A sublime submissiveness from his omega, his his his. Ripple of pleasure, a moan, and Hamilton laps up the trickling blood, laves the little wound. The primal satisfaction of it, and Burr's stillness, sweet and lax and the smell of arousal, sends Hamilton's frenzy into a fever pitch. He bites at the nape of Burr's neck, the scruff of it, and holds it, not breaking skin, just to keep him still, have to keep him still, a good mate, a wonderful mate.

A different kind of need bubbles up inside him, and something hot releases out the tip of his cock, a blessed relief, hot and fluid. Territorial. Marking. He is marking his mate, not with semen but with pheromone-soaked urine. It isn't like ordinary urine, not a flood of it, but enough that a few drops escape around where his knot is still embedded, smelling like mine, mine, mine.

He releases Burr's nape, finally satisfied, finally assured. Finally having responded enough to the wonderful, welcoming smells from his mate.