurant and when he got no response, texted one of his aides to make sure he got into the car.  

On the way there, he was rubbing at his temple.  Jacob, who'd been by his father's side for as long as he remembered, and hadn't stepped down just because John stepped up, noticed his demeanor and asked about it.  Trouble in paradise?

"That's one way to put it."

"Are things not working out between the two of you?"

John put both his hands up, at a loss for an answer.  "I thought it was going great."

"The first year of any relationship is tough.  Expectations versus reality constantly at work."

John looked at Jacob imploringly.  "You picked a great one.  Really.  But he's... there's something wrong lately.  I really thought things were okay.  There's something real between us, more than what's required for the cameras."

"Is there, now?"

He nodded.  "Yes, it's... I'm shocked at your matchmaking ability.  I adore him.  He's so smart and attractive.  But lately he's been drinking a lot and he's bored, I know he is, and he's either incredibly clingy or he shuts down completely and won't talk to me.  I'm his husband, and I understand that makes me responsible for his well-being, but I don't know what to do.  I'm useless to him.  Useless.  The worst part is, I can't stop thinking about my ex.  And I've really hurt him because of it."

"Ah."

"Was that a bad 'ah'?"

"Well," said Jacob carefully, "being hung up on somebody else is not something you can control."

"Exactly!  I feel guilty about it.  Really guilty.  And they're two very different people, of course, and for what it's worth, I like Alexander more.  Still, it's hard.  I didn't ask to get thrown into a whole new relationship when I just got out of my last one.  Now Alex wants to go on vacation because he wants us to spend more time together."

"If there's a growing distance, you should put in the effort to spend time together.  What's the problem there?"

"He's going to harbor bitterness towards me because that's not something I can do right now."

"Move some meetings.  Make the time.  Better yet, put Martha in charge while you're away.  They can answer to her for a week and any bigger decisions can await your return."

"You think I could really leave for a bit?  Ever since my coronation, I've been non-stop working."

"I'll work out the logistics."

John eyed him suspiciously.  "It's normally all business with you.  Why so suddenly invested in my silly relationship?"

"The emotional well-being of the monarchy is the well-being of the country, my boy.  Besides... I'm happy the two of you are bonding.  I had high hopes when I looked at his file.  He was my favorite of the ten I presented to you."

"I can't imagine having anybody else."

ALEXANDER WAS LEANING on the table, one elbow up with his head in that hand, drinking down wine like it was his last night on Earth.  When he arrived, it was clear he had drunk already.  He was bored, so bored, and he wanted to destroy something.  He wanted to flip the table and watch the fine china and the glasses shatter for the fun of it.

"I'm sorry I was late," repeated John tiredly.

"I told you it's fine."

"I know you did, but you're sitting there with this spiteful look in your eyes and I feel the need to apologize."

"You don't need to apologize for that."

"For making you get out of the house, then?  After you ignored my texts?"

"Okay, yeah, that shit pisses me off, but no.  Don't bother apologizing for that.  I'd do the same thing, probably.  It's real' audacious to make me show up on time just to be late yourself but whatever."

"What should I apologize for, then?  For asking you if you were day-drinking?  Because no matter what you say, it's so obvious you were."

"You can fuck off," said Alexander, suddenly sat up straight.  "I'm so bored I could kill somebody. Every day I wake up, my food is made for me, the bed is made for me, lunch and dinner made for me, my schedule is made for me.  I'm like a dog on a leash.  I have scripted social media updates and interviews I didn't consent to doing.  None of my friends will talk to me anymore and yours are so fake, so parasocial, and we have these stupid dinners and we go riding late at night if you actually have the energy to take me, shit, and you take me riding because it's what you used to do with him, and I still have to do those stupid lessons like I'm some fuckin' preparatory private-school student.  I'm an adult, why am I being infantilized by all your stupid staff?  I can't drive myself or arrange for my own car, you send somebody to pick me up and escort me like you can't trust me to dress myself or walk myself to the car.  Jesus Christ, they pick outfits for me!  What am I to you?  Your fucking pet?  A prop for your successful bullshit empire?"

John was rubbing his forehead.  "If I tell you we can take that vacation, will you stop making a scene?"

"You think taking me on vacation will put this fire out?  Fuckin' making a scene.  You want to see me make a scene?"

"Not particularly.  Why are you acting like this?  Your little bender is detrimental to your health as well as your social life.  Can't you see that?"

"My 'little bender'?"

"Yes, Alexander.  Your bender."

"I am fine. "

"Partying almost every day, that's one thing.  Not great, but at least it was at night.  Now you're drinking during the day and doing God knows what else."

"I am not day drinking and if I was, it's because I'm bored to hell!  Maybe if there was something to do besides have a glass of wine..."

"Are you hearing yourself?"

"What about you?  Are you hearing your self?  It's ridiculous I even have to defend myself to somebody who treats me like I'm a child.  You don't own me and I am not your fucking dog.  All I ask is to have a little fun.  You never make the effort.  I don't get to see where you spend all your time and you have a job, I don't, and that fucking sucks."

"My job isn't fun.  It's boring and unfulfilling.  I'm supposed to sit there and be a regal figurehead who's politically neutral.  You'd have no place there."

"But what if I want experience in observation for when I enter politics?"

"We've had this discussion before.  You know you can't do that.  People would accuse me of bias."

"Then don't be—"

"I am biased.  I want to see you succeed and I agree with your ideologies.  Just drop it.  There are so many other fields."

"God, fuck you, I don't want to go into another field!  I want to be on the courts beside you, but you won't grant me a position in Congress, either.  I can't even be an unpaid intern.  I hate this life.  You don't understand how much hatred I'm filled with every day."

"Oh, I think I have an idea," he responded dryly.  "It can't continue, you'll just burn up and fizzle out and I don't want to see that happen to you.  You need to learn how to properly relax.  Didn't I just say we'd go on vacation?"

"No, you said ' if we go on vacation will you stop, ' because everything is a political negotiation with you.  It's power.  You want power over me––"

"I do not want 'power' over you."

"You do, you want to hold it over my head to reprimand my behavior."

"I'm not reprimanding, I want your mood to improve and you said you wanted to go on vacation.  I worked it out and Jacob is putting it all into motion, just like you asked for.  I'm trying to please you."

"You're trying to appease me because you don't get it.  At least your job is somewhat important.  I'm just the trophy husband.  I don't do anything, John, why won't you listen to me?  Do you hear me?  I don't do anything.  It's bullshit."

"Why don't you go back to school, then?"

"Right, and pretend I'm not fucking the crown?"

"Nobody cares.  It's not like you were attending some community college in a small town.  You were enrolled at one of the top Ivy Leagues, and there are so many high-profile students there that nobody will even notice you.  Maybe for the first week, sure, but it's not impossible.  You can go back to school.  Go live on campus.  We'll arrange for a nice, expensive apartment for you, hire some staff if you start missing the life of luxury, and you can get your degree and do whatever you want with your life.  Nobody's trapping you here."

"I asked a couple of your aides already and they told me no."

"I don't care if they did.  Why'd they say no?"

Alexander put up his hands, frustrated.  "I don't know!  Risk of scandals, too far from your Playboy mansion, I don't fuckin' know."  

"We don't live in a--"

"No shit.  Maybe there'd be people to sleep with besides you."

"So you're allowed to, but if I mention my ex--"

"You're so-- it's different because I wasn't in any serious relationships before we got married."

"No?"

"I told you already that Rob doesn't count.  We dated and had a lot - I mean, a lot - of sex because we were roomed together freshman year.  I haven't been with him like that in over two years.  You probably had tearful goodbye sex with Francis the week before I skipped town to marry you.  You still love him."

"I do not still love him."

"You think about him.  You called me his name."

"Can you drop that already?  I sent you all those articles, it's normal to say the wrong name.  You should be flattered you're in the same compartment in my mind as him."

"Eat shit."

"You won't stop bringing it up."

"It hurt my feelings," Alex argued imploringly.

"And I apologized and we've been mostly fine since.  If you're not over it, I don't want it looming over my head like an argument waiting to happen.  It's exhausting."

"What's exhausting is being married to you."

"Likewise," he muttered as he threw back the last of his wine. 

"Fuck Francis.  Okay?  You're not supposed to even be thinking about him.  In fact, I forbid you to bring him up ever again.  You are my husband ."

John scoffed a that, even felt a real laugh bubbling up.  He poured himself another glass of wine.  "That's it.  We're not arguing in public over dinner."

"Over dinner in public."

"Are you really correcting my grammar right now?"

"How are you going to be raised for public speaking and not know the order in which you describe the preposition of the sentence?  Object and action before the time and place, if you break up the subject of the sentence you confuse it."

"You're crazy," he whispered, drinking more with a stifled chuckle.  

"So what do we discuss?" he asked, annoyed.

"You need to go back to school."

