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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"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)

"Oh-- God." Hamilton is mortified, from all of it -- the biting, the scent-marking, covering Burr in it while he was asleep. "I--" Theo lets out a whine, a prelude to a full-on wail. "I'll get water," he volunteers, desperately, "to wash. I'll be back." Going for his trousers, shirt, and on the way scooping up the baby and passing her to Burr, who probably needs her to nurse. He's out the door in record time, and down to the bottom floor of the inn, where he, disheveled, is directed to the well behind the building. Pulls up a bucket. The baby isn't crying by the time he gets back, but that doesn't mean that Burr is happy. Hamilton cringes, castigating himself -- how could he? Without permission, without -- ugh.

He pushes open the door, and pours water into the available basin. Soaks a cloth. "Do you need me to help clean you up?" He is of service -- good alpha, good husband, see?

"Is that a thing for you?" Burr asks, when Hamilton returns.

He can't really nurse Theo and clean the majority of his lower half at the same time, tells Hamilton as much. Lays back and opens his legs, waits for Hamilton.

"I'm not sure I'm opposed to it," Burr says, shifting so Hamilton can pull the soiled bedding from beneath him. "Especially not the using me while I'm asleep, but--" blushing, "--the other thing, I would prefer you not rub it in when you're done, and certainly not to leave me dirty. Tell me, did it feel good? To fill me in such a way?"

Oh, God help him, Burr is just laying back and opening himself up, and all of his parts are just right there, and Hamilton is not gonna get aroused again, really, he's not, he promises himself.

No, he's getting hard. Despite his embarrassment.

"It was..." He is flushing. "I barely knew what I was doing, I'm sorry, you smelled so good." He kisses the inside of Burr's knee. "You've never smelled like that before."

He is very conscientious, thorough and as gentle as possible, in wiping him down. Gently on the lips of his cunt, checking carefully for any blood or injury.

"I liked it," he confesses. "I liked all of it. You were so wet, and it was everywhere, and you smelled like you loved it and like you were mine." A soft inhale -- "And you... it's not all from me. You ejaculated, from your..." How can he say this so easily during sex and be tongue-tied now? "I didn't know that could happen." Takes a breath -- "Then it smelled like both of us, and I... I'm sorry."

He has to pull back, for a moment, trying to will down the insistent swell of his erection.

"If Theo wasn't here," says Hamilton, his voice as controlled as possible, "I would already want to fuck you again."

He ejaculated? Well, that is strange, and certainly information to file away for later. The idea of being fucked while asleep had always been appealing to him, but never something whose rewards seemed able to be reaped, given the mental state required.

"You would like to fuck me already, would you?" Burr asks, softly, and mimes disinterest as he leans back, repositions Theo, who is still suckling greedily, and opens his legs wider, wills Hamilton back to cleaning.

He waits, until Hamilton's face is near his cunt, carefully wiping what must be the last of the dried spend, and thrusts his pelvis forward, grinds it across Hamilton's face. Gives a little laugh, delighted, when Hamilton sputters.

"There there," Burr says. "Theo will not always be a little babe. I'm sure when she's old enough you can lock her in another room with some colorful scraps of something and have all the time in the world to defile her mother."

"You are a cruel taskmaster," groans Hamilton, "a torturer of the keenest kind. I'm not at all sure I'm not the one defiled."

But, belying the dirty talk, he bends and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Theodosia's head. She is so utterly precious and tiny and perfect. He is gone on her completely.

"Are you all right?" he asks, wringing out the cloth in the basin. "Do you hurt, at all? I meant to be much gentler and much... less." Given they have to go on horseback today.

Burr cannot stop his laughs at Hamilton's theatrics--high-pitched feminine giggles, that don't befit him at all, and must really be stopped soon if he wishes to maintain any of his dignity.

"Only my joints hurt, from yesterday's ride," Burr says, "down by my hips. I think any pains beyond that are for me being out of practice. We went reasonably slow on the way here, or I should think I would have saddle sores. We will be fine to ride, I believe. I simply do not like Theo on so dangerous an animal. If we were to fall or be thrown, I am not sure I could land in such a way as to shield her."

He offers his fingers to her then and she eagerly latches on, makes a disgruntled, angry noise when no milk is forthcoming.

"And of course, we will have to break frequently to feed her, every two hours or so."

Edited 2022-05-13 03:59 (UTC)

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Private Storyline 7

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