amrev_intrigues | Private Storyline 9

Private Storyline 9

Three days after their liaison in the woods, Timothy Edwards visits camp. He comes with some excuse--ministering to the men, and as famous as he is, he is not turned away. Of course, he must be there to see Burr. To seek him out after months of letters not adequately returned. And the winter location of the army is no secret.

He is given quarter nearby, and he makes sure to rub elbows with the officers, inserting himself into affairs in a manner that must, to anyone else, seem unobtrusive. But Burr knows him too well to read it as anything else--elbowing in, showing Aaron that he isn't free, even here. Not much time to be alone with him, with all the work, and little Theo, but he finds the time.

When Hamilton must leave for a meeting just before breakfast, and Burr is rocking Theo to sleep, he slips into their chamber. Burr thinks at first he is Laurens, so does not rise, until the voice startles him.

"You would think I were a stranger," Edwards says, smiling. Burr jumps. Theo startles, crying. "For all my nephew greets me. Do I not have leave to meet my granddaughter, whom I have read so much about?"

"Of course not uncle," Burr says, but he makes no move to hand her over, fussing at her as she cries. "It is just that I am terribly busy here, and I was not sure you would want to see her."

"Why ever wouldn't I? It is the Christian thing to do, is it not?" follows Burr about the room until he is cornered, and Burr can do nothing but hold Theo close and Edwards pulls at the blanket, gazes at her scrunched face. "I should say she looks like her father, but I understand there is some confusion regarding the matter."

"Uncle--" Burr protests, face hot. "There is no confusion, I--" swallows, stops. Feels like a child, so quickly. "You read about the affair from Paine's pen, did you not? It was all true, what he wrote."

"Mr. Paine has the habit of exaggerating, as we both know. Don't play dumb, boy. He would worship America sooner than god, and would hide sin in the interest of patriotism. I raised you better." A little hiss, leaning in close, and Burr turns, shielding Theo around the curve of his shoulder.

"What's done is done. I am married now--does that not please you?"

"No, I am not pleased by you parading this matter, our family's shame, in front of everyone to satisfy your petty pride. I shall not hold the girl accountable, as she is a victim in this, but you have shown yourself to lack any shred of common sense or decency."

"So what? Is that why you've come, to take me away?" A little mocking laugh, and Edwards' face darkens. He won't hit Burr here, with a child. But if he did it would be no large matter. He would be within his rights to.

"An Omega at war," he scoffs. "It was my fault really. To let you come here with no way to defend yourself against lust and greed."

"You have no say in the matter. I am my own man, and I have a family, and you would do your best to put us from your mind."

"We cannot all dismiss notions of duty. I took you on as my charge, raised you at great cost to myself, when I had already so many children to look after. Educated you, when others would not have, clothed you. Allowed you to range outside the home, when clearly I should not have. Why do you take pleasure in hurting our family? Have we not done enough for you?"

Theo lets out another wail, louder this time. Burr cannot slip around Edwards as he grows louder, and his heart is pounding, as he shrinks into the corner. Always so small, then and now. And if Edwards did decide to punish Aaron, one of the old beatings, that left him sore and blackened for days, he would not be able to protect Theo.

Edwards raises a hand, and Burr flinches back hard, knocks his head on the wall and nearly goes tumbling. Edwards grabs his arm, wrenches him back up, forward, enough that his muscles burn.

"Keep your feet, boy. They have no use for cowards in war."

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"You bring it out in me," Hamilton tells him, quiet and breathy, as he works open Burr's shirt. "I've never wanted to pleasure anyone the way I want to pleasure you. No poet could capture what you are when you're lost to exquisite raptures," and he kisses down Burr's collarbone to his little, firm breasts, where he worries at one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and kisses the other. Gentle caresses up Burr's belly and his sides, and then his hands busy themselves undoing Burr's trousers. He has to scoot down Burr's body so he can tug off the boots, the stockings, because he badly wants Burr naked beneath him, open and willing and utterly bare.

"Sometimes I miss how keen you were for it, when you were heavy with child," Hamilton admits, as he breathes in the smell of Burr's slick, reaching for a pillow to push beneath his hips so he is sprawled open for Hamilton's attentions. "You would flush so, and look at me with those pleading eyes... I remember you stuffing your fist in your mouth so as not to wake Laurens as I buried myself between your legs."

A very gentle swipe of his thumb confirms that moisture is starting to well up from inside Burr, though not much, yet. Hamilton gives his attentions to Burr's cock, instead, which is already standing proud. He draws his tongue from base to head, mouthing along the heated skin, tracing the upraised vein along the bottom.

