#shout out to my fav asshole for the 'john laurens idiot savants his way to the top' angle

[seekstrivefind]

can i get some jamilton laser tag????

You sure can! Disclaimer: I haven’t played laser tag in 15+ years and I haven’t written Jamilton ever.

Want a Hamilton mini-fic? Prompt me!

Jamilton, laser tag, 1907 words

“Okay, so. Here’s our strategy—”

Alexander’s jaw is set, brow furrowed in determination. He’sgot his vest strapped on, the blocky plastic laser-gun held across his body,and he’s addressing his friends like a general addressing his gathered troops.Lafayette is listening intently. Hercules is shoving John, who’s bouncing onhis toes, eager to get going and barely paying any attention at all.

“—how about ‘lose graciously’?” drawls a familiar voice frombehind Alexander. Alexander scowls. Hercules rolls his eyes and John gives anaudible ‘ugh’. Lafayette’s face lights up as he waves.

“Thomas!” he exclaims cheerfully, and then catches sight ofAlexander’s murderous expression. “Ah, sorry. I forgot; we are enemies.”

Lafayette taps the blue of his vest, and nods towards thered of Thomas’. Alexander lets out a steadying breath, and turns on his heel toface their opponent.

Thomas looks ridiculous. Despite knowing that they would bespending the afternoon running through a darkened room with laser-guns pointedat each other, he’s wearing a button-down and a tie. An actual tie. The veststrapped over the top tapers towards his narrow waist and hips, the laser-gunswings idly from one long finger. His hair is pulled back, something thatAlexander has seen only rarely, and it seems to accentuate the high line of cheekbones,the slender column of elegant neck, and did Alexander say ridiculous?Because he’s not even convincing himself. His scowl deepens.

“Any tips for losing graciously, Jefferson?” he snaps. “Ohno, that’s right—you’ve never done anything graciously a day in your life.”

“Never lost anything, either,” Thomas remarks coolly, oneeyebrow quirking up.

“Dunno, pretty sure you lost big when they were handing outfashion sense,” John pipes up from behind Alexander.

“Oh, you trained your monkey to talk?” Thomas remarks, fauxsurprise colouring his face as he presses his hand to his chest. “You couldmake real money off that little trick. Finally buy yourself a decent suit.”

“Fuck you,” John says, and Alexander hears a brief scufflethat sounds to his experienced ears like John Laurens being held back by oneHercules Mulligan. Thomas takes a step closer, and Alexander remembers to makea conscious effort to untie the knot in his tongue and come up with some wittyrejoinder.

“Yeah, fuck you,” is what he actually manages, which—notexactly his best work. But Thomas is stalking towards him with an almostmesmerising poise, and Alexander’s mouth is suddenly as barren as a desertwasteland. He swallows. It’s distinctly unfair that Thomas—an arrogant,pretentious, privileged son-of-a-bitch determined to put Alexander down to getahead—is also a complete wet dream, like somebody somewhere went down atick-list of Alexander’s desires and then slapped a faulty personality inlast-second.

Makes arguing with him properly real difficult, and this ishardly the first time that Alexander’s been trapped in the confused placebetween anger and arousal.

Thomas extends a finger, and prods Alexander in the chestwith it, leaning down so that they’re face-to-face.

“We all know who’s going to come out on top,” Thomas says witha smile, and Alexander sinks a sharp tooth into the side of his tongue in a determinedattempt not to think too hard about that phrasing. “Might as well cometo terms with it now, Hamilton.”

And then he’s gone, sweeping past them without even a secondlook.

“—well!” Lafayette says brightly before whatever collectionof inventive curse-words John has been stringing together can leave his mouth. “Ifor one am looking forward to this. Let’s go, shall we?”

Alexander, still glowering darkly and trying to calm the jitteringthump of his pulse, follows his friends without a word.

It’s chaos once the buzzer sounds. Any strategy they’d beenrelying on quickly falls apart as grown men and women start sprinting andshrieking, hammering plastic triggers and swearing sharply when their vestsflash to show they’ve been hit. Hercules ducks away without any of the rest ofthem actually noticing him go. John gets hit from behind and takes off with awar cry in pursuit of his attacker, determined on revenge. Lafayette is laughingdelightedly, and it’s not long before Alexander is separated from him, too.

Not that any of it matters. It’s just team-building,a stupid day out with colleagues that they’re forced to endure once a quarter.It’s laser-tag, for God’s sake, it’s for children. Except that the office livesand dies by the winners of the team-building games, and Alexander’s departmentare on a winning streak that he’s determined not to break.

He tucks himself into an empty corner, listening to the mayhemand deciding on his best strategy now that he’s alone. Points-wise, finding agood spot and staying put, sniping his competition as they move around isprobably the most efficient, and judging by the bedlam of the first sixty secondsof the game, they’re going to need all the points they can get.

He ducks out from the corner, advancing down a narrowcorridor, staying low. He hasn’t been hit yet, and that’s a badge of honour initself; a hard one to keep hold of in these games.

Alexander wouldn’t have noticed the branching corridor if anarm hadn’t come out of nowhere, practically clotheslining him before grippingthe strap of his vest and pulling him bodily into it.

“What the f—”

That’s as much as he gets out before there’s a hand clampedover his mouth, and Alexander is blinking rapidly up at the face of ThomasJefferson.

