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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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.

"You could do anything to me," Burr gasps, as that finger works it's way in, "and I wouldn't be able to stop you. If you wanted to fuck my ass or my mouth. I wouldn't fight back, even if I wanted to." And he twists his hips down, lower onto those fingers.

"There would be enough come, to ease your way in," and his lower half clenches then, squeezes tight around that intrusion, flutters as he moans. Hamilton's fingers are nudging towards something, deeper, some wonderful spot, and Burr cannot help but try to fuck himself back, to urge Hamilton on.

He has never been taken before, in this way. Had Hamilton's fingers, but no one has ever breached him, stuffed a cock in him, when it could just as easily slip into his cunt--him and Bellamy, teenagers stolen away after church, curled in straw and touching those places for the first time, easing into slickness, fueled only by want and instinct and curiosity. That first orgasm, the first time being filled, confusion and delight at being knotted, the following pregnancy scare.

The heartache, when Bellamy had died. Things to not think about, when he can be so easily distracted.

He reaches up, to where Hamilton's erection is straining against his pants, grips him through the fabric, squeezing and working his palm up and down. He wants to lick him, to drool over the fabric, but with his legs spread so he cannot but wiggle against Hamilton's fingers.

"Your cock," Burr gasps, "I want your cock. I want you to knot me--to come in me. The first. Mark me."

Edited 2022-05-07 01:15 (UTC)

He must be gentle, even when Burr begs so well. This hurt the first time, for Hamilton; he was treated roughly, by a boy just as ignorant as he was. Not until Laurens did he have someone who could really make him light up, from the inside.

"I can feel you straining," encourages Hamilton, shrugging off one arm of his jacket, working at the throat of his shirt. "There is a place, on men..." His free hand falls to Burr's hips, holds him steady. "Now... there you are." He finds the little swell, deep in Burr's body, and coaxes at it, light and circular rubs. "It'll have you all warmed up for me. Ready for me."

He has to pull away to strip, which he does hastily, nearly dropping his boot by the baby, before remembering to slow down and be quieter and more careful with it. He muffles a little laugh against Burr's throat as he returns. "Poor needy thing, I'm sorry," apologizing for his brief absence, as he draws on more slick and presses three fingers now into Burr's body.

"I'll show you how to do this," he promises. "I'll show you how to find it in me. How to get me hot for it -- are you hot for it, Aaron? You're so warm inside. I wonder, if you'd been knotted so many times, if you were so loose, if I could fit my whole hand in your cunt. Give you a fist instead of a knot, how does that sound?"

He slides his cock into the wet mess between Burr's legs, not penetrating him, just moving his length along that slick warmth. Covering himself in it.

He pulls away.

"On your front," he says. "Present yourself for me."

Burr whines, when Hamilton pulls away, grinds back against the sheets though there is nothing to force deeper into him, nothing to grant relief. Yet his complaints quickly turns to moans as Hamilton pushes three fingers into him, and soon Burr's legs are trembling, pushed wide, as he grinds back against those jolts of pleasure, eyes closed and head turning against the sheets, mouth open.

A sight, and he can tell Hamilton is watching, whispering filthy things into his ear. His fingers, yes, his hand, Burr would take it all, would open his body eagerly, for anything Hamilton would give him.

His cock is leaking against his stomach, when Hamilton instructs him to turn over, and Burr does so eagerly, going to his knees with his face down against the sheets, pushing his ass out and wiggling it, presenting himself.

What would Hamilton give him, if he asked? His fingers, his tongue? Burr wants all of it, yet the thought of any delay to receiving the inches of his warm length is detestable, so he reaches back with one hand, spreads himself, on display.

"Alexander," he says, in that slow, deep way, that makes him shiver. "I need you."

Edited 2022-05-07 02:34 (UTC)

If only he could capture this in an image -- if only he could have it magically caught on a painting, so the whole world could see how rapturously beautiful Burr is when he needs. There, just there, with the light cast over his flushed cheek and his eyes wet, his hand back and pulling himself open, the red shine of his wetness.

"What an image you make," but he cannot hold himself back. Hamilton is no passive admirer.

He presses the tip of his cock to Burr's hole, and guides Burr's fingertips to touch him, warm skin over his rigid, swollen length. "How hard I am for you," he says. "Oh, Aaron, however you need, I know I need you a thousand times more. Relax, be easy, as much as you can."

Guided by the touch of Burr's soft fingertips, he bears down; Burr's body does not want to yield, but the slickness and the stretching have done their work, and he sinks inside. It is breathlessly tight, muscle spasming around him. "There, there -- I'm within you." Stroking up his thighs. "Do you feel?" He guides Aaron's fingertips to touch the stretched ring of muscle, to feel Hamilton sinking further and further and further.

