The site of Hamilton crying, wrecked, should not render Burr on the edge of coming. Should not feel so good, to see him in pain, desperate. But it does. A fight, to control himself, as Hamilton takes Burr's hand and lays it there, against the spend that spills from his flaccid cock, oozing out with every thrust. He wants it in his mouth. He wants to fuck him and drink it in at the same time, yet to do so would be to stop fucking him, which is out of the question.

His cock, thick and pulsing in Hamilton, half crushed by the pressure from the phallus in Hamilton's ass, and Hamilton is not riding Burr so much as clinging, holding on as he is used. Knot me, Hamilton begs, and Burr whines, so close to that wonderful place, knot swelling. A few more thrusts, a few more moments of driving himself wonderfully into that hot warm body, and he seats himself, fucks up hard enough for his knot to slip in, impossibly tight, tight enough where even the phallus in Hamilton's ass is unable to move, every inch of skin squeezing around him, and he is coming--embarrassing, mewling thing, gripping on for the force of it, eyes sliding closed and mouth open, because the sight of Hamilton so wrecked is painful then, too much, and he is rocked by those waves of pleasure, by the knowledge that he is seeding Hamilton for the third time. Good omega, mated, filled, seeded omega.