Good to be King

***A/N: See the bottom of every chapter for certain definitions, pictures, historical facts, and/or explanations of things mentioned in the chapter. Warning: Smut first chapter, let's do this.***

"You need to get married."

Hamilton abruptly turned on his heel, whirling around to face George Washington, his Royal Advisor. His midnight green royal robe made an audible swishing sound from the speed at which he about-faced, the faux ermine fur-trimmed garment would have certainly fallen off if not for the gold links that connected his lapels and kept it on his shoulders. A jagged piece of raw malachite hung in the center of the chain like a pendant, connected with a bit of silver wire. His Royal Jewelers had asked him time and time again to allow them to polish it before he slices his fingers open on its sharp edges, but he always refused. He liked feeling the imperfections of the green precious stone when he fiddled with it, which was quite often.

"For the last time, George, I am not getting married!" Hamilton's fists were clenched and he breathed hard, nostrils flaring.

Washington examined the boy king's face as it contorted into a mask of anger. George knew that his anger wasn't directed at him, though, he was never angry at him. Life? The world? Laurens when he stole his royal cloak? Yes, but never him. He suppose that's why no one else wanted his job, he was the only one who could advise the king without sending him into an angry rant or causing him to pout like a child and ignore everyone around him. His Majesty liked him, loved him even (though he'd never admit it), and that was a rare feat. He sighed and slowly took a few steps towards Hamilton, the moonlight leaking in through the open French doors behind him illuminated him in a soft, pale, white glow. The emerald studded crown on his head was slightly slanted, sloppily put on. It's sleek shine contrasted with Hamilton's midnight black hair, which he wore pulled back into a low ponytail so as not to provide a hinderance when putting on his coronet. He absolutely despised those gaudy, bejeweled velvet crowns other kings wore. It amused him to think that the large, over-the-top domes were a compensation for something else.

George broke formality and reached out to place a hand on Hamilton's shoulder, the smaller man was shaking with anger and he flinched at the contact. "Alexander," George addressed him informally; he was speaking as his friend, not his subject. "You've been ruling alone for little over a year now, the board thinks it's time." He slipped his hand off Alexander's shoulder with a sigh. "You know I'd never push you into something like this, especially so soon, but they believe it's for the best. We're all worried about you. Who knows, maybe having someone by your side will help." He gave him a small smile.

Alexander looked away for a moment, closing his eyes and allowing his body to relax. He took a deep breath and brought his brown-eyed gaze back to George, the left corner of his mouth ticked up as the rage slipped out of him.

"I don't need 'help,' I could have anyone I wanted at a moment's notice, George."

Washington laughed. "I meant someone permanent, not the bodies you use to warm your bed when you get lonely."

"That was low, George, but that reminds me- send for John tonight. I wish to meet with him."

Washington raised an eyebrow. "Laurens?"

"André."

"Jesus Christ, Alexander. You've moved on to the knights now?"

"I don't know what you mean, George, I merely wish to speak with the Captain of the Guard about some new battle strategies he wishes to propose to me. You know, positions and such... On the field, I mean." His grin was sly and his eyes sparkled mischievously.

"At a quarter to midnight?"

"Why not? It's as good a time as any."

George let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temples tiredly. "I'm too old for this shit."

"Aw, come on now, don't be like that, George."

Washington cut him a sidelong glance that made him raise his hands in mock surrender and take a step back. "I'll send for your boy toy, but after that I'm going to bed and you won't be calling on me until at least nine o'clock tomorrow morning, got it?"

"Understood, sir." Alexander laughed and winked at him.

George grunted in response to his playfulness and reached out to Alexander, using both hands to straighten his crown.

"There, now you look like a king." They exchanged sad smiles, both thinking of the reason he was even king in the first place.

Washington suddenly drew the 19 year-old into a hug, squeezing him tightly to his chest. "I miss her too," he whispered in his ear while rubbing his back.

Alexander sniffled and slowly wrapped his arms around the older man, burying his head in his chest. They stayed like that for a minute, in silence and comfort, before George released him and squeezed his shoulder, walking towards the door. He opened it and paused in the threshold.

"Goodnight, son." He said in a low voice before exiting the King's Quarters and pulling the door in behind him.

Alexander watched him leave and called out, "don't call me son" to the closed door in a broken whisper.

