There is something soaring in Alexander, a perpetual knot for the moment undone. A raging fight in him, quieted. The eye of the hurricane, a breath of stillness in an roaring tumult.

A quiet little half-sob, something hardly more than a hitch in his breath, as Burr stops, and caresses him, releasing another little knot of emotion. Burr's hands, Burr's smell, Burr, Burr. He hurts; he aches. The clinical way Burr's touch probes him meets no resistance, just eyes fluttering closed, a flicker of muscle squeezing around Burr's finger as it withdraws, like a little request for it to stay.

Trembling limbs as he lowers himself to the ground. Curling forward, pressing himself against Burr's legs, like he's drawn to warmth out of the cold. He can't keep himself up on his knees, instead folds down, heedless of how it hurts, hands still bound. There is no doubt who he belongs to -- as if he had any in the first place.

The gag out of his mouth, and no words follow it. Just Alexander, face averted shyly, hesitantly hitching forward and nuzzling Burr's cock, a gesture of worship, of welcoming. His eyes lift to Burr's face, looking up through lashes gone spiky with tears.

He does not make any more move to suck Burr's cock. Alexander is allowing himself to be subsumed in the idea of being Burr's vessel, his toy.

He shifts back onto his heels again, and his lips part, jaw relaxed. He is ready to be used, wants badly to be used. Will wait, sweetly, to be used.