private storyline ..... b1?

[non_stop]

It turns out you can't write your way out of hell when you're an omega.

So Alexander Hamilton -- not his birth name, not this time -- decides to take a different route. Born into abject poverty, again in the Caribbean, he earns his way out.

And, in New York, he leverages what he's learned, his cleverness and his quickness and his persistence, into a position at a bawdy house that's clean, safe, and run by an alpha woman who is fiercely protective over her whores.

He does not hope for more than this. He saves, obsessively, and invests. He cannot be a statesman like this. He cannot write financial systems to into existence. (And he sometimes doubts whether he ever did those things -- sure, he remembers philosophy, he can quote in a Latin that he never learned, but it all seems so unlikely. So bizarre.)

He is a prized commodity quickly, in this brothel. He likes it that way. When his next heat approaches, the alpha madam raises his price.

To his surprise, someone new meets that price.

He is in only the early stages right now, pre-heat, warm skin and a welcoming scent rising. He's horny, but he's not even close to out of his mind. He's never gone out of his mind, even in heat.

He waits, in his rooms, with the broad mirror, the wide bed, the luxurious sheets. Waits for his client.

Comments

[slowtoanger]

Burr doesn't hesitate, to lick that slick from him, that issues from between his thighs, the seat of sinful pleasures. He laps, drinks it in, as much as the wonderful, wretched sounds that spill from Hamilton himself.

"Oh yes," Burr says, face damp between ministrations, "your mouth looks much better around those sounds than forming any foolish political speeches. I wonder if it might look even better, with a cock in it?"

et this is not Burr's plan, as Hamilton pulls him up and kisses him, licks his own slick out of Burr's mouth, surging into him.

"Funny, I feel the sudden urge to double mine," and he leans forward then and bites Alexander, his scent gland, latches on as his hand drags through those trails of cum. He brings his hand up between then as he pulls away, maintains eye contact as he laps Hamilton's come from his skin, grinning wickedly.

And he does look beautiful--skin flushed, youthful and perfect, and god how old even is he? Should Burr have asked? Much younger than his own children would be, had they lived, yet it is hard to draw up guilt anymore. The flush creeps down his face, his neck, over his chest, and Burr reaches out, roughly pulls the shirt from him, so he can see the hardening nipples, can bend down and nibble one, working it between his teeth, drawing out more of those sounds.

"Not satisfied yet, then?" as he watched those blown eyes, heaving chest. "I should have known you'd be a better whore than a statesman," his second hand, working between his legs, testing fingers pushing suddenly into him, wet and dripping, heat-struck.

[non_stop]

The bite has Alexander squirming against Burr, trying to drag him closer with one leg hooked around him. The sound that comes out of him is not a needy mewl, and he would affirm that in a court of law -- but his thoughts are scattering before him again, because the bite has set a fire inside him, licking hungrily at his tender insides. Burr has handily taken him from an early stage of heat to a fever of need, in bringing him to the quickest feminine climax of his life and then biting his neck with such undeniable command.

"Benedicta did say," says Alexander, "that you liked to give as good as you got --"

But he is not some pathetic heat-addled whore without a mind, and Burr's words, distinctly arousing as they are, demand retort.

"That's not so bold a statement," shoots Alexander, "as I'm of surpassing quality at both." He toes off one shoe and the other, and -- it isn't a wince, not anything nearly so obvious. If Burr weren't as observant as he is, he would miss it entirely. It's more like Alexander bracing himself, expecting that something will be a bit uncomfortable -- and, indeed, though he's surpassing wet, he has tightened up quite a bit after climax.

But he doesn't expect two fingers, angled perfectly, to slip inside him quite so easily; he'd thought that Burr would treat him like he was looser. Or, not really thought but expected, in a physical sense, because those are the sorts of attentions he's been subjected to: uncomfortably grasping fingers, needing to grope for the right angle, expecting him to be loose, when the old whore's trick of a climax tightening up the interior muscles has always worked a bit too well on him.

"Oh," and he does sound a little surprised, at how it feels; the muscles have flexed tight around the intruding fingers, but as Burr's fingers curl, the tightness flutters in a kind of aftershock, and Alexander gasps again. "Yes -- yes, my mouth looks -- nn -- very good wrapped around a cock, and it would look very good on yours." Burr's fingers play within him and his hips bear down into it, twitch up at a change in angle. "Even better in my cunt -- it's flushed so pretty for you -- and surely you've wanted to spear me on your cock since before Valley Forge."

He has lain back against the wall, lewdly displayed, and he takes Burr's other hand, draws his tongue along his fingers to catch any last drops of seed, and then dips his head to take them in, pulling back slow, eyes on Burr's and tongue fluttering lewdly. Though he has to shut his eyes when Burr's fingers drag slow along his internal walls, when they do just right within him.

[slowtoanger]

Oh, Alexander looks quite nice with those fingers in his mouth, head tilted back like something from a sinful vision. Put him on altars like that, legs splayed, mouth rounded, eyes fluttering, and there is no doubt Burr would have gone into the clergy.

