It takes a half hour for his knot to go down. He doesn't rush it, rather he encourages it--cradled by the soft wet heat of Hamilton's body. Hard tothink much of anything, in that warm, relaxed space, omega asleep on his chest. Easy to drift off himself, if he's not careful.

But he doesn't drift off. After half an hour, when he can feel his knot beginning to soften, he shifts them. Carefully, laying Hamilton on his back on the bed, and reaching to that rag on the bedside table, gathering up the liquid that gushes free as his cock slips out. How beautiful Hamilton looks from this vantage point between his legs. How used, how ruined, how fully and completely fucked. Easy, to extend his tongue out, wake him with gentle licks. But Hamilton has been used hard. He needs sleep.

A small washbasin--washing between Hamilton's legs as he sleep, dabbing thighs and ass and cunt. He shifts, at the touch of cold water but does not wake. After Burr strips--unable to save his breeches, gets down to his shirt, sets the rest in the hall to be laundered, sees a platter of food--breads and cheese and small pieces of fruit, already left for him.

A good madame, anticipating needs and adding it to his bill. He should kiss her.

He positions himself against the headboard, Hamilton on his chest, and wakes him with small kisses, at his neck and head and face. Half awake, tearing off a small square of sweet bread, holding it to his lips, purring. He wants to take care of Hamilton. Wants to pamper him.