Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ben ran a cool rag over the ring of bruises forming on his neck and collar, pressing the cloth into them to relive the sweet bite. It was raw, and throbbed under the pads of his fingers. He hissed slightly, thankful that his collar would cover the extent of the damage.

Dressing was bittersweet, as Ben had to disguise the body he laid bare for Washington, and play the prim soldier. In his uniform he was all he was ever raised to be: pious, chaste, a good soldier with his mind and heart for the cause. All of these were true, to an extent. Yet Ben yearned for nightfall, where he would slip into Washington’s tent and succumb to all his earthly desires. It made him feel whole, knowing Washington saw both lives he led.

These bruises were just a few in a long line of marks Washington had left as a loving reminder of that life.

The day dragged on routinely, pulling Ben to and fro between different tasks. He felt weary as he trudged to his work tent, sweat worked up under the collar of his uniform. He loosened the top button, allowing his sore neck to breathe.

To his surprise, Arnold was already inside the tent, making himself comfortable.

“General Arnold! My apologies to you, sir. I did not know I would have your company. Have you waited long?” Ben apologized, ghosting into the tent and behind his desk. Arnold was a friend, and fellow officer-- but he felt uneasy at the notion that someone had entered his tent uninvited, especially considering his special duties.

Arnold put down a letter he was reading (thankfully not one of Ben’s) a smile over his face. “Major Tallmadge, pleasure to see you. No, I had no appointment. Just passing through and decided to pay a visit to the kind young officer who paid his respects when I was down.” Arnold said, taking a glance around the tent. “And what a fine job you’re doing. Busy man, eh?”

Ben smiled. It had been quite some time since he and Arnold last spoke. “Busy as can be. Your leg has healed nicely, sir. How has it treated you in battle?”

Arnold scoffed, rubbing absentmindedly at his leg. “Damnable thing hurts like hell. Not much battle, I’m afraid. Caught up with affairs in congress concerning my wages.”

Ben grimaced at the comment. He had heard all about Arnold accosting congress, demanding pay for a cause in need of donation. Still, he humored him. “My apologies, General. I'm certain congress will come to the right conclusion.” Ben left the right conclusion to Arnold’s discretion.

Arnold waved his hand, swatting away Ben’s words. “No matter. I know what I'm owed. They can't tighten their purse strings when it comes to quality men in this military. Like you, Major. A fine young man as yourself gets worked half to death out here, with not a free hour to drink or find better company.”

Ben watched as Arnold’s eyes lingered on his collar, a bruise peeking out of the loosened fabric. “Or maybe not. What temptress gave you that?” A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes.

“Temptress! No, sir you’re mistaken.” Ben exclaimed, hand flying to cover the mark. Arnold grinned, amused by his bashfulness.

“Come now, it's all good fun. Handsome man such as yourself has got to draw a few eyes from the ladies patching uniforms. Had a tear in your breeches only a certain seamstress could mend?”

Ben laughed, hoping to wriggle out of this topic. Arnold continued his jest. “I'm surprised Ol’ George let you out of his sight long enough for you to stick it to one of these lasses. The man holds you near and dear to his heart. Always sings your praises to those who will listen.”

Ben flushed, but didn't miss the way Arnold’s tone darkened. “His Excellency is being kind. As you can see, it's grunt work.” He explained, flipping through some papers in an attempt to break the intense stare Arnold had fixed on him.

“It's not like George to raise up a captain so fast. Give him intelligence access, and the ability to withhold information from fellow Generals. You must have some talent.”

Ben didn't like where this was going. He searched his mind for a way to excuse himself, if only to put some distance between him and Arnold.

“Sir, it’s been an honor, but--”

“I'm not finished, Major. Surely Washington’s favorite can still spare time and manners from someone who outranks him.” That shut Ben up. A knot formed in his stomach as Arnold crossed the room, looming and staggering. He hooked a finger in Ben’s collar, examining the bruise that was peeking out.

“Not like a seamstress to lay bruises. This is a collar, a ring of want from someone who has claimed you. Now who might that be?”

Ben didn't need to answer, the fear in his eyes gave it away. He tried to pull back, but Arnold used the motion to rip open the front of his uniform, exposing the extensive bruising around his neck and collar. Ben’s cheeks turned hot at the sensation of eyes on his throat.

“I knew it”

Arnold’s tone was venomous, and Ben was paralyzed with fear. If he dashed, Arnold could still overpower him, and tear him to ribbons. Ben’s throat tightened at the sight of shredded uniform in Arnold’s fist.

“I knew something was going on. So tell me, how much does he pay you? How much of my personal fortune has gone to keep him warm in bed?”

Ben shook his head, wordlessly. He wanted to leave. To run and find cover from this brutality.

“He doesn't pay you? So I'm being swindled by a lecherous old man, and his common whore Molly.”

Ben felt his lip quivering, eyes pricking with tears. Hot shame radiated through every part of his body. He didn't care about Arnold’s money. He wasn't some easy soldier either. He loved George. How could this man stand here and make him feel shame about that?

Arnold seized Ben by the shredded lapels of his shirt, pulling him up onto his toes. “I will not be disrespected like this. I am a general and I am owed my dues. I suggest you put that filthy mouth of yours to work, and find the funds, or else--”

“Or else what?”

Arnold paused, turning to the front of the tent. There stood Washington, his face set hard in anger. A wave of relief flooded Ben, finally drawing out his voice. “George”

Arnold dropped Ben to his feet in disgust, turning his wrath on Washington. “Revolting. The boy cries for you like a wanton harlot. Tell me, George, are they all like this? Young, pretty boys you can rub yourself all over.  Hamilton...Lafayette...and now Tallmadge.”

“Hold your tongue, Arnold, or I will take it from you.”

“There is no honor in your filthy life, Sir, and I will not hold my tongue.

Washington clenched his jaw, closing the distance between him and Arnold.

“You speak to me of honor? Each man you slandered has more honor than your entire family line. Do not think I have ignored your pleas to congress. You so desperately wish to pad your pockets, but have not taken the time to notice there are no soles on the boots of those soldiers outside your tent. This nation’s soldiers, whose donation to the cause is their own life.”

“I've donated mine as well, and risked it plenty. Not like you took the time to pay your respects when I was battling to keep my leg. Too busy inspecting your other soldiers, I suppose.”

“Too busy running this army. Now, I've had enough of your insolence. You will leave this camp, you will leave Major Tallmadge alone, and if I find you within my sights without a day’s warning between us you will be court martialed. I can assure you, a court martial will not do well in your endeavors to pilfer congress’ purse.”

Arnold sneered, but Washington held his stare. Then, as quick as a whip, he picked up his things and rushed from the tent.

“Dearest Benjamin, are you alright? Come now, don't cry”

Ben wiped frantically at the tears that ran down his cheeks. He clutched the torn pieces of his shirt together, feeling cold and naked. Washington removed his cloak, and draped it over Ben’s shoulders.

“Let's leave this behind us. No one will see what he’s done. I’ll have a fresh uniform taken to my tent.”

Ben threw his arms around Washington, pressing him close. “Thank you.” He couldn't manage much more than that. Later, when his voice returned he would explain everything. The fear, the rage, the horrible shame inflicted on him. He would ask how to move past this, knowing someone made him feel like their love was filthy. How he could get dressed without fear of someone putting their hands to him again.

But for now, he accepted Washington’s strong embrace, and the comfort that came with it.