"It won't be the same."

"No, it'll be better.  You won't have to work forty hours on top of classes.  You won't need to worry about anything besides being a student."

"I've been told I need to protect your image."

John shrugged.  "Don't fuck other people or get sloppy drunk or do anything stupid.  Simple.  Conduct yourself like you normally would when you know everybody's watching."

"Sure.  Simple.  I'll be away from you and I'm not allowed to have sex with anybody else."

"I don't want you to have sex with anybody but me.  Is that a problem?"

Alex felt a pleasant chill.  That was the response he wanted: possessive jealousy, even as calmly as John had uttered it.  "No, but you get what I mean.  I was going crazy for months before you finally agreed to fuck me.  I can't be celibate that long."

"You're so hung up.  I'll make conjugal visits," he teased with a grin, so floored by disbelief in Alexander's behavior lately that suddenly, the stress of it was gone.  He was married to a psycho.  Oh well.  

And he had managed to pry a laugh from Alexander at that one.  The waiter brought their food - for once at a time that wasn't awkward.  

"You were serious about vacation?  Before I go back to school?"

"Well, we should probably wait for the fall semester to throw you into the ring again anyway.  We'll have time for a vacation and time to consult my advisors then lay down ground rules."

"Fuckin' ground rules.  I don't want to be away from you," he admitted solemnly.

"We need space."

"Are you sick of me?"

"I think you're sick of me."

"I'm sick of this life.  I'm sick of being in the background.  Honestly, John, I have been saying this for the past month.  You ask me what's wrong and I tell you and you ask me again like I didn't just fucking tell you.  I don't need space from you, I need you to listen."

"I'm listening, Alexander."  He looked at him, sad and sincere.  "I'm trying."

Alexander sighed.  John had done it: he was properly appeased.  "I know."  He reached a hand across the table, clasped John's.  "Love you, honey."

John shook his head.  "I hate it when you say that," he whispered.  "You think it's funny and ironic.  I won't believe you if ever you mean it."

"You'll know when I mean it."  He kissed John's hand, leaned awkwardly over the table.  

Chapter Text

A MONTH LATER, they finally went on vacation.  It was just like the honeymoon but with more kissing, less drinking, and more travel.  They had an itinerary of destinations planned out for them, a tour of the Mediterranean and Northern Africa complete with pre-purchased tickets for museums and tours and dinners, arranged cars, booked flights, and a couple of overnights on ships.  It was too fast-paced to behave sloppily but somehow, they managed to fit alcohol into their schedule.

Such as one night at a hotel when Alexander was practically drowned, at first laughing and shouting, but suddenly, John answered a call and took it to the hallway, away from the music Alexander was blasting on the balcony of their room.  Curious, regretfully, Alexander put his ear up to the door, eavesdropping like he always did when John was having a private conversation.

He only caught pieces: yes, I am, but I'm on vacation and my husband's in our hotel room, what do you–– Come on. –– You didn't — do you mean I-- obviously I've moved on-- you have a lot of nerve-- I can't believe-- why now?  Really, though, why wait until now?  -- are you trying to uproot -- you're-- Really, Francis!  ...I'm sorry.  That isn't why-- ...I know.  I'm sorry.

Alexander put together the scraps of the sentences.  His fists tightened and he walked in a rage to their bedroom.  He sat on the bed, which was still made from the room service having changed the sheets after they went out for the day.  He waited.  And waited.  And the music blared out on the balcony.  

He heard the door shut gently when John returned.  He found no sight of Alexander on the balcony, checked the bathroom and then the bedroom at last, found him there downing another shooter.  Alexander threw it on the floor when he finished and fell back on the bed.

"All right, I'm cutting you off," said John with a smile.  He was drunk, too, but Alexander seemed to always outdo him.  It was his trademark.  

"Who was on the phone?" asked Alexander, staring at the ceiling.

"Nobody.  Just Jacob."

"What about the no-business-calls policy he established?  Don't fuckin' lie."

John glanced out of the bedroom at the open balcony door, then back to Alexander on the bed, who'd sat up, stood to grab another shot from the bucket of ice in the sitting room, pushing sloppily past John to get to it.  

"You need to stop," said John, going after him to take the alcohol away.  Alexander shoved him.  John tried to wrestle it from his hand and Alexander threw it across the room, a dangerous projectile as it had a little weight with the liquid.  It hit the wall.  "I'm guessing by your reaction you already gathered who I was talking to after, what, eavesdropping?  Because you don't trust me?"

"You haven't earned my trust."

"What reason have I given you not to?"

"'Francis, yes!'" he mocked, just like John had uttered when they had sex.  What? he'd whispered at the time, body tensing, hand on John's chest. "'Oh, shit, I forgot who I was fucking!—'"

"That was a mistake!  It doesn't mean I want him."

"You called me his name!"

"Why can't you let it go?"

"Because you called me his fucking name! Tell me who you were talking to," said Alexander, squaring up.  

"I thought you forbid me from saying his name."

"I dare you to say it!"

"Calm down.  You are wasted."

Alexander smacked the bucket of ice off the table, a loud clatter not dissimilar to shattering glass as it spilled onto the floor.  "You can't fucking quit him."

"He called me."

"So don't answer!"  In the background Carly Simon sang, You probably think this song is about you.  You're so vain...

"I cannot believe you're reacting like this."

"How am I supposed to compete with him?"  He shoved John's shoulders.  "You're obsessed with him, you— you want him back, and if he asked you to, you would!"

"Know what?" laughed John, incredulous, "He was angry I married you instead."  He'd shut Francis down the moment he'd uttered: why would you marry somebody like him when I was right there?

Because you didn't want me, he'd said.

You didn't want to go public with our relationship until you needed me.  To use me.  I thought it was because you were afraid to come out but I understand it now.  You were dating him when we were together or this whole thing's a lie.  Unless you're lying.

It's not a lie, he'd said.

No?  How would your husband like to hear about what we were doing when you were supposedly dating him in secret, too?  You're using him like a pawn like you used me.

I'm not using him.  I love him.

What about me?

What about you?  You didn't want to marry me and we're done.  I love him.

Alexander looked like he was about to cry.  "See?  You're allowed to have it all!  If you wanted to get back with him I wouldn't even be able to say anything or do anything about it because I'd be fucking humiliated by the public!  And your family would hate me!  You can do whatever you want while you keep me on a short leash by your side.  What am I to you?  A fucking pawn?"

John felt that blow to his chest.  "I didn't even give Francis the time of day."

"You gave him the time of day when answered the call!"  He pushed his shoulders again.

"Don't push me."

"You want me to go back to school so you can run back to him!"

"You know that isn't true."  He was stepping back, trying to remove himself from the situation.  Alexander was pushing forward, wouldn't get his hands off of him, and John was just drunk enough that it was going to his head.  "Back off, Alex."

"I can't back off."  His voice cracked, "You're going to leave me the second I-- you think I'm crazy!"

"A little, yeah!"

He pushed him again, still up in his face.  "When you said we needed space you meant that you needed space!  How am I supposed to compete with him?" he repeated.  "What you have with him is real!"

"What we have isn't entirely fake."

"Fuck is that?  Like that means anything to me!  You've never wanted me like I want you!  How do I get you to be mine!?  You are my husband and it means nothing!"

John would be backed against the sofa if he allowed this to continue a moment longer.  He grabbed Alexander by the wrists as he shoved him, and he twisted and pushed Alexander to the sofa, too drunk not to get off of him the moment he'd pacified him.  He kept his arms pinned by his sides.  "You are fucking wasted."

Alexander screamed in his face, "How do I compete with him!?"

"What are you on about 'competing with him,' we are married!"

"But that's fake, right?  That's what you always remind me!"

"Because I'm not going to deny reality."

Alexander spit in his face, and John reacted by grabbing him tighter, holding him with more anger.  

"You don't understand that I owed it to Francis to talk to him!"

"You don't owe him, you stupid fuck!"

"He thinks I used him and cheated on him, he is rightfully hurt."

"You're hurting me !  You're cheating on me and fuck you, you're using me, too!"

"Because we have a fucking contract you signed!"

Alexander screamed, guttural, turned his head to John's arm holding him down and bit him as hard as he could until John let go and pried him away with his other hand, yelling.  He grabbed his hand again and held them farther from his head.

"You psychotic fuck, you bit me!"

"I'm sick of backing down knowing that if we fight it'll give you a reason to kick me out, just like Martha's been telling you to do!"

John felt realization suddenly hit him, taking root passively where the shock and confusion of Alexander's outburst had been.  "What?"

Alexander was crying, now.  "That's right, I know she wants me gone!  Why do you think I've been digging my claws into you?  You have every reason--"

"I never even entertained the thought, Alex!"

"Bullshit!  I felt it in your hesitance every time I tried to make a move on you!"