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says flatly. Alexander makes asound that’s close enough to what for, asshole? to be interpreted, and Thomastips his head just as a knot of red-team vests tumble past, whooping andhollering. It’s a long moment before he removes his hand.

“What,” Alexander repeats, tugging on the bottom of his vestto fix it, riding up askew on one side where Thomas had pulled on it, “is yourgame, Jefferson?”

“What, a man can’t do something nice for a colleague?”Thomas asks, and there’s a sharp glint to his smile, preternatural in theglowing blue lights of the course. Alexander narrows his eyes.

“A man? Sure. The devil himself dressed in a person-suit?Not so much.”

Thomas tuts, leaning back against the wall and folding hisarms as Alexander finishes brushing himself off.

“You think so little of me, Hamilton.”

“And every time I think I’ve hit the lower limit, you find away to prove me wrong,” Alexander mutters.

“You think I’m playing an angle?” Thomas asks, apparentlyexamining his fingernails idly, though the low light must make it impossiblefor him to see much other than the vague outline of his hand.

“Obviously,” Alexander retorts. Thomas pushes himself upfrom the wall, and Alexander steps back reflexively as Thomas advances on him oncemore. In this narrow recess, there’s nowhere much to go; he feels his back hitthe wall. Thomas doesn’t stop, not until they’re toe-to-toe.

“Then ask yourself this, Hamilton,” Thomas suggests, leaningone hand on the wall next to Alexander’s face and leaning close. “Why are youstill here?”

There’s a long and laboured silence, tense despite the lowthump of the shitty electronic music that’s being pumped in through too manytinny speakers, cut through by the sound of two dozen adults behaving likekids. Thomas is close enough that Alexander can feel the heat rolling from him,the warm dance of Thomas’ breath against his own lips. Another shift and they’repractically chest-to-chest, and either Alexander is having a delightful aneurysmor Thomas’ knee is pressing between his thighs.

Alexander swallows hard against the tightness in his throat,gaze hooked on Thomas’ own. And he might be imagining the feather-light brushof fingers against his hip or the way that Thomas presses yet another half-inchcloser, but he knows he’s not imagining it when Thomas’ eyes flicker downtowards his parted lips.

“You seem to know everything,” Alexander says, faintly. “Youtell me.”

Thomas kisses him with a slow deliberation that chafesagainst Alexander’s impatience. When he runs his tongue across Alexander’s lipsit’s with unhurried intention. He laughs, a low and curling chuckle thatAlexander feels echo between his ribs, rattling between his lungs, whenAlexander tries to push up against him, to coax something more urgent from him.Thomas won’t be moved, won’t be pushed. He only waits, smiling into Alexander’sfrustration until Alexander is forced to meet Thomas’ terms, to move at Thomas’pace.

Thomas finally licks in behind Alexander’s teeth, suckslightly on Alexander’s tongue, drags teeth against his lower lip, and Alexanderis almost dizzy with want, hands pawing slackly at Thomas’ chest, frustrated bythe bulk of the vest that means he can’t feel the smooth curve of muscle thathe knows hides underneath.

“You lose, Hamilton,” Thomas murmurs against Alexander’slips, half pulling back. Alexander chases the kiss, freezing when he feelssomething jammed against his chest. He hears the descending bleep, sees theflashing of his vest as it illuminates Jefferson’s predatory smile. “Again.”

Alexander looks down in disbelief at the laser-gun pressedagainst his chest, and then back up at Thomas.

“You absolute fucking cu—”

“—ah, ah,” Thomas says disapprovingly, presses his lips againstAlexander’s once more to cut off the obscenity. Alexander tries to bite down,to drag sharp teeth against Thomas’ lip, but he’s already pulling back, a lookof smug satisfaction on his face. “What I did tell you about losing gracefully?”

And then Thomas is gone, and Alexander stands there, utterlyenraged and hopelessly turned on, heart jack-rabbiting in the cage of his chestand laser-gun hanging loosely by his side.

Once the lights come back up, Alexander finds the others inthe lobby. John is wild-eyed, bordering on the manic. At some point, his hairhas come loose and his curls are splayed wide around his face, a mess of darkhair that Lafayette is laughing fondly over, doing his best to finger-comb itinto some semblance of order.

“Why the long face?” Hercules asks as Alexander approaches,knocking a punch against his shoulder that rocks Alexander onto one foot for abrief second. Alexander glances at the screen, where the team scores are yet tobe listed. It flickers to display individual high scores, and John whoops whenhis name appears at the top, punching both fists up into the air.

“I am amazed he did not get hurt,” Lafayette laughinglytells Alexander. “He was running wild; shooting people point blank. Like Rambo.”

“I wish they’d let you have two guns,” John says, mournfully.

“Hey, man,” Hercules says, pointing up at the screen wherethe teams have been ranked in order. “We won!”

There’s assorted whoops and groans throughout the room as people,breathless and sweating, celebrate victories or bemoan defeat. Money changeshands, as is common. Alexander catches sight of Thomas, vest and gun alreadyabandoned, talking to Madison. He notices Alexander, and grins widely, closingone eye and stretching out an arm to aim one finger like a gun right atAlexander’s chest.

“I’m not so sure,” he mutters to himself under his breath,and then deliberately turns his back to Thomas to watch John slap Lafayette’shands away from his hair.

“Celebrations are in order!” John proclaims. “Let’s get wasted.”

And yeah. Yeah, Alexander can get behind that plan.