Alexander is, in a word, sulking.

Now, he knows he has no right. He knows he's done this to himself, but Alexander's decided that one cannot help how one feels so he is allowing himself to have a nice long sulk. At least just for tonight when no one is around to see him at it.

He's laying slumped back across a street facing window seat of their townhouse, the one he'd bought them when they'd only just married all those years ago, with a bottle of wine in one fist. Given the state of things, he'd thought it best to temporarily banish himself from his and Eliza's home out in the country. The one he's always found she prefers. He figures the least he can do is to make himself scarce for a few weeks and allow her time to cool down without him hovering in her peripherals.

He inspects the thick green glass of the bottle, picking at the edges of the label with his nails and wonders how he managed to make such a royal mess of things. Obviously, he knows how. The sequence of events is still all too vivid in his mind's eye, but he can't for the life of him recall what he'd been thinking. How he'd let himself fall so very far from those he had the gall to say he loved.

He's in the process of peeling the label off the bottle completely when movement catches in the corner of his eye and he jerks to look out the window, somewhat startled by the unexpected dark shape of what he assumes is a man coming up his front stoop. He blinks when they stop and seem to spot him there, illuminated by the light of a single flickering lamp sitting by his hip on the sill.

Whoever it is, they regard him for a moment before they continue on and are blocked from his view behind one of the tall potted hedges that flank the front door. Despite knowing it's coming, he starts at the sound of their knock. Just three firm raps with the brass knocker.

Alexander frowns and looks toward the hall clock, straining to read the time with bleary eyes and gives up almost immediately. He'd started drinking sometime that afternoon and, by the feel of things, it must be the wee hours of the morn by now.

This was likely going to hurt in the morning. No less than he deserves, Alex supposes.

He's startled from his musings by another knock and realizes he'd managed to become distracted in his drunken haze and forgotten about the man at his door. Why in the world is there a man at his door?

He's suddenly struck with the idea that something terrible must have happened. Perhaps one of the children have fallen ill, and Eliza is calling for him because, as furious as she is with him right now, there's no way that loving, responsible woman would keep something like that from him.

He scrambles to his feet and slips on the rug in his haste to get to the door, just barely managing to catch himself on the handle at the last second. He flicks the deadbolt and yanks it open, nearly falling again as the heavy thing swings in his grip. The bottle of French wine slips from his grasp, unnoticed as it clunks against the rug, glugs out a few splashes of wine and ruins what he will later remember to be a rather expensive piece of decor.

"Yes? What's hap-," He cuts off, blinking at the tall, familiar shape before him, "Jefferson?"

Standing before him is none other than Thomas fucking Jefferson, dressed like he's just come from a pub and smelling musky and sharp. Looking sharp in the eyes too, as if he hasn't actually partaken in his favorite past time this evening and only sat in its company. Goodness has he always been that tall? Perhaps it's merely that Alex has never been in his company without at least an inch of boot under his heels.

Alexander doesn't realize he become distracted again until Jefferson is breezing by him into the parlor, apparently not content to wait until he's collected himself. He looks up from his stocking clad feet, the feeling of wet fabric not quite reaching him, and jerks to face the man regarding the tall hall clock with interest.

"What in god's name are you doing here?" He demands, tailing him as he steps further into the house without bothering to close the door, fully intending to send him right back outside the way he came, "It's," he looks towards the clock again, squinting, and gives up on that venture again almost immediately, "the middle of the night!"

"Early in the morning, actually, 1:45 to be exact," Jefferson corrects without bothering to look back at him. Alexander opens his mouth, intending to shout and possibly cosh him with that wine bottle if he can locate it quickly enough, but he's interrupted as Thomas lifts his hand and brandishes a folded paper between his long fingers and says, "You've been quite busy, hm?"

Alexander blinks once, twice, tilts his head and raises his voice, "What are you on about?"

Jefferson turns to face him then but doesn't speak immediately; instead, he strides towards him, crowding him back on stumbling feet until they reach the open door. Alexander tries to skirt around him but is blocked by a muscular arm reaching by to gently swing the door shut. It clicks quietly, and he finds himself trapped there against the solid oak by a solid torso, confused and a little alarmed.

"I'm about this," Thomas murmurs, tapping the paper in his hand against the tip of Alexander's upturned nose. His words are oh so soft, but Alex feels absolutely flayed by his eyes, drilling into his own with an intensity he can't name.

He snatches the paper from him and attempts vainly to put a few extra inches between them, straightening against the door and looking down at the article in his hands. It's difficult to see in the dim light, especially without his glasses at hand, but he recognizes the heading without having to actually read it.

