Laurens slides his length against Hamilton's entrance, using the motion to gather up a bit of extra slick. And lingering, making Hamilton feel the length of him, the weight, though Hamilton, God knows, doesn't need to be driven any more out of his mind.
He hesitates, though. He looks up at Burr. "He was never like this with me," Laurens says. "Always demanding -- you have him eating out of your hand." A sharp breath -- "I think he'd do anything for you."
Hamilton doesn't want to face those words, doesn't want to think about them. His heart feels raw, some subtle veneer scraped off, leaving behind only that which is tender and vulnerable. He feels seen, and this is the first time he realizes that being seen is different from being admired. It frightens him, on a level he didn't expect.
They've been sparing on the oil, and so when Laurens fits the head of his cock against Hamilton's hole, and grasps Hamilton's hips, and fucks into him with one hard thrust, it burns, a stretch that plunges into him too fast for him to adjust. Laurens feels huge inside him, endless, an invading force that Hamilton cannot resist, does not resist.
He realizes he's cried out only because he has to breathe in again, and even breathing feels different, the play of muscles in his entire torso changed by the length inside him.
He does not have time to catch his breath before Laurens is fucking him.
He remembers times like this, dirty inns, stuffing his mouth with a spare shirt so that he didn't cry out too loudly, so that they wouldn't be discovered. Laurens, fierce, fucking him hard and quick, always quick. He remembers the first time, when it hurt more than either of them thought, and he couldn't get away, and Laurens soothed and soothed him. And he remembers other times, when the sweat dried on their skin and Laurens pressed his face between Hamilton's shoulderblades, and Hamilton just felt Laurens' seed, filling him, staining him from the inside.
He wants it from Laurens. He wants it from Burr. He just wants it, confused and caught up in every sensation: the brutal thrusts, punching rough sounds out of him, the comparatively gentle way Laurens' stones jostle against him, the sway of his own weeping erection, unstimulated except by the sheets when a particularly hard thrust shoves him against the bed. The smell of Burr's slick, of his sweat. He's making the most noise, and they're both listening to him, they're both watching him, and he is sweating now, beads of it at his hairline.
His cries get higher, and then there is Burr's hand, again, holding him back, tight around the base of his cock. "No!" -- a desperate word, ripped from him, "I need it, let me--"
"Not yet." Laurens angles down on his next thrust, slower but no less rough. Hamilton can feel himself go electric-tight, as this stimulates every desperately wanting place inside him. "You beg so pretty, Alexander -- but not yet, you wait for him to tell you. You wait for his permission."
Hamilton lets out another cry as Laurens thrusts the same way again, again. He shoves himself back, he opens himself to it.
"Please, John," and he's not begging to come, he's begging for something else.
"What do you want, Alex?" taunts Laurens. "What are you begging for?"
Hamilton lifts his head and meets Burr's eyes. Not sure who he's addressing, but in his face is naked desperation. "Knot me," he whispers, to Burr.
Laurens thrusts in hard, and Hamilton arches, so close, just on the edge-- Hitches of Laurens' hips, like he could get even further inside, like he can't get deep enough. The knot starts to swell, at first easy to take, then, as it grows, Hamilton's body fights it, tightening down. He drops his forehead onto the mattress, trying to relax, and Laurens pets him, strokes his flanks and his spine and says, "Come on, Alex, just breathe, you can take it, you know you can," as Hamilton's jaw drops open. Is it bigger than it once was? It must be, because Hamilton's body is stretched so far he might break, and still it grows. He is helpless, he is tied, has let Laurens into his body and now he can do nothing but submit.
Burr's fingers sweep through his hair, and Hamilton feels Laurens nudge just a little deeper. Feels the cock inside him twitch, as Laurens starts to come inside him. Imagines he can feel the semen spill inside him. Imagines, for a moment, that it could seep further into him, that, like within Burr, it could take root, make of him a vessel...
"Aaron," he breathes.
Laurens wraps his arm around Hamilton, the same way he did before he sunk his teeth into Hamilton's neck.
"Yes," says Burr. "Go on."
And Hamilton shatters. Makes a sound like a wail, convulsing tight on the impossibly large knot inside him. His body wasn't meant for this, and yet he takes it. Laurens is holding him, and Burr is surrounding him, and he comes and comes, shocks starting at the center of him and ricocheting outward.
And then he is panting, slow-drying sweat, weak and trembling, the knot a heaviness, a pleasurable discomfort, overstimulation enough to blur his eyes with tears. He doesn't know that he can hold himself up. Thank god he doesn't have to.
