"Thank you, she is quite beautiful," Burr says, holding out his hand and beckoning Laurens across the room, "and smart too, I daresay. Though I am not as well as I would like, considerations for my health have allowed this most pleasing turn of circumstances. You do not need to be shy, Laurens," Burr says, as Laurens sits on the edge of the bed, kisses his hand. Burr turns his own around to clasp around Laurens', and though Burr cannot easily maneuver himself, he can tug Laurens down towards him, so that the larger man must catch himself on a palm, bracketing Burr but leaving a view for Hamilton.

Laurens eyes are hesitant meeting his own, But Burr's are a fathomless dark, pulling in, and he has always been good at that art, the magnetism of his body, even bed bound and frail. He darts his tongue out, wets them, knows they are swollen, and dips forward, ghosts his lips over Laurens jaw, drinking in the small hitched breath, the tightening of Laurens grip, as it wraps around his hip, fluttering eyelashes. How long has it been, since he was with an omega? Or perhaps he prefers alphas?

"What do you think, Alexander," Burr asks, breathless. "Do you like what you see?"

And he watches Hamilton watching, his hardness, as he leans forward to capture Laurens lips, makes sure to leave his own mouth slack and opened as he licks inward, sloppy, a show. Rubs his hands up Laurens chest, fiddling with buttons, down again, rubs over his thighs, before coming to the ties of his breeches. Fiddling.

"Well, Alexander? Should I open them?"