Burr clenches so hard that Hamilton can’t withdraw, at first, enough that it hurts a bit. Not that he notices, because his whole focus is in Burr, on the tortured combination of pain and pleasure that he displays as he spasms so hard he’s actually jerking his legs up, tightening his entire body. But, finally, Hamilton can carefully withdraw, and Burr is only held and knotted by one, and Burr sags back on Laurens.
Hamilton does up his trousers, fastens his coat over the wet stain to conceal it, and, with quick fingers, begins to cover Burr as well, closing his shirt, settling the cloak over his front because the trousers truly can’t be helped yet. It takes him longer than it should because he has to pause and kiss Burr senseless, hold his face in Hamilton’s hands and almost cry again because Burr is so wonderful and because he’s so lucky to have this man, this man who is complex and loving in such bewildering ways, this man who is, admittedly, also a complete slut. And what man of Hamilton’s age wouldn’t like that?
Laurens cradles Burr close, purring. It seems actually instinctive, and Hamilton pauses, just to watch them. His stomach twists in sentiment too complicated to easily name.
no subject
Hamilton does up his trousers, fastens his coat over the wet stain to conceal it, and, with quick fingers, begins to cover Burr as well, closing his shirt, settling the cloak over his front because the trousers truly can’t be helped yet. It takes him longer than it should because he has to pause and kiss Burr senseless, hold his face in Hamilton’s hands and almost cry again because Burr is so wonderful and because he’s so lucky to have this man, this man who is complex and loving in such bewildering ways, this man who is, admittedly, also a complete slut. And what man of Hamilton’s age wouldn’t like that?
Laurens cradles Burr close, purring. It seems actually instinctive, and Hamilton pauses, just to watch them. His stomach twists in sentiment too complicated to easily name.