amrev_intrigues | Private Storyline 7

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Private Storyline 7

The small clearing with the circle of cabins that has been their home the past week and a half is starting to thaw--the end of an unseasonable blizzard--dripping pine needles and mud and chill, crisp air.

Burr sits in a rocking chair, Theo bundled in a sash against his chest while the wagons are loaded, waiting for Hamilton to bear him into the wagon. Still sore, torn, unable to walk for more than a few paces, lest the surgeon or Hamilton or Washington begin gripping at him. Beside him, three overstuffed sacks--necessities from Mrs. Smith and Linden, who can never be repaid for their kindness, as well as his own possessions.

Washington inspects the wagons nearby, accounting for supplies, though Hamilton or Laurens has likely already been over the process three or four times. Tents broken down, flour counted. He spots Burr and his face softens, crows feet smoothing, a sight Burr thought he would never see, in the stoic general. Because he sees Theo, no doubt--a soft spot for children.

"How is little Theo bearing this cold?" He asks, as Burr rocks her, asleep, blessedly, before she will doubtless cry for the rocking wagon.

"Not awfully," Burr says. "Hamilton has wrapped her in our wool with enough care I thought we should never be ready, and I have here our extra blanket, should we need it. Laurens has tracked down some oiled tarpaulin, in case it rains, and I am sure he will have no reservations over ordering someone to pitch it over the wagon, should there be the first threat of rain."

Across the clearing Hamilton is tugging at his saddle straps, his back to Burr, a fine sight amid mud and pines, in a continental coat and freshly laundered trousers. Washington follows his gaze, shakes his head, though he is smiling.

"Come," he says, "I will help you into the wagon now before he spirits you away, lest I never have the chance to see little Theo."

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Hamilton has had an exciting few days.

First of all, he made it easily to the New Jersey militia, only to find that the spy who had the allegedly thorough drawing of Trenton and Princetown's camps has been delayed and perhaps captured. He ruminates for several hours, considering the possible consequences of going after him versus returning empty-handed, and, in the end, chooses to try to obtain the information. It was his own idea, after all, to do this attack, and its failure could reflect on him and his family.

So, second, he pursues the rumor of this spy's passage eastward. He spends the night under a white oak, penning a letter to Burr that unfortunately leaves him missing his husband rather more, and finds that the British have been seeking a young man, several years younger than Hamilton, who was a servant at a Loyalist house where a British general stayed.

It's around this time that he runs into a surprise confrontation between part of the militia and a small detachment of the British, who have just finished "requisitioning" from a nearby town. The militia is in an ignominious retreat when Hamilton rides into their midst and shouts for them to follow him -- and, to his surprise, many of them do, enough to get to the supply wagons and set them aflame before fleeing. A few of them ride with him eastward, into the pine barrens of the New Jersey cape. It's his good fortune that they do, because between the handful of them, they are able to get some rest and keep watch for the British overnight.

One more night that he's away from Burr. They must expect him back by now -- at least by the following evening. It can't be avoided, though.

After, once it's clear they've lost their pursuit, he sends the soldiers back towards Washington and continues on, towards the village that was apparently the young spy's destination.

Hamilton works very hard to find the spy before the British do. Fortunately, the village is sympathetic to the patriots, and he finds a friend of Hercules Mulligan, a man peripheral to the Sons of Liberty, who helped hide the youth. This man agrees to hide the horse and some of the more distinctive parts of the uniform, and lends Hamilton a rougher coat that makes him look more like a local farmer. It's a risk -- he could be hanged as a spy, but with the uniform, he could also get summarily shot. And while a past Hamilton, before his marriage, might have kept with the uniform, he now wants to take his greatest shot at survival.

He has to spend another night there, and sets off in the morning.

Another day of searching, and he finally finds the young man, Elias Rolfe, terrified, taking shelter in a rough lean-to. The fact that Hamilton is obviously not British helps, and once he explains who he is, the youth lights up and says, "From the news?"