"Did you sleep with me that night because you were afraid I'd take away your perfect life?" he accused.  Alexander's silence was loud enough.  He shook him again, all up in his face.  "Answer me!"

"If I did?"

John released him, wiped the spit off of his cheek, shaking with anger.  "I hate you."

Alexander laughed wildly, in tears.  "I wish I could hate you.  I wish.  I just wanted you to want me."

"Did you?"  He knocked over a vase of flowers onto the area rug.  He leaned down and picked up a nip, screwed off the cap with fumbling hands, and drank.  "Or did you want to push me away?  Quicken the inevitable?"

Alex's laughter subsided and he cried quietly.  John pushed items off of a counter, keycards and food and empty shooters.  

"Take the high road, sure!  Sit there and cry.  Like I'm wrong here."   He went out to the balcony, picked up the radio, slammed it down on the patio table before turning the dial to shut it off.  He picked up Alexander's phone and threw it inside, not caring about where it landed.  "Fuck.  Fucking hell, that's what my life is."  He leaned over the concrete containment and yelled at the bustling boardwalk below, "'Cause I'm married to a fucking jealous psychopath!"  He looked back into the room where Alexander remained.  "Well?" he shouted to him.  "You love to argue.  Please, enlighten me as to what the fuck has been going on in your pretty little fucked up head."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you and your pathetic victim act."  He rushed inside, leaving the doors open still.  

"'Pathetic?'"

"Yes.  Pathetic."

He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, staring at the wall, shame taking root where he'd been angry before.  He was quiet for a minute before he said evenly, "You hurt me.  God forbid I hurt you back."

"Do you think I've ever done anything to hurt you on purpose?  My life revolves around you, making sure you're happy."

He shrugged a little.  He couldn't look at John again, eyes still fixed on the orange accent wall, the finely decorated shelf, and the detailed oil landscape framed in gilded art nouveau.  Olive trees and an Italian cottage.  "...You don't stop finding creative ways to remind me I'll never be him."

"You are bored, Alexander.  You have everything a person could need and it's made you rotten and spoiled."

"You are mean and bitter.  I just wanted you to want me more than you wanted that... that fucking whore."

"Watch it."

"Watch what?"  He snapped his head back to John so he could direct his raising voice once again.  "He called you trying to get you back while you're married to me!  Fuck that guy, fuck him, I hate him, you're my husband."

"I don't think you fucking understand that you're not the center of the fucking universe.  I fucked up with Francis!  And I loved him!"

"You are my husband!" he repeated desperately.

"According to you, only as much as I'm your fucking wallet.  So what's the truth?"  John picked up another miniature from the pile of spilled ice.  "Did you fuck me for personal gain or because you wanted it?"

"Why can't it be both?"

He threw the open shooter at him, effectively splashing Alexander and the sofa with what little whiskey was inside as it bounced off the back of the seating.  "You're fucking with me!  You're pushing me on purpose and pressing for a reaction!  Why?"

Alexander looked at the olive grove again.  "Do you not fucking care that somebody has to clean up after you?"

"What?" he asked, unable to hear him over his own pounding heart and Alex's sudden mumbling under his breath.

"I said, fuck how much money you have, it isn't glamorous to trash a hotel room."

"Like you didn't knock over the— It's not glamorous to be a spoiled fuckin' alcoholic trophy husband, either.  You're a gold-digger."

"Fuck you."

"You'd do anything to stay wealthy, even fuck me!  Where's the trust, Alex?  What the fuck is this to you?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"To fuck me?"

"To marry you in the first place!"

"Yes, you did!  I was marrying a stranger anyway!"

"Work a full-time job while taking classes or marry some hot, rich prick?  Tell me I had a choice!  And I wasn't pretending to be into you for personal gain, John, I was just hurrying it along!  And I have to tread lightly—"

"'You call the shit you've been pulling lately treading lightly?"

"When I have to shut up and sleep next to you after you said his name while you were fucking me, just so you don't decide you want a divorce, that's what I would call treading lightly." 

"Jesus.  I didn't ask you to get over it immediately after it happened.  I understood why you were hurt.  I wouldn't have divorced you for being upset about it, either, I mean, clearly, 'cause you never stop reminding me!"

"When we fought—"

"I was riled up and I said stupid shit but it wouldn't have changed anything!"

"John, you gave me an ultimatum."

"I didn't mean it.  It was stupid.  I am sorry.  If you didn't want to come back to bed that night, you shouldn't have, and I'm sorry you felt like you had to because that was never my intention.  I don't want you to feel upset or sad or mad or worried I might leave you.  I know you have some major fucking abandonment issues, no, don't try to argue because it's apparent, but just because you were anxious doesn't mean I forced you to do anything!  And I tried to fix things!  I apologized a thousand times.  I planned romantic dates and gave you gifts and I didn't expect things to go back to normal right away!  When we didn't have sex for a month, I knew why, because I know I fucked up!"

Olive grove.  Cottage.  He knew he could stop any time and just apologize but God, he was so angry.  "You just smothered me with apologies to smooth things over.  Why?" he scoffed.  "So I'd fuck you again?"

"No!  All I wanted was to fix things!  I wanted you to stop feeling hurt because I never meant to hurt you, would never want to, I––  I made a mistake and I get it, it's shitty, but come on.  I would swear to God that you just hold onto it in case you want to win an argument!  It was over two months ago.  Be hurt, but stop punishing me when there's nothing left for me to do or say to fix it!  Why is this even still an argument?"

"Because it hurt more than anything you could ever do to me!" he shouted at the painting.  "You could fucking strangle me right now and it wouldn't hurt as much as that did."

"Don't ever insinuate that I would ever —"

"At least then I'd feel like I matter."

"You are so fucked up."

"How the fuck am I ever going to compare to Francis?  I'm not rich!  I'm not--"

"I never cared if you were--"

"Everyone else does!  Your friends don't fuckin' like me unless I party with them!  Fucking taking pills and snorting coke just to fit in like I'm in a frat.  I was chosen because I have a fucking sob story and my only leg-up is that I'm privileged because I'm attractive?  Reduced to a fucking image.  A headline.  What a life, huh?  They don't care about me, about my achievements, I'm an extension of you. "

"Boo fucking hoo, you're hot.  We get it."

Alexander wiped at his eyes, still crying.  "You're so self-righteous.  You really don't give a shit, do you?"

"Were you even listening to a word I said?"  John went to him and grabbed his shoulders once again.  Rather than feeling like he was holding him in place or just yelling at him, there was a tenderness to it that was indescribable.  A reassurance. "Don't—" he began when Alexander's eyes narrowed at the wall, "Don't spit or bite or anything else.  Don't you ever do that again.  Listen to me.  Look at me.  Please."

"You're hurting me."

John released his arms and knelt down in front of him, still holding his wrists, hoping he'd be allowed to take his hands again.  "Please look at me."  He met Alexander's eyes and felt like they had an understanding, like the blood pounding in his ears had stopped rushing just for him.  Like it was quiet again.  "Listen.  I've been giving a shit, actively, for months.  Since we got married.  Before that.  I try my best and you... spit on every gift I give you.  You bite me, you shove me, you scream at me, you test me, God, every time you leave, you test me.  You go out of your way to make me jealous––"

"I don't."

"It feels like you see how much you can drink or how high you can get before I start to worry.  Then I'm worried about you—"

"About your image."

"No, I am worried about you.  I feel... afraid that something is going to happen to you.  And I try so hard to make you happy and you punish me."

"I don't."

"You do.  You pick fights and you ice me out."

"You ice me out.  You are the goddamned king of icing people out."

"You bit me, Alex—"

"I'm sorry," he said, really meaning it.  His heart was racing too quickly and for a beat of silence, he was certain John could hear it, too.  His eyes felt hot, his cheeks hotter, and they stung when more tears fell.  He thought John didn't care but he had no idea that John's stomach turned at the sight of them, and how much he wanted to wipe them away and pull him into his arms, but still, he was frustrated.  He couldn't tell what it was that Alex wanted, either.

"I wish I could be what you want.  Nothing I do is good enough for you, not for anybody."

Alex was looking away again, this time at the ceiling, the tiles of which were carved with little pictures.  "I never said that you aren't good enough."

"You begged for this vacation, I made it happen, and you still raised problems about it over dinner."

"Because gifts aren't all I want, John!  I need to be heard!"

"I'm listening!"

Alexander stared at him blankly for a split second.  He put a shaking hand over John's on his shoulder.  "I don't understand what I have to do to make you want me.  Really want me."

"I do want you!"

"You don't want me as much as you want Francis, or maybe you just don't want a future with me as much as you wish you could get your old life back and I am so sick of dealing with the... broken pieces."

"Alex, I want you way more than I ever wanted him.  I want you all day, every day, and I want it to work between us, I want you to be happy.  I want it to be real.  But you just said you slept with me for the money."