"We can agree at least that you are a very superior whore," and Burr's words are thick, as Hamilton's tongue drags along his finger. Hard to focus, to think, with the way he looks at Burr, long dark eyelashes, and why hadn't they done this before, when they were at Valley Forge? Would Hamilton have said no, if Burr had bent him over some crate in a storeroom, fucked him until Burr's name became like a prayer in his mouth?

He twists his fingers, slips in a third as Hamilton loosens, and begins fucking him in earnest, pressing against that spot inside and drawing back, urging him to fuck himself on Burr's hand. His own cock is throbbing, ignored, swollen and no doubt dripping, yet the sight before him seems sweeter even than the pleasure that organ would provide--something manifest from his most secret dreams, fantasies.

"Would you have liked it if I fucked you then?" Burr asks, and his voice has gone low. "If I forced my knot into you, bred you like an omega right under Washington's nose?" God, the sounds Hamilton makes, sweet tortures, making Burr's legs give a small tremble. He is so wanton, so unrestrained in these desires, a chorus of small pleasures with the slick sound of those moving fingers, the sound of Burr pushing his other hand deeper, further towards Hamilton's throat.

"You're so tight," Burr whispers, "perhaps because you are so young. I wonder how many cocks you've had, how many knots you've taken--would you like to feel my knot? Would you like to be bred by a man old enough to be your father? It wouldn't matter whose knot it was, was it? You would bend over and present yourself, gaping, for anyone."

He has no free hands, but he still has his tongue, and he dips then to lick at Hamilton again--spreads his fingers, scissoring, and slips his tongue in the space opened between. Another trick taught him by whores. Fucks Hamilton on his tongue. Only polite, to grant him two orgasms before Burr knots him.

[non_stop]

He cannot help but fuck himself on Burr's hand. He seems to home in on the pleasure spot inside Alexander like he already knew every inch of Alexander's body, and Alexander finds himself emitting punched-out whimpers, every drop of his blood gone boiling, his skin hot, oh, it's so good, it's so good --

A little thrash, as Burr speaks of having him over a crate -- breeding him like an omega -- and he wants to deny that he would have ever desired such a thing, though he is now in truth a wanton whore.

He twists his head to the side, freeing his mouth from Burr's fingers, if only for a moment:

"None," he says, in response to the question of knots, a transparent and taunting lie. "You'll be the first--" And he's lied to men before, to make them believe that he's never taken a knot, and his incessant tightness has them thinking it's true, but he isn't lying right now because Burr would believe it. He wants Burr to growl and become fierce; he wants to throw Burr's desires back in his face. He wants to provoke him, though he can barely handle what Burr is already giving him. "Old enough to be my grandfather, and you'll be defiling a sweet virgin maiden," the last words said almost on a laugh, fully of irony.

Burr silences him, on purpose, wanting to still his tongue, and Alexander bites down on his fingers, defiant and desperate both, both at the same time. Burr presses back towards his throat, and Alexander doesn't gag, takes him fluidly, hungrily, privately and quietly wishing that it was his cock instead of his fingers.

But his eyes are closing, body stretching around the fingers inside him. No, it's not fair, he can't give in like this twice in a row, but he aches for it, and Burr is relentless, like always -- his enemy, his most intimate enemy.

Alexander thrashes and fights the climax, this time. He needs it and wants it and fights it anyway, wordless cries muffled into groans by Burr's fingers, or, if Burr withdraws his fingers, by his lips pressing stubbornly together. But he ends up giving a breathless shout anyhow, can't help it, and he seizes hard around the penetrating hand, an unbelievably tight squeeze, and whimpering, whimpering as his body jerks and spasms.

He curls forward and presses his face against Burr's throat, drawing in breath after breath of alpha, still shivering, fluttering tight on every movement of Burr's fingers. It calms him, though a part of him sincerely wishes it didn't.

"All right, dirty old man," sighs Alexander. "Take me to bed." And he slides off the cabinet, pulling Burr with him towards the bed.

[slowtoanger]

"Oh, you are no sweet untouched maiden, but I'll take pleasure in fucking you just the same," he says, as Alexander clenches down, and when Burr draws his fingers back they are glistening, wet, and he puts them in his own mouth, licks them clean.

Hamilton pulls them to bed then, and Burr follows, eagerly. His pants are tight past pain now, and when Hamilton falls back on the bed he takes the opportunity to open them, just enough to slip his cock out. Clothed fully, hard, while Hamilton is naked, flushed, wanting.

"You want this?" Burr asks, grinning, teasing. He knows the heat must be unbearable, now after coming twice on Burr's tongue, his fingers. Knows he must be aching for it, and it makes the desire to tease all the more unbearable. "Eager for my cock, Hamilton? I should have known all those years ago, that this was all you needed," and he draws his hand up and down, drags his thumb through the slick gathering at the head, pulling lower. "What would Washington say, if he could see you? What would Jefferson say? Legs spread and dripping, begging for it. Should I breed you? Is that what you want?"

