Burr likes giving blowjobs. Is good at them, skilled. Had learned to give and receive, on his knees, for the boys at Princeton, in that army, for Jefferson. He knows how to relax his throat, how to let someone feed him inches of cock--how not to gag on it. Knows how to suck, how to move his tongue along that delicate head. Knows how to vary pressure--how to suck hard, just before they come, to leave them weak in the knees. Knows how to swallow, knows how to beg for more.
Oh, but Hamilton is good, so good, and his only regret is that he can't speak with a cock in his mouth, to whisper more pretty things in his ear. But he tastes good, feels goon on his tongue--the quiet, slick sounds, the panting. He is hard, painfully--his cock hard against his stomach, tenting his shirt.
"My ass," Burr gasps, swallowing, when Hamilton pulls away, leaving him painfully bereft. He feels half-wild, squirming with need. He can smell it--the slick. Can feel it, dripping onto his shirt. "You could come in my ass--or in my mouth. I would drink you down. Swallow all of it." His hands scrabbling, pinching nipples, feeling skin. Wonderful, beautiful, beautiful.
Perhaps Hamilton could knot Burr's mouth some day--slip his balls his, stretch his jaw so wide he could do nothing but take it. Oh, and the thought of him fucking himself on a phallus--enough to make him whimper. Perhaps he can fuck Burr and take it at the same time. God, he would look beautiful like that. Paintings, Burr should have paintings done of him, filthy ones. Says as much, as he squirms with need.
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Oh, but Hamilton is good, so good, and his only regret is that he can't speak with a cock in his mouth, to whisper more pretty things in his ear. But he tastes good, feels goon on his tongue--the quiet, slick sounds, the panting. He is hard, painfully--his cock hard against his stomach, tenting his shirt.
"My ass," Burr gasps, swallowing, when Hamilton pulls away, leaving him painfully bereft. He feels half-wild, squirming with need. He can smell it--the slick. Can feel it, dripping onto his shirt. "You could come in my ass--or in my mouth. I would drink you down. Swallow all of it." His hands scrabbling, pinching nipples, feeling skin. Wonderful, beautiful, beautiful.
Perhaps Hamilton could knot Burr's mouth some day--slip his balls his, stretch his jaw so wide he could do nothing but take it. Oh, and the thought of him fucking himself on a phallus--enough to make him whimper. Perhaps he can fuck Burr and take it at the same time. God, he would look beautiful like that. Paintings, Burr should have paintings done of him, filthy ones. Says as much, as he squirms with need.