Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7391872.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Turn_(TV_2014), Hamilton_-_Miranda, American_Revolution_RPF
  Relationship:
      Alexander_Hamilton/George_Washington, Alexander_Hamilton/Benjamin
      Tallmadge, Benjamin_Tallmadge/George_Washington
  Character:
      Alexander_Hamilton, George_Washington, Benjamin_Tallmadge
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Lap_Sex, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Dirty_Talk, Alternate_Universe
      -_1990s, Porn_Watching, Feelings, Grooming, Come_Swallowing, Id_Fic
  Series:
      Part 5 of Chicagoland
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-05 Words: 2414
****** Sixteen Again ******
by gross_batpanda
Summary
     1990s Chicago punk AU. Mind the tags. Title (appropriately enough)
     comes from a Buzzcocks song.
It comes as no surprise that Ben is gorgeous but he’s a useless fuck. His lips
are red from sucking George off, eyes heavy lidded, mouth open as he lets out
breathy little cries, one right after the other. The noise is bugging the hell
out of George, who’s got Ben pinned with one hairy arm around his stomach as he
fucks up into him. Ben’s butt naked on his lap, pale legs splayed wide out to
either side, bare feet resting against the couch cushions. George has his shirt
off, jeans shoved down hastily by his ankles. Alex, by contrast, is mostly
dressed. After all, he’d been brought there for reassurance above all else.
Tonight they’d all gone home together. It was a real show, twenty-one and over,
and Ben had waited in the record store down the street until they’d come to
retrieve him in the Tercel. Alex ran inside, dodging between fat raindrops,
ignored Maria’s death ray glare. “You ready?” he asked, and Ben left behind the
bins and whatever purchases he’d been contemplating making with his thirty
dollars a week in allowance. He followed, obedient as ever, to clamber into the
back seat. His long legs were practically folded up on themselves as they drove
the few miles to George’s loft, and he stumbled, coltish, when he stood up on
the pavement again.
They both get something out of it. Alex gets a place to crash, George gets his
cock sucked magnificently, and the whole scene benefits when he’s getting that
on the regular. What he would really like, though, is for Ben to have even a
fraction of Alex’s skills. Because he’s exactly that kind of soft suburban kid
that gets George’s nut up. He looks like he sleeps in a soft bed every night
and takes a hot shower every morning.Like he goes to church on Sundays and
feels guilty as hell whenever he tries to touch himself. His mom probably sends
him off to class with a belly full of homemade blueberry pancakes. She drives
him to school, and gives him an allowance that he’s never had to work an hour
for, which he uses to buy band t-shirts. Shit beer, acid if he’s feeling
particularly rebellious. Records in town, zines from mail order. Two dollars
taped to the inside of a security lined envelope, a padded one gracing the
mailbox a few weeks later. The family probably owns a golden retriever.
Ben, he thinks glumly, is the very opposite of streetwise. Fuck if George
cares. Or rather, George cares a lot but only right now, while Ben is still
soft, new, pliable. Wouldn’t he rather make out in the back seat with a boy his
own age, fist his own cock in the shadows? Have kisses, shy and sensitive, in
his bedroom back in Oak Park?
For his part, Alex has done all he can, over the past few weeks to make Ben as
capable a cocksucker as he’ll ever be. In between work and interning, seeing
old friends, writing pseudonymous columns for extra cash, he’s been a pal.
Paying the favor forward for the next kid in line. Jesus, he’s spent hours on
his knees perched in front of George’s hard dick, the soft bow of Ben’s mouth
the most exquisite temptation.
George of course fucking looks like he’s died and gone to old man heaven when
he’s got them both on the floor. There’s porn. There’s always porn. Sets the
mood better than any album ever could. Every tape in his collection is worn
down from repeated watching, the reels snagged and worn thin at his favorite
parts.
With the head between their mouths they’ll kiss, a living barrier as their
tongues find one another. Ben’s shy and probing, Alex’s insistent. They pass it
back and forth between them, trading licks and sucks. Alex makes a game of it,
tries to use his hands as little as possible, moves it with his nothing but his
tongue, nips at it with his teeth. Tries to keep from showing off, figures it
will only make Ben feel bad about himself. He learned the hard way how to get
good. Can make a man come in four minutes flat, spit like a pro, and be out of
there before the cops come. Hell, his dick won’t even get hard when he does it.
