Comforted, warm, covered, filled. Never has he felt such contentment, such love, such perfect relaxation. Hamilton is purring, and nuzzling at him, and Burr begins purring too, higher pitched as Hamilton nears his gland--stretching up, asking to be bitten, marked.

He is pressed into the mattress, unable to move, Hamilton's warm weight above him, pressed against his back, and he can feel his heartbeat, from one ribcage to his own.

He doesn't want this to end, doesn't want Hamilton to leave. Wants to sleep like this, tied together. To wake up with Hamilton still buried in him, or rocked with his fucking. Free to use, while Burr naps. So at intervals he clenches, twitches back, squeezes that knot inside him, works his muscles around that cock, forces all those good smells from his gland. Warm and safe and love and ready, eager, willing.

He has never done this before, consciously, with his scent. Never used it in this way. Tried to repress it, normally, raised to repress it, when around his uncle or at Princeton or in the army. But not here, not with Hamilton.

He lets go, allows to room to effuse with his scent, his need. To keep Hamilton tied to him, together, as he begins to drift towards a light doze.