They agree that Hamilton is a farmer -- Alexander Faucette, taking his mother's maiden name -- and the youth is a foster child -- Elias suggests the name of a friend of his, Jack Taylor -- he is taking in as a servant, and in the morning they start back to the village.

Unfortunately, this is where they run into the British.

There is no running from them -- they're on horseback, and Hamilton and Elias are on foot. Hamilton makes no secret of his tension.

The commander, a Captain, begins to interrogate them. Asks about Elias's name, and Hamilton's. He doesn't like their answers, and presses them. The captain doesn't like Elias's fear, or Elias's resemblance to the description of the servant.

After several minutes of this, Hamilton starts to get a sinking feeling that they might not get out of this alive.

Their progress is slow--they must stop every few hours to feed Theo, and again to stash their uniforms. Burr, impatient and unable to ride at more than a fast trot, once urges Laurens ahead and is quickly rebuked.

They arrive at a small village the day after setting out, having ridden through the night. Burr's bones feel heavy and achy, and when he dismounts his horse his legs collapse out from under him, and he has to catch himself in the dirt lest he crush poor Theo.

Laurens swears, tugs him upward, muttering things about being right, about how Burr shouldn't be here. Burr ignores him, and after sitting on a nearby crate the feeling returns to his legs, and he can walk, albeit slowly.

They have a cover, and a plan--they are Aaron Edwards and John Ramsay, a young recently married couple. They sit for a meal at an inn, but the village clearly harbours sympathizers, so that Laurens need only ask about the frankly well known aide of Washington to be pointed in the right direction.

They should rest, after a night of riding, but the next village is not too far, and the prospect of finding Hamilton is too great to delay. Laurens helps Burr back onto his horse with a dubious look, and before sunset they have arrived at the next village, exhausted and road-worn.

Eventually, the soldiers decide to escort Hamilton and the spy into the village themselves, where, Hamilton is sure, there will be no one to confirm their story, and they'll be dragged off as prisoners of war or just executed.

He's already come up with and discarded several plans by the time they get there, and it's with an increasing sense of helplessness that he sees the village approach.

Until he sees Burr and Laurens.

Not in uniform.

Sheer surprise has him stopping completely, and one of the British officers shoves him to make him move again. Did Washington send them? Absolutely no way. Not a chance. -- Maybe the smallest chance?

"Aaron!" he calls. "It's my husband," he explains, to the officer, "and his cousin. Aaron, are you riding? So soon after birth -- why, you should have known I was on my way back," and he doesn't have to fake the worry in his voice, nor the indignant look that he shoots the British soldiers who stop him from going to his husband.

"oh, Alexander!" Burr yells, and flings himself dramatically from the horse, collapsing (more dramatically, though this is genuine) into Hamilton's arms. No one stops the small, baby carrying omega from descending on the captive, though several officers step forward to hold Laurens back, when he goes to follow.

"When you didn't come back, I could stay in bed another minute! I was so worried, what would have happened to me or the baby had you not returned?" And be bursts into tears here, though they are not genuine.

Edited 2022-05-05 18:20 (UTC)

"He has been in hysterics," says Laurens, and he does not have to play at his exhaustion. "The doctor thinks perhaps his womb has drifted, interrupting the proper flow of humors, perhaps leading to an abundance of yellow bile."

"I had no notion that I left you in such distress," cries Hamilton -- "But, now, see, these men know I have nothing to do with the army, and I have brought back with me an orphan, as promised, to assist while you recover. I was always coming back."

Theodosia wails, at the abrupt changes in movement, the jarring impacts, and Hamilton scoops her out of the sling, hushing her and cradling her close to his scent gland. Gratifyingly, she soothes right away, sniffing through her little nose and subsiding.

The captain comes between them, ruthlessly shouldering Burr back a step or two. He also takes Burr's left hand in both of his. "If he is your husband," says the captain, "then describe his ring, in its entirety."

Hamilton puffs up in indignation. "A puzzle ring," he says, "embossed with our names both -- Alexander, and Aaron. And if it turns missing or damaged in any way, I will be complaining to your commander."