And he moves down then, over Hamilton--presses him down, feet hooked around Hamilton's legs, hands on his wrists. Looking down into those eyes, as beautiful now as they ever were. One long grind, thrusting downward, to drag his cock through Hamilton's slick, to let him feel that hard length, rubbing against him.

"Like a bitch in heat," Burr whispers, growls, as he leans down and seals his teeth over the cup of Hamilton's ear, nibbles.

[non_stop]

Hungry eyes on Burr's cock, has to tear his attention away to focus on Burr's words. Bright blue iris blown dark. Alexander does seem to like cock more than he used to, as an alpha -- or is it just that it's easier to admit it, now, when he seems made for it?

He moves towards Burr, braced on his knees, and takes Burr's length in his hand, presses open-mouthed kisses starting from where it emerges from his trousers, dragging upwards; he draws the foreskin back and licks a long slow lick around the head.

"I wouldn't let Jefferson fuck me," says Alexander, like a dare, and dips down, pushing, pushing until the head is at his throat, humming, looking up at Burr through his eyelashes. He sucks cock like he belongs on his knees, works his tongue like he wants to taste every bit of Burr. "Just you." Another lie -- not about Jefferson, he can't imagine spreading his legs for that particular enemy, but he would let Washington fuck him, like this. He would let Laurens. Lafayette. Maybe even James Madison, small as he was, an alpha energy so intense that he drew out Alexander's competitiveness and his urge to bond close, at the same time.

"And --" Burr holds him back, and he pulls against it, trying to get at that cock, trying to taste again -- But he is pinned, gloriously pinned, and if he fights it, it is with only the smallest fraction of his strength. Just to feel Burr hold him down.

"-- And Laurens." A gasp. "Laurens had me. You could have gotten me on my knees, because he did." A confession that he has never spoken aloud, not even to Eliza, and that he never thought he would speak out loud. An alpha, submitting to another alpha? It was a crime, and it was filthy, and Alexander had never let anyone come close to doing it to him, ever again, after Laurens was gone.

Teeth on his ear, a cock between his legs, and he actually moans, not faked, not exaggerated. He wants so badly, it takes all of his control to contain it at all.

[slowtoanger]

"Beg me," Burr hisses, pressing hard enough to bruise. He grinds his cock still against him, catching his entrance, slick, but never pushing inside. Mimes fucking, rocking their pelvises together, all the while licking and biting over him, his lips, his jaw, his neck. "Beg me to fuck you."

He can't help the teasing, Hamilton like this, so out of his mind he struggles to form words. His own thoughts fizzling, the thought of Hamilton, an alpha, opening himself up for Laurens' cock, his knot, of spend dripping out of him after, used and ruined.

"Tell me how much you want it. Tell me how you want to feel it, fucking into you." He pulls back further then, lines them up, pushes just hard enough to feel Hamilton's body start to give, stretching around the head, starting to slip inside before pulling out once more. "Maybe I shouldn't even give it to you," Burr says as Hamilton thrashes. "Maybe I should take you how Laurens took you. Split you open on my cock but leave your cunt empty, wanting."

[non_stop]

"You can't resist me," he insists, panting, "couldn't even wait for a drink, had to come and touch me, had to taste me. You want it -- Burr!" A complaint, high and thready. His words don't work, and he arches, digging his fingers into the loose fabric of Burr's shirt, his body open and pleading, even if his words aren't.

He does, he wants it -- his slick is dripping, he can feel it spreading on the bed beneath him, it's coming so much more and so much faster than when he sweated his heat out alone. The way Burr teases drives Alexander a little feral, makes him growl at Burr, though it doesn't have any alpha authority behind it anymore. Growl tapering into a whine when Burr still doesn't give him what he wants. He can't decide whether he wants more to submit or dominate, and it's leaving him in a confusing mess of hormones and need.

"Oh, please oh please --" manages Alexander as Burr presses just a bit into him, feeling it right at that delicate and sensitive place just within his slit. And then Burr withdraws, again, and he could weep with it.

"Do it," Alexander dares. "Do it, it would be a kindness, it would -- it would mean I can't get a child by you, and what do I care, I get fucked anyhow," hard to even speak with the way he longs to be taken. Taken by Burr, who is still clothed, while Alexander is in nothing but stockings, on narrow legs, one pressed down under Burr's grip, the other hooked around his waist and trying to pull him closer. He feels Burr's gaze on him, desiring him, and he fucking loves it, just the way he loves being teased and tormented.

[slowtoanger]

"Pathetic," Burr spits, bringing his cock forward again and pulling it away, presses it lower, his other entrance. A little pressure, the head slick from Hamilton's need, nudging at his unstretched hole. "You can't even get the words out with stuttering."

"Your lips look so pretty around my name. I wonder if I shouldn't fuck you, come inside you, get you swollen with my child. You think I couldn't do it, at this age?" A laugh, as he pulls back to reposition again at Hamilton's cunt, dragging, dragging--god he feels so good, for all of Burr's teasing, his delay, he can feel it--that burning need inside him, urging him forward.