He must -- he must give Burr a moment to adjust. He has to, there has never been such an intrusion into Burr's body. Oh, but it is difficult. His hand clenches on Burr's hip.

"You're perfect. You're wonderful, you're filthy, a whore for me. I'll give you all the fucking you need. Weeks without -- you must be starving for it."

He settles his knees between Burr's legs, lifts his hips a bit. Withdraws, and snaps his hips in, harshly, seeking that little sensitive place in Burr. He fucks with deep, hard, thorough thrusts, conquering thrusts, like he owns every inch within Burr that he's managed to touch.

Burr doesn't squeal, when Hamilton snaps his hips forward, but he does make a kind of high pitched noise, on the end of a bitten off moan.

If feels so strange, to be taken in this way. Tight, gripping, building to something, and when Hamilton bumps against some place inside him he grinds his face against the sheets, whimpers.

"What--" he tries, stops, moans again, clenching. It feels so good. And he has gone so long without, so needy, even when he ached with the pains from the birth. A whore. Hamilton's whore.

He begins pushing his hips back, feeling each inch sliding in and out of him, the small jolts of pleasure that travel through Hamilton's body to his own. He cannot see Hamilton like this, face down and ass up, yet the degrading nature of the position makes his cock leak, heavy between his legs.

He is shaking now, his knees sliding on the bedding with each punishing thrust, trying desperately to maintain that position, that angle.

"If feels so good," Burr gasps, and he had not known, yet been fascinated all the same, at the way Hamilton took Laurens cock, begged for it. "Please, harder" he says, and he doesn't know what he is asking for until the words leave him, "choke me."

"Of course it does -- I could ply your body with attention a thousand ways and you would love every one." Burr is his slut, his sweet slut. He trembles for it, almost unable to stay upright under Hamilton's hard thrusts. "Do you think you could come for me just like this? Just as I use your arse, and leave the rest of you neglected?"

The plea is not one he expected at all. Gag me Burr begged, once, but not this. He hesitates; and the first hesitation is a shameful one, because he thinks primarily that he must not leave a mark, that it would be awful to leave the inn in the morning with the signs of such abuse on his husband, and only one who could be the perpetrator. Then, as the image resolves in his mind, he still hesitates, because Burr has a habit of asking for things that will hurt him, that he wants in the instant of desire but that carry a heavy price later.

But it's unmistakeable how his cock twitched and how he surged forward at the plea, even though he went still, buried deep, to consider it. A pause of a few seconds, no more, as the above thoughts run through his mind, and then he folds forward over Burr. Has to lean some of his weight on the omega, the rest on his arm braced on the bed, as he deliberately takes Burr's throat in his hand. He does not squeeze, not any harder than necessary to feel Burr's throat work, to detect that soft rabbiting pulse.

He resumes his fucking, and this time he can't pull away as far, so they are short thrusts, buried deep, and the way he has leverage against Burr's body, the way he holds Burr in place to be fucked, is mostly the hand at his throat.

"Tell me why you want it." This is a command; his hand is a teasing taunt without real pressure. "Tell me what you need."

He could come just from this, his cock heavy, his body strung tight with each hard thrust. But when Hamilton reached forward, grabs Burr around the neck, holds him in place, pressing his face down into the sheets as he fucks into him, that--that is how Burr can come.

A deeper pleasure, to be used in such a way--a whole body flinch, clenching down, feeling Hamilton's hand squeeze--hold, but not to the point of pain. Pinning him, laying over Burr, so he cannot move, cannot do anything, as his hole is used.

"I'm nothing," Burr gasps. "A whore, your whore. A hole to be used. I deserve--I deserve it. Tell me I deserve it. To be used and left, leaking your come."

He is pushing back too, snapping his hips back to meet Hamilton, though the movements are shallow. Drooling against the sheets. He can feel the building pleasure, as each thrust hits that place in him, but it still isn't enough, for all the said it isn't enough.

"Please," Burr begs, "hit me," and he is clenching down again at the thought, knows he will come, speared on Hamilton's cock, if only he will be given those things. A slut, an abused slut--that is what he is, what he wants to be.

Edited 2022-05-07 18:27 (UTC)

"My whore," echoes Hamilton, tenderly. "Of course you deserve it -- I always told you that you're more than a hole, because a hole can't beg for it. Now you want that, don't you? You want it so you can't even beg for it, so you're just used."