A jerk, unable to be contained, jutting his cock against Hamilton's face. They haven't done this much--haven't known each other's bodies for more than a year, and often Hamilton will sink lower, to lick the slick from Burr's folds. He can't knot with his cock, yet he still is no less sensitive, trembling and mewling as Hamilton teases him.

"You talk as if--" a little groan "--as if you shall never get me with child again," another gasp, a laugh, as he fists his hands hard into Hamilton's hair, tugs hard enough to make Hamilton yelp, as he grinds his own head back against the sheets, hooks one leg over Hamilton's back.

"And yet you're so insatiable that I find it hard to put any faith in me finishing--finishing this war without you planting another child in me."

Something about this, about the way Burr's hips press down into the touch at his cunt, and then lift towards Hamilton's tongue, gives him a better idea. Not that he abandons this right away: he smoothly swallows Burr down, little flutters in his throat, working his tongue against the underside. He draws off only slowly, suckling on the tip before he lets it go.

"The thought sets me aflame." It is hard to stay quiet enough not to wake the baby. "Of your body blooming open for me, of how sweet and willing you would be -- you're already such a slut, I can't wait to see what you're like in your heat."

He moves up, his back against the wall -- where a fancier bed would have a headboard -- and pulls Burr into his lap, Burr's back against his chest. This way, he can murmur straight into Burr's ear, hold him close.

"I find myself very motivated to end this war as quickly as possible."

He spreads Burr's legs so that they're to the outside of Hamilton's own, leaving him open. The heel of one hand he presses at the fresh wet of Burr's cunt, and the other he wraps around Burr's cock.

"How about I stay still," says Hamilton, "and let you grind your cunt on my palm, let you fuck my other hand." No matter which way Burr moves his hips, he will be stimulated. "I want to feel you go a little wild; will you go a little wild, for me? Will you satisfy yourself, on me?"

"It shouldn't be long," Burr says, as Hamilton positions him, sighing as he is leant back against that warm and familiar chest, "before my next one--Quebec was my first."

Maybe Hamilton likes this idea--that heats are still so new to Burr. Virginal, if he were not so willing always, to spread his legs. But still, he hasn't quite grasped what they feel like. The first--a fluke of some kind, or a pattern? Would not be able to tell it from the starting of an illness, the same way it had been in Quebec, when Monty had approached him in concern, barely laid a hand on his forehead before he had made that beautiful little startled noise and quickly led Burr from headquarters to his own personal tent.

Oh, and Burr had been aware of the need then. Then hardness in his pants, in Montgomery's, and the mouth-watering need that made him like an animal. Crying and mewling before Montygomery had knotted him.

Yes, yes, Burr will go wild for him. The wonderful pressure against his wet folds and the other hand, still slick with saliva wrapped round his length, and his legs spread wide, so wide, that wonderful stretch, mewling and starting to rock. Trying to bounce despite the way he is pinned. The only way to move, fucking himself either down on Hamilton's palm or up into his fist. Catapulted into baseness so easily, where Hamilton is concerned, and he realized only after he is breathless that Hamilton's own cock is hard against the cleft of his ass, and he must grind against it to get his own stimulation. Something about it--how frenzied it is, what a young, naive experience, to have each other in this way, makes his stomach clench, and his cock twitch.

"Hamilton," he moans, "Alexander. Your fingers. I--please."

"Are you nervous?" Hamilton is concerned, now. It's a loss of control, and Burr does so adore his control. "Was I insensitive?"

But Burr is riding his grip and all those concerns are driven totally out of Hamilton's mind. Burr grinds back against Hamilton's cock on every cycle, and he's stifling groans into the back of Burr's neck. Burr is gone for it, so quickly, changing from the quiet and tight-laced Captain to the needy, wanton slut, the transformation that Hamilton delights in bringing out as often as possible.

"You're so beautiful, you're so -- you're wonderful," and Hamilton's not even really aware of what he's saying, it's just drawn out of him by the astonishing man in his arms. "That's it, ride me -- God, the way you feel against me --"

He scoots down a couple inches, adjusting the angle so Burr is partly lying back on him, so that Burr has less leverage to raise his hips. And with this position, Hamilton gives him what he's asked for: one quick, deftly angled finger, and then another, alongside, seeking out those achingly sensitive places that Hamilton knows are inside and just forward.

Burr may not be able to move as much, but each move gets him more, as Hamilton's fingers stroke inside him and Hamilton's grip tightens on his cock.

Beautiful, Hamilton calls him beautiful, and no matter how often he has heard such words from his husband they still hit so acutely, painfully, deep into the center of him. A long, drawn out whine, as he jerks in Hamilton's grip, helpless, for the fingers in him, the warm body behind him, the way Hamilton pants in his ear.

