"Fuck," Burr swears, because Hamilton purrs, which is evil and sinful and enough for his hips to twitch off the bed, for him to drop his hair and fall backwards onto the bed, twisting against the sheets.

"Again," he chokes, "again." He is meant to be in power here, control, but Hamilton purrs so rarely, makes any kind of omega sounds and god it is good, so good, vibrating straight up his cock, from the head to his balls, making him breathless, wheezing in pleasure.

He needs to control himself, needs restraint, yet Hamilton knows none, and he can feel his cock leaking in his mouth and he grinds into that cavern, lost with it, unable to do anything but ride it, say his name like a prayer, "Hamilton, Hamilton, Alexander."

He has to push him off suddenly, as he feels his cock twitch, his balls tightening. Wraps cruel fingers over the base of his cock, sitting up suddenly, breathing through a denied orgasm. Hamilton, looking up at him, face wet, mouth still slack and open, certainly doesn't help.

"On the floor," Burr chokes, and when he does Burr unties his hands, reties them in the front, so that there is nothing keeping his sore ass from contact fully with the floors. Sweating, as he looks down at him, on second thought grabbing the other rope, tying one of his legs to the foot of the bed, forcing him open.