Burr pulls off the ring and surrenders it, reluctantly, to the commander, and Hamilton, in the meantime, digs out the letter he penned under the oak. "And, my dear, my mind never left you -- you can see, I wrote you here."

The officer snatches the letter, passing it to a subordinate. "Read it out loud," he orders, his eyes examining Hamilton. He passes the ring back to Burr, with an angry twist to his mouth that Hamilton dislikes greatly.

"It is not appropriate --" protests Hamilton, for show, as he knows the letter will help acquit him.

"I'll decide that. Read it."

The subordinate opens it, and begins to read. "My Dearest Little Captain--"

"Captain?" snaps the officer.

"Yes, of course," says Hamilton. "For he is the captain of my ship of domestic happiness -- and would he not be darling in a little sea-coat and hat?"

The officer makes a hmm noise, and gestures for the subordinate to continue.

"This night I make my bed in the tender embrace of a white oak, which forms a sheltering overhang in the side of a hill where the ground has eroded. There is scarce anything to recommend this as shelter, except that it is not open to the rain," the subordinate reads. "Alas, it is cold, and the roots make poor bedfellows. Instead of imitating your grasping arms, they seem more to imitate a particular--" And he stops, eyes widening.

"Go on!" the officer orders.

The subordinate gulps, looks from Burr, to Hamilton, to the officer. "--to imitate a particular appendage of mine, which likewise misses you dearly, and has solidified and stiffened in its loneliness. These roots must be suffused with longing; they are sadly exposed, though wherever they can, they plunge into the eager and waiting ground below, seeking within those wet, secret passages--"

The officer's expression has shifted to mortification. He snatches the letter away, with a muttered "give me that," and scans the rest. His face has gone flaming red by the time he is done, and he flings the letter back at Hamilton.

"Now that you are done uncovering the secrets of the dreadful colonials," says Hamilton, dryly, "may I care for my husband?"

"Of -- of course." He turns around to the rest of his men, who are mostly trying not to laugh. "Move out!"

Hamilton gathers Burr in his arms, and he does not release him until well after the British have left their view.

"Well," Burr says dryly, despite his face turning a deep red, "if I am well enough to ride a horse, perhaps I am well enough to sooth that appendage of yours, which I am sure has suffered terribly." Behind him, Laurens makes a choked sound, but Burr continues to hold Hamilton, Theo between them, who now makes those vague, bubbly, happy noises, that have grown so familiar to all three of them, these past days.

Burr isn't crying, really. The tears before were just for show, and he is having difficulty stopping them, though Hamilton's face is also wet, and he is blinking rapidly.

"Are you alright?" Burr asks, and his voice shakes. "Did they hurt you? Are you well?" His hand tightens, likely painful on Hamilton's own, but he cannot stop anxiously checking him over, difficult to meet his eyes for his embarrassment over said fussing. When had he become like and old maid? Pregnancy had damaged his brain, most likely.

"And you didn't tell me Laurens was made godfather, which I think is the worst infraction of this whole thing," a tearful laugh. Trying to make light of the whole terrible situation, the days he had spent sure Hamilton was dead--likely would have been dead, if Burr had not disobeyed Washington and his doctor to ride out when he had.

He pulls back enough to interrupt Burr with a kiss. It is a warm one, doubtless too obscene for the street, though, really, so was the letter.

"I am well," he breathes, finally, letting out the air it feels like he's held since he saw the soldiers hours ago. "I am very well, now." The tears are of relief, no more.

First thing's first: "It is imperative that this young man make it to General Washington," says Hamilton. "Laurens, I hate to send you back on your way when you are so tired, but the urgency of the task..."

"What about you?" asks Laurens. "Both of you."

"If he takes Aaron's horse, then Aaron and I can go and get mine -- and proceed slower." He takes Aaron's hand. "What do you think?"

"Whatever plan you concoct I am amenable to, if Laurens truly believes he can ride, after so long a journey. But I think Alexander, you ought to know that Laurens and I rode to retrieve you without leave from the commander, and you are sending him back to face Washington's fury on his own," and it is much easier to court-martial or whip one man, than three.

