#ROSIN IT AGAIN FUCKER

[eggs-can-draw]

If you ever feel like a failure just remember the devil lost his solid gold fiddle to some mfer in Georgia

#eggs can speak #I love the devil went down to Georgia so much #as someone who played the violin for like. 2 years and hyperfixated on the actual maintenance of the instrument over playing #the devil deserved to lose so fucking bad #HE SAID HE ROSINED THE FUCKING BOW IT SHOULDNT BE SCREECHING LIKE THAG #ROSIN IT AGAIN FUCKER

[the-singlest-pringle]

A Sweet Song

Prompt 5 of Surprise from this list: "You got this for me?"

It was not common knowledge that Billy played the violin.

Read it here on AO3.

It was not common knowledge that Billy played the violin. “Not common knowledge” meaning there were only four people that knew: Max, Neil, Old Lady Garcia, and his music teacher from California, Ms. Petrov. Neil was never meant to find out, but after word of Billy’s first (and last) performance got out, Neil smashed his violin, along with his left hand. It wasn’t long after that when Neil caught Billy with a boy. Neil lost his shit, nearly beating Billy to death, then he packed up the whole family in less than a week and moved them to the boondocks.

It was now April, meaning it was nearly his birthday and also that it would be six months since he last touched a violin. The first few months without his violin were the hardest. Billy swore that he was going through withdrawal. His hands yearned for the violin, fingers itching to play. He longed to wrap his fingers around the neck, to slide his bow across the strings, and carefully finger out some Paganini. Billy would drive to the quarry and listen to his stash of classical music. One time he actually broke down because of it. His heart ached for his violin as he cried out in mourning.

Now that it’s been six months, he’s had time to adjust. He still gets that itch when his emotions are high, but Harrington helps quell his hunger. In fact, dating Harrington had been the best thing to happen to Billy in a long time. He was kind, caring, and provided the support that Billy desperately needed yet woefully lacked. He took care of Billy when he was hospitalized because of Neil (again) and was there for him when Neil lost custody and Hopper took him in. Billy was convinced that he loved Harrington, which is why he decided to add Harrington to the list of people that knew his secret.

It was a normal night, the Party gathering at the Wheeler’s for another Dungeons and Dragons campaign, when Billy said (out of nowhere), “You know, I used to play the violin.”

He and Steve had gone upstairs to grab more snacks, so they were alone in the kitchen. Steve was already attempting to balance two boxes of cookies and three bags of chips in his arms when he heard Billy. He started to clumsily juggle and drop the snacks while stuttering out a surprised “What? Are you serious?”

Billy chuckled at Steve’s shock. “Yeah, I am. I even performed at Royce Hall back in Cali once.”

“Bee, that’s amazing!” Steve exclaims as he crouches down to collect the snacks. “How come I’m just finding out about this now?”

“Well, only five people know about it, including you. And I felt that since we’ve been together long enough, you deserve to know everything about me, which means knowing that I play the violin,” Billy explains before quickly correcting himself with a, “Well, used to play.”

“You don’t anymore?” Steve asked.

“Nah. My old man made me stop when he found out.” Billy flexes the fingers of his left hand as he says this. “I played for nearly ten years in secret. I would tell my dad I had clubs after school, but instead, I would go to the music room and play.” He clenches his hand as he continues. “When Neil found out, he took a hammer to my violin, then to my hand to make sure I would stop.”

Steve sighed at the mention of Neil, making his way across the kitchen to take Billy’s hands in his. “Your dad is a dick and I hate everything he put you through.” He pushes a lock of hair out of Billy’s face and tilts up his chin so that they’re making eye contact. “I am so glad that you’re out of that situation and that you don’t ever have to deal with Neil again. I love you so much, okay?” Steve plants a kiss on Billy’s forehead for emphasis before Billy pulls Steve closer and practically smashes their lips together.

Billy smiles into the kiss, whispering out, “I love you, too,” before they’re interrupted by a familiar shrill voice that causes them to pull apart.

“Ugh! You guys are so gross !” Max says from the kitchen entryway. She was the only member of The Party that knew about Steve and Billy. Max made it a thing to point out how gross their PDA was, which she named DAFM (Displays of Affection in Front of Max).