Warm, wet, begging to be fucked, and he smells so good, so--

He does it once more; pushing in and pulling back--sets a teasing rhythm like that, just barely pressing in and pulling out. Waits till Hamilton is desperate, out of his mind, and he can feel the slick flowing.

"You want it inside you, don't you?" and he pushes then a bit more, until just the head is inside. Lets Hamilton adjust, lets him try to fuck himself back, for all Burr pins him.

The muscles fluttering, squeezing him, trying to drag him inside. Thick pheromones, the smell of his slick--

Burr snaps his hips forward, suddenly, until he is buried completely, moans with it, filthy and sinful and perfect. Doesn't give Hamilton a moment to adjust, before he is setting a punishing rhythm--slapping flesh, pushing him up the bed, harder, harder--

[non_stop]

"Aren't you virile enough for it?" bursts out Alexander, desperately, dragging at him, gripping at him, feeling his own wet under the curve of his ass, soaked into the sheet, the muscles of his cunt trying desperately to hold on to the manhood that won't just satisfy him, satisfy how tender and needy he feels inside. "Just fuck me!"

Burr pins him, then, with the head just inside. Burr's taunt, it must be, against Alexander, and much more effective than words. His chest swells with frantic breath, his spine coming off the bed as he tries to drive himself down on it. Nothing, nothing, just shivering tight on emptiness inside him.

"Burr," he cries, "Aaron, please, anything, please," whimpering, and even more than the words, the smell he emits is one of submission, eager and yearning, the invitation of it thick in the air. He knows, he knows that Burr wants him -- lascivious old bastard -- but he can't wait, he can't win this game. He isn't made to win, not with this body. He's made to yield.

His jaw drops open as Burr penetrates him, fully and suddenly. It shouldn't be this good. He shouldn't be so pleasured on something so simple. It's far from the biggest he's taken, and yet the breathtaking ruthlessness of it punches another cry out of him. He does all the things that are second nature to him now: bear down on it, tighten deliciously as Burr withdraws and go loose and open for him as he thrusts in. Almost seems as though it doesn't matter how he uses his muscles, though, because the amount of wet means Burr can fuck him freely.

And how he does. Alexander is already driven half out of his mind, and the punishing thrusts take him the rest of the way. Hand flies up to brace him against the headboard so he can push back. The usual dirty talk (you're so big, fuck me like you mean it) flies out of his mind and instead he's making high and rhythmic sounds of need, sounds he's never made before in earnest.

Thrusting is thrusting, he'd said once to another whore, dismissively. There isn't much difference, once you get it as hard as you like. Fuck, but he was wrong. Burr's grip is bruising-intense, but his angle is perfect. Maybe he's doing it just to make a point, just to make Alexander the helpless one; maybe the heat is making it so much better than it's felt before. Either way, Alexander feels his body lighting up with every stroke. Burr couldn't have done this to him as an alpha.

Burr couldn't have.

Right?

Now, though, Alexander is different. He is weak. His body now needs what once only tormented his mind, and the satisfaction of that need is everything. Burr is inside him, is always inside him, made him what he is, from the birthmark-stain between his ribs to the very fact of his body's age, a clock started when he breathed his last in New York an age ago. It's hard not to feel as though Burr took Alexander and molded him, changed him, just to be the perfect thing to fuck.

And his body is fertile and lush and open, and pregnancy is a very real risk. Burr could wound him in a way deeper and more permanent than a gunshot if his seed takes root in Alexander. The looming danger of that drives Alexander feral with desire.

"Burr," and he doesn't even realize that he's speaking again, "Burr," and with another man he would say fuck me, or spill praise, but instead it's Burr's name, like a prayer, and "I'm yours, I'm yours, I--" because that is what will make Burr frantic, "deeper, please, deeper, Aaron," can't breathe, can't get away, can't get enough, "I need -- knot me, I need it," the room flooding with the pheromones of frantic and frenzied omega.

[slowtoanger]

Hamilton cries his name, and Burr can feel it, those words like a barb, lodged somewhere beneath his ribcage, pulling, pulling--

It does something to him, rooted in pleasure, the sight of him, the knowledge that it is Alexander's body, Alexander's cunt, Alexander, legs spread impossibly wide and Burr's cock disappearing inside him, surrounded by heat, and Alexander, hands braced on the headboard, pushing back into him, spearing himself on each thrust of his cock. Oh, it is too good--and he feels the tightening, the twitching, little pulses of liquid, and he should knot him, Alexander's body begging to be knotted, to be filled with Burr's spend--

He changes the angle, grabs Hamilton's arms and pins them over his chest, pushes his weight there so he cannot move, faster and deeper Hamilton urges him, and Burr does what he can to comply--sweaty, moaning, those sounds--slick, warm, wet.