"If we are to be lashed, I would not send Laurens to face such punishment without me--though, you know the commander better than I."

Though it is likely too that Laurens' return will be softened by the delivery of the young man who is apparently tied to Hamilton's task, and the good news that all three of them are well, delivered from the hands of the British. Burr has always thought that one ought to entertain the worst possibilities, to prepare oneself, but if Hamilton believes there to be no imminent danger, that their own return can be safely delayed, he will trust him.

Hamilton's face softens into an entirely different sort of astonishment.

"Really? Both of you?" he asks. "For me?" A bit of a smile, then, and he kisses Burr again, soft and brief. "You shouldn't have."

Hamilton considers, though -- "He has knowledge of the Hessian camps, and sketches." To Laurens: "Return quietly, I would say, so that you can ensure that Washington needs to weigh no considerations of broader morale or discipline. That is his first concern. And I'll write him a note -- containing neither trees nor roots -- to beg for his forbearance, at least until you and I should return.

"Does that satisfy?" He asks both Laurens and Burr. "I think he would be inclined to wait, and not take hasty action." It is Washington's character, after all.

"I would gladly risk it," says Laurens, "even without such assurances."

"We are well aware that you would do a great many things for us, none that you should have to," and Burr breaks away from Hamilton then, and pulls Laurens into a hug. "Though we are forever grateful, and could never really repay you."

They must move on then, so Hamilton may find a place to write, because even now he has a quill and ink with him. Burr takes the opportunity, once they have found an inn and a table, to collapse into the nearest chair, Laurens following suite.

"Are we to stay here, or follow immediately? I am afraid while little Theo can catch sleep wherever we may be I cannot, and I daresay you look twice as exhausted as I do," Burr says, reaching across to brush the hair from Hamilton's face. How much sleep had he gotten, if any? The letter about the oak could very well be a fictitious excuse to write poorly concealed pornography, but even so a night under an oak cannot be really restful, especially away from one's family. What he does not say is that his hips ache awfully, because he does not wish to put himself once more in the position of damsal. If anyone thought women or omegas the weaken sex, they have been horribly wrong--if they complain more it is only because they have more cause to, which perhaps alphas like Hamilton are coming to understand in time.

The boy follows more cautiously, and Hamilton orders him a meal from the innkeeper, and then, after a moment of hesitation, more meals for all of them. They all look hungry and tired.

"We can wait," says Hamilton. "It would be stranger for a mated pair and a newborn baby to travel so hard, anyway." He kisses Burr's hand, held in his own left hand, as his eyes are focused on the letter he is writing with his right. "And I would be a terribly cruel alpha if I insisted on it."

He writes the letter in a way that conceals its purpose -- does not address the General as Your Excellency, but as Respected Sir, and writes in it that he sends his brother (Laurens, obviously) with a friend from up North to help with the new business. He also begs pardon for his brother's hastiness in departing without any word, and pleads that he wait for Hamilton and his husband to return before deciding what to do about it.

Satisfied that it is clear but that it contains nothing incriminating, Hamilton passes the letter to Burr and Laurens, to see if they have any suggestions or edits.

"Excuse me, sir," says an older man, who had been resting by the fire. "Are ye writing letters?"

"Yes, sir," returns Hamilton, a bit coldly, as it is an impudent way to begin a conversation.

"Your hand is very good indeed," the old man says. "Are ye a secretary?"

"A clerk, sir," says Hamilton.

"A clerk, a clerk. Sorry for the bother," says the old man, ducking his head, "but I can't read, nor write. Could I trouble ye to write a letter to my son? He's gone off to war, with General Putnam -- I'd very much like to send him a letter. I'll pay ye -- for the trouble and the ink and paper."

Hamilton's countenance has softened. "It is no trouble," he assures, "and little ink and paper. Wait only until I've had a bit to eat, and I'll oblige."

The man's face brightens up, wrinkled and sun-baked, into a genuine smile, though one missing a few teeth. "Aye, I'll wait -- gladly."

