So here's a fic about a potential pairing. 
I found it amusing and quite historically plausible. (If John Amsterdam had been real...) 
To understand it, you need to know who wrote the poem. (Yeah, google the title of this fic and you'll get the author)
And the "joke" in episode three.
But you can still read it and think "oh, sex. angst. nice." 

I hope it isn't too awful. 
I didn't have it beta'd, but since it was more for me to satisfy...something. I don't know what. I don't think it matters. 
I probably tried to mesh too many ideas together. 
You never know until you try. 
But if you have an opinion about it, I'd love to hear it.

We two boys together clinging, 
One the other never leaving,



John shivered as cool breath made its way down his stomach, drying patches of sweaty skin. A hand traced up his side to his shoulder, then down his arm to grasp his hand. 



Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,

Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching



"You did what you could for him," the man murmured against his hip, squeezing his hand and licking his way further down. A sob escaped Johns lips. 



Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping loving.

No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering thieving, 
threatening,



"But did it even matter?" He answered, squeezing the hand in return. His hips bucked suddenly as the mouth closed around him and the beard tickled already sensitive skin. 



Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on


the turf or the sea-beach dancing,



"No," the man answered. "But you do." And it was all John could do to keep from screaming the mans name and giving their liaison away.



Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,


Fulfilling our foray.



The next day, the book was carefully stored in the right most desk drawer, under the battle plans and code words. The boy was not forgotten.