His knot is swelling, and with each thrust it bumps against his entrance, thick and just barely too large--rutting, and Burr fucks him on it. Forces it in as Hamilton begs, screams, such pretty sound, and he is lost with it, out of control--

The knot snaps inside, his cock jerks, Hamilton squeezing around him. Burr bends down, covers his body with his own, grabs his hair and yanks, rough, tilts his head back and sets himself on his gland, sinks his teeth in and releases even as he continues thrusting. He can feel the come, pumping inside, the small jerks of his own member and Hamilton's answering, urging more, the knot sealing them together, still swelling.

[non_stop]

Grinds himself down on the knot, almost as good as getting penetrated with it, and then -- no, he can't possibly, it's too large now, Burr can't mean to -- Burr did this on purpose, to break Alexander's body in as his own, to lay his claim. Alexander hates that, and also it's the best fucking anyone's ever given him. He can't squirm away and doesn't even try as a knot too large is forced against him, choosing instead to hurl himself into this new violation. Even so, it is almost too much, wrenching him open, suddenly embedded heavy at the pit of his belly as his abused flesh clenches tight on it, and Alexander bites down on his own hand and screams.

Not in pain. Oh, most certainly not in pain.

He whites out completely, barely registering the teeth at his throat, the claiming bite, as his entire body convulses. He can't go tight, the presence in him is wide and heavy and a little painful. No, definitely painful, overstimulating, pressing right where it's meant to press. Alexander sobs, because it hasn't stopped, none of the paroxysms of pleasure have stopped, he just keeps seizing, clenching, fluttering around the swell inside him.

If the whispers are true, and an omega's pleasure determines whether seed takes root, then Hamilton will be pregnant before the hour's done. Nothing he can do about it. Burr is within him now, seeding him deep. Burr owns him from the inside out.

By the time the climax is done, Alexander is weak as a kitten, sweat drying on his skin. He reaches up and touches the bitten gland, and his fingers come away bloodied. Another shiver of pleasure, deep in his core, at the sight. He wipes away tears of overstimulation, wishing now that he could summon some of his former arrogance, now that Burr is within him and watching him. Alexander is defenseless. The birthmark between his ribs is an accusing stain, prominent as he recovers his breath.

He tips his head back and closes his eyes. Wraps his legs around Burr's waist, clinging.

[slowtoanger]

Alexander may close his eyes, but Burr will not allow him to forget who he is with, who it is who is buried inside him. He shouldn't have time to gather himself, before his fourth orgasm. Should be kept flushed and overwhelmed and out of his mind. Was made to be kept like this--filled, fucked, used. My, how good it would be for Burr to take him home, to hide him away in his townhome, too young for him and very pregnant. How many children, could Burr plant in him, before old age rendered him infertile?

Alexander's flesh is young, supple, wanting. He seems almost shocked, at the pleasure wrung from him. Perhaps he lied, and this is his first heat, or his first with an alpha who knows the joys of bringing another pleasure. Before Alexander has caught his breath Burr is kissing him, delicately nipping, sucking at his lips, and beginning slow, delicate circles of his hips, rocking them. God bless heat pheromones, or he would not still be hard, though he had hears tell that he consorts with the devil, in the department of virility--yet even those rumors have died down, with the death of his political career.

Ah, nothing so worthwhile to steal his attention, with Alexander here, spread out before him. He is determined to fuck him one more, to get him good and truly sullied, yet right now he can do more than fuck him shallowly, for as much as he enjoys pulling the knot tight against Alexander's entrance and plunging that small distance back in. His hands creep lower, to the swell of Alexander's ass, massaging, feeling the swell of each buttocks in his hands.

Delighted, to find the slick has run so much to easy cover this second hole, and soak the bedclothes beneath them. Easy, to slip one finger in his, drinking in that little shocked gasp, the way his body jolts around his cock. Burr takes care, probing inside him--a bit of pressure through that internal wall, rubbing from both sides, as his knot rocks inside him. A second finger, circling, teasing, slipping inside, searching out that point of pleasure.

[non_stop]

And he doesn't have time to gather himself. Burr's lips are on his; he breathes rough through his nose. And he relents: he lifts his chin just a fraction, tilts his head just a fraction, and then the kiss is just right, and he has melted soft against the bed, sweet and liquid and perfectly pliant as Burr works the knot inside him. It is so good.

He is still being fucked, just a little. There is a book of pornography that another whore has, here -- well, she has several -- that Alexander has read, and in that book there was a profusion of blissful sighs. Always, there were blissful sighs accompanying the acts depicted, and Alexander had mocked the phrasing, but there isn't truly any other way to describe the sounds he's making. Soft and breathy, long, pleasured sounds.

Though Burr won't let him be. He wants to drift, but Burr won't stop touching him, lifting his ass, toying with him. A whore's reflex (he tells himself) has him unwrapping his legs, bracing them on the bed to either side so he can open himself more to these new attentions. A little gasp. Alexander turns his head to the side, biting his knuckles again to stifle himself.