On his knees or laid out on his back, Ben is silent as a tomb, wide-eyed, like
he still can’t believe what’s happening to him. He looks at George’s cock the
same way he looks at George: desperate, eager to please, worshipful. But he’s
so shit at it, Alex thinks glumly, and so it always has to end the same fucking
way. George holds onto Ben’s head, interlocking his tatted fingers around his
skull, and either sits or stands and fucks himself to completion. Alex sits
back on his heels, fully clothed, and rubs Ben’s skinny back through his t-
shirt, and whispers encouragement against his smooth cheek. “Relax, relax your
jaw. Breathe through your nose. Let it happen, let it happen. I’m here, okay?
I'm not going anywhere.”
Ben swallows, too, greedy for anything George will give. Alex? Always spits.
Come sits heavy in his belly, makes it ache. Even when he’s gone without food
for days on end, he’s never been hungry enough for that. Besides, it pisses the
old man off.
Part of Alex wants to take him aside and tell him to stop giving over so much
power to the old asshole. You can suck him off and still keep your fucking
dignity, you know, is what he would say. But he suspects that Ben would laugh
it off and ignore the advice all the same. He certainly doesn’t know guys like
George.
Alex, though, can see right through the facade. Hell, anyone could if they’d
bother to pull their heads out of their self-absorbed asses for two fucking
seconds. How George doesn’t make conversation unless he wants something. The
way he treats women. How he’s friendlier with the cops than any self-proclaimed
apolitical anarchist should be. But he’s got the aura, he’s got the prestige,
and that’s all that matters. Time in Detroit, in New York, in Los Angeles,
Berlin. Making music, drinking himself to death. Fresh meat. Friends who keep
their mouths shut.
Ben, the idiot, has no such awareness. He’ll take whatever George doles out.
He’ll lap it up like a dog and keen expectantly for more, tail wagging. Even
now he’s clearly past his breaking point, wincing every time George thrusts,
but he hasn’t offered so much as a peep in protest. There’s sweat standing out
on his shoulders and beneath Alex’s hand, his thin leg is overheated, sticky.
When they got back to the loft, put on a tape, put on a record, passed a bottle
of vodka around, then Alex got down to brass tacks. He might as well make it
good for Ben, he'd reasoned. George had watched greedily as Alex ate Ben out,
one hand down his pants and the other loosely clutching the bottle of Smirnoff.
He’d shook his head when he'd asked permission to get Ben off, the selfish
fucking bastard. Not like he'd stop at the one anyways, but fine. Fine. Alex
merely shrugged, pressed his nose back against the hard lump of Ben’s spine,
licking softly with the flat of his tongue until Ben was asking for it yet a-
fucking-gain.
“I want to,” Ben had whined, rolling his hips against the sofa, and Alex had to
pull his mouth away, nip kisses and bites all around his plump ass until he’d
calmed down enough for George to be able to fuck. What George wants, he gets,
and what he doesn’t want? Forget it.
“Baby,” Alex had soothed, rubbing gentle circles on Ben’s lower back, “we’ll
get there, okay? I know you want to, but hold off. You’re gonna like this too,
I promise.” He glanced up at George, his pupils blown, staring hungrily at Ben
all laid out for him like a present. To George he asked, “Where do you want
him?” and Ben, sweet thing, had moaned at the prospect. George had even growled
a little bit. 
So now they’re here, Ben’s slim legs draped over George’s thick hairy thighs.
Alex is set off a bit to the side, watching, coaxing. He’s here to help, one
hand stroking Ben’s shoulder, a comforting presence as he gets his ass reamed.
Each staccato ah ah ah spurs George on to greater, deeper thrusts, and Alex is
starting to worry a little bit. If he reaches down and touches Ben’s stomach,
he swears he can feel the head of George’s dick pressing out against it. There
will be bruising internally tomorrow. 
“Jesus,” George is saying, rubbing his forehead against Ben’s sweaty neck,
“Jesus, kid, you’re so fucking tight.” And then he turns to Alex the third
wheel, casual as can be, and thanks him for looking after his boy. “You opened
him up real nice, Alex,” he says, smoothing his hands along Ben’s damp sides.