He stops, for a moment, but it's just to reach down off the bed, where he's discarded the cravat. He winds it tight around his fingers, a solid wad of cloth, and leans forward. "Open," and presses it between Burr's teeth, fully into his mouth. He reaches again, and snags the sash Burr was using to hold the baby. Undoes the knot, and says, "Hands behind your back," knowing that Burr will have trouble making that happen on his knees the way he is. He wraps the sash twice around those slim wrists, and ties it deftly.

"There, that's not quite what you asked for," says Hamilton, "but that's good, isn't it?" Resumes fucking Burr, those rolling thrusts. "So you can hardly breathe, your face pressed into the pillow, drooling around your gag, and helpless, so I can use you. This is what you were really asking for, isn't it?"

He folds down over Burr, and in his ear: "Come on my cock, Aaron, but don't expect it to make me stop fucking you."

And Burr does come, clenches down, harder, feels those spasms, those waves of pleasure, more intense and acute than he is used to, so that he cannot help the sounds that spill from him, loud and obscene, muffled by the gag.

And Hamilton doesn't stop, fucking into Burr's ass, and that is almost sweeter. Feeling those thrusts, not slowing for all Burr's body grips his cock--sore and tender, and he cannot move, cannot so much as wiggle, rocked by Hamilton's thrusts, his face scraping painfully against the sheet, so good--

His cock twitches again, between his legs, but he cannot get hard again so soon, for as much as he wants to. He is oversensitive, and it hurts, and he whines against the gag, little sobs, but Hamilton does not stop and it is wonderful.

"I want to fuck you forever," confesses Hamilton, breathlessly. "I want to be inside you all the time -- God, Aaron, can you hear how you sound? I want to fuck you all the way hard again, I want to wring you dry. Does it hurt? It sounds like it hurts -- it sounds like you love it."

He has to grab at the base of his cock, stave off an orgasm, stop for just a moment while he takes in a shaky breath, and then he reaches to Burr's softening cock, and pulls at it, ruthlessly, while he fucks him again. He doesn't expect that Burr can harden again or come, he just wants to wring more of those muffled noises out of him, feel him shake and tremble so helplessly.

But it can't take long, now. He is swelling, his knot swelling, and he has to let it come or he risks not knotting his poor, needy mate.

He buries himself, and wraps a hand around Burr's waist, and with the other keeps toying with him, working at him, while his knot swells. "Such a good hole for me," he praises, "you take me so well. It hurts and you still take it, you're so good; I love using you. I love you."

It hurts. It hurts so good, Hamilton tugging at his cock, more flaccid than hard, fucking into him roughly, against that spot, bright starbursts of pain, and him wiggling backwards, forward, trying to get more, trying to get away--

Hamilton comes, forcing the knot in, large and swollen and Burr whines, jerks against the bed, overstimulated, used, so wonderful, so close to those things he wants desperately--hit me, choke me, abuse me.

Burr purrs with the praise, the strain, stinging in his ass, melts against the sheets and turns, as well as he can, hissing for sweet, wonderful pain, to lick Hamilton's neck, his jaw, his face. Strange, old instincts, too sweet and tender for anyone else. A hole, yes. That is what he wants Hamilton to make him. Perhaps one day they will go there with no restraint. Use Burr until he cries, until he doesn't know who he is.

"Oh, Aaron, Aaron," pulling the gag from his mouth, fumbling to untie his hands, just nuzzling into the sweet affection, the almost-frantic grooming, the overflowing and adoring sentiment. He lets Aaron twist into the same position that Hamilton used to fuck him when he was heavy with child, on his side, upper leg bent and lower leg straddled by Hamilton, a perfect angle into his body. Room enough for Aaron to turn and lick.

Hamilton's purr rises in his chest, a feeling beyond words as his mate clings to him with hands and body and with the sweet clench inside of him.

And when this rush of affection fades into the aching contentment of being knotted to Burr, lovely, perfect Burr, Hamilton doesn't let Burr on top of him or next to him, as he usually does. He covers Burr with his body, presses him into the mattress, holding off enough of his weight not to crush him but covers him protectively and possessively, tucking blankets around them both. He hasn't ever done this before, but it feels right, in light of Burr's instinctive and tender affections. Purring, purring; nuzzles and little bites to his neck near his gland.

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.

Hamilton gives an experimental nip, sharper than the others, and only pleasure greets it. Only twitching and squeezing muscles that make him hitch his hips, like he could get deeper, deeper. It feels strange, the heartbeat at the base of his cock, where he's swollen. It still feels hot -- he's growing more aroused even before his knot can diminish. Burr smells so good, so perfect and safe and eager.

Burr is starting to sleep, Hamilton thinks, but he can focus on nothing else but that little gland, his teeth, the openness of Burr's body.