It's a copy of the Reynolds Pamphlet.

Rage bubbles up from his gut, and he glares up at Jefferson, receiving only a feline-esque grin in response, "Come to gloat have you? Is this entirely necessary?!" The paper crumples, his knuckles going white, and Jefferson plucks it away quickly before he can tear it to shreds, reaching into his jacket to tuck it safely into an inner pocket out of reach.

"I should think so. One must seize an opportunity when it arises, lest they risk getting only," the taller man tilts chin a bit and sucks his teeth, lamp light casting shadows across his dark skin, "leftovers." The word slides off his tongue like something greasy and cloying and Alexander's eyes narrow.

"Excuse me?! I-" The tip of a single, rough finger silences him with a tap against the center of his parted lips, dry skin catching on a wet corner and pulling just slightly as it traces along the curve. Something he refuses to put a name to twists just above his seizing diaphragm right alongside outrage and indignation.

"Now now," Thomas coos, "how much room do you truly have to defend yourself? None I should think. Strutting about all high and mighty while rolling in the sheets like a common whore, with a common whore, behind closed doors. Who could have guessed?" He chuckles lowly., "I suppose I could have. Not grown so far from your roots at all have you?"

"How dare you-," he starts, unsure if he'd been about to defend himself or poor Maria in his drunken state when he is silenced once more, this time by a pair of dry lips pressed ferociously to his.

His mind quite simply shorts out, eyes wide as Jefferson pens him in and forces his pliant mouth open with the pad of his thumb at the hinge of his jaw. Alexander can't taste him past the coating of wine on his own tongue, but he imagines he'd simply taste clean and of little else. Cannabis smoke perhaps. The smell is certainly clogging his nostrils as Thomas closes that last shred of space between them, flattening him back against the door as a large hand slides down his ribs to grip into the jut of his hipbone and the other curls fingers into his hair to yank his head back.

It takes much too long to get his thoughts going again, his fingers feeling numb as they scrabble at the fabric of Jefferson's shirt. Palms flatten full intent to push him away, but the idea falls short when the feeling of the cloth of his own shirt rasps against the flesh of his backside, and it's unceremoniously pulled from the waistband of his trousers. Seeking fingers press and spread along the tender skin of his lower back drawing a gasp from his throat.

He turns his head, ears pricking at the sucking sound their lips make as they separate. "What do you think you're doing?!" he demands, simultaneously hoping and horrified that the staff might hear his ruckus and come to see what it's all about.

Thomas only huffs a short laugh at him. "What? Are you playing the blushing maid all of a sudden? I already know your business. You don't have to be so coy."

Alexander is quite sure his shame-flushed face could heat the house, and he tries to tell himself that it's all anger and nothing else, "Get off of me, you heathen!"

"Oh, I'm the heathen, am I?" Thomas counters, leaning back in to claim his lips once more. The hand in his hair grips tighter to keep him still as Thomas foolishly presses his tongue past slightly parted teeth. He jerks his head back just in time, and Alexander's jaw clicks with the force behind his intent to bite. "Is it because I lack a soft bust? Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never lain with a man before."

Alex opens his mouth to do just that but stops because, in all honesty, he can't. When he was young, and the prospect of risking bringing children into his poverty-ridden world was much too terrifying he hadn't at all seen the need to go without entirely when the boys working at the docks and in stables were just as lovely to him as the girls who strolled the dirty streets in their frothy gowns.

Thomas smiles down at him, seeing the truth of things in his eyes. "Thought so."

And just like that, he is back on him, and Alexander nearly forgets that he should not be letting a man have him in the parlor of his townhouse for many reasons besides the fact that it's a man. Fingers find there way down past the band of his trousers a second later, and the notion is lost entirely.

Thomas works against the growing warmth between his legs and Alexander whimpers, pulling at the buttonholes of his jacket. The feeling of a surprising length of hardening cock being worked against his hip draws his attention, and he feels his Adam's apple bob harshly. His head is spinning, and there's something on the tip on his tongue that could be encouragement, but Thomas swallows it down before it ever has a chance to make its way into open air.

The rough hand down the front of his pants delves deeper and gets him by the balls, rolling them firmly and Alexander jerks back with a whine, suddenly finding himself on the very tips of his toes and straining to go higher still. The grip is just that side of too harsh, and he kicks out, instep catching something on the rug at their feet and sending it clattering loudly across the hardwood flooring.

