Ah, the two lovely lovers, making out just a day after work.

Alexander’s hands gripped Thomas’ shoulders, as Thomas was just rapidly removing his coat and scraping it upon the wooden floors, connecting their lips like it was a GODDAMN last time they’d see each other.

The Scottish man hit against the door, wincing from the impact—“Thomas—Jesus-!” He would’ve ended Thomas but the way the man was loving him—hah, he would do it later.

“.. Hm—yeeesss?”

Thomas' hands trailed against Alexander’s waist, his smile said it all—really. But even in their passionate moment.. which would get even more in a minute (OH GREAT HEAVENS), Alexander almost had that.. stupid, stupid memory.

---

John and Alexander just laying in their makeshift tent, during the war, just two idiotic young boys in love. Alexander laying on his stomach that night as John laid above him, laughing.

God—Alexander hated how he kept thinking of John.He shouldn’t be, hah—he loves Thomas, not John.. not anymore. Right?

Righ-?

“Hamilton?”

His voice snapped Alexander back to reality. He wasn’t in bed with John—he was with Thomas, against a hard-ass wooden door. Thomas was worried—hadn’t even turned the handle yet—he just stared, confused, as Alexander paused mid-kiss.

“I—“ Alexander blinked, he had zoned out from the flicker of memory.. Oh John.. “..nothing, hah—I just.. uh, zoned out for a second.”

“‘Hah-‘“ Thomas immediately interrupted, almost mimicking his lover sarcastically, “.. No, no you were not.”

Alexander blinked, calculating, like he was dragging himself back to the present from somewhere else entirely.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

He didn’t pull away from Thomas’s grip, but his body tensed slightly, like he was reminding himself to stay in it.

To NOT think of his dead, former lover.

“Just got distracted. It’s not a big deal, c-c'mon, let’s just-“ He attempted to reach for Thomas’ shirt collar, because DAMN it he was not tired toda—but also just.. get back into the moment.

Yet, Thomas pulled him back against the door.