True to his word, after he's had a bit less than his fill (pushing the rest to Burr and to Elias), Hamilton approaches the older man and faithfully records his words, by firelight, his pen drawing careful loops on the paper. He is very patient with it, and addresses the envelope as well.

As he's finished, the innkeeper's wife approaches him. "Looks like you and that omega need a room for the night," she says, and she names a price.

Hamilton raises an eyebrow. "I would never insult a lady's housekeeping, madam," he says, "but that figure seems more appropriate for a flea-ridden shed, than a well-kept room."

A hint of a smile on the matron's face. "Ah well, you did a kindness," she says, with a nod at the old man. "Go on and take one, too."

He bows to her, and gathers his little desk, and his papers, and returns to the table, to Burr.

"Rested enough?" Laurens asks Elias.

"This's more than restored me," Elias boasts. "I could ride all the way to General Washington's camp tonight on a stew like that."

"Then we're off." Laurens focuses on Hamilton. "Be careful, both of you." Focuses on Burr, too. "I can't lose my family."

Hamilton's heart gives a little jump, at that word.

After they go, he turns to Burr. "I am sorry, for asking him to be the godfather, without asking you first -- she was only just born, and I'm afraid sentiment quite ran away with me. And then I couldn't think of the right time to ask you, and instead I let myself be distracted. I hope you approve of him."

"Come, I was only being difficult to tease you, though perhaps in the future you might consult with me on such matters before extending the invitation to the man in question." Then, quieter, so that there is no risk someone might overhear; "I should be hard-pressed to find a reason to reject him, after allowing him the pleasure of joining us in the bedroom. In fact, I had taken my own liberties with him, regarding my pain and swelling of a particular area you are quite familiar with, and hoped you would not take any offense at having him draw off excess."

But there is more Burr wants to address, that he does not feel comfortable bringing up in this room, regardless of how quietly he may do so. He begs tiredness, wary of the pains in his joints, nudges Hamilton towards their room. Hamilton, accommodating in this as well, is not difficult to lead in this matter, seems eager, as always, to help Burr up in the stairs, Theo in arm and Burr leaning on the other.

Once they are alone, and the door closed;

"In truth, I thought we might discuss Laurens a bit more, and his role in out relationship. I know we both do not wish to leave the army, and it occurs now that you will not always be around, if I were to fall into heat--though I have only experienced one before--" blushing now, shifting uncomfortably, "I will not bring this up again, if you find it detestable, but, well--" how to put what he wants to ask, and how to make the matter fair to Laurens? Torture for some, to involve him more regularly in their life, their family, but leave him always second in their hearts. Hamilton knows him--the struggles or problems it might bring.

The image of it -- of Laurens, drawing off the excess -- does strange things to his stomach, things that are hot in more ways than one. Chews on the inside of his cheek, as he twists his quill between his fingers.

"Perhaps I should insist that Washington keep me by," he says, slowly. "I..." A breath out. "Oh, I want nothing more than to be close by, should you have another heat -- you are insatiable, already, and to have you while you are so ravenous has," a swallow, "great appeal." He stands, to pace. "It makes me wild to think that he would see you that way before I could -- but that is the jealous one in me. You should not suffer, if the war keeps me away, and I trust him with my life and yours both."

And he realizes, mid-step, that he is entirely focused on his own emotions, once more -- that he could not bear to have Burr suffer, so he would have Burr seek relief.

A sigh.

"But I am all in my own mind again," he apologizes. "What is it you want?"

Edited 2022-05-06 02:41 (UTC)

"I want to be with you, my first heat--" his second heat ever, his first with Hamilton. "I don't want to share you with anyone, but I am not ignorant to the impracticality of it. I don't--" a swallow, his face warm. "I don't know my cycle. When it might come. It is still irregular, likely, and it has been so long since the last, that the next could fall anytime, within the next few months, and I would not want to restrain my own career or yours over something we will have for the rest of our lives together."