"Because Martha wants me gone."

"She does not!"

"She called me a freeloader.  Told me to leave and right in front of you, too, and it's not like you even defended me."

"I did defend you!  And no matter what you overheard when I was speaking with her privately, I defended you then, too.  She wanted you gone before I told her I'm not doing that because I desperately want to be married to you.  She brought up a good point that maybe I can't trust your intentions because you're motivated by the money.  I don't think she's wrong for that, I mean, clearly!  She was looking out for me.  And guess what?  Despite all of it, even knowing and feeling like I'm paying somebody for affection, I wanted to be with you.  I wanted it to be real.  This whole time.  I put my arms around you at night and I squeeze - squeeze - because I'm afraid I don't-- that one day I'll wake up and— you know, it'll be the last time I hold you and I won't even know until you're gone and I—" he swallowed, realizing something that he didn't want to acknowledge before.

"John."  He was starting to think John had abandonment issues, too.  It'd make sense.

Then John's tone was matter-of-fact again.  "Martha was looking out for me.  She suggested that months ago, don't you think if for a second I considered it, something would have come of it?  I don't want to leave you.  And if I did, you better know I would have given you the means to live comfortably on your own!  More money than you'd know what to do with!  You could go back to school or you could move back to the islands filthy rich or buy a whole building in New York City or backpack across the world, I don't care.  I would continue to support you financially.  You think money matters to me?  Think I would have fucking thrown you out with the clothes on your back?  I never discussed divorce with you because I never wanted you to leave!  Tell me - and be honest, Alexander - do you even want to be in this relationship?"

"Yes, it's... all I want.  I don't want your money.  It was never about your money.  I want..."  He let out a cry, embarrassed by it.  His now low-hung head was shaking.  "I want you to treat me like I'm your husband."

Alexander looked up at him, eyes still stinging, face still flushed, but now John's face was flushed too, and they were so drunk, so heavy in it, that he couldn't help but try to kiss him.  

John drew back at first, startled, but before he could feel rejected, he kissed Alexander with all the force of an army charging into battle.  He released his hands, raised gentle fingers to his throat, comforted by how soft his skin was there, other arm going around the arch of his back to pull him to him, keep them close in their kiss.  He was in his lap for a moment, hungry, and he planted a leg between Alexander's suddenly, didn't stop kissing him as he unbuttoned his pants, unzipped them, and yanked them down his thighs as Alexander lifted himself as best he could to ease the removing of his clothes.  He kissed Alex's jaw, his throat, and bit lightly where he felt his pulse in the bulging arteries in his neck.  He bit a little harder when Alexander's legs closed, urged them apart by knocking his knees with his own leg.  Alexander gasped desperately for air, trembling in a way that was so tasty, so starved and yet acutely afraid of how John was treating his sensitive neck.  He cried out for him when he bit him again after sucking a hickey way too high up to cover.

Against his neck, John whispered, "How would you like your husband to treat you?"

"...What?"  Alexander was slow to understand, the way his head was swimming.  

John grabbed his face with both hands.  "What do you want?"

"I want... God, John, you're not allowed to- to leave- me."

John pecked his throat, grabbed his arms and slid back onto the floor.  Alexander was leaning into him like he couldn't get enough.  He fell forward a bit, enough for John to grab him and push him to the floor on his back.  "You're not going to leave me. "  He yanked off his already loosened tie, grabbed both of Alex's hands, pushed them above his head and, with his knee firmly against his crotch, tied his wrists securely to the leg of the sturdy hardwood coffee table, met with no resistance besides Alexander writhing into his touch.  He kissed him, the fervor never having left for even a moment.  He wiped his cheeks and kissed down his throat again.  "You're so hot.  Your skin's on fire.  You okay?" he asked, wiping his face where tears had been discoloring his cheeks.  Alexander nodded.  "Tell me you're mine."

"Say you'll— you'll forget him," challenged Alexander.

"I want you."  He kissed Alex's throat once again.

"Please say it," he whispered, begged.  Rather involuntarily he yanked his wrists down towards his head as far as they could go while restrained as John popped the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest.  The alcohol had kept him hot but he was suddenly keenly aware of the opened balcony door and the cool night air it brought in.  

"I'll forget him.  He never compared to you," he said.  

Alexander felt a delirious smile.  Quietly, he asked, "Really?"

John kissed him.  "Really.  I've told you that, Alex.  You're all I want."

"John."

"Yes?"

He turned his head to the side, heaving and hot and too vulnerable.  He liked the way it felt but there was a certain amount of fear and tension coiling in his chest.  "I like this.  But... but please..."

"Yeah?"

"Don't..." those weren't the words.  He hummed in frustration.  "Please be gentle."

"Is this okay?  I can untie you."

"It's better than okay.  Just..."

"I'll be nice."  His thumb swiped over Alexander's cheek.

"You're not mad anymore?" he asked, just to be sure.  

"No."

"But I... I took it too far.  I bit you.  I spit—"

"I'm not mad."  He kissed his forehead.  "But if you'd like to show me how sorry you are, by all means..."

Alexander smiled.  "But are you... will you still... even though I did that, you aren't going to— you aren't mad, right?"

John understood what he was asking.  "You know I'll be good to you.  Always.  You're in the driver's seat, baby."

"Please keep going."

John cupped his face with both hands, now.  His own heart ached.  He wanted to tell him just how much he loved him, how well he wanted to treat him, how sorry he was for everything, how he never meant to hurt him or neglect him or make him afraid.  "Tell me who you belong to."

"You.  John, I'm yours."

"Again."  John kissed down his chest, across his sternum.

"I'm yours, fuck, please.  Please.  I need it."

He sucked on a spot on his chest while Alexander twisted.  He put himself between Alexander's legs fully, keeping his thighs spread, and held tightly onto his hips while he left hickeys to keep him from moving so much, all the while Alexander pleaded.  "You should beg more often.  God, the things you do to me."

"I'll... I'll do anything for you."

"You don't have to do anything, sweetheart.  I'm going to make you come right here... like this.  Then I'm going to take you on that balcony where anybody can see."

He turned his face into the plush rug.  "Please. "

"Don't stop talking."  He grabbed his chin and kissed him once more on the mouth.  "You're my world, you understand?"

Alexander could feel his heart constrict with his flexing stomach as those words made him need to sob, to scream, to eat John alive.  "Yes."

"Good.  You're all I want," he added softly, nose nestling his jaw.  "Nobody but you.  Are you going to be good for me?"

"Yes, yes."

"Promise?"

"I promise!"

"Who knew this was all you needed?"  He kissed his cheek, sat up, and pulled him out of his boxer briefs, began touching him immediately, much to his relief.  "You've been emotional and so wanting, acting out.  I thought you needed just reassurance or just gifts, but you needed me to show you, right?  Prove it to you?  To validate you in the language you speak best?"  Alexander writhed.  "You needed to be reassured that you're mine - and I didn't see it.  I knew it, but I didn't... see it.  Am I wrong?"

He shook his head wildly.  "I'm - all yours."

"This is what you meant when you said you needed to be heard, right?"

Alex felt the ghost of a laugh, legs shaking from the effort it took not to kick about.  "Part of it."

"I'm listening," he whispered insistently, suddenly desperate himself.  "I want to make you happy."

"I'm... on the edge of happy right now."

"Good.  You're done acting out."  He took his hand away.  "Say it or I'm not giving you what you want."

Alexander was still calming down from how quickly his euphoria was stolen.  A reminder of how John could give him the world and take it away.  He suddenly wanted to cry for a very different reason.  It made him want to bite again but this time tear away a chunk of flesh, hurt John the only way he could if he couldn't effectively take away his world, too.

"This is how relationships work, right?" asked John.  "I'll make you the happiest you've ever been if you consider me in return."

"I won't... I promise I won't embarrass you ever again."

"Oh, Alex, ma passion, mon bébé ..." He kissed his cheek.  "You don't embarrass me.  It's not about that."

"Then what—"

"I want us to stop fighting."

"I want you to touch me."

John grabbed him by the chin.  "You're done bottling up. You're allowed to be angry.  Jealous.  Bored.  But you're going to use your words like an adult and stop pushing me."

"Fuck," he spat.  "Make me come already."

"You know how to ask."

"I'm done!  I'm done acting out!  God, John, please.  I'll be good.  I'll be so good for you," he said between heavy breaths, back arching.  "Put me in my place, I've been awful to you, and I'm so sorry!"

John kissed him hard on the mouth without replacing his hand as Alexander's stomach twisted in knots.  "You were pushing me because this is what you wanted.  You wanted me angry.  You wanted me to manhandle you and tie you up and deny you until you learn to respect me."

"Yes, John.  Yes."  His eyes stung but he couldn't continue to cry.  He'd dehydrated himself and the room was spinning as he flexed and fought the complete disarming of his quick and temporary hatred.  He could no longer feel that anger.  Somehow, John could always draw that poison out of him.  "I'm sorry."

