private storyline ..... b1?

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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.

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A flicker of a smile, sad. "I don't think I would have appealed to you, this way," he says. "Too young for your taste." He hesitates, not sure if he wants to say. Strange, he can confess to a filibuster, to military pretensions that he once took such pains to keep quiet -- he can confess to using his mouth on Laurens, the two of them euphoric on the thrill of one another's presence. But this is still difficult.

He takes a breath. "I first took coin for use of my hand, and a man finishing on my face. I was nearly fifteen, but not quite." A pause. He feels the need to defend himself, his choice. To show that he was not abused. "I wasn't pimped. I kept control -- no one forced me. In my first heat, someone tried, and he was shocked to find an omega, a slight little thing, could beat him silly." Beat him unconscious, more like, with a broken arm and a broken nose. Hamilton had a few bruises, nothing more.

He props himself up, because he needs to see Burr's face, Burr's reaction.

"Does it appall you?" Do I appall you, he means.

[slowtoanger]

"No," he says, immediately, though he cannot help the small stab of horror, that what had happened happened at all, and that it was his own fumbling attempts that brought them there. "If I am appalled, it is at men who would pay coin for one so young, though you did have need of it. Appalled, perhaps, that so little has changed since your first time around. Men, children, still relegated so much to chance and circumstance. I am not disgusted."

Should like to say; I would have liked to see you, beating up an unruly alpha, yet he knows he should not have. That the affair must have been desperate, and left its own scars, even if Hamilton had delivered a solid thrashing. Should like to have been there so Hamilton had not been alone. Always friends, they had been, with that underlying tension, when politics and power had not factored in. Burr should have liked to save him. Hamilton would not have had it.

There should have been no different for him, born on that island as an omega or as an alpha. He should have rose regardless, and yet. Both of them had caught the rise of fate's wave at the right time, and born with it until it crashed, a cataclysm, on progress' shore. No war, now, for Hamilton to rise. Perhaps it is worse now than it has ever been, each relegated to their place, with so little chance of advancement.

[non_stop]

Alexander's expression has gone strange and thoughtful. The sincerity moves him; he believes it. He often believes the things that Burr says, really. Not always -- no, not always.

He hitches himself up just a little more, and touches a light, sweet kiss to Burr's lips. It is an acceptance of Burr's words, at face value, without searching out any hidden barbs.

"My prayers for rescue have ever met with indifference," he says. "This time, I could not write my way off the island. But I was not helpless." He settles back down onto Burr. The knot pulls inside him, a pleasant weight. "And," though he turns his head down, burying it in Burr's shoulder, "this profession, I admit, is not without... compensations. It can be very pleasurable."

[slowtoanger]

"Yes, I have always thought the portrayal of prostitution as a business with only victims to be somewhat lacking," leaning into the kiss, wrapping his hands around him. He can feel the knot going down now, soon to slip free. Perhaps then he can help Hamilton gather his nesting material, and leave him, or stay, should he wish it.

"I certainly would not have encountered you, if I was not such a purveyor of such establishments." The other question, the one which has been niggling at him, stuck in the back of his mind. "Should you like to keep whoring, then? Some find other arrangments very appealing--" and he has been known to take on young men. Mentor them. Though perhaps this would be a mentorship of a different kind. Reluctant to bring it up, now, after Hamilton's earlier reluctance, dodging of questions. Yet he doesn't want to leave him here. Benedicta is a good madame, and yet the business can be rough, and not lend to a long and fulfilling life. Not for one like Hamilton.

[non_stop]

Alexander bristles, a little, in spite of himself. In spite of the way Burr's skilled fingers and wicked tongue coaxed such pleasure out of him, in spite of the slow-wandering strokes down his back.

"I told you," says Alexander. "I'm going west."

He relents, only a little:

"It will be some time until I have gathered enough to make the journey. Until then, I am willing enough to be bought." That's an understatement. He tries again: "This has been my first heat with an alpha, and, Burr -- I have truly enjoyed it. I'd -- I'd let you have first claim on my time." A slightly more exclusive arrangement, and Alexander is unwilling to offer more, just now. He does not need rescuing, and he feels himself too low to even think of mentorship, clerking.

[slowtoanger]

Time. Alexander will need time. Seduction does not take place in an evening, yet the idea of him going west twists something in him. What should he care, for where Hamilton ends up? Ah, but those are the thoughts of a younger Burr--lying to himself. He won't deny their connection, anymore, as much as he takes joy still in vexing Hamilton.

"First claim on your time, yes," Burr purrs. "I quite like the idea of such an arrangement. And perhaps I might call on you at other times as well--" always paying, of course, yet not the usual times of whores. Of course, in establishments such as these, there are always ones working, and yet--

Burr does want to bring him things. Books. Clothes. Jewels. Taken quite embarrassingly, not befitting his age. The fantasy of the old Burr, become reality.

His cock is softened enough to slip out now, and it accompanies a rush of fluids--uncomfortable, for all their meaning is appealing.

"Should I fetch you nesting materials then? Or do you wish to be alone?" Still rubbing at him, feeling where his seed is dripping out. He hopes that Alexander does not take anything, though he has no real power or right to stop him. But still--the idea of him swollen with Burr's child is very appealing.

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"I have, at times," drawls Alexander, "been hired for just my company."

He can't help the little noise of loss as Burr's cock slips out of him. He doesn't want it to be over. His hand joins Burr's, in the wet of it. His cunt seems stretched wide, hot and soft. He feels a pulse of desire, suddenly, perhaps the last vestiges of the heat. Perhaps just something about Burr.

"Oh," he sighs. "Could you -- could I have your mouth? One more time?" Tracing up and down the slit, gushing wet. But he feels appealing, under Burr's eyes. Feels good. And he thinks Burr wouldn't mind his own semen, along with Alexander's excessive wet.

"And then -- then we'll see." He means it in an immediate sense and a broader one. They'll see.