They both jerk then. Thomas twists to look and see what that was and Alexander strains to peer around the bulk of his broad shoulders to do the same. The previously forgotten wine bottle is spinning there at the mouth of the hall, getting drips of deep red everywhere. It's then that the sensation of wet stockings catches Alexander's attention and he looks down at the wine-soaked fabric with his nose wrinkled in dizzy distaste.

A deep chuckle brings him from his single-minded focus, and he looks up only to be denied view of the expression on Jefferson's face when the man ducks his head to nose up under the corner of his jaw. Teeth find skin and scrape along the unkempt stubble there, and a soft sigh escapes him. There's a dull thunk as the back of his skull meets the solid oak behind it, but he scarcely feels it with the little sparks of pleasure zipping up and down his spine. The wine colored cloud stuffing his skull.

"Like that, do you?" Thomas asks and, though he's sure it's rhetorical, Alexander nods jerkily and earns himself another chuckle against his skin.

Alexander considers that he should not be doing this, that it's a very very bad idea and he's dug his own grave quite deep enough as it is, and he should really consider putting down the shovel before someone decides to brain him with it. A second later his mind is struck dumb, this time by the sensation of warm breath in his ear and lips on the hollow just below it, and the notion is lost. He's left with only the impression that perhaps he's had much more to drink than he rightly should have.

The skin of his neck feels damp with Thomas's kisses, and he keens loudly as his balls are cupped again, this time more carefully. A rough hand clamps down over his mouth, taking up nearly half his face and trapping the sound down in his throat.

"God you're noisy," Jefferson mutters, drawing up more sounds as he palms him roughly.

Alexander narrows his eyes at him and whatever it is he slurs out in response is muffled behind Jefferson's palm.

"What was that? I can't hear you."

That earns him a sharp but ultimately ineffective scrape of teeth against his skin. Thomas just laughs at him and leans to muffle Alexander's resulting curses with his lips instead. It's only a few quick movements of their lips together, and he leans up after him as Thomas pulls back again.

"Noisy," He scolds, and it's then that the sound of his own keening reaching his ears making him flush all the brighter. Thomas has the head of him between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers, working the sticky tip with the pad of his thumb. It goes without saying that that is not helping the level of volume in the least.

Alexander makes a sound of sharp complaint when Thomas suddenly withdraws his hand, twisting to look back over his shoulder. If he'd heard something, Alexander misses it entirely, yelping as he's yanked away from the threshold and practically dragged down the hall further into the house.

"What are you-."

"Shh," is the hissed reply his halted question earns and he obeys mindlessly, looking Thomas up and down both appreciative and puzzled.

Jefferson opens two doors in quick succession - a washroom and a closet - clearly not expecting Alexander to be any help at all. He's Looking for a bedroom he assumes.

"Third on the left," He whispers, knowing he really shouldn't and earning himself a raised eyebrow for reasons he's too drunk to fathom.

Thomas drags him towards the appropriate door and herds him into the room as soon as he has it open. He blinks into the dark for a moment, utterly lost and wondering what the hell it is he's doing here. He knows, of course, he isn't that drunk though it certainly wouldn't take too much more to get him there. His thoughts are in a more philosophical sense.

But was there really so much to lose at this point? His life, he supposes. Sleeping with Thomas was undoubtedly much more dangerous than taking a very female mistress. But how much was that life even worth with the mess he'd managed to make of it?

The shuffle of fabric behind him brings him from his musings, and he turns to try and get a look at the man who's so rudely come to his home to take advantage of his emotional turmoil. For that is precisely what he's doing, Alexander is neither stupid nor drunk enough to think otherwise. He doesn't even get halfway 'round when muscular arms slither around his waist and pull him back against a bare chest.

"Where did you go?" The question is light, the biting kisses on his nape are not.

"You could be hanged for this you know," He informs him by way of reply, tilting his chin down to allow the man better access on little more than impulse. He gets a snort in response.

"Only if we get caught. You were doing so well until you wrote that damn pamphlet. Badly done of you really."

He's not sure what he could possibly to say to that, but he's pardoned from having to think of anything at all when Thomas goes after his belt with nimble fingers, grinding himself against Alexander's behind. His trousers hit the floor, pooling around his stocking clad ankles and he's taken in hand, the length of him stroked roughly.

"No underthings?" the tease comes with a snicker.

"You knew that already," Alexander growls, not liking his tone.

"I did. I'm not even surprised. Must make quick couplings all the quicker."