But, well, there's the practically of the matter--Burr laying by himself, alone, torture, while he waits for that heat to pass. Sweating it out, in a camp or headquarters full of alphas. Too long into the heat and he might jump anyone who wandered too close to his door or tent. And much more likely they would jump him, and they would not be gentle, either. He had heard stories.

He should have suppressant, should be on them, though they are awful for ones health, and probably not good for nursing. And getting a reliable supply in wartime would be nearly impossible, at best. And legally dubious.

"I worry what might happen, if you are not there, and I find myself alone in a camp full of alphas," with no other to quickly ease him through the heat, or to drive others away with their scent. But more than that, he had wanted Laurens for none of those reasons, while Hamilton was away, simply because he was pretty and kind and Burr was there and could sense his want. Yet how easily to ask? And what would Burr think, if Hamilton went to another omega? Beside himself, with hurt and jealousy. Yet Laurens was in some way a part of their family, not an outsider, not just another.

Edited 2022-05-06 06:42 (UTC)

It isn't uncommon for alphas who must be absent to make arrangements with their omegas. Especially in the lower classes -- omegas who are rich or noble often must simply suffer through, in the privacy that their homes afford them, but for an omega crowded in with many others, waiting out a lengthy heat isn't an option.

"On St. Nevis," says Hamilton, "it was quite ordinary to have these agreements. Alphas were often away at sea, and voyages can be so long, so it was called a half-marriage, un demi-mariage -- a way to ensure that the paternity of any child would be known, and that someone trustworthy would be there." He takes a seat next to Burr, on the bed. "Sometimes the demi would live with them, and I remember being fascinated, wondering if the alpha and the demi ever touched one another. I thought, if I was the alpha, that I might want that."

Such things aren't spoken of, like that, not in America. It would be quietly accepted if a relative of the husband, or a trusted friend, helped -- but it would not be formalized. It would not be legitimized. Better that they all pretend that all children of an omega are from the same alpha. And children of such unions are sometimes abandoned, Hamilton knows, as the alpha is unable to accept them.

At least he is sure he wouldn't have that problem.

"Then we will ask him," Hamilton resolves. "Together."

A flood of relife, that Hamilton might allow him this--that they will not clash on this matter like two brick walls, one of them with the power of society and the law on their side, the other with only the anxieties of things that are not discussed in polite society. Hamilton, of course, has never shown himself to be the type to abuse his position as alpha, husband, but the anxiety is still there, that Hamilton could, if he wanted, order Burr to do nearly anything.

But there is something else, another anxiety, a small burst of panic.

"It was not only the matter of heat I wanted to discuss with you," he says, and he cannot meet Hamilton's eyes. Sits on the edge of the bed, against the headboard, curled. "When you were gone, he was there, and as much as he could never be a replacement I found myself...he was very attractive, and I wondered if it would not have been begrudged, to take comfort in him. The same way I would not begrudge you, if you wanted to take comfort, while I was indisposed. He is family, as you say. It would not really be cheating, would it?"

He is unfamiliar with these things. It feels like spitting in Hamilton's face, to ask this of him. Unfair, in the face of his other concession, yet it is not only about Burr. He wants Hamilton to be happy, has seen the way Hamilton looks at Laurens, no quick flame extinguished by their tryst.

"You wanted him," murmurs Hamilton. Oh, but this one is much more difficult. He moves to his feet again, and paces, paces. Laurens is so many things that Hamilton is not. Steady -- kind -- rich -- tall, even. And Hamilton's virtues, such as they are, seem to have their match in Laurens: courage, and intelligence, and education.

And it is so difficult to have faith that Burr would want him still, if Laurens were an option. Marriage seems like a fragile guarantee, in the face of that.

"I cannot fault you for it -- I know what it is to want him desperately. But the thought has me anxious." This is not a refusal as much as it is a request for reassurance.

"Oh, Alexander, no--I am not. He isn't--" and he's doing this wrong. What was it Laurens had said, when Burr asked him for relief? That Hamilton would never feel secure in sharing, that he needed all of someone, more than anyone else might need all of someone. "Alexander, come here," Burr says, and sits on his knees on the bed, opens his arms to him.

