Before Laurens goes, he touches Hamilton's cheek, and leans down to kiss him -- a soft, sweet kiss, lingering, like he hadn't just spent more than a quarter-hour buried as deep in Hamilton's body as he can go. It seems, to Hamilton, that it is a kiss good-bye, a gentle farewell.
Another brush of his lips to Hamilton's temple, and Laurens goes. Hamilton misses him immediately. Sometimes it seems to him that Laurens was the one who awakened an ache, an emptiness, within him, and that Laurens then was the only one who could fill it.
Besides, the contentment of being held, by Burr, is too vast and lovely to be too disturbed, and he drifts off again.
--
"Of course," and he yawns, shifts up -- and winces, as abused muscles indicate their complaints. He also feels a trickling wet, where Laurens' seed leaks out of him.
He bites back any complaint, as his soreness is petty and small next to Burr's injuries, and slips out of bed. He wasn't too careless when he disrobed, and it's the work of but a moment to reassemble his uniform. More difficult is finding the ribbon used to tie his hair, but that is finally located in a fold of blanket, and he runs his fingers through it, taming it and binding it back.
It seems as though outside there has been a palpable increase in warmth since they three took to that cabin, though perhaps it's just Hamilton's own sentiments that have thawed.
He scoops up Theodosia from Mrs. Linden, with his thanks, and returns with her, awake from her little nap, though not fussing. Her eyes are big and newborn-grey, fixed on Hamilton until Hamilton sets her back into Burr's arms, at which time she homes in on Burr, with a comical look of stunned wonder, like Burr is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
Hamilton knows the feeling.
"I was right," Hamilton says, after a moment, perched on the bed and watching them with pride. "That she was a girl."
no subject
Another brush of his lips to Hamilton's temple, and Laurens goes. Hamilton misses him immediately. Sometimes it seems to him that Laurens was the one who awakened an ache, an emptiness, within him, and that Laurens then was the only one who could fill it.
Besides, the contentment of being held, by Burr, is too vast and lovely to be too disturbed, and he drifts off again.
--
"Of course," and he yawns, shifts up -- and winces, as abused muscles indicate their complaints. He also feels a trickling wet, where Laurens' seed leaks out of him.
He bites back any complaint, as his soreness is petty and small next to Burr's injuries, and slips out of bed. He wasn't too careless when he disrobed, and it's the work of but a moment to reassemble his uniform. More difficult is finding the ribbon used to tie his hair, but that is finally located in a fold of blanket, and he runs his fingers through it, taming it and binding it back.
It seems as though outside there has been a palpable increase in warmth since they three took to that cabin, though perhaps it's just Hamilton's own sentiments that have thawed.
He scoops up Theodosia from Mrs. Linden, with his thanks, and returns with her, awake from her little nap, though not fussing. Her eyes are big and newborn-grey, fixed on Hamilton until Hamilton sets her back into Burr's arms, at which time she homes in on Burr, with a comical look of stunned wonder, like Burr is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.
Hamilton knows the feeling.
"I was right," Hamilton says, after a moment, perched on the bed and watching them with pride. "That she was a girl."