Alexander twists in his hold and leans up on the balls of his feet, trying not to be annoyed that he has to do so, and crushes their mouths together to stay any further biting remarks. He vastly prefers the biting kisses and the hands that slip to grip a cheek in each palm, bringing their hips together in a slow, undulating grind.

He gasps into Jefferson's mouth at the resulting flare of pleasure, the rasp of scratching cloth on his sensitive flesh. He's crowded back a half step before his heel catches on the trousers still stuck around his ankles and stumbles, swaying dangerously as he's thrown off balance. For a moment he's quite sure he's going to concuss himself on the floor on top of everything else when a firm grip on his ass lifts him and uses his leftover momentum to toss him down onto the downy mattress. He doesn't bounce so much as sink into the overly soft bed, air whooshing from his lungs at the force of it and for a split second, there is only dizziness and a lurch in his stomach before a larger, warmer body is covering his and pressing him further in.

Thomas maneuvers his way into the tender space betwixt Alexander's thighs and ruts against him with such force that he's sure he'll have friction burns in uncomfortable places tomorrow when he wakes. His shirt is rucked up under his arms and kisses are laid upon his exposed collarbones and chest. He cries out when teeth find a nipple, and for a second he's sure Thomas is trying to chew it right off. The sting is soothed with a lick and the other given much the same treatment until both are pointed and hard in the humid air between them.

"Look at me."

The demand comes as a surprise. Alexander hadn't even realized his eyes were closed. He slits them open and looks up at Thomas in the gloom. Alex can't see much, just a dark blur but the impression of wide shoulders and a heaving breastbone reach him anyway. He wishes that it weren't so dark. That the light of the lamps out on the street could reach further into the room and finds himself reaching out to make up for the lack. Shaky fingers rake through chest hair and over the crooks of Jefferson's shoulders, dragging blunt nails and tangling into wild, thick curls.

Really he's a little jealous, Thomas's mane is somewhat glorious and suites him perfectly. Matching that feral gleam in his black eyes. Perhaps he should grow his own locks longer again, though he's sure the effect wouldn't be at all the same.

Jefferson fits their mouths together again, satisfied that he has his attention utterly and entirely and for a while it's just lips against lips and chests against chests and the slow, unhurried friction of their cocks rutting together with only a few layers between them.

Alexander wonders why the man hasn't removed his own pants yet and decides to get at them for him only to have his wine-clumsy fingers swatted away after a single slipping attempt. Thomas undoes the buttons himself and fishes his cock from his trousers, leaving them hanging around his hips. He can't see down in the dark between their bodies, but he gets the impression of a certain lack that has nothing to do with the more than respectable cock Thomas rubs against his belly.

"No underthings?" he asks in a mocking parody of Thomas's own deep timber, earning himself a chuckle.

"Makes quick couplings quicker," The man above him admits without a hint of remorse or shame. He takes them both in hand and strokes, spreading pre-cum to make the act slicker and getting clenched thighs at his hips as a reward.

Alexander makes a noise of complaint as he lets them go and searches lower, nudging his sack out of the way to press against the soft flesh just behind them in a way that makes his hips jerk sharply, stimulating him from the outside. He can't see Jefferson's smug grin, but he's sure it's there. The impression vanishes, however, as questing fingers move lower to test his rim and Alex tenses with the thought that this experience could go rather unpleasantly. He's quite sure Jefferson still doesn't like him very much at all and may not have the care to be careful in his handling of him. In other aspects, it may not matter but in that it does. Alexander has no desire to be hurt in that way.

"Hush," Lips find his again, quieting the stressed sound he didn't realize he was making, "I've come prepared."

His brows furrow at that and the quiet whir of a threaded cap catches his attention suddenly. He looks towards Jefferson's other hand, which had been squeezing at the meat of his thigh last he'd taken notice of it, and sees a small, dark bottle in his grasp. Thomas rears back to sit on his haunches, and the contents are tipped over his pressing fingers and then his own cock before it is flicked away thoughtlessly and lost in among the pillows along with the cap. He thinks he might hear the glass tink against the headboard and makes note to find it later.

Everything is much slicker and much less worrisome after that. Thomas works at him slowly, keeping his thighs spread wide with his bulk while Alexander fists the duvet. He cries out softly as he is breached, Thomas's middle finger pressing up into him and crooking up to find a tight bundle of nerves with surprising accuracy. Within moments he's babbling, lord knows what making its way past his lips, and he could scarcely care less. It's been quite some time since he's had a man and the sensations are nearly new all over again.