“Yeah, shitbird? Well, you stink,” Billy quips.

“I do not, booger face!” Max retaliates.

“Carrot top!”

“Stupidhead!”

“Half-pint!”

“Shortstop!”

Billy gasps dramatically and feigns offense. “I am not short!”

Max rolls her eyes at that. “Tell that to every guy we know!”

“I’m literally taller than Jonathan,” Billy defends.

“That doesn’t count!”

Steve just sits back and laughs at the two siblings quarreling before intervening when the volume reaches near screaming level. “Alright, alright. Break it up, you two. You’re both shorter than me and that’s all that matters. Now can we head back downstairs?”

“Ugh. Fine, ” Billy and Max say in unison. Max makes her way downstairs as Billy and Steve gather the snacks.

Billy steals a kiss from Steve before they head down the stairs, Billy announcing his presence with a “‘Sup, fuckers? What’d we miss?”, earning him a smack to the arm from Steve. They settle into the couch, a comfortable distance apart, as the rest of The Party continues playing DND.

-

The next time Billy playing the violin is mentioned is during Billy’s birthday party. It’s a pretty lively event considering Billy had next to no one just months ago. But now he has a family and friends, all of which have gathered to celebrate him. Just thinking about it makes him smile.

Billy is about halfway through opening gifts when he comes across a rather large box. It’s covered in sheet music wrapping paper with a bow on top. Curiously, he shakes the box, causing Harrington to say “Careful! It’s fragile,” revealing that it’s from him.

Knowing the size of the box, the wrapping paper, and the person who gave the gift, it doesn’t take long for Billy to piece together what it is.

“No… no way,” Billy says while frantically tearing the wrapping paper off the box. That earns him a chorus of people asking what it is and a smile from Harrington. “I swear to god, Harrington, if this is a joke…”

Billy slides the case out of the box, unzipping it then opening it slowly. He stares for a few seconds, not fully comprehending what he’s seeing. Staring back at him is a brand new violin. The rest of The Party is eager to see the contents of the case, but all Billy can focus on is the instrument in front of him.

“You got this for me?” Billy asks, still not believing what he’s seeing. Steve nods in assent.

Before Steve can register what’s happening, he’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug from Billy to everyone’s surprise. The Party’s confusion only multiplies when they see that a violin is what caused Billy to hug Harrington. When Billy pulls away, he looks like he’s so happy that he might cry. Steve is sure that he almost does.

“Thank you so much, Steve. I- I don’t even know what to say.” Billy is stumbling over his words, so overcome with emotions. Back in October, he was so sure that he would never touch a violin again, but now that he’s free from Neil, he can do whatever he wants. And what he wants right now more than anything is to play.

Billy slowly takes the violin out of the case. He puts the shoulder rest on the instrument and rosins the bow a bit. Billy looks up nervously at Steve, silently asking for assurance. Steve smiles at him and gestures to the center of the rug as if to say “go ahead”. Billy can feel all eyes on him when he stands up. He doesn’t even know if his fingers healed properly, but he doesn’t really care. He just wants to play. So he gets up into position, takes a breath, closes his eyes, and starts playing.

The whole Party is in awe as they watch. It’s clear that Billy puts every emotion into how he plays. His fingers dance gracefully across the neck of the violin while his right arm moves the bow fluidly across the strings. His tone is practically perfect. An untrained ear wouldn’t be able to tell that he hadn’t played in over six months.

When Billy finishes, the whole room is silent before Joyce starts clapping. Then everyone joins in, Max leading a standing ovation. Billy blushes, embarrassed by the attention, but smiles at the praise, happy people enjoy him playing just as much as he does. When everyone finishes clapping, Billy is bombarded with questions and praises.

“Oh my god, that was amazing!”

“Since when did you start playing the violin?”

“What song was that?”

“How come you never told anyone?”

“I can’t believe that Billy Hargrove just played violin in my living room!”

