The knot goes down, finally; Hamilton's cock, however, does not follow suit. When he can move again, it is unbearable to think of remaining still, or leaving his lover's body. Burr has done just as he asked and gone sweet and still again, and Hamilton must have him.
When he draws partway out, fluids spill: semen and urine, a mess of it, wetting the bed between Burr's thighs, filthy on his legs. Hamilton's fingers work between, smearing it further, up his cleft to his lower back, down again, massaging the claiming scent into his thighs.
He drives himself half-wild again just by indulging in these urges. Fucking Burr is so easy, too -- oh he is so open, and all the wet has him sweet and slick. Not all of it from Hamilton, either. Burr's beautiful, precious, still-healing cunt practically drips with it, and Burr's cock is flushed and hard again in answer to Hamilton's attentions. So it is so easy to use Burr's body, to huff satisfied breaths against his shoulderblades and fuck in wet, messy strokes, and, oh, the sound of it, the sound of thick semen and liquid urine worked in and out of Burr's body, knowing that he pushes it inside on every thrust, claiming inside and out, and all the while the peaceful, drowsy welcome, the invitation from his mate hanging heavy in the air, twining with the smell of his own claim...
He comes so hard that for a moment, he is nothing but the throbbing knot -- it almost hurts, he has been knotted for so much of tonight, but the abused flesh rises again and locks them together, as he keeps going, keeps fucking in, eager to wring every last flutter of pleasure from Burr.
And Burr does seem to be experiencing some sort of rapturous pleasure. He is tensing, stretching around Hamilton, drawing him deeper, if that were at all possible. Soft choked sounds, sleep-sounds. Muscles flutter on Hamilton's cock. Then, a surge of wet from Burr joins the mess between his legs, sweet-smelling, some kind of ejaculation. Hamilton drags his fingers in it, mixing it with the mess, rubbing that, too, into Burr's skin. He keeps Burr pinned in the filthy wet, rocking his hips slow, back and forth, crooning and purring.
When he sleeps, he has unknotted again, and it is because of exhaustion, because of an inability to keep going.
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When he draws partway out, fluids spill: semen and urine, a mess of it, wetting the bed between Burr's thighs, filthy on his legs. Hamilton's fingers work between, smearing it further, up his cleft to his lower back, down again, massaging the claiming scent into his thighs.
He drives himself half-wild again just by indulging in these urges. Fucking Burr is so easy, too -- oh he is so open, and all the wet has him sweet and slick. Not all of it from Hamilton, either. Burr's beautiful, precious, still-healing cunt practically drips with it, and Burr's cock is flushed and hard again in answer to Hamilton's attentions. So it is so easy to use Burr's body, to huff satisfied breaths against his shoulderblades and fuck in wet, messy strokes, and, oh, the sound of it, the sound of thick semen and liquid urine worked in and out of Burr's body, knowing that he pushes it inside on every thrust, claiming inside and out, and all the while the peaceful, drowsy welcome, the invitation from his mate hanging heavy in the air, twining with the smell of his own claim...
He comes so hard that for a moment, he is nothing but the throbbing knot -- it almost hurts, he has been knotted for so much of tonight, but the abused flesh rises again and locks them together, as he keeps going, keeps fucking in, eager to wring every last flutter of pleasure from Burr.
And Burr does seem to be experiencing some sort of rapturous pleasure. He is tensing, stretching around Hamilton, drawing him deeper, if that were at all possible. Soft choked sounds, sleep-sounds. Muscles flutter on Hamilton's cock. Then, a surge of wet from Burr joins the mess between his legs, sweet-smelling, some kind of ejaculation. Hamilton drags his fingers in it, mixing it with the mess, rubbing that, too, into Burr's skin. He keeps Burr pinned in the filthy wet, rocking his hips slow, back and forth, crooning and purring.
When he sleeps, he has unknotted again, and it is because of exhaustion, because of an inability to keep going.