"I've been awful to you, too.  I've been neglecting you."  He kissed him.  "And I'm so sorry.  Endlessly sorry, mon beau, for anything I've ever done to hurt you.  I want to make it right again, treat you how you want to be treated."

"Please touch me."

So he did.  He touched him there on the floor, he touched him as they kissed, he touched him after untying his wrists, he touched him when they made their way to the balcony as promised, and he left momentarily to grab the lube before returning to touch him again, undress him fully in the cool night air, and fuck him like he said he would.  He didn't stop touching him and kissing him as they stumbled back into the bedroom, John lifting him slightly, arms tight around his body.  And he kept his arms around him as they kissed for a while before Alexander began to doze off and he held him while they slept off their drunkenness.

Chapter Text

CLAMMY WITH SWEAT WHEN HE AWOKE and still wrapped in John's arms like he'd been all night long, Alexander was uncomfortable.  John was still asleep deeply and his hold on him was pretty secure, so getting out of bed would be difficult, but he needed to use the bathroom.  He wiggled a bit before deciding to pry his stiffened arm off of him entirely.  He got up, used the bathroom, and laid back down in bed, where John's eyes were fluttering and beckoned him back into his embrace.

"It's hot," complained Alexander.

"But I love you," John mumbled, grabbing him anyway.

Alexander's breath caught at that.  He didn't think John was awake enough to have realized he even said that.  "I... have a splitting headache."

John groaned in agreement, burying his face in his arms.  Alexander watched him in silence for a minute or so.  He felt uneasy and didn't know why.  He was considering whether he loved John back, whether John even meant what he said or if it was a still-asleep, hungover slip of the tongue.  If he still wanted John so bad after all they'd said last night, he figured maybe it was true and he did love him.  Maybe they needed distance... At the very least, they needed to talk, and the thought made him uncomfortable.  Talking to John was too difficult.  He hated facing the feelings, hated more when they fought, yet somehow the latter had always been easier.

The problem, he supposed, was that they both held onto their emotions until they exploded in insecurity and anger.  He knew he was doing it last night, knew it was wrong to eavesdrop every time he did it, knew it was wrong to shove John and bite him and spit on him, knew pickling his blood in alcohol was bad too, he knew all of it before, during, and after his actions, but they always felt like the easiest route.  The most natural course for all that anger.

So, now they were here.  He placed his hand in John's hair.  It felt nice still.  His heart tightened and maybe he did love him.  "Hey... we should get up soon.  We have a boat to catch at..." he glanced at the bedside clock.  "Shit.  We gotta go now."

"Nooo."

"It's already ten."

"Fuuuck."  John squeezed him tighter, stretching a bit.  "Fuck.  Okay..."

"That's gonna make me vomit," Alexander complained, trying to push away John's too-tight hold over his stomach.  John apologized, rolling over and covering his face with the pillow when Alexander got up to shower.  

At last he got up, rubbing at his head, a sudden shame and embarrassment coming to him as he recalled everything they did last night and the way they'd argued.  He hoped nobody had heard.  He walked stiffly to the bathroom, Alex already in the shower, steaming the place up.

"Can I get in with you?"

Alexander didn't sound put out when he said, "Sure."  He stepped aside to allow him room after the curtain was pulled back.  He saw the way John looked at him.  "Hey, now, we don't have time for anything..." 

"I know.  Did you puke?" he asked, stepping out of the water after thoroughly wetting himself down.  Alexander stepped in to rinse soap from his hair.  

"No.  I'm fine."

"Yeah?"  He sounded unsure.  With Alexander still under the shower head, water cascading over his shoulders, he touched his chin to draw him into a gentle kiss.  It was so warm, his head was swimming, and all he wanted to do was hold him close.  He let the kiss remain a singular instance in their shower, however, and got to washing himself off.

When they were dressed again, John packed their things while Alexander began to clean up after them, toss all the empty shooters and pick up the bucket from the puddle of water it laid in and toss the flowers that'd been knocked over last night.  While kneeling on the floor, he stared at the tie still looped loosely around the leg of the table, the spot where he'd been mostly naked and John said all those things to him, made him see stars.  He expected to feel sick over it when he was sober, but as his mind wandered, he looked back on it with a warmth in his body.  He wanted it to happen again.  He didn't think anything he'd ever experienced could hold a candle to how John treated him after their fight, the way John's attention fed him when he was starving.  Maybe he wasn't supposed to starve and beg for scraps.  Maybe he was always starving, though, and he loved John so much at this point that he'd never feel whole again without him.  A hand unconsciously made its way to his stomach, which twisted with hunger for real food.  He picked up the tie as well as any other of their possessions he found. 

John rolled their luggage into the sitting room by the door.  He opened one of their several suitcases to put the loose articles of clothing in.  

"Have you seen my phone?" sighed Alexander.

John tried to remember where it landed when he threw it last night.  After some searching, they found it had slid under a chair.  

"It's fine," Alex reported.  Still, though John expected him to be, he didn't sound upset.  John wondered what could be hiding behind his hangover.

"Are you fine?"

Alexander didn't react much to the question, still looking down at his phone.  "Yes."

"...After, you know, last night?"

"I'm fine, John."

"Yes, but, you know.  I hope I didn't—" A sharp knock came upon the door.  Alexander put his phone into his back pocket as John said, "That must be the bellhop."

"We can't leave the place like this," said Alexander.

John opened up the door, rolling some of the luggage out and speaking to the bellboy in Italian.  He gave him two one-hundred notes and thanked him.  He didn't close the door as the man left with the cart, looking back to Alexander.  He said, "What were you saying?"

"We trashed this place."

"Hardly."  He took out his wallet again anyway, put a few hundred more euros on the counter, and wrote a quick note.

"Throwing money at the problem."

"There's not much else we can do about it.  We need to leave now or we'll miss boarding."

"I'm hungry."

"They'll have food on the ship.  C'mon."

Alexander bit his lip, glancing back at what he was able to hastily tidy then again at John.  He walked towards the door.  John stopped him, gentle hand on his arm, nothing like how he'd grabbed him last night.  His influence was just as forceful, though, as he pulled Alexander into a kiss.  Alex stood on his toes when John grabbed his thighs.

Alexander was the first to pull away.   "John, we are going to be late."

"I'm sorry about last night."

"Me, too.  For the fight," he clarified.  "But I'm not... I loved what we did after.  Okay?"  He pecked John's jaw before stepping away.  "We gotta go now."

John followed him out the door.  "Even though you were... crying?  It felt right last night but after this morning I can't help but feel like—"

"It was the good sort of crying."

John was unsure how to respond to that.  He caught up with Alexander and grabbed his hand as they walked to the elevator.  

"I MIGHT BE A LITTLE SEA SICK," whispered Alexander, bracing himself against the bed.  "When's the Dramamine going to kick in?"

"I told you to take it before we even got on the boat and you didn't listen."

"Thanks, doesn't answer my question."

"Just give it some time.  Come on, let's grab some food.  We can eat it on the deck before the ship departs.  It'll be too windy when it does."

"I thought boats were supposed to be, like, a comfortable vacation thing.  Don't they put lounge chairs and tiki bars on the decks of cruise ships?"

"Sure," said John, taking his hand as they left the room, "but those are cruise ships.  The ferry moves a lot faster.  The wind is going to be crazy and it'll be refreshing," he reassured him.

"Okay.  I'm starved.  I need to soak up whatever toxins are still poisoning me right now."

"I know."

"So, why exactly are we taking a ferry instead of a luxurious cruise with your networth?"

As they passed a heavy dark-haired man smoking a cigarette in the stairwell, John answered, "Low-profile."

"Like you couldn't afford a private ship."

"It's just such a waste of resources."

"Right.  You know, I think Europeans hate Americans.  Pouvons-nous parler français?"

"Pensez-vous qu'ils aiment les Français plus qu'ils ne nous aiment?"

"Fair point.  Everyone hates each other."

"E l'italiano?"

"I don't speak Italian."

"Sounds like a you-problem.  I'll teach you, it's not too different from Spanish.  Non riesco a decidere quale sia più sexy: i tuoi occhi o il tuo culo."

"I caught several words and I don't trust myself to answer that question without answering incorrectly.  Which part of me is sexier, my eyes or ass?"

John squeezed his hand tighter.  "Yes, good job."

"One of those is definitely a sweeter compliment."

"You're right.  Culo.  Anche se dirò che amo i tuoi occhi.  Ti guardo negli occhi e sento il mio cuore iniziare a correre.  Quando scopiamo. Quando ceniamo. Quando ti vedo dopo una lunga giornata. Penso di amarti, Alexander. "

Alexander leaned into him with a laugh.  There was another person standing near the entrance to the dining hall, carpeted red with a bar inside, and Alexander asked him, "What'd he say?"