Oh, god: it hits him again, that Burr, older, grey-haired, distinguished, is buried within him, young, so young, that Alexander is spread bare underneath him, that his wet is soaking into the trousers that he feels between his obscenely spread thighs. Once a powerful rival in his own right, now a pleasured, petted whore, with his own seed streaking his belly twice over.

When he thinks Burr is just toying with him, he opens to it. When he understands that Burr is trying to bring him off again, he draws in a shaky breath, "No, no, I can't," and a soft moan as he feels fingers enter him, feel out the tender place where he is stretched around Burr's knot. This is not foreign. Alexander has taken two cocks before. He can't explain why it feels new now, why the eroticism of Burr feeling himself in his body is almost painful in its intensity. "Burr." Quiet and wrecked. "Burr, you can't," unable to finish the thought, because he's rocked and fucked and moved on the best knot he's ever taken, and because at least half the motion is his own, as the last shreds of desire start to stir again, again. The hand that he bit down on, wet with saliva, fists in Burr's shirt. The other draws two fingers through the lines of semen on his belly and touches to Burr's lips, as Alexander watches, eyes wide with new, intimate wanting.

He tries not to show it so obviously when Burr finds the right place inside him, but he can't help it, it shows in the flicker of muscle clenching down, in the tremulous breath. Burr notices, of course he does, and then starts to tease all around that spot.

"Is this," gasps Alexander, "how you defile -- all the young men?" His body arousing itself again is ponderous and difficult, like he is dragged unwittingly from slumber. "With pleasure? Over and over -- Burr, I can't," and there are tears spilling now, of stimulation and overstimulation, spilling to the side from the corners of his eyes. His hand has dropped from Burr's shirt and is teasing at his own nipple, at the delicate skin gone swollen and tight, flushed a tender red.

[slowtoanger]

Oh God, Alexander begs so pretty. Begs, even as he hurls himself into abasement, eyes-watering, head thrown back, pulling at gloriously dusky nipples. Burr licks the semen from his hands eagerly, bends even to lick at his tears. For all he begs Burr to stop, he is sure if he actually did Hamilton might fight him, tied together or no.

"Oh yes," Burr breathes, "those things they wrote about me in the papers were not even the worst of it," punctuating each phrase with a cruel twist of the finger. "I took great pleasure in finding them young and naive, inviting them to my home and showing them the pleasure that could be extracted from their bodies. As overwhelmed as you are, by the time I was done. And those older ones, who knew a bit better--I took pleasure in opening myself to them. Letting them find their release in my body, in exchange for a few political favors. How do you think there were so many burrites?"

And Burr laughs, because Hamilton cannot do anything, as Burr confirms each and every one of the old Hamilton's anxieties--things that drove the man half-mad, when he was alive. They are knotted together, and Hamilton could not get away if he wished to, yet he seems not to wish to--scrambling, against every minstration, wiggling on Burr's cock, and yes, god yes, it feels so good, those small hitching movements, the site of him.

Burr can feel his cock twitch, the effusion of something hot, and he begins fucking him in earnest, punching out what sounds he can, as his fingers work and press and massage. Oh, if only he could fuck him both those places at once, spear him in the second manner, while still knotted in the first, use something larger than his finger--perhaps he should procure a facsimile of that organ, if they ever were to do this again.

He bends, an awkward stretch, bats Hamilton's hands away, begins to suck at his nipples--to feel the evidence of pleasure rattling from his body to Burr's own. Clenching down, fluttering as Burr sucks, bites, works those nubs in his mouth. Only a little more--a few more of those high-pitched, desperate noises, of Hamilton, squirming against him, crying, for Burr to come again, spilling inside him. Feeling his cock twitch, his knot pulse, through the fingers in Hamilton's ass.

[non_stop]

"The thought maddened me," confesses Alexander. "I dreamed of your cock -- your lips --" The satisfaction in knowing Burr now finds himself undone inside Alexander is intense, as heady as coming on Burr's tongue. If his body is just an instrument of pleasure now, at least he knows that Burr could not resist, even though he tried. He tried to leave.

"I pulled at myself under my desk imagining my cock in your mouth -- your hot breath -- holding you on me while I knotted -- halfway down your throat. You looked at me and you always seemed to know." Jerks and twitches on Burr's fingers, fucking himself back down on those, even though it makes it worse on him, grinds that knot against what feels like the base of his cock, from the inside. "Only one thing I could do better than you, every time," his fingers weaving into Burr's hair as he bites one of Alexander's nipples, and for an instant Alexander has to hold himself back, sure that he could have come from that alone. "Did it with Washington, when you couldn't come close.

"Seducing older men." And he arches up, tightening spasmodically on Burr's knot, milking him for the fluid that Alexander imagines as a sort of balm inside him, a salve to slow the relentless desire.

But this time when he climaxes, he goes so tight on Burr that it actually does hurt, his body unwilling to loosen or let go, and it feels like he might tear himself on the sheer size of the knot still within him. The whimper that comes out of him is pathetic and wounded, and Burr's cock the knife still embedded in that wound.