Billy laughs out several “thank you”s as he puts the violin away in its case. “I started playing when I was seven,” Billy starts to explain. “The piece I just played is called ‘Violin Concerto No. 3 in B minor, Op. 61’ by Camille Saint-Saëns, and I never told anyone because of Neil.” The Party didn’t know the details of his situation with Neil, but gossip spreads quickly in a small town, so they knew Neil lost custody for some reason.

“Sweetheart, you played beautifully,” Joyce praised.

“You really did,” Lucas agrees, which surprises Billy.

“Could you play something else?” Dustin asks, exciting a chorus of agreements.

Billy doesn’t know if anyone besides Ms. Petrov has asked him to play. He’s still getting over the shock of it all. But he agrees. So he takes out his violin again. His violin. And he plays for The Party. He plays all night long, playing Bach to Beethoven, and even some rock songs. He plays until his out-of-practice fingers cramp. He plays because he’s happy. Billy feels fulfilled as ever with his friends and family around him, with Steve by his side, and with a violin in his hand.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington #max mayfield #harringrove #harringrove fic

[my-dear-hammy]

Basking in Firelight-Jamilton Sequel-Part Fifty Two

Masterpost

Part Fifty-Two: Scars

AN

Went on a long walk today, I read Common Sense by Thomas Paine while I did so. Jefferson would be so proud.

Enjoy!

----

Warnings below- heh heh heh

----

"How the fuck did you get in here?" Hamilton half yelled, reaching for the knife he always kept tucked on his person.

"Oh don't be so dramatic. That's my job," King George smirked, "and I have my ways. Scorn has a way of opening doors."

Jefferson and Hamilton shared a look, what? That was complete nonsense.

"You're the target of a nationwide manhunt. What's keeping us from apprehending you right now?" Jefferson asked.

"Information." King George picked at his nails. "More specifically, blackmail."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "What kind of blackmail?"

"Your relationship," the king cooed, "Can't have that getting out, now can we?"

Jefferson and Hamilton looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Ha! You don't even know about our duress," Hamilton almost sang.

"It's true, there's nothing between us, I confess," Jefferson shrugged.

"What are you talking about? You two made out in front while standing on the table."

Jefferson looked to Hamilton, confused. Had that actually happened? Hamilton ignored him, King George was just missing their true weakness. Jefferson's memory loss. If word got spread around about that, people would doubt his ability to lead. It didn't, the only thing Jefferson couldn't seem to remember was Hamilton. Even then he could remember all of the plans and ideals he opposed Hamilton on in the 1700-1800's, just not Hamilton himself. But that wouldn't stop the people or his enemies from using it against him.

"It's not a thing anymore," Hamilton said authoritatively, "We broke it off."

"Delicious! Details! I want details!" the king cried. "It must be so much fun being stuck in an office with your ex all day. Tell me all the juicy bits."

Jefferson swore the king was a teenager bent on gossiping.

"Can I kill him?" Hamilton asked.

"Not in the Presidential Office. I don't want to stain the rugs."

"We could just get new ones."

"Alexander, they're brand new."

"Ugh, fine." The king had the decency to look a little frightened. "So what are we going to do with him?" Hamilton asked.

"Put him on trial," Jefferson replied as the king picked his nails casually, still relaxing behind Jefferson's desk.

"That's too good for the likes of him," Hamilton protested.

"Everyone deserves a trail."

The king interrupted their conversation, "It's amusing you assume that you have me in a corner," a sly smirk stretched across his face.

"What're you talking about?" Hamilton asked.

The king stood, stretched and walked over the window, looking out over the view. "Beautiful location you chose, Jefferson." He turned and leaned against the window sill, smiling. "I can't wait to steal it from you."

Hamilton and Jefferson realized what the king was up to, but too late. The king toppled over backward out of the window, falling a couple stories. The two of them rushed to the window, praying that he slipped up and splattered on the ground. Instead, they saw him land smoothly on a horse and gallop off.

"That motherfucker stole my horse!" Jefferson yelled, planting a foot on the window sill, about to launch himself after the king.

"Thomas, stop!" Hamilton pulled him back inside. "It's just a horse."

Jefferson wanted to protest, that horse was important. Hamilton had given it to him. But Hamilton held him in place and closed the window. "I swear, I'm going to hunt that fucker down and smash his face in."