His words didn't have the same passion behind them as usual, but that was normal nowadays anyway. Alexander turned back towards the open French doors behind him and walked out onto his balcony. He rested his arms on the ornately carved mahogany railing, running a finger over the smooth, dark wood. He mulled over what George had said as he waited for André to arrive. Marriage? At nineteen? It was preposterous. Almost as preposterous as him becoming king at the age of twelve. He thought of the past nine years of his relatively short life. His father had been banished from the kingdom when he was ten for cheating on his mother, the lovely Queen Rachel, whom everyone adored. Well, almost everyone. There were some misogynistic assholes out there that believed she was the adulterer because of course, it was always the woman. They called his mother a whore and protested her rule as Queen without a husband by her side. Hamilton wanted to have them hanged, but his mother always told him that they could never please everyone. When his father left, she returned to her maiden name as Queen Faucette to distinguish her rule from her ex-husband's. There were times when Alexander wished he bore his mother's name instead of his father's, that would've been a much nicer legacy to uphold.

His mother's dissenters got their wish soon enough, though, when he and his mother fell deathly ill when he was eleven. They were bedridden for a year, waking up in their own sick most mornings, until one day the young Hamilton finally woke up feeling better than he had in what felt like an eternity to the small boy only to find that his mother had passed during the night while holding him in her arms. He shook her and called, "maman? Maman?! Maman (Mama? Mama?! Mama)!" Over and over and over again until his screams echoed through the castle and George came running in to pull him away from the contaminated body of his dead mother. He fought, kicked, and screamed until there was nothing left in him but heartbroken sobs. George held him tightly, squeezing his little body as he sat on the floor with him in his lap. He rocked him, shushed him, and silently cried with him until he fell asleep. George took Alexander to his Prince's Quarters as the Royal Staff cleaned out the Queen's Quarters. They moved her body and cleaned the room from top to bottom, disinfecting everything and burning her sheets, curtains, and clothes. They also threw out the carpet and moved her jewelry into the Royal Jewel Room. By the time they finished, the room looked like it had never been lived in. They even repainted the walls in a neutral cream color and moved all of her personal items into the Royal Archives. The room was left bare and lifeless.

Alexander kept one thing from his mother with him at all times, a single stud from a pair of malachite earrings. He himself had gone with George to the Royal Treasury to pick out the stones from the jewel vault when he was younger, wanting to give his mother something special for her birthday. What better gift than his favorite gem for his favorite person? His father, in fact, had forgotten her birthday that year and bought her another tiara the next day to make up for it. Meaningless gifts and empty apologies, but she loved him anyway.

George arranged the royal funeral to be held on a week's notice in the palace gardens, his mother's favorite place on the castle grounds. The country mourned the loss of their beloved queen- they wore black for months- and they pitied the little Crown Prince, now a twelve year-old orphan. Or rather, they pitied "the Boy King," as he came to be known throughout the empire. The Royal Board of Advisors basically ran the country for him for the next six years under George's leadership while Alex continued to develop his education with his private tutors. His studies consisted of both schoolwork and how to be a monarch now that his parents were no longer there to teach him what he needed to know about ruling their country. George also worked closely with him, becoming a surrogate father of sorts, although it was rather odd to be under the employment of a child no matter how smart he was for his age. George made sure he learned how to act like a royal, how to behave like a king. He taught him etiquette, got him tutors in ballroom dance and music lessons, brought him out on trips to meet the public, taught him how to properly address different kinds of people including other royalty, nobility, regular citizens, his many different kinds of royal employees, and much more. It was a lot to stuff a child's head with in the span of six years, but Alexander was always a fast and determined learner. On his eighteenth birthday, he had his official coronation and paraded through the streets of his country as a true king, his subjects cheering and throwing flowers. Women fawned over him when he kissed their hands in greeting and men jostled each other to shake his hand. The people admired him; he was a classic example of a strong leader born from tragedy, the kind written about in books- and everyone loves a good story. He charmed crowds, beguiled dignitaries, captured the attention of men and women alike, and even enthralled children. Little boys would tug his cape when he walked the streets to tell him they wanted to be just like him when they grew up, and little girls would giggle and tell him they wanted to marry him when they grew up. That always made him blush. He was sure he'd already pinky promised at least fifteen different girls ranging from ages eight to thirteen that he'd be their betrothed when they became of age. He smiled to himself, he certainly had a soft spot for his people.

His thoughts were broken by a knock on the his door. He turned his head to the side and called over his shoulder, "who is it?"

"Captain André, Your Majesty. Permission to enter?"