Ride me, Hamilton says, and he's drunk off it--the need, the want, the pretty, wonderful words, unable to be matched by Burr's own. Fingers in him, beneath him, a hand around his length, and grinding, grinding back against Hamilton length.

He is crying, though he isn't aware until he feels those little stabs of pain from the tissue of his face, scrunched up and pulling tight for swelling, and Hamilton loves him so much, loves him, overwhelming, and he can do nothing but cry, hitching his hips, feeling surrounded, cradled, as those fingers work inside him.

"I love you," Burr gasps, such small, ineffectual words, in the face of Hamilton's own. "I--nngh--I love you," and it feels so good, a painful, building burning, in parts of him more than physical. He jerks, tries to bite back his cries as he begins to come, as Hamilton strokes that spot, and works over the head of his cock, writhing, grinding, mewling.

Edited 2022-06-04 02:41 (UTC)

As soon as he feels that tell-tale strain, the first twitching spasm, Hamilton withdraws and holds Burr against him with one arm as he turns them over, flipping them so Burr is on his stomach and Hamilton is on top of him. He holds himself up with one hand, and with the other -- the one that held Burr against him -- he lifts Burr's hips to the right angle to plunge his cock directly inside him, in one ruthless, quick, deep thrust, catching him still right at the beginning of his climax.

He does nothing more, just holds himself within, groaning soft into Burr's back as his husband shakes and shivers tight around him.

Burr thrases, as Hamilton forces his cock in, thighs spasming inward, and it feels good, so good, his husband buried in him, drawing out more waves of pleasure if only giving him something to fill him, to work down on. Chokes a little, at the suddenness of it.

He mewls, scrabble against the sheets, rocking there as his orgasm plays out, realizes, in the midst of that pleasure, that Hamilton still has not come. And he wants him to come. Is still needy for it, even after releasing, making a mess of them.

Hamilton isn't moving, but Burr wants him to, as much as he enjoys them simply being, joined like this. He wants him to find release, to seek that pleasure in Burr's body, fill him with his spend. He is still twitching--his insides still clamping down on Hamilton's cock, when he spreads his knees and snakes a hand down between them, gathering slick up on his fingers, feeling where Hamilton is plunged into him, where he spreads Burr's swollen folds.

Reaches back just a little more, tracing to the base of Hamilton's cock, over his balls, to that little hole. A stretch. A hard one, that makes his arm ache, as he circles his fingers, smearing his slick. A thrill, building in his stomach. He's never touched here before. Wanted to, but never allowed himself. Was transfixed, when Hamilton took Laurens' cock so well, and had wanted to see, the way that length disappeared inside, spread him, for all he had been bed-bound, unable to move well.

He nuzzles Burr as the shivers work through him, as he comes apart in his particular and beautiful ways. Burr's questing fingers start to reach -- and then reach further --

"Oh," and he sounds surprised and intrigued, as his hips give a little twitching thrust. Does that mean that Burr wants to penetrate him, tonight? Will Burr be able to, after coming like that? Oh, Hamilton genuinely hopes so, or that they can plan on it, later -- he'd half-thought that Burr wasn't interested anymore, given that he hadn't brought it up since, but now he kicks himself, because certainly Burr has had other concerns on his mind, and he isn't so expressive regardless.

"Darling," and his voice goes lower, "I'd thought I'd just have you until you were ready for another climax, but -- is there something else you'd like?" He tries to sound open to it, and eager.

He likes being pressed face down into the bed. It is primal, and animal, to be taken in such a way. But he can't do what he wants, from this angle. Can't manage more than weak, exploratory strokes.

A little shiver, when Hamilton calls him darling, speaks with the desire that seems to drip off him words. He hadn't knotted him yet, and Burr wants to turn, to see his face, to allow himself that extra room, to reach behind. A little weak thrash, as he tries to turn beneath Hamilton's weight, whines.

"I want--" blushing, hiding his face in the sheets. "I want to finger you," Burr says. "The way Laurens did. While you're inside me. Will you show me how?"

Hamilton buries his face against his husband, with a little shiver. God, yes. God, yes.

He pulls gently out of Burr, and shifts them so he can kiss Burr -- kisses him hard, needy, desperate. "Yes," he says, "of course, yes." A little wild with his kisses: along Burr's jaw, on his cheek, even on the curve of his ear.

"I've been hoping you would ask." It takes a little maneuvering in the small space, but Hamilton wriggles around until he's under Burr, lets his legs fall open. He is hard, wet from Burr's cunt.

He draws in a hissed breath when he thinks of using the slick from Burr's body to penetrate his own. It makes him unbelievably hot, all over. He lightly draws his fingers between Burr's legs, getting them slick again -- though they're still wet from being buried inside him. Settling back, he smears that wet on his own hole.