"Much better," Thomas remarks, likely to himself with how quiet the words are but Alex catches them anyway and files them away to think on later. They seem significant somehow.

A second finger is added, and Alexander finds himself lifting his hips to ride them shamelessly. Thomas has such big hands, and it's a stretch for him after all this time without but the slickness of the burn is more than welcome. He can feel that damnable grin making it's return to Thomas's full mouth, but this time he thinks it may be rightly earned.

It's over much too quickly and the thought of 'only two?' flicks through his mind briefly before Thomas lines himself up and reintroduces his index finger coupled with his thumb this time and he frowns a little in a worried, puzzled way as the man spreads his barely stretched hole wide and presses his tip to him, guiding it with his palm.

He opens his mouth to protest this move but all that comes out is a keening, moaning cry as the head of his new bedfellow is forced inside past his taught rim. The staff will have certainly heard that one but the fully-formed thought never really reaches him as his mind is filled with only the burn and sting and too much.

The fingers are retracted as Thomas moves to grip his waist instead, working his hips in quick little jerks as he opens him up deeper inside and then suddenly slides in to the root. There is a thought of whether or not there is an end to him at all just a split second before his pelvis meets Alexander's behind and presses there.

The pressure is eased only slightly as Thomas changes his grip to the bends of his knees and spreads his thighs so wide it adds a whole new burn to the mix and makes it harder to draw a breath. Alexander whines and presses his head back into the mattress, hips jerking haltingly.

"Sadist," He swears he can feel every twitch of what is undoubtedly a respectable example of manhood inside of him, the complaint barely hissing past his teeth.

"Hardly," Comes the retort and he's struck momentarily breathless as Thomas pinches the head of his cock where it rests still achingly hard against his belly, proving him wholly correct in his own opinion. The fact that he's leaking a steady stream of thick pre is entirely beside the point.

Thomas seems to take notice of his foreskin then but doesn't comment on it, just nudges the tip of a finger under the edge and rubs at the sensitive flesh there. Alexander gasps and moans, hands shooting out to grip whatever he can reach. The curls at Thomas's nape and a pillowcase seem good enough options.

"I've hardly touched you and you look like you might burst already," Thomas's breath is more than just a bit strained and yet somehow he manages to remain utterly smug in his conquest, though Alex thinks there might be something akin to amazement there too.

Alexander also thinks that he might just be correct in that assumption. Everything is hazy and filmy under the fog of wine in his system, but it all feels oh so good, and he thinks that he might never have enough. He doesn't quite catch the slow drag of retreat, but he could never miss that first sharp dive inwards.

Thomas is off like a shot, hooking one of Alexander's knees over his shoulder and holding his other thigh in a bruising grip. He thumbs the underside of Alexander's cock with his free hand as he hammers against him. Alex is sure there will be bruising, but the slick slide of sex between his legs, that near over-fullness in his belly makes his own hips jerk in quick, clumsy tandem and keeps him from being genuinely concerned.

It all seems to go so fast after that. Teeth on Alexander's shoulders, up his chest, against his lips. He hears loud, caterwauling cries of pleasure before rough fingers clamp over his mouth and he still doesn't realize it was himself making all that noise. He likely won't until much later. One knee over Thomas's shoulder and a few quick jerks against the loose skin at the head of his cock is all that's really needed. His climax takes him utterly by surprise as he spills messily between their bellies.

He pushes weakly at Thomas's chest as it all starts to become far too much and he feels as though the wine sloshing in his gut may be trying to make another appearance in the face of too much sensation. Jefferson pulls back, and for a moment he thinks it's over, then he's being rolled over onto his stomach, and his thighs are spread all over again. He struggles a bit with a sound of complaint as Jefferson lines himself back up.

"Shh, let me..." Comes the soft insistence, careful fingers in his hair and soft kisses against his jaw and he does.

He lets him, and the sounds of flesh on flesh once more fill the air until Thomas stiffens over him with a low, bestial growl, grinding against his ass while he spills within him.

Alexander awakes a while later, not realizing he'd gone out, to the sensation of his body being rocked to and fro again, though not so roughly this time. The slide of sex slick once more and he wonders if Thomas crept to the kitchen to fetch more oil with the intent to have him again while he slept or if there had just been more left in that little bottle of his.

It's still dark, and Thomas has his nose buried in his hair, the head of his cock brushing over that over-sensitive bud of nerves with every stroke, but he's sure he couldn't get hard again if he wanted to and in all honesty the rocking motions are doing more to put his tired body back to sleep.

So sleep he does.