Alexander is wrecked, limp, face smeared with tears and sweat and saliva, blood trailing from the flushed gland on his neck. He laughs, sad and breathless. "I like this shot better than the other."

[slowtoanger]

Alexander, Alexander, Alexander, Alexander--the steady manta in Burr's head at that beautiful body tightening on him, at the way he falls apart so wonderfully, beautiful and wounded and perfect.

Burr can hardly move, carved out, panting, yet still he responds to Hamilton's whimpers, rolls them so Hamilton is on top, cradles him against his chest.

"Shhh," Burr whispers, "It's alright now. You can feel it, can't you? My seed inside you. Soothing your heat--you'll be alright. You can rest--my beautiful little whore." And Burr strokes his hair, rocks him gently, as one would do a baby. His mind is still caught up on the image--Hamilton bent over Washington's desk, Burr himself, on his knees for Hamilton's cock, Hamilton, with his hand down his pants as Burr worked, oblivious, just across the room.

A little twitch, to his aching cock--oversensitive, abused. But it is too soon, and these things, pulled from Hamilton in the grips of pleasure, will have to be savored. Tucked away for another time. Burr has no intention of letting him go, now. Not after so perfect a tumble, the two of them, coming together so beautifully. Not after tasting him.

[non_stop]

He's braced for more taunts, more belittling. He can't say he doesn't deserve it, that he didn't invite every indignity visited upon him. Instead, as he starts to feel small and vulnerable, Burr switches their positions, and he melts gratefully into the position that hardly strains his cunt at all. Knees splayed to the outside of Burr's waist, and his body curled on top of Burr's, face pressed against the collar of his shirt.

Burr makes him imagine it. Closes his eyes, and when he is very still, he can feel the very slight twitches of Burr's cock as it comes inside him, comes and comes.

"Do you want it to root in me?" he asks, a murmur. "I think Benedicta wants me pregnant by you." He'd be easier to control. He'd be tied down. "She doesn't want me to go west." Doesn't think about how that's dangled his plans in front of Burr's nose. Lots of people want to go west, these days. There are opportunities in the west. Even for defiled omega sluts.

Beautiful. Is he beautiful? Does Burr find him beautiful?

"Took me clothed," sighs Alexander, without real rancor. His hand drifts down to where they're joined, and he probes, apparently feeling the knot inside him, then touching the open trousers, where he's left slick. "Someone'll have to take care of this before you go, though," and perhaps there's a little satisfaction that he's at least inconvenienced Burr in return for the power move.

He pulls his fingers away, and glances over them. Checking for blood, though Burr may not realize that. There is none, which is a relief.

Once he sees he's uninjured, just a bit sore from being so well-used, he relaxes as much as he can. He doesn't go into the ordinary light doze, the trance that most omegas experience at this time, satisfied and languorous. He is tired, so tired, but the subtle undercurrent of anxiety that permeates his entire existence won't quite fade. Especially since he's in heat. He learned early on that he could control himself in heat better than the alphas around him. Small he may be -- small enough that they were thoroughly surprised when he showed the skill of someone trained under General Washington in the war.

"You paid for the night," he mumbles, after a time, drowsy but unable to let go that last little bit, though he wants to, he longs to. "Are you going to use it?"

[slowtoanger]

"As you said, you've soiled my clothing. I don't see how I could go, without a good measure of embarrassment. Though letting all of New York see how I've taken you has its appeal. The same as you swelling with my child does--" turning heated as the end, and Burr's hand drifts down again to massage at his ass. Not probing, but claiming. "Why should you want to go to the west, when you have someone here who can satisfy you? Don't tell me you've ever been fucked like that before."

And as he speaks Burr continues his massage, deep into the tissue of his ass and back. Starts those little purrs, which omegas in heat find so appealing. "You should like to nest, shouldn't you? Hm, perhaps I should bring you some blankets. Fine things, for my whore. Soft things, and beautiful, jeweled things. Nothing compared to your own looks, of course. Perfect eyes, hair as men weave tales of. If one saw you swimming, I daresay they would take you for a siren."

Oh, but for all those things, for all that Hamilton used to enjoy dressing himself in fine things like a paradise bird's plummage, there are things he might like more, for his current situation.

"Or books--" Burr says. "I should like to surround you with books. Fine parchment, silver-tipped quills. What would you write, this time around? Still try to shake New York politics to the core, even swollen with my child?"

[non_stop]

No, he's never been fucked like that before, and damn Burr for being able to see that, anyway. Damn him for making Alexander feel so well taken care of, damn him for making Alexander want more. He's tried so hard, in this life, not to want more. He has to work at it every single day, because the nature of Alexander Hamilton was always the wanting.

He tenses a little, at the purrs. Against his instinctive reaction to burrow closer to the alpha's body, to go easy. There is too much to fear.

Burr's words invoke a bright, pale sort of yearning, like the weak sunlight after a storm. He wants... he does want to nest. And it would be so easy to be petted and kept, dressed in finery -- he can see it, he can imagine.