The man raised his eyebrows and shook his head.  John laughed and led them away towards the food. 

"I think you say you love my eyes... your heart starts racing... we do something, we have dinner?  You see me after a long day?  You lost me towards the end," he fibbed a little, having a bit of an idea what he said at the end.

"Not bad, you got most of it.  'Quando scopiamo' es 'cuando follamos.'  I love to look into your eyes cuando follamos, y cuando cenamos, y cuando te veo después de un largo día.  You did a really good job, though."

"It's so weird because so much of it sounds like Spanish but some words it just isn't?  Like when a Scot is speaking English but some of the dialect and the words are not translating."

"Yeah, exactly like that."

They grabbed a couple of sandwiches and took them to the deck.

"Think you'll buy a pack of cigarettes?" asked Alex, cautiously a foot away from the rail, mouth full of veggies, chicken, and pita bread.  "Everyone here seems to smoke.  Plus, y'know," he swallowed, "it'd be on the down-low.  No press."

"You'd tolerate my cigarette breath?"

"To see how hot you look when you smoke, yeah.  Turns me on.  I don't mind the smell that much.  There's something rugged and sexy about it.  Cuando follamos.  Somos como amantes en los años-ochenta."

John leaned over the rail.  They were still in the harbor.  The sea was dark.  He wondered how cold it might be this time of year.  It'd swallow him.  He glanced at Alexander, his husband.  He saw him and remembered the previous night, their argument and the taste of alcohol on his skin from having thrown it at him.  It hurt his chest to think he'd done that, even if Alexander was the one who incited the physicality in the first place by biting and shoving and spitting.  Alexander wasn't as angry as he was sad, though, and John supposed he didn't have quite as much leverage, either.  John remembered how angry it'd made him when he said he had been tiptoeing in fear he'd be kicked out; had slept with him the first night he overheard Martha's encouragement to end things.  Martha had meant it at the time but truly had dropped it.  All this time and John never knew.

Alexander leaned over the bars beside him momentarily but stepped back again.

"Afraid?" John asked.

Alexander shook his head.  "Not really.  But there's no need to invite the risk.  It's not like the movies, you know.  I think a fall like that would kill me."

"Maybe not, but it'd ruin ships for you."

"Definitely."  He touched John's lower back hesitantly.  His hand slipped into his pocket when their bodies seemed to warm up to one another naturally.  "It's been a good vacation so far."

"Save for last night."

"Hey, you know I'm not still mad about that, right?  About him... calling you."

"You said that.  Still, I..."

Alex rested his head against his arm.

"I don't like the way I treated you," John finished.  

"It was okay."

"It wasn't."

"I spit in your face."

John wiped at his cheek as if it was still there.  "I deserved it."

"I bit you."

"That, too.  I was a dick."

"I don't even remember what you said."

"...Neither do I."  He remembered he'd insinuated Alex was bound by contract and yeah, that was not the right thing to say.  Maybe Alex remembered that too but didn't want to acknowledge it.  "I know you were pissed about Francis.  Rightfully so.  It took real audacity to call me out of the blue like that and I'm sorry I lied about it, I just didn't want you to worry."

"Yeah, well... fuck him."

"But I have to talk to you.  Calmly.  About Francis."  He felt Alexander's breath tense.  "Listen.  He was out of line to call me when I'm married and it's been so long, but I think he needed closure and he's always been close to me.  He is always going to have a place in... my head, at least, and I loved him.  I know that isn't what you wanted to hear—"

"No.  Not really."

"But I don't want to lie to you.  You're still my husband, my world.  He doesn't have any claim on my heart anymore and won't again, I promise you.  But he and I were close and there's no cutting that part out even if I repress it and pretend he doesn't exist."

Alexander sighed.  Sober, it was easier to handle.  Reassured by John calling him his world, he could actually believe the claim.  When they were heightened by emotion and alcohol the times they argued about it, he refused to believe John because that'd mean relinquishing a part of him and maybe even being wrong.  "I understand," he said.  "But you really hurt me with that.  I understand that's the way it is but I don't like it."

"All I can do is reassure you that you come first, Alexander.  You do.  I'm sorry I've hurt you."

"I know."

"The other part of it is that I hurt Francis, too.  Deeply.  I was absolutely in the wrong.  I was too afraid when I was with him to ever tell my father or go out in public as more than friends.  Then I asked him to marry me for the sake of my inheritance and that hurt him and made him feel used.  I didn't like at the time how that made me feel about myself or that his reaction hurt me when I'd just lost my father and was blinded by that.  It wasn't right for us and our differences would have probably broken us up anyway.  But that doesn't make it okay that I did hurt him.  Then I got married to you and he called me because he's been angry for a while thinking I cheated on him, too.  Wouldn't you feel that way in his position?"

"...Yes.  I think I would, but I also think I would've married you anyway.  He should have been more empathetic to you, as a prince, not wanting to come out to a whole country.  It's kind of a big deal. It'd change your life forever and you're still so young to have made that decision out of necessity.  At least when you made it now, your parents weren't around to judge.  I get how he would feel like the change of circumstances sucks, but it's unfair to you."

"Francis wasn't wrong to feel that way."

"Maybe not, but it shows a complete lack of faith in you."  He put a hand on John's shoulder to get him to turn.  "He must have thought you were selfish or cold when really, you were just scared and considering the greater effects of being the first openly gay member of the royal family.  People have been blacklisted, shunned, and even killed for less."  He touched his stubbly face.  "You were trying to be responsible."

John nodded, though he didn't exactly feel the same way.  He did feel selfish and like he was using people to get his way.  He did care for both Francis and Alexander, but only one of them was willing to marry him, and he chose that one despite not even knowing him or loving him yet.  He chose his inheritance.  'You can give up the throne if you really do want to be with me,' he'd said.

"Would you ask me to choose between you and being king?"

Alexander opened his mouth and closed it again quickly.  He knew what his heart wanted but this other part of him... "I just want you to be happy and... glorious.  If that means you're going to choose to fulfill the role you were raised to fill, one that you deserve, I don't know if I could ask you to choose me instead."  And he didn't know if he wanted to know what John would choose.

And John was thinking now that maybe the difference between Francis and Alexander was that, at least from his retrospective view, Alexander would marry him whether it was to ensure his legacy or because he wanted to be his husband.

"Francis wanted you to choose?" said Alex.  "Well, I don't."

"It isn't a competition, Alexander.  I'm married to you."

"I know.  But don't ask me to have compassion for him when he's trying to reinsert himself into the picture."

"You have nothing to worry about."

Alexander nodded and slipped his hand down into John's.

John repeated, "I'm sorry about last night.  I wasn't even angry at first, I was indignant and appalled and irritated, already upset after talking to Francis and then because you were upset with me and I sometimes feel like nothing I do is ever enough to keep you happy - but then it made me angry that... when I thought you didn't..." he shrugged, "want me, you know, as much as you wanted to remain rich and comfortable."

"I was being awful on purpose.  I wanted to be with you so bad, I would have done anything to keep you on my side.  Anything."

"I'm always on your side.  We're married.  E mi preoccupo profondamente di te, indipendentemente dal fatto che tu mi ami o se mai lo farai."

I care deeply about you... regardless of... you love me or... "What are you confessing in a language you know I can't speak?  If there's something you need to say, John—"

"I care about you so much, regardless of how you were feeling, that I showered you with gifts."

"I thought— Okay."

"And I lied to you every time you asked if something was up.  If everything was okay with Martha.  If she likes you.  She does," he promised, "but you weren't wrong to think she was acting a little off, obviously.  She thought our marriage was causing tension and pushing you to drink."

"Why didn't she talk to me?"

"She didn't feel it was her place.  She even told me she thinks being in a fabricated and loveless relationship was making you depressed and I wrote her off.  I didn't ask you.  I got frustrated about it instead."

"I haven't been depressed because I'm unhappy with the circumstances of our relationship.  I was drinking and partying because I was bored and lonely.  You can't be around all the time.  I get that.  A part of me was drinking because I hated the secrets and the insecurity between us.  She was just a little off about what parts were hurting me.  I'm on your turf, you have all this power over my happiness, and you're familiar with the lay of the land in a way I'll never be.  Yeah, I was tiptoeing, but I was so jealous and insecure and sad all the time that I wanted to tear you apart.  I just wanted you to hear me."

"I'm listening now," he whispered, a repeat of what was said last night.  "I didn't understand that you felt that way.  I shouldn't have treated you like I did last night... what I said to you during sex."

"It felt good."

"But it wasn't fair."

"No, I guess I... was a little upset.  It felt amazing.  It still made me sad, I'm not... I felt powerless in a way that was so... I've never felt like that before.  I thought I liked all the power.  Last night totally made me into a submissive masochist, in the best way possible."