"Granted." He turned around and leaned back against the balcony railing, folding his arms over his chest as he watched John step in.

"Your Excellency, you wanted to see me?"

Hamilton smirked and walked towards him, locking the balcony doors behind him before meeting the captain in the middle of the room. "Good evening, Sir André. We made an appointment, remember? Those plans you wanted to discuss? Tactics, strategy..., positions?"

André chuckled lowly, "of course, Your Majesty. How could I forget?"

"I was rather interested in a particular one you mentioned... What was it again? Something about dogs?" Alexander looked at him quizzically.

André laughed heartily, his light blue eyes dancing with amusements. "I know which one you mean, Your Grace."

"Brilliant! Then let's get started, yes?" Hamilton reached for the thin, bleach blond braid behind the captain's ear that curled over his shoulder. He slipped his fingers over the tiny queue and into the wavy brown locks it was woven into. He pulled the red ribbon that held André's bun together and grinned in satisfaction as the soft, shoulder-length strands tumbled over his hand. "You really are too pretty to be a soldier," he mumbled as his body began to heat with lust.

"As always, you flatter me, Your Majesty."

"Flattery is a kind of bad money, to which our vanity gives us currency."

"Profound."

"Rochefoucauld, actually."

"I'm afraid I don't know who that is, Your Majesty."

Hamilton waved his free hand dismissively. "Unimportant. The point is, I do not hand out empty compliments to stroke your ego. It is true when I say that you are quite a fine male specimen, you could do a lot more than lead an army with that face."

"Looking for my resignation so soon, Your Excellency?"

Alexander barked out a short laugh, "God, no, my army would fall to shambles." He drew André closer to him by the hand in his hair. "But that's enough talk."

Alex drew John's face to his and connected their lips in a hungry kiss. He bit and sucked at the captain's bottom lip until he moaned, allowing him to slip his tongue into the warmth of his mouth. His hands moved to André's hard chest, unbuttoning his jacket and and shirt in quick succession and pushing both articles of clothing off his shoulders and to the floor all without losing the contact between their fast-moving mouths. André was already making quick work of the king's belt, throwing it to the side and grasping the loops of his trousers with his index fingers. He pulled their hips together, his pelvis grinding into Alexander's lower abdomen who stood seven inches under him. Alex groaned and pulled away, panting for air. He made quick work of removing his cloak and throwing it over the back of his desk chair, pulling off his dark green button up and dropping his black pants to the floor immediately after, and kicking his black dress shoes to a random corner. He was left in his black silk boxers, black socks, and his crown. André had already rid himself of the rest of his uniform including the sword he kept slung across his back, which he placed on top of Alexander's desk. Hamilton chuckled when he witnessed the moment André realized why he kept his socks on.

"Your floor is really fucking cold, Your Majesty."

"Like my heart." Hamilton stated shortly before grinning devilishly. "Now, get on the bed. Hands and knees, just like you told me."

"Eager, are we?" The captain smirked confidently.

Alexander's gaze darkened and André quickly corrected himself, adding a quiet, "Your Majesty."

Alex's face quickly morphed back into the grin he wore before as André clambered onto his king-sized bed, getting in position atop his one-thousand thread count, dark green sheets. He positioned himself behind André, whose head hung low in anticipation. He ran a finger down the captain's smooth, pale spine, causing him to shiver. He enjoyed watching his arms shake as he bent over him, peppering kisses down his back. Alexander sunk onto his knees in front of the bed, reaching in between André's legs and tugging on his hardened member from behind as he sucked and bit red and purple bruises on the back of his leg and inner thigh. He reveled in the moans coming from the man on his bed, especially the louder ones that slipped out when he quickened the pace of his hand.

André was gripping the soft sheets between his fingers and clenching his teeth at the king's foreplay that put him on edge. "Y-Your Majesty, I'm c-close," he panted out.

"You don't cum unless I say you can, understood?" Alex barked at him, stopping his ministrations.

John whined but gave a sharp nod, "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good." Alexander released him and stood, reaching for André's chin and turning his face to look back at him.

He held two fingers in front of John's mouth and commanded him, "suck."