But it's the books that draw a hesitant, mournful sound out of him. It is so difficult to acquire books, and when he does he hides them away, hoards them in the dark spaces of his rooms. The world has learned so much more since his first life, and he wants to take it all in, and he can't. Impossible to advance politically as a bastard son of a whore, but as an alpha he could do the impossible and be admired. As an omega, the doors are closed.

He knows better than to think this is any more than talk. Burr will take great pleasure in discarding him once the night is done, and Hamilton will drink whatever it takes to prevent a child from taking root, no matter what he's starting to wish.

Burr has hit too close to what he needs, and it makes him want to fuzz out, let go, let Burr take him. And a part of him is relaxing, emitting a gentler sort of pheromone.

"I don't need a quill to do that," he says, a whisper, in Burr's ear: "Powerful men buy whores. Young omegas with sweet fresh --" and he clenches down, deliberately, "cunts. What makes you think I haven't been passed around like a party favor, riding them hard and hungry, kneeling with their hands fisted in my tale-woven hair, taking their seed on my face or my tongue -- listening to every secret, and every scrap?"

[slowtoanger]

"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?

[non_stop]

It almost works. Burr listens, and he likes it, on more levels than one.

Then something happens. Burr changes the script. His fingers have woven into Alexander's hair, rubbing slow on his scalp. He is still purring, subtly, in a way Alexander can feel better than he can hear, a vibration that gently, gently warms him, settling a restlessness that he can always feel at the pit of his chest.

And Burr changes the script. He doesn't follow the cues, the direction, the play-interaction between whore and buyer. A promise, that Alexander doesn't believe, and then a ring, slipped onto his hand, that he looks to in honest bewilderment. What does Burr mean by it? What does he want?

But his mind can't chase itself in circles when he is being petted so. After he has been so satisfied.

Burr must work some hypnosis on him, some animal magnetism, because Alexander does not respond, not with words; instead, he is soothed to a light and troubled sleep. But: a true sleep, nonetheless.

[slowtoanger]

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.

[non_stop]

Stirs slowly, being drawn back to himself from a great distance. Kisses and alpha-smells, purrs that draw out echoes of the same sound from low in his own throat. He feels warm and good, contentment to such a degree that it makes his skin tingle and prickle, pleasantly, along his scalp, his spine.

He is taking something between his teeth, a bit of sweet licked off of fingertips. Bites down as his eyes flicker open once, and close again as he stretches, arms drawn up over his head, drawing his body to its full length and then shifting up a little to melt back on the presence behind him.

Burr, he thinks. It's so hard to care who it is, though. (Maybe Burr notices the flicked glance to a certain spot at the headboard, a bit of leather looped and tucked against the mattress; a sheathed knife, in case. It isn't a conscious move on Alexander's part and he has no desire or intent to use it. His caution is just written into him on an almost cellular level.)

This is what Burr wants. This is what many alphas want, and Alexander has played out the fantasy before, when he wasn't in heat, of being nourished and protected by the strong alpha mate. Never thought it would be the dark-eyed man that featured in Alexander's nightmares before he knew what past lives were.

It's instinct, he tells himself. Just instinct. It shouldn't unnerve him, that he's never been in quite this state before, the fever-warm heat washing through him, but without urgency, without active need, being in a warm bath and not a boiling pot. Shouldn't be so strange that he likes it.

Eyes stay closed as he lets himself be fed, lets himself wake slowly as the heat also wakes. Little kitten-licks to catch fruit's juices left on Burr's fingers. Tipping his head to the side to draw alpha into his lungs.

[slowtoanger]

"Good boy," Burr says, as that small pink tongue darts out, chasing juice and leaving behind a trail of warmth. Alexander is so much more accommodating upon waking, further into his heat. Stretches against Burr, purrs. Content, even on noticing Burr, his surroundings. Nothing of the anxiety of before, as he melts under the ministrations.

What had changed? Further into his heat? Or had Burr done something to make him feel safe, wanted? Was it a trick of the ring, or of everything that came before--orgasms drawn out under a skilled tongue? He is breathing in Burr's scent, that much as clear, and though his eyes dart once to that stip of leather--likely concealing a weapon--he makes no move for it, seems to forget it once his eyes leave it, relaxing once more. That he should need it at all is troubling, but Burr is not naive enough to be surprised. Many whores keep weapons at hand, for unruly or drunk customers. But someone hurting Alexander--pushing him down before he is ready, or despite his struggles--

He doesn't realize it before it happens--a rush of protection and safe spilling out of his scent glands, and his noises grow deeper, more rumbly, so they might be felt more through his chest. Tangles their legs together, as he continues to bestow small pieces of food. How wonderful Alexander's lips look, curling around a bite of strawberry, suckling at Burr's fingers.

He can feel himself grow warm, forces it down.

"You're so pretty," Burr says, and runs a thumb under his eyelids. "How did you ever get to be so pretty?"