"But it made you sad?"

"A little bit.  I've been feeling for a long time that I keep screwing up when I'm trying to save our relationship.  I've always felt like that.  Like I make mistakes no matter how hard I try to mean well.  I know my reaction last night was a mistake and all the fights before were, too, but you always talk to me like I'm doing something wrong and last night when you did that, even in the context of... you know, reconciliation and pleasure... I felt bad."

"Did I scare you?"

"When we fucked?"

"When I first tied you up.  In the moment, I didn't think much of it, but then last night and today I just keep thinking that you seemed... afraid.  And you asked me to be gentle and I wasn't planning on being anything but gentle and completely respectful of you in the first place, but still, I keep thinking about it.  I acted without thinking about the situation and that we'd just been fighting."

"It was fine, John."

"It wasn't completely fine so tell me the truth."

"Look, the sex was the best I've ever had.  You paid attention to me in a way that made everything feel better.  You asked me if it was okay and it was, from start to finish, and I promise I would have said something if it wasn't."

"But at first, you seemed..."

Alexander sighed heavily.  "Yeah, okay.  I guess there was a part of me... between the alcohol and the fighting and all of the emotions, how you reacted when I pushed your buttons, intending to get a rise out of you... yeah, for a moment, I realized that I was in an extremely vulnerable and compromising situation so I needed your reassurance.  You know?  Like when you're a kid and you're wrestling with somebody stronger than you and you know they're not actually going to hurt you because it's all in good fun but you cry out 'uncle!' anyway to let them know they've bested you.  It's a little different than that - I trusted you and I think I always have, otherwise I wouldn't have tried to make you angry on purpose.  But I did need that reassurance.  And you gave it to me and you considered me and made it clear I could say no and I felt good again.  That's what that sort of kink stuff is, isn't it?  For some people, at least.  To know that your body's going to react to the situation with a healthy twinge of fear but knowing and having somebody's word that you're safe and can always say no.  That's what it is for me, I think.  I think about that stuff all the time so this isn't new to me.  I enjoy the vanilla sex but I also feel safe with you and want you in more ways than one.  I want you to take control sometimes and, okay, it felt unfair in the moment that I felt like I'd done something wrong when you were a little bit mean, and you were withholding for a minute there but then I liked it, and I liked knowing you were going to be so tender and good to me and give me what I want.  Does that all make sense?"

John nodded wordlessly.

"So," continued Alex, "I guess I'm trying to tell you that I did like it and I'm on board with doing it again.  Sex can't fix all of the issues we have but that, last night, it sure fixed something when it had felt like just moments before that there was no coming back from that.  We're on the same page again, like we were before we got married and things were simpler, before feelings were involved.  Like I can trust my own feelings again and I trust yours, too."

"I want to fix it all."

"If you promise me Francis is squared away, that's half the problem gone."

"Thought I promised that rather thoroughly last night.  Je t'ai fait mon préféré."

"Finally, a language I'm comfortable in."

"Did I not prove how much I cherish you?  How je t'ai touché, made you promise tu es à moi.  My head's filled with only you."

"It's a decent start.  But you might have to prove it to me again."

"Tonight?"

"Or right now."  He crumpled the tinfoil around what was left of his sandwich.

"Your horniness knows no bounds."

"I want a repeat of last night, but sober, and without the arguing as foreplay.  I want you to tie me up again.  And to be a little nicer.  Besides, we're on a boat.  There's no place else for us to be right now."

John wrapped the rest of his sandwich, too.  Fuck eating.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER] > I got your number from a mutual friend of a friend. It's not really important who I am but I thought you deserved to know that I was consistently sleeping with John as recently as 3 months before you two got married.  We were dating.  A month before you announced your engagement, we broke up.

ALEXANDER AND JOHN had just got off the ferry and were on their way to the resort with their luggage.  John was holding his left hand, looking out the window of the luxury coach at the buildings.  "Can you believe it?  It's beautiful."

"Yeah, babe, gorgeous," he replied quietly, looking at his phone.  He clicked it off.  "Uh, I gotta use the bathroom.  Be right back."

John continued to look out the window, none the wiser. Alexander got up, walked down the short aisle of the bus holding onto the seats so he didn't fall, giving a curt nod to a couple of their security staff who'd been escorting them this entire vacation, just like their honeymoon.  It was annoying, but with John's status, it did give him a little peace of mind.  

He unlocked his phone again when he'd locked himself into the rocking restroom.  He fumed at the message.

Alexander > Francis, I presume?  
Alexander > Don't sound so proud of yourself.  I knew about you.  

Francis > You knew about me and I didn't know about you. So John was cheating on me with you and you're the other woman.

Alexander > Wanna compare dick size?  I'm married to him.  Just wanted you to know I don't really care what you have to say, whatever wedge you're trying to drive between my husband and I, whatever the fuck that phone call was about the other night, it means nothing to me.  Only reason I haven't answered til now is because we were on the Mediterranean enjoying our vacation.  

Francis > I'm not trying to get with him again. But it just shocks me that it doesn't bother you that he was testing out his options. He asked me to marry him. Did you know that too? He needed somebody or he wouldn't be allowed to take the throne. He knew that so when his father died he finally decided to take advantage of one whoever was stupid enough to marry him.

Alexander > I knew all of that.  Doesn't bother me one bit.  

Francis > Guess you and I just have differing views on self-dignity, then. 

Alexander > You're right. How dignified is it to reach out to your ex's spouse because you're envious, regretting that you missed your shot? Personally, I could never stoop so low. Cut your loss.

He texted John, too.  Come here.  But when there was a sudden knock on the bathroom door, he was still startled. 

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, yes!" he responded.  He hesitated, stood, and opened the door.  "Um, so..." He cleared his throat, took a step back and waved John into the tiny room.  He closed the door behind him, confused.

"Is everything all right?"

Alexander handed his phone over.  John began to read through the messages, at first grimacing but soon a laugh cracked his face.  "What's funny?" demanded Alexander.

"'Compare dick size,' you got that right.  This is ridiculous," he said.  "I feel bad."

"Do not feel bad.  He is so ridiculous to be calling you, but texting me?  That's crazy."

"You're right.  I didn't think he'd... I must have really hurt him, Alex." 

"Come on.  Is he actually texting me right now?  Just be on my side about this one, okay?  Look, he sent another!"

John read it aloud: "'So, what, he propositioned you get married and you said yes knowing full and well that he asked me first?'"

Alexander grabbed the phone from John and was met with a heady kiss.  He wrapped his arms around his waist.  Alexander exhaled in relief through his nose.  

"The nerve," he whispered, breaking their kiss.  Even as John continued kissing his face and neck, he was trying to type back a legible response.

Alexander > Haha who says he asked you first

"What'd you say?" John whispered.

"Implied you... asked me first."

"So what's our story?"  He kissed his throat, hands under his shirt.  

"Mm... you asked me, I said maybe, so you asked him, he said no, I got jealous and said yes."

"I don't know who that paints in a worse light but neither is good."

"Fine, how 'bout—" he laughed a little when John kissed a spot on the crux of his neck and shoulder that tickled.  "How about... you wanted me, but I said you should try to marry him, so as not to disrupt our lives.  So you'd have somebody... respectable."

"And I said 'fuck that,' you're the one I want."  

"And when he said 'no' and you had no other choice anyway..." he was grinning.  

"How romantic."

"So romantic!"  He smooched him on the mouth then checked his buzzing phone.  "Your little ex-lover-boy said 'You would still marry him knowing he would have married somebody else?'  Um, hell yeah."

"...Say that."

Still in his arms, he began to type a reply.  "'Hell yes, your loss, now I'm going to end this conversation so I can fuck—'"

"Hold on," laughed John, in spite of his wandering hands.

"'—So I can fuck my husband!'" he chuckled.  He finished the text and sent it, immediately discarding the phone in the sink and kissing John again.

"We're not alone on this bus," admonished John, still smiling.

"Just— quick.  It'll be hours before we hit Cairo, I can't wait that long—"

"You can't be satisfied."

"Nope."

"You're so hot... and amazing."  He unbuttoned Alexander's jeans as he descended.  "You better stay quiet.  Real quick, and then you have to somehow make it to the resort."

Alexander was grinning, head tilted back.  He covered his mouth with his fist.  

"THIS PLACE IS EVEN BETTER IN PERSON," said Alexander with a whimsical sigh.  "I've had my fair share now of pretty hotel rooms and don't get me wrong, your mansion's awesome, but this..." he dragged a hand across the recycled glass countertop.  "I can't believe I'm going to be living here.  It's even better than the pictures."  John placed a hand beside his, smiling at him admiringly.  Alexander glanced up.  "The height's comfortable."

"Oh, yes," he agreed, "very comfortable for cooking."

