(Italian)

"Alas, the great John Laurens has arrived!" Washinton announced as he saw John through the slit of the tent. John looked around frantically to find where the voice was coming from since he was lost in the sea of men outside and didn't catch a glimpse of the General's tent. Washinton watched the flustered man with amusement as he was tousled around. Finally, he called out to him again, "John! Dear god, you're going to get yourself killed!"

    John's eyes finally laid on the tent, and with a chuckle, he ran over at such haste that he almost ended up knocking a few men down. "I sincerely apologize for my lateness. My father and I had another dispute this morning and I couldn't-"

    Washington raised his hand and stood from his desk, cutting him off, "Please, don't be sorry. I understand."

    John beamed and held out his hand for a shake, which Washinton took, "Sir, I am your most obedient servant. I am heartily glad to see you."

    "Likewise," Washington said, before noticing the man that had just walked into the tent, "Ah! Took you long enough."

    John glanced over his shoulder as he heard footsteps approaching from behind him. A man wearing a dark blue coat over a linen shirt came into the tent, with an evident pistol or weapon in his bayonet belt. Despite it almost being the afternoon, which meant most men were either exhausted or covered in filth, he was perfectly kept, with his long, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. A few strands escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked at Washinton and dipped his head in respect, and John's mouth went completely dry.

    Beautiful, was the only word to describe that face; full, lush, red lips that complemented those gleaming copper-colored eyes that could strike anyone dumb-- and that's exactly what happened to John. He was utterly speechless.

    "Good afternoon, General. You have sent someone to tell me you needed assistance?" the man spoke, and the way his voice rattled in John's mind nearly made his knees buckle.

    "Ah, yes. I have, and I'm sorry had to take such extreme measures to do so. I usually schedule appointments with you, don't I?"

    The man chuckled and nodded, allowing John to see more of his features. Those lips were now framing straight, white teeth, and being bracketed by laugh lines with an adorable dimple in his right cheek. John could also see a charming little chin cleft just under the light stubble. His heart rate soared, and he didn't even know he was staring until he caught the man raising an eyebrow at him. John shook himself and trained his gaze back on Washinton as his cheeks fumed with crimson.

    "Um...Yes, you usually do. But please, don't fret, I wasn't attending any important duties." the man said.

    "Good, because I would like you to meet John Laurens, our new aide-de-camp. I believe I addressed this to you not too long ago."

    The man glanced at John, eyeing him up and down in a disgusted manner. However, John didn't catch the man's attitude towards him, and instead puffed out his chest and flexed in hopes of maintaining a stronger appearance.

    "I would like you to train this man. I believe you two will enjoy each others company, yes?" Washinton said.

    "I will not train him." The man deadpanned.

     John let out his breath and bit his lip, furrowing his brows at his words. Washinton didn't show any emotion as he stood up, practically slamming his hands down on the desk. "Excuse me?" he spat, "I asked you to do something."

    The man stayed quiet as John watched his face turn and twist in ways that almost made his own breath hitch, "And yet I still will not do it. This man is from Britan, and I do not interfere with an enemy."

    Washinton dug his fingers into the wood, turning his knuckles white. "Alexander, did I make myself clear? You shall train this man no matter his heritage. John is a reliable source in this war, and not having him could mean the death of my men. I have had this discussion with you before, and do not wish to have it again in front of our guest. So take him, now."

    Although John was relieved to finally get the man's name, Alexander, a pit began to grow in his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak after moments of unkept silence went by, to be only interrupted by Alex. "Verry well. Mr. Laurnes, follow me please."

--------

    Just like before in the tent, the walk was silent between the two. The only sounds were of men crowding around them and creating a sea of people. But, Alex seemed to be oil, and all the men bled away from him as he came by.

    John was amazed at how much respect Alex was given, but as he peered at each man, he saw how their faces twisted into fear. He felt his throat go dry when realization hit him; people weren't giving Alex respect, they were afraid of him.

    John's head began to spin at the thought of what the stout little man in front of him a could do. Punishment came to mind at first; him being scolded by the littlest things, to being perhaps kicked out.

    Then, a thought of being spanked. John's breath hitched, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as his hand involuntarily began to twitch. He mused about being spanked by Alex, or maybe him spanking Alex. His cock began to stiffen, and an evident bulge appeared in his breeches.

    He was so swirled up in the thought that he didn't notice his surroundings change, along with Alex stopping in front of him. John bumped into him, and Alex felt the budlge brush-up against his thigh. Alex backed away with an amused smile gracing his lips. "Looks like someones thinking about their wife." He remarked.

    John's cheeks flushed with red, "O-Oh...No, I'm not! I...um...I'm not married." He lied.

    Alex rose a brow, but his eyes were now framed with the feeling of awkwardness, "Really? Well, you must be excited."

    John hummed in response, and to distract himself from what just happened, he glanced around. They were now quite far from the camp, and situated in a clearing of some sort of forest. In the distance, a stump with an empty bottle of beer placed on it was seen. "What's that?" John asked.

    Alex didn't answer at first. He pulled out his pistol and aimed at the bottle, however, he did not shoot. "You're supposed to shoot it. Its called training practice, sweetheart." He teased, before handing the gun to John.

    "Go ahead. Let's see what you got."

    John stood in the place Alex just was and aimed. He pulled the trigger and the bullet flew, but it barely skimmed the bottle. It was feet from it. John heard Alex release a breath of frustration before feeling two, warm hands adjusting his positioning on the gun.

    "Your hands are a little low. Raise them." Alex demanded, and John obliged.

    Warm breath tickled John's ear, and they seemed to be so close. As much as he'd wish to turn and examine Alex up close, he kept his eyes trained forward. His heart began to race inside his chest as Alex began to drag his hands along his body, trying to fix every flaw he saw.

    "Alright. Try again."

    John pulled the trigger and hit the bottle.