"Yes," Burr breathes, "you would quite excel at that--" and he feels a twist in his stomach at the thought, of Alexander using his body in those ways. The power of it, giving one thing but taking another, beneath notice. Oh, to make them pay for underestimating him just due to his sex. They could be something terrible, together--unstoppable. If Burr were younger. And perhaps that power, that terrifying possibility and want is what kept them apart in the past. Fate, keeping balance, or something more sinister.

It makes Burr want to take him again--to force him down and fuck into him, even as he cries. But Alexander needs rest. They both need rest, and the night has hardly started.

And Hamilton is trying only to distract him, from that terrible, mournful sound that lodges in Burr's chest. Books. "I will bring you books, as many as you want, after I leave." Words whispered to whores often, easy to see he doesn't believe it. "If I don't, you may track me down," and he gives him his address, slips off the small silver ring he wears on his pinky. Slips it into his hand. A promise. Something that can be pawned, if Burr does not follow through.

"You should rest," Burr whispers, massages his scalp. "Your heat is not yet over, and I will not go down anytime soon." And once Hamilton is asleep, and they are separated, he can order some refreshment from Benedicta, hand feed it to Hamilton, like the precious, needy omega he is.

He has no illusions that he will be able to convince Hamilton to come home with him, after this first time. Oh, but he will be back. And he will bring books and parchment and all kind of fine gifts. The way one buys a whore, or keeps them. How much would it take, to break the man who was once opposed to him enough to die away from whatever ties him to this place?