Hamilton falls into him, and when he tucks his head against Burr's neck, Burr folds his own head down against Hamilton's hair, breathing in.

"I didn't mean as a replacement for you. When you were gone I felt like a part of me was tearing away. I wanted only animal relief, or the comfort one might find in a dear friend. But I missed you, and wanted you. I would never knowingly hurt you. I won't bring it up again, if you wish it. I only thought that if you also shared those desires, the arrangement might be amenable to both of us. But it is not a necessity, not needed as a companion in heats is."

And he pulls away then, pulls Hamilton's head up to kiss him, sweet, tender kisses, while he strokes the sides of his face. Love--he loves Hamilton, in a way he had never loved anyone else. He feels drunk with it, adrift.

The offered comfort eases his anxiety in one way, but deepens it in another.

"Yet, I would not be honest if I said it had no appeal to me, either," he says, drawing back, tingling from the sweet kisses. He cannot help it -- he indulges in that sensation, chasing the lovely kisses back to Burr's lips and sipping between, a lover's taste more intoxicating than the finest wines. "And you have been so generous, in sharing my body, to which you have every right to lay your claim -- in law, in right, and in truth, you could say, 'this is my cock, my knot, my hole' -- and instead you, with both our consent, lent it to another who gave it such pleasure. How miserly, to deny such pleasure to another who would enjoy it as greatly. And you could, as easily, be anxious, because Laurens has what you do not, and that which I have made no secret of enjoying."

He kisses up the line of Burr's jaw, once, twice, three. Then at his throat, a long and lingering kiss, worrying at that sensitive gland with his teeth. Presses his nose against it, and breathes in.

"You assure me, now, that you would choose me, if I made you choose -- and I would choose you, the same. But I freely add the deadly sin of greed to my faults, besides envy, and lust: if there is a way for us not to have to choose, I am willing to try it." He pulls back, enough to see Burr's eyes, glittering black. "Only -- perhaps we could reserve some things for us, alone? Or for when we are all present."

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."

Edited 2022-05-06 21:23 (UTC)

Burr's responsiveness gives him heart; it seems Burr is not too injured by the hasty ride. Burr unfolds beneath him, captures him in winding limbs the way he has captured Hamilton's heart.

"I cannot hope to be your equal," returns Hamilton, in kind, though he cannot help but preen a bit at the compliment. "But I will settle for rendering you speechless, once in a while." He lowers his weight, not all of it, but enough to press Burr down between him and the mattress without smothering him. "And if he cannot knot you, how can we fill you to excess? Or is it just a fantasy, and not something you'd like to try -- me, in your very pretty cunt, and him penetrating you from behind? Two knots, for my lovely, insatiable slut?"

He says this like praise, and a good part of him means it as praise. He had never realized how wonderful sluts could be, truly; if he'd imagined anything, it was that he would be with someone sweet and naive. Sweet and slutty -- a thousand times better.

"But to have him knot you without me -- that, I wouldn't like, not without need."

Edited 2022-05-06 22:10 (UTC)

God, Hamilton may be an agent of sin, with the awful delicious things which spill from his mouth, pushing Burr further and further, to depths of depravity he thought he would never go.

Hamilton moves with Burr, presses him down to the mattress, until he can feel the weight, knows he could not easily free himself, and the knowledge sends a rush of blood down, through his stomach and pools in his groin.

"It wouldn't have to be his," Burr gasps, "it could be anyone's. I would beg for anyone, to fill me from behind. Would take any knot, even if--even the general's," he says, watches Hamilton's face, to know if this is a step too far, this deepest fantasy, that Burr might fuck anyone. Hamilton's relationship with the general, as difficult and strained as it sometimes is, the pseudo-father figure, the idea of him pressing Burr down against his desk, easing his cock between wet, hot folds--

"I hear he has a big cock--" Burr whispers, pupils blown, leaning up to bite harshly on Hamilton's earlobe. Out of control, rolling his hips upward, grinding. "A huge knot. What would you do, if you caught him fucking me, my eager, wet cunt? How would you punish me? Help your little omega keep his legs closed?"