Alexander laughed and shook his head, not what he meant at all.  He turned again and walked away from the counter.  

"So, a fully furnished loft within five minutes of campus.  Think you'll be set?"

"Please," he said, still grinning.  He wandered to the couch, fell backward onto it.  Today he wasn't dressed for the cameras: sure, he wore exclusive, name-brand sneakers, jeans, and a designer shirt, but at least he'd picked it all out himself.  He laughed, delighted and excited.  He rolled onto his side.  "It's way out of my price range."

"But not out of ours," John reminded him.  He glanced back at the bar.  "I told them to stock your cabinets, but it looks like they stocked the bar, too."

"Sick."

"Go easy on it, will you?" 

"Promise."  He grabbed one of the throw pillows, tossed it at John.  

"You remember the night before our wedding?"  John set the pillow on the sofa with care.  "We were on the loveseat in our hotel room and you had your legs over me."

"I mostly recall," he laughed.  "Although I was pretty drunk.  You carried me to bed that night."  He sighed whimsically.  "Then we got friggin' hitched."

"In a little over a month from now, it will have been a year since we met."

"We're worse than those people who go to Vegas and marry somebody they sleep with once."

"I don't think it's quite the same.  Y'know there are arranged marriages in other cultures all the time.  I don't think it's crazy that we could... Hey, let's check out the master bedroom."

"Change of subject, but can't wait.  Up those stairs, right?  Christ, I've never had an apartment with stairs."  He got up and ran past John to race him out of the room, up the steps.  "Oh, my God.  Look at that.  Look at the windows!" he said, pointing across the scope of the loft at the great, big windows letting in the sunlight.  "I don't think I can move back in with you after this."

"No?" said John with a smile, hands going to Alexander's hips as he was still preoccupied with the view of the city.  "Think I'll just have to move in with you, then?"

"The capitol is in good hands.  You travel all the time for work anyway."  He wrapped his arms around John's neck, looking at him now.  

"It'd be a little while before I'm actually able to."

"That's okay."  He pecked his lips.

"I have a feeling it might take a bit of convincing, though."

"Your advisors will understand.  Look at me, I'm a hot slice."

"No, I'll have to convince you.  I know you wanna sleep in a king-size all by yourself and sing when nobody's home."

He smiled at him, pressed his forehead against his.  "You can sleep in one of the three guest rooms when I need my me-time."

"Is that all it'll take?"

"Hmm... maybe a little more.  Maybe we'll have to see how the two of us fit on that bed and come to a settlement."

"Is that what we'll have to do?" he whispered, hand trailing first up his waist then down to his thighs.  Alexander could tell from the way he was positioning himself that he was going to lift him, so he backed up into the door as they kissed, fumbled with the knob, and jumped into his arms for just a moment before John dropped him on the bed, legs still around him, lips still busy.  

Alexander laughed and put his arms out, in the middle and still not reaching either edge of the mattress.  "I'm not sure there's enough room!"

John pushed him higher on the bed and rested one knee on the mattress, going again to kiss him. 

Alex put a hand on his chest.  "I think there's a weight capacity, actually.  Worried we might break it with both of us on here."  He was laughing and so was John, who decidedly fell back beside him, gave himself a little bounce.  "Maybe we should make sure it's safe for two people?  Like jumping in an elevator."

"Right, have to make sure it's sturdy."

"Don't know what I'd do if I had to sleep in one of the other empty bedrooms!"

"The other rooms don't have a landing and a view of the city."  He turned Alexander's head to the glass balcony door, which was half-covered by the drapes and wooden blinds.  "See that yet?"

"Oh, God, I'm convinced.  You're moving in."

"Afraid of heights?" teased John.

"No!  I just know I'm definitely never moving again and I definitely can't go without sex for too long or I'd probably have an aneurysm."

"So exhaustingly horny," whispered John, pecking his neck.

"It's actually a very rare medical condition, I have a— doctor's note—"

"Yeah?" he mumbled against his throat, hand already in his jeans causing the stuttering.  

"Yeah, pretty tough thing to— live with."

"Good thing you have a doctor who's making this chronic disease a little less painful."

Alexander chuckled.  "Are we about to do some freaky medical role-play?  Ooh, doctor, it aches—"

John took his hand away, put both on his face and pulled him into a kiss as they rolled around in the bed.  Alexander, atop him now, whispered, "Guess what, doctor?"

"What?"

He got up next to his ear.  "I love you."

John's grin broadened, knowing he meant it this time.  "Yeah?  I love you, too."

Chapter Text

MARTHA, TO CONTRAST Alexander's being leaned against the wall, was standing straight, like she always was.  She was perfect.  Everybody thought her brother was the golden child but she was the real deal.  She didn't cuss or drink or party.  She didn't fight with people.  She maintained an air of confidence and grace where her older brother failed.  She was the one picking up his slack and nobody ever gave her the credit for it.  La folie de la femme.  She'd likely be doomed to repeat this pattern forever.  Always leading from the background with little thanks.  That's what angered her about Alexander.  In her mind, all that man had to do was be a man and marry somebody in power and now the press adored him more than they'd ever adore her.  He could screw up, get sloppy, and his image was still pristine.  But she knew him: his urges to argue and his fuck-ups.

But she had recently begun to see a side of him she never considered.  She also had seen a year ago, when she couldn't help but explode in anger towards him and her brother, that he understood her better than she thought he could.  Like the femme de folie she was, she'd be the first to apologize.

"I misunderstood you for so long," she began at a carefully low volume.  Alexander had just moved to New York City again and her brother was absent more often than he should be.  Alex came back to visit this summer so John could resume his duties.  The two of them were about to fulfill another TV interview.  "I hope you're happy in New York."

"I am.  How have things been here?"

"The same."

"What do you mean you misunderstood me?" he asked carefully.

She shrugged, hands in her pockets.  "I envied how easy it came to you without having grown up in this realm of wealth and politics.  I thought it was dumb luck or a consequence of being a man.  It is, I still think that," she added, "but I've come to understand you better and I know you've worked hard.  You've faced hardships I hadn't even cared to learn about before.  I'm not interested in doing the little oppression olympics because you'll never fully understand what it's like to be a woman and I'll never understand your plight as someone who didn't grow up with money.  Everybody has their hardships.  We'll leave it at that.  Still, I don't think I've properly apologized for the way I've treated you or told you myself that I've confronted those biases and would like to try to understand, in the very least."

He said, "There's no need to apologize.  I know why you'd hate me and I get it."

"I don't hate you.  I didn't before, either.  I was envious," she repeated.

"Okay."

"I thought you were unhappy being with him.  I would be.  John is a smart man and he's a good person.  I know he is.  I've looked up to him my whole life.  But you seemed unhappy for a while and I empathized with it at first, like you were... a trapped woman with little choice.  I have so much power and freedom but I think every woman is a little bit trapped.  Seeing you in that light frustrated me.  It was never about you - when I tried to drive a wedge between you two, I thought I was helping you.  I had no idea for so long that you liked, or... loved one another.  However that came about.  I was angry because John gets so much credit for everything he does and I'll never get that no matter how hard I've worked.  Other people don't see me as his equal.  I'm muddying my points, but do you understand what I'm getting at?"

"Yes, I do.  And I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry.  I want you to know that I do like you, Alex, and when everything's said and done, if you stay with John, you're going to be a part of this family."

He finished off his cup of water uncomfortably.  He realized in that moment that he and Martha hadn't had a conversation alone together since long before John told her they were in a legitimate relationship.  Long before the vacation and moving away.  The last time they were alone like this was also the last time they had an interview together, the same day they'd later begin arguing like a true family while attempting to watch a movie.  Siblings.

"Anyway, that's all.  I want you to know I'm sorry for anything I said that might've seemed like I hate you.  I don't."

Alexander cleared his throat.  "You know, John mentioned something to me a couple weeks ago about... well, we were talking about diarchies."

"Diarchies."

"Yeah.  You should talk to him.  It's a pretty big decision to be making for the country, but it'd be worthwhile.  I told him that I think you'd make a great leader.  You'd be performing the duties you already have been performing for the past year in his absence but with the credit, at least."

She hummed as she considered this.  If John was serious and he wanted to share the rule with her, then she might be able to make some effective changes.  No more whispering over her brother's shoulder hoping he enacts policies she's in favor of.  "The country has never had a woman in this position."

"Exactly.  Can you imagine how excited Mary Eleanor would be?"

"You're right," she laughed lightly.  "It would be months, maybe even years of humming and hand-wringing to amend the constitution to make that happen."

"It'd be well worth the change, though."

"Maybe I'll talk to him.  Do you actually think he was serious when it came up?"

"Yeah.  And I'd convince him if he wasn't."

"Really?"

"Do you underestimate my ability to turn him to my side?"

"He can be stubborn."

"I'm more stubborn."

She chuckled.  "You two are a perfect match."