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Future PSL 4
Jun. 11th, 2022 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slowtoangerHe doesn't know when to expect his heat, after the last one. His cycle must restart, if it restarts at all. Ned still is not sure he will ever have another heat, that Burr has not caused himself irreparable damage to his biology with the concoctions. Burr isn't sure he wants another heat regardless. Not after the last one.
Things are better, in the days after their visit to the Madison's. It is easier for Burr to be around Hamilton, and his family. Spends less time shut up in his room, and his skin gets some color. And Hamilton smiles more. Seems younger, each time he spots Burr, years melting off his face, each time bringing Burr up short.
When had he begun looking so old? So worn, and stress marked? Had Burr done that? Bent his shoulders and marked his face and made him a touch too thin? They aren't that old, either of them, but--older than either of their parents lived to be, though it's possible Hamilton's father is kicking around somewhere, still. One can never be sure, with connections such as those.
They aren't whole yet. That will perhaps take time. And Burr is still so angry, sometimes. Wakes in the middle of the night wanting to cry or punch something. Sometimes he cannot look at Hamilton at all. Yet the episodes grow fewer and farther between. He is used to coping with emotions on his own, and this is something he can't burden Hamilton with. How much more would it add to Alexander's daily pains, his already unearned guilt, to know that some part of Burr feels broken and abandoned, for something that was not Hamilton's fault.
Hamilton had forgiven Burr so easily, but still--
Sometimes he cannot look in the mirror. Avoids raising his head, as he gets ready in the mornings. Things he doesn't dwell on.
As it is, the heat comes as suddenly and unexpectedly as the last. Another nightmare, the same. That something like this could happen again, that he would never be safe. He shouldn't have stopped taking those suppressants at all, regardless of what Ned said.
Yet. He isn't around anyone. Him and Theodosia are sitting in the little park across from their townhome--a small wild area, soon to be developed, when he realizes he has begun to drift. When time gets away from him, and Theodosia asks a question he has not the mental faculties to answer.
Always disoriented, at the start of his heats, before he even begins to give off those pheromones. Theodosia asks what is wrong, and he forces a smile. But his hands shake, when he pushes to his feet, and he stumbles and has to be caught my her.
"I'm afraid I don't feel well, darling. No need to worry. I think an evening nap might be in order--" but he sounds strained to his own ears, and his heart is hammering, as his eyes dart around. There could be anyone here, anyone passing, and if they happened to be an alpha--
Theodosia, dear and wonderful and everything to him, hurries him home, as his legs begin to shake more and more. The house is empty, but the panic continues to swell in his chest. Hamilton on business, the children out with their tutor. Burr excuses himself, bids her attend supper, and shuts himself in his room as he feels that awful heat start, bluming, between his legs. Locks the door. Shoves a chair beneath the handle, for good measure.
Turns towards his dresser, fumbling through his bottles for the scent reducers, but damn Hamilton, he has taken that too. And his legs are starting to give, buckle, as he stumbles towards the bed. He can feel the barest amount of slick starting to form. Lays back and closes his eyes, tries to breathe through the cramps that come next, and the headache, heart pounding. The need. The need, the need, the need.
He cries.
Things are better, in the days after their visit to the Madison's. It is easier for Burr to be around Hamilton, and his family. Spends less time shut up in his room, and his skin gets some color. And Hamilton smiles more. Seems younger, each time he spots Burr, years melting off his face, each time bringing Burr up short.
When had he begun looking so old? So worn, and stress marked? Had Burr done that? Bent his shoulders and marked his face and made him a touch too thin? They aren't that old, either of them, but--older than either of their parents lived to be, though it's possible Hamilton's father is kicking around somewhere, still. One can never be sure, with connections such as those.
They aren't whole yet. That will perhaps take time. And Burr is still so angry, sometimes. Wakes in the middle of the night wanting to cry or punch something. Sometimes he cannot look at Hamilton at all. Yet the episodes grow fewer and farther between. He is used to coping with emotions on his own, and this is something he can't burden Hamilton with. How much more would it add to Alexander's daily pains, his already unearned guilt, to know that some part of Burr feels broken and abandoned, for something that was not Hamilton's fault.
Hamilton had forgiven Burr so easily, but still--
Sometimes he cannot look in the mirror. Avoids raising his head, as he gets ready in the mornings. Things he doesn't dwell on.
As it is, the heat comes as suddenly and unexpectedly as the last. Another nightmare, the same. That something like this could happen again, that he would never be safe. He shouldn't have stopped taking those suppressants at all, regardless of what Ned said.
Yet. He isn't around anyone. Him and Theodosia are sitting in the little park across from their townhome--a small wild area, soon to be developed, when he realizes he has begun to drift. When time gets away from him, and Theodosia asks a question he has not the mental faculties to answer.
Always disoriented, at the start of his heats, before he even begins to give off those pheromones. Theodosia asks what is wrong, and he forces a smile. But his hands shake, when he pushes to his feet, and he stumbles and has to be caught my her.
"I'm afraid I don't feel well, darling. No need to worry. I think an evening nap might be in order--" but he sounds strained to his own ears, and his heart is hammering, as his eyes dart around. There could be anyone here, anyone passing, and if they happened to be an alpha--
Theodosia, dear and wonderful and everything to him, hurries him home, as his legs begin to shake more and more. The house is empty, but the panic continues to swell in his chest. Hamilton on business, the children out with their tutor. Burr excuses himself, bids her attend supper, and shuts himself in his room as he feels that awful heat start, bluming, between his legs. Locks the door. Shoves a chair beneath the handle, for good measure.
Turns towards his dresser, fumbling through his bottles for the scent reducers, but damn Hamilton, he has taken that too. And his legs are starting to give, buckle, as he stumbles towards the bed. He can feel the barest amount of slick starting to form. Lays back and closes his eyes, tries to breathe through the cramps that come next, and the headache, heart pounding. The need. The need, the need, the need.
He cries.