John complied and Alexander felt his cock twitch as the captain swirled his tongue around his fingers, coating them in warm saliva. He removed them when they were wet enough and swirled them around John's exposed entrance, earning a soft moan. He slowly slid a finger in, John groaning as he adjusted to the intrusion. Alex pumped carefully as he watched John squirm, slipping in his second finger to stretch out his tight hole. He pumped quicker and moved his fingers in a scissoring motion until André was properly prepped. Slipping his fingers out, he hastily shed his boxers and grabbed John's hip with one hand, lining himself up with the other. John grunted as Alexander worked his tip in, it certainly hurt like a bitch. Alexander grabbed onto André's other hip to sink him onto himself, groaning at the warmth that enveloped his member. He slowly pushed in until he was fully buried between John's cheeks, both he and John breathing hard as they both adjusted. As soon as André caught his breath, Alexander pulled out until only his tip remained before harshly slamming back in all the way to the hilt. John cried out and Alexander was glad that his room was soundproof. He tightened his grip on the captain's hips, moving him back and forth to the fast-paced sexing he was putting out. The sounds of their slick skin slapping together and their noises of satisfaction filled the room, the volume of which began to crescendo as they both neared their climaxes.

"Your Majesty, please." John begged earnestly.

Alexander felt his crown slipping to the side as he pounded into André from behind; it gave him a thrill, that symbol of his power resting high and mighty on his head while he plundered his sweet, submissive subject.

"Now," he ordered as buried himself balls deep one last time.

John cried out as his hot seed spilled a whitish patch on the king's bed. Alexander came with him, spilling himself deep within him and continuing to pump as they rode out their highs together. When their bodies stopped spasming, Alexander slipped himself out of André, the captain dropping to the bed and rolling over on his back. The room was quiet once again with the exception of their harsh breathing. Alexander leaned back on his dresser, watching as John caught his breath before sitting up.

"You may take your leave now, Captain. Thank you for your time." Alexander promptly dismissed him.

John stayed silent as he dressed, Alexander watching him move around the room as he located his belongings. He made his way over to the door before turning back to a still naked Alexander. "A pleasure, Your Majesty." He bowed and turned away again, opening the door and slipping out as Alex called, "goodnight, Sir André" after him.

Alexander turned around to face the mirror atop the dresser behind him; he took in his disheveled raven hair, sweaty tan skin, and skewed crown. He watched his reflection copy the satiated grin that slowly spread across his face. His dark brown, nearly black eyes were dancing with a warm, after-sex glow. Look how satisfied I am without a ring on my finger. Tomorrow he was telling the board to shove it up their asses, he wouldn't be getting married anytime soon. Alexander stripped the dirty top sheet from his bed and brought it to the laundry basket in his en suite before climbing into a hot shower to get rid of the sweat that had started to dry uncomfortably on his skin.

He mentally prepared the rant he'd be giving in the board meeting later as he showered and pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and socks, slipping under his sheets. Before closing his eyes and succumbing to the clutches of sleep, Alexander looked over at the crown resting on the dresser where he'd left it before heading into the bathroom.

It's good to be King.

***A/N: Here are some things mentioned in the chapter in chronological order:***

- Alexander's cape is described as midnight green (a dark shade of cyan in which the blue to green ratio is almost equal) which looks just about like this:

- Ermine: This cute little shit right here. Alex's royal cloak is trimmed with fake ermine fur that makes the typical white, black-spotted fur trimming you see on classic red royal robes.

- Malachite: A precious stone, it's green.

Raw malachite (Alex's pendant): usually rough and jagged

Polished malachite (so you can see the difference): smooth and patterned

Alex's pendant is said to be hanging from silver wire like so:

- Alex's crown/coronet: It reminded me of flames so I chose this one out of like the other 5 I had. It's gold, silver, and emerald (comment if you think I should change it and I'll make a temporary part in which the crowns I've selected can be voted on for a 24-hour period).

- Queen Rachel's malachite earrings, one side of which Hamilton wears:

- Sir/Captain André's braid: British Major John André was a British spy in the American Revolution. He was caught and hung for treason and is most known for helping the infamous traitor Benedict Arnold. Hamilton argued against his hanging, claiming he was "too pretty to die." Washington stated that he was "more unfortunate than a criminal." He accepted his sentence calmly and respectfully, he even drew a self-portrait on the eve of his death.

- Queue: A braid related to the Manchurian Dynasty's rule in China. As used in the book, it's just another word for braid.

- Alexander's quote on flattery:

- Hamilton's shower: Yes, there are showers. Don't question it because I haven't exactly specifically set the book's time period, possibly a combination of the 18th and 19th centuries. Historical fact: The first modern shower was invented in 1767.