How easily, Hamilton unfurls Burr's body like a flower. A few kisses, a wandering, eager hand, a lick and a nibble over a sensitive gland, and he is opening himself--spreading his legs, muscles loosening as his breathing hitches.

Burr's brain isn't functioning fully, when Hamilton asks that, and it takes a moment, with those sinful lips rubbing against his throat with each words, puffs of breathe, hot and warm.

"Oh," he starts, his own hands coming up to curl over too-thin hip bones, to pull Hamilton closer. "I though perhaps only to let you knot me, unless I am in heat and you cannot be found. But--" he liked when Laurens knotted Hamilton. Liked to think of it, the two of them tied together, had taken himself in hand with thoughts of just that.

He keeps his grip on Hamilton, as he falls back onto the bed, drags them downward so Hamilton is over him and Burr is beneath, and from here he reaches up, brackets Hamilton's face, runs his thumbs over his eye lids.

"You're so pretty," he says. "It's unfair, how pretty you are."