"Just not in the presidential office, don't want to stain your precious rugs," Hamilton mocked.

Jefferson glared as Hamilton cackled. "I still want to know how he got in here," Jefferson said.

***

Months after their encounter with the King, Hamilton and Jefferson sat in their private room late one night. They'd taken to calling it the Candlelight Room since the only light was provided by candles and they were only in there after a terrible night of nightmares or restlessness. Tonight hadn't been that bad, but neither of them could sleep so they had found their own ways to the room for some relaxing tea.

Jefferson had taken his normal place, sprawled out over the chair, legs kicked up over an armrest, Hamilton laid back into the confines of the couch. "We've made some excellent progress," Hamilton commented, "The infrastructure is almost completely repaired, just a few things here and there. The Chinese agreed to give is a few years to get our affairs in order. The Treasury has a bit of money in it. The uprising have quieted down. All in all, we've done a lot of good in the few years we've been presidents."

"We certainly have," Jefferson said contentedly.

"The reelection coming up will be a breeze. There's no question of our reelection," Hamilton proclaimed with confidence. He stood up and made for the door, "We should get back to work, Thomas."

Jefferson was silent for a moment. "I'm stepping down, I'm not running for president."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hamilton froze, his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm not running for president next year. Relax, have a drink with me, let's take a break tonight." Jefferson pulled out a bottle of wine from nowhere and poured two glasses. Hamilton walked back over in a daze and sat down on the edge of the couch.

"No, Thomas-"

"*I have done for my country, and for all mankind, all that I could do, and now I resign my soul, without fear, to my God.*"

"Thomas, with King George and the Goveys ready to rebel, is this the best time?"

"I wish to retire to my books and live out the rest of my life as an ordinary citizen of our nation."

"But-"

"Pick up your glass and relax for the night."

Hamilton scooped up the glass. "As far as the people are concerned, you have to serve. You could continue to serve."

"No. This is my last year of service. The people need to remember how to rule themselves."

"Thomas, they will say you're weak."

"No, they'll see the nation is strong."

"Our position is so unique-"

"So let's use it to move them along."

"Why do you have to say goodbye?"

"It's time, Alexander. The nation has to learn to grow beyond its founders."

"It's too soon."

"Alexander, the nation will be fine without me. Just let me have tonight. Relax with me. We haven't had a day off in years." Hamilton reluctantly sat back and drank his wine. "You sulking doesn't count as relaxing," Jefferson chided.

"Fuck you."

Jefferson sighed.

Hamilton knew how much Jefferson secretly hated and loved politics. He knew that Jefferson would be happier in retirement, surrounded by his books and his violin, even if he was still far too young to retire, he guessed when you're rich, age doesn't matter. Hamilton could at least give him this night. Jefferson was right, after all, they hadn't had a night off in years. But there was only one way Hamilton knew he could manage to relax after having that information suddenly thrust upon him. Jefferson wasn't going to be happy about it either. "Fine, you want me to relax?" Hamilton asked, standing, setting his glass down on the table, "Then I'll relax."

Jefferson watched as he strode across the room. "What're doing?" Hamilton turned around with his cello in hand. Oh fuck. "No, no, no," Jefferson began to protest.

"You wanted me to relax, this is the only way how." Hamilton settled into the other chair opposite Jefferson and positioned the cello between his knees as he rosined up his bow.

Shit. Jefferson's eyes were glued to Hamilton's long fingers. He had two weaknesses in this world. Okay, three. Four, actually. One, Hamilton's elegant fingers. Two, his hair being played with, three, Hamilton arguing passionately with him, and four, Hamilton playing the cello. You know what, basically anything Hamilton did. Does that count as one then? Hamilton? He'd go with that.

Hamilton's hand slid down the horse hair, holding the rosin to it. What had Jefferson gotten himself into? If Jefferson were smart, he'd leave, right this second, before Hamilton had the chance to play a single note. Or he could at least grab his violin and use that to distract him. Jefferson chugged his wine as Hamilton positioned the bow over the strings.

The first note rang out loud and clear and beautiful. Fuck fuck fuck. It quickly turned into a quick paced blend of harmony and heaven, Hamilton's hands dancing gracefully along the strings, each note perfect. Good God.