"Good work, I knew I could count on you. You liked that, didn't you, Benjamin?"
he asks. Another one of those noises wrenches free from his throat, causing
George to grimace in irritation. Ben's too far gone for a real answer but he
nods his head limply. He's been told to like it, conditioned by gentle
penetration, soft words of encouragement. It's Pavlovian now, for him to like
it. For the rest of his life, it'll be like this. 
Pretty boy Ben is a whiner, too. Whines when George hits the back of his throat
and tries to flinch away from the stab of it. Whines when he pulls his hair too
hard, when his knees hurt, when the cock is out of his mouth, in his mouth,
laid up wet and slick against his cheek. He’s whining now, practically gnashing
his teeth to try and contain the sounds.
Alex has some idea of how to help. Him? He likes the whining. It’s cute. Sure,
it annoys George, but then, he always was selfish as shit. Get a pretty young
thing writhing on your dick and then not want to hear them? The fuck is that
about? “Kiss me,” Alex demands, and pushes his face right up beneath Ben’s.
This close he smells of Ivory soap, cheap cigarettes, fabric softener.
Ben flinches momentarily, but soon acquiesces into the kiss. He brings one hand
up to touch the side of Alex’s face just as he’s knocked forward on a
particularly brutal thrust. Another one of those sounds leaks out, unbidden
George grumbles; Ben’s face goes pale, and he pulls back, afraid that he’s
caused displeasure. "You're good," Alex reassures him, "you're doing so good." 
George is close to getting his nut, Alex can tell. He’s got his hands locked
one on top of the other just below Ben’s belly button, ricocheting his body up
and down along his length. The television has turned to static indicating that
the end of the tape has been reached. Alex thoughtfully grabs the remote and
rewinds, double, quadruple fast, to right before a money shot he knows will do
the trick. He drops the remote back onto the coffee table with a loud clatter,
then exchanges a glance with George.
The man is barely cognizant, eyes practically rolling back in his head. His
stubble stands out dark against his cheek as he hammers the boy in his lap.
Alex knows from experience that being inside Ben is a kind of hallelujah
chorus, a religious experience. Ben is managing to hold up against the
onslaught, but he's still wincing as he’s pounded, and he should feel good,
too. Ben should get something out of this. George won’t protest, he decides,
and swallows a few times to get the flow of saliva going in his mouth. He leans
over, takes the sensitive head of Ben’s slender cock in his mouth and gives it
a gentle suck. Again, more thorough, one long slick slide from root to tip and
then wide-mouthed to the base to do it again.
“Alex,” pleads Ben, his red lips open in a gasp, “It’s too good, don’t, don’t.”
He responds by shaking his head, tightening his suction. Below them both George
is moving so fast that his hips are a blur. On the screen, someone is
screaming, forced to get off against their will. It’s fake, Alex thinks, or
hopes, but it’s borderline disturbing. Ben shouldn’t have to see that, watch
that. He pulls off, nuzzles wet lips against scratchy pubes. “Watch me,” he
instructs, “eyes on me. And,” he plants a sucking kiss to one side of Ben’s
stomach, then the other, “think about that nice big dick inside of you,
splitting you open. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Oh fuck,” Ben gasps, as George releases him at the top and lets gravity do the
work of bringing him down, balls fucking deep. It’s really hot to watch, but
Ben needs to relax before George pops off or he’ll squeeze his fucking dick
off. And not in a good way.
Alex’s head bobs and weaves as Ben is hiked up once more, released again. His
bare toes are flexing, practically clawing at the brown couch cover. He keeps
him close, for all George’s jostling, and when he loses it, spasms from the
stomach and screams out fuckfuckfuckohfuck the seal doesn’t so much as break
between mouth and cock.
The load is flat-tasting, almost sweet. He has a good diet, it makes sense that
his come would taste all right. George is back to his relentless pace, moving
Ben like a rag doll along his cock, boneless, limp, fucked out. He comes with a
thrown-back head and a groan that rattles the ceiling fixtures. When he looks
up at Ben, there are tears caught in his thick eyelashes, threatening to spill
out onto his flushed cheeks. 
He waits until George is looking right at him, his smoker’s breath coming in
heavy rasps as he comes back to himself. Ben is still impaled on George’s
flagging dick, squirming to be let down and for feeling to come back into his
legs. Alex has a mouthful of come stashed behind pursed lips, and several
things he could do with it. But because it’s Ben’s, he looks at George with
what he hopes is a malevolent twinkle, and pointedly, deliberately, swallows.
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