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He hesitates, though. He looks up at Burr. "He was never like this with me," Laurens says. "Always demanding -- you have him eating out of your hand." A sharp breath -- "I think he'd do anything for you."
Hamilton doesn't want to face those words, doesn't want to think about them. His heart feels raw, some subtle veneer scraped off, leaving behind only that which is tender and vulnerable. He feels seen, and this is the first time he realizes that being seen is different from being admired. It frightens him, on a level he didn't expect.
They've been sparing on the oil, and so when Laurens fits the head of his cock against Hamilton's hole, and grasps Hamilton's hips, and fucks into him with one hard thrust, it burns, a stretch that plunges into him too fast for him to adjust. Laurens feels huge inside him, endless, an invading force that Hamilton cannot resist, does not resist.
He realizes he's cried out only because he has to breathe in again, and even breathing feels different, the play of muscles in his entire torso changed by the length inside him.
He does not have time to catch his breath before Laurens is fucking him.
He remembers times like this, dirty inns, stuffing his mouth with a spare shirt so that he didn't cry out too loudly, so that they wouldn't be discovered. Laurens, fierce, fucking him hard and quick, always quick. He remembers the first time, when it hurt more than either of them thought, and he couldn't get away, and Laurens soothed and soothed him. And he remembers other times, when the sweat dried on their skin and Laurens pressed his face between Hamilton's shoulderblades, and Hamilton just felt Laurens' seed, filling him, staining him from the inside.
He wants it from Laurens. He wants it from Burr. He just wants it, confused and caught up in every sensation: the brutal thrusts, punching rough sounds out of him, the comparatively gentle way Laurens' stones jostle against him, the sway of his own weeping erection, unstimulated except by the sheets when a particularly hard thrust shoves him against the bed. The smell of Burr's slick, of his sweat. He's making the most noise, and they're both listening to him, they're both watching him, and he is sweating now, beads of it at his hairline.
His cries get higher, and then there is Burr's hand, again, holding him back, tight around the base of his cock. "No!" -- a desperate word, ripped from him, "I need it, let me--"
"Not yet." Laurens angles down on his next thrust, slower but no less rough. Hamilton can feel himself go electric-tight, as this stimulates every desperately wanting place inside him. "You beg so pretty, Alexander -- but not yet, you wait for him to tell you. You wait for his permission."
Hamilton lets out another cry as Laurens thrusts the same way again, again. He shoves himself back, he opens himself to it.
"Please, John," and he's not begging to come, he's begging for something else.
"What do you want, Alex?" taunts Laurens. "What are you begging for?"
Hamilton lifts his head and meets Burr's eyes. Not sure who he's addressing, but in his face is naked desperation. "Knot me," he whispers, to Burr.
Laurens thrusts in hard, and Hamilton arches, so close, just on the edge-- Hitches of Laurens' hips, like he could get even further inside, like he can't get deep enough. The knot starts to swell, at first easy to take, then, as it grows, Hamilton's body fights it, tightening down. He drops his forehead onto the mattress, trying to relax, and Laurens pets him, strokes his flanks and his spine and says, "Come on, Alex, just breathe, you can take it, you know you can," as Hamilton's jaw drops open. Is it bigger than it once was? It must be, because Hamilton's body is stretched so far he might break, and still it grows. He is helpless, he is tied, has let Laurens into his body and now he can do nothing but submit.
Burr's fingers sweep through his hair, and Hamilton feels Laurens nudge just a little deeper. Feels the cock inside him twitch, as Laurens starts to come inside him. Imagines he can feel the semen spill inside him. Imagines, for a moment, that it could seep further into him, that, like within Burr, it could take root, make of him a vessel...
"Aaron," he breathes.
Laurens wraps his arm around Hamilton, the same way he did before he sunk his teeth into Hamilton's neck.
"Yes," says Burr. "Go on."
And Hamilton shatters. Makes a sound like a wail, convulsing tight on the impossibly large knot inside him. His body wasn't meant for this, and yet he takes it. Laurens is holding him, and Burr is surrounding him, and he comes and comes, shocks starting at the center of him and ricocheting outward.
And then he is panting, slow-drying sweat, weak and trembling, the knot a heaviness, a pleasurable discomfort, overstimulation enough to blur his eyes with tears. He doesn't know that he can hold himself up. Thank god he doesn't have to.