Hamilton was getting really into the song. He hadn't played in ages and found himself relaxing, the knots in his muscles magically undoing themselves. The music flowed from him easily, the song getting faster as he continued. Why hasn't he played in so long? He should've played every night just to relieve his stress. Right as he was reaching the crescendo of the music, the notes building on each other, higher and faster, the cello was practically ripped from his hands. "Hey-" he exclaimed, only to be cut off by hot lips crashing against his.

Jefferson couldn't take it anymore. The crescendo undid every bit of self-control and tore down all the walls he'd so carefully built. He practically flung himself across the room and onto Hamilton who went rigid with surprise but quickly melted, his fingers hooking into Jefferson's belt loops to pull him closer.

No. Jefferson, you can't do this. This isn't right. You're both the presidents. This can't happen. What if King George finds out? What if they're discovered?

He began to pull away, regaining a bit of his control over himself. Hamilton sensed the movement, sat up straighter so the distance between them didn't widen and immediately ran his hands in Jefferson's hair. Jefferson shivered, his retreat halting for a moment before he shook the feeling off and went to try again. Hamilton twined his hands in the sweet spot of Jefferson's curls and tugged ever so lightly. "Goddamnit, Alexander" Jefferson swore, "that's not fair," Hamilton smirked and pulled Jefferson back down, he came easily and willingly, wanting every bit of Hamilton just as Hamilton wanted him.

He tugged on Jefferson's hair again, knowing just what it did to him. Jefferson groaned and bit Hamilton's lip, trying to get access to Hamilton's mouth as his hands slipped under his shirt and danced across his hot skin. Hamilton teased him and made him fight for entrance he so desired. Jefferson hissed and dragged his hand down Hamilton's chest and palmed him through his pants.

Hamilton arched and gasped at the sudden contact, Jefferson pressed his advantage and slipped his tongue between Hamilton's lips. Hamilton broke away for just a second, "That's not fair," he growled.

Jefferson grinned ferally, "You started it," and started kissing Hamilton again, this time access was freely surrendered. Hamilton's hands skittered down Jefferson's spine, his skin so hot he could feel it through Jefferson's shirt, it was almost burning.

"Alexander," Jefferson breathed suddenly, breaking off their kiss.

"What is it?" Hamilton asked, fighting for breath.

"I can't fuck you properly in a chair," Jefferson said, grinding his hips against Hamilton.

Hamilton hissed through his teeth. "The table then." He was instantly lifted off the chair and spread out on the table, Jefferson instantly straddling him and grinding against him. Hamilton clutched the side of the table, arching beneath Jefferson. After regaining control over himself, his hands snaked to Jefferson's shirt tugging at the hem. Jefferson's hands caught Hamilton's, suddenly hesitant. "What is it?" Hamilton asked.

Unlike Hamilton, Jefferson couldn't remember going this far before and was suddenly very self-conscious about his the tough skin that littered his body. Jefferson blushed slightly at Hamilton's question, unable to admit weakness. He let go of Hamilton's hands and let them continue their work.

Hamilton was now slightly concerned about what Jefferson was worried about so he slowly tugged the shirt over Jefferson's head, just in case Jefferson wanted to stop him. The shirt slipped off and was tossed on the floor. Jefferson watched Hamilton's eyes, searching for a reaction. Ah, so that was it. Hamilton smiled as he gazed at the dark skin of Jefferson's body. He ran his hand lightly over the scar tissue that littered his skin. His finger traced one that had been from a bayonet early on in the war. A knife wound, several bullet grazes. The bullet wound from getting shot when they first met in this life, right in his abdomen. Hamilton's gaze lingered on the newest ones, the ones he hadn't seen yet from the explosion that had torn Jefferson away from him. Metal shrapnel had shredded his skin in places, leaving a patchwork of scars. He ran his hand over them. The one that really hurt Hamilton's heart was the mass of scar tissue right between Jefferson's ribs. Hamilton felt anger rise in his chest. That's where Burr had shot him. That was the wound that took Jefferson away from Hamilton. The fatal wound. Hamilton placed his hand over it, closed his eyes and breathed. He opened them again and looked up at Jefferson, "Beautiful," Hamilton murmured. Jefferson relaxed slightly, had it really bothered him that much? Hamilton shirked off his own shirt and displayed his own set of scars from various battles.

Jefferson ran his hands down them, tracing each one, trying to remember the stories behind them. Hamilton had gotten shot a lot. Mostly clippings, but not all. He'd fought in two more wars than Jefferson. The war of 1812 and the first rebellion. He'd gotten stabbed a few times as well. Oh, the memories. Jefferson grazed over the bullet wound in his shoulder that he'd gotten when they first met and settled on the nastiest patch of tough tissue right over his heart. That was where a musket ball had torn through his him and ended his life whilst he was laughing.

"Did it hurt?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton smiled. "No. Can't hurt a heart that's been already been lost." His own last words rang through his head, Ah, you cannot kill me with that shot, my heart died long ago! "But I've got it back now, mon cœur."

Jefferson bent down and kissed down Hamilton's jawline lovingly, "I wish I could remember."

Hamilton shut him up by capturing Jefferson's adventuring lips with his own, fisting his hands in Jefferson's so he cried out in pleasure, grinding against Hamilton again to try and relieve the pressure. Jefferson freed Hamilton of his pants, his full length springing free much to Hamilton's relief. Hamilton reached down and dragged his palm down Jefferson's clothed member. "Mon chéri," Jefferson gasped, "do you have any lube?"

"In my room," Hamilton breathed heavily. To Hamilton's dismay, Jefferson clambered off so Hamilton could go retrieve it. He reluctantly stood from the table and took the secret passageway. When he returned, Jefferson was standing in the middle of the room, stroking himself, preparing for him. Hamilton growled at the sight. Jefferson pulled him over, kissing him deeply whilst swiping the lube from Hamilton's hands and pushing him back onto the table.

Jefferson smeared some on his fingers and looked down at Hamilton, "Spread for me, darling." Hamilton complied. Jefferson situated himself over Hamilton as Hamilton wrapped his legs around Jefferson's waist. He slid his clean hand down Hamilton's chest, down, down and grasped Hamilton's cock right as he slipped a finger inside. Hamilton bucked, crying out, tightening around Jefferson's hand as he pumped. Jefferson hissed and added a second finger, sliding his other hand up and down along Hamilton.

He clutched the tables tightly as Jefferson worked, expertly drawing out unwilling strangled gasps from Hamilton. Jefferson pulled out his fingers and guided his tip to Hamilton's entrance after applying a generous amount of lube. "Ready?" he asked. Hamilton could only nod. Jefferson steadied Hamilton's hips his hands. "Scream for me, darling" he purred right before slamming fully into Hamilton, ramming into his prostate.

Hamilton screamed, bucking against Jefferson, pain giving way to pleasure as Jefferson rammed into him again. Hamilton swore, repented, prayed, and damned God all in one sentence as Jefferson pumped inside him. As they got their rhythm down, Jefferson wrapped one hand around Hamilton's cock again and started pumping, his thumb flicked over the tip.

"Darling, I'm gonna cum," Jefferson rasped his southern accent thickening, sending shivers down Hamilton's spine.

"Me too," Hamilton gasped. Jefferson tightened his gripped and slammed fully into Hamilton as they both came, their climax ripping screams from their throats and shuddering down their spines. After a moment of catching their breath, Jefferson scooped up his shirt from the floor and cleaned up the mess. Knowing Hamilton wouldn't be walking anytime soon, he scooped him up and carried him back to Hamilton's room and settle him on the bed. Jefferson wadded up the clothes and threw them in the laundry, he'd take care of that later. Right now, he crawled into the bed beside Hamilton, pulled him to his chest, covered themselves with the heavy blankets, and held him, breathing his scent and rubbing circles into his back until they both fell asleep.

----

Warnings: Extreme smut

#alexander hamilton #hamilton #jefferson x hamilton #hamilton x jefferson #thomas jefferson x alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x hamilton #alexander hamilton x thomas jefferson #hamilton x thomas jefferson #jamilton fanfiction #jamilton fanfic #jamilton #basking in firelight