He cannot resist it; he can't, he can't. He rubs his nose on Burr, and fucks into him, short thrusts that have nowhere to go -- no, more rocking back and forth than thrusting -- and he makes a sound of need, and then he's biting, sinking his teeth fiercely in at Burr's throat. He must, he must. Burr is so perfect, and he must.

He can feel Hamilton grinding into him, breath pitching up, even as he drifts, skin pressed to skin. Hamilton is so needy, so eager, making those wonderful, desperate noises, and Burr is not sure how much time passes, until he is being rocked back and forth on the bed, Hamilton nibbling at him, his own pleasure a distant hazy.

But then Hamilton sinks his teeth in, deep into Burr's throat, and he jerks, moans, and clenches down. Still not quite awake, as Hamilton uses him, but dreaming something pleasant, which makes liquid gather once more between his legs.

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.

Lapping at skin, copper smell, teeth on the back of his neck, holding him down, no chance to get away, to escape, as something thrusts into him. That does something to Burr, as he begins to resurface, shoots something hot and warm to the tip of his cock, firming up now against the sheets.

Rocking, hitting that place deep inside, and he fists the bedding as he feels something spill, hot liquid inside him as he himself clenches down, whimpering through waves of pleasure, driving that intrusion deeper.

He comes down slowly, smelling something sharp and familiar, feeling that weight still pressing down on top of him, teeth releasing.

"Alexander--" Burr asks, words slurred as his body continues to clench. Something strange, pheromones, making him feel this way. Claimed, owned, taken. Jerking again, aftershocks of pleasure as he realizes. "Did you--?"

Edited 2022-05-10 23:55 (UTC)

Hamilton draws in a sharp breath. He can't believe what he just did. He's coming back to himself, aware again, and his face burns -- how could he? First biting, and then marking? They aren't animals, they're civilized men. It's not acceptable.

And yet he smells the salt and bitter of a climax on Burr. Did he like it?

"I'm," he says, "I've never done that before, I'm -- you just smelled so good --" A soft and guttural sound as Burr trembles tight around him again. He nuzzles at the back of Burr's neck, licks again at the wound from his teeth. "I couldn't help it." Mumbled, against Burr's skin. "You feel so good. How are we still tied, this long?"

"Alexander," Burr groans, and he cannot flip around to kiss him, to cradle him between his legs, though he wants to. The knot is too good, the togetherness, the streaks of pleasure, for all the disgusting fluids between them.

"Apologies, I--I didn't mean to make you wild," Burr says, "But it was--that felt so good," he breathes, and his own face heats. He is plugged with it, still, filled, and it is awful and disgusting and wonderful all at the same time, to be used by Hamilton in this manner. "I tried to make you stay longer, by forcing my scent, and--oh," another shudder, a jerk.

"You liked it?" Breathless. Wide-eyed, shocked but gratified. He's petting Burr's sides, reaching around to spread fingers wide over his soft belly. Imagining that he was seeding him this whole time, planting a child safe in his womb. "I can't wait until you're in heat."

He rests his weight on Burr again. "Go back to sleep," he mumbles. "Want to fuck you like that, when you're so soft and safe."

These are things he never would admit, if he weren't half-addled with the knotting, the way Burr smells, the claiming.

"Oh, yes," Burr purrs, rumbling in his chest, so that Hamilton can feel it, through both of that bodies.

It doesn't take long to fall asleep, Hamilton still buried inside him. He wishes they could stay like this forever. Theo sleeping, safe, nearby. Hamilton on his back, warm, weighty. Protection. Love.

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.

Burr has a wonderful dream, that he is laying on the grass in upstate New York and it is spring. The wind is blowing, and Hamilton is laying above him, dipping strawberries into Burr's mouth for him to bite, sharing kisses.

But he is not only feeding Burr , for they are knotted together, and at intervals he rocks into that body, strokes over him, until Burr clenches down, cries out his climax. An excess then, from Hamilton, who fills and fills and fills Burr, until his stomach is swollen, and liquid is effusing through his skin.

He wakes up slowly from that, feeling wetness, and stickiness, and dry, uncomfortable something. Stickying his thighs together, and stuck uncomfortably within him. He thinks he might have a rash, shifts and finds he is laying in it two, for as much as he is constricted, Hamilton above him.

He shoves at the mass--pressure in his chest telling him Theo is overdue for a feeding.

"Alexander," as he begins to wake, trying to pull skin free and hissing at the uncomfortable pull. "What exactly did you do?"

Edited 2022-05-12 15:49 (UTC)

Private Storyline 7

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