More, he wants to do more, to say more. To take this even further, far past propriety, past what anyone could consider less than disgusting. A slut, a whore, filthy, disgusting.

"What if you only found me after, dripping with his seed?"

Oh -- God. What would be a humiliation if encountered in truth is a powerful fantasy here. He can imagine the helpless noises Burr would make, the arch of his spine, the soft cries -- trying to stay quiet, no doubt.

"And what if he did take you?" Hamilton retreats only far enough to start working at Burr's clothes, and to send a glance at the baby, making sure she's still fast asleep. "With such prodigious strength -- how his thrusts would batter your poor -- eager -- wet -- cunt," as he strips off Burr's jacket, his cravat, his shirt. "Around such a body your legs would be stretched so wide -- where do you think he would fuck you? Over his desk? Tie you there so anyone could come in and see you? Against the wall, so every move you make only drives you further down on his cock? Or would he be willing to dirty his bed with you?"

Burr is fully hard, but Hamilton does not deign to touch him, as he loosens the trousers and deprives Burr of the stockings that so appealingly cling to his shapely calves.

"You would be helpless," says Hamilton -- "not that you would think to resist, needy as you are."

Yes, yes, he would be desperate for it, would let Washington do anything to him, fuck him anywhere, in front of anyone, if only to feel that length pushing into him, knotting him. He is naked now, but Hamilton still does not touch him, pins Burr's hands above his head, leaves him to writhe.

"He would fuck me till it hurt," Burr says, trying to jerk his hips upward and failing. His legs are opened too wide to get any real leverage, and he can feel now the liquid building, the wetness of him against the open air. Hamilton, staring down at him, still fully dressed. Hard, though his breeches.

"Push me open until I ached. Perhaps he would not even wait, till we were in his office, but bend me over some crate in the field, fuck me open in front of all the men. And perhaps he would leave me there," Burr says, makes a small, desperate noise as he imagines it, eyes falling closed, "wet and dripping and desperate, leave me there, nothing but a hole for the men to use, to line up, one after the other, fill me with their come, their knots, over and over."

"There would be no doubt then, that I would be pregnant. But we would have no clue who the father was. It could be anyone--" and Burr does get the leverage then, tightening those sore abdominal muscles past pain to sit upward, to latch his teeth around Hamilton's scent.

"Anyone except you."

Hamilton growls as Burr targets the gland, at the action and the image both.

"Oh?" and his tone is dangerous. "What makes you think I wouldn't be last? After your exhaustion, your body open and weeping, seed spilling down your legs and dripping from you -- what makes you think I wouldn't take you as you fight to keep your eyes open, as you cry with exhaustion from pleasure and pain both -- would you still beg for me? I think you would. I think the army wouldn't be enough for you, not without me."

He draws his thumb very lightly down Burr's wet folds, testing to see if he is in too much pain for stimulation there. "Your cunt overflows for me," his fingers delicate and toying, backing off if Burr tries to thrust up for greater stimulation. He gathers up that slick on his fingers, thick and wet, and goes to Burr's tighter entrance, the one that isn't still healing childbirth. Two fingers to spread that slick around, and then he breaches Burr with his thumb.

"Ah, now," he says, "perhaps I would defile what they had not. Who could blame them for preferring your cunt? It blushes so prettily when it is abused, after all -- and it welcomes cock so eagerly, and clings to it once inside. But how could I find climax once you were so stretched and loose? Unable even to hold in my knot."

He gathers more of the slick, and presses it in deep, this time with first and middle finger together, curving to seek out sensitive tissues.

"You must tell me if this hurts unduly," Hamilton insists. "Truly. For I know you'd like to ride my tongue, now that your belly isn't in the way, and we'll have plenty of chances to defile you."

But his fingers communicate his longing -- he plays with the clenched ring of muscle, and works at stretching this tight place in Burr's body. Hitching in further -- it has been weeks since Hamilton has penetrated Burr, and his oak-root has taken great interest in the proceedings.

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