A stab of shame, of regret, at that pained whimper, struggling to free himself from that which spears him, and yet he cannot help those aftershocks of pleasure, the way his cock, still hard, seems to swell impossibly more at the sight of his struggle, at those sounds, a body in distress.

When the phallus slips free, the relief is immediate--Hamilton turns, sags against him, and the pressure inside him loosens, the knot no longer painfully wedged. But Hamilton, despite his breathless whimpers, is not grinding against him, seems half out of his mind, biting and kissing and licking. Oh, he is so wonderful. So sweet. So perfect, a perfect omega, and Burr wants him, Burr needs him, though there is no further way to join them than they currently are, but those bites, little searching things, and Burr grabs his hair, tilts his head back, gently, noses to that place on his neck, and bites hard.

Suckles, licks there, as Hamilton moves. Works over that spot, running his hands over everything, everywhere--never enough. He can never have enough of this. Wants all of him.

Why was it so easy? Why was it so easy to stay, and shouldn't it be obvious.

"Oh Alexander," Burr says, still licking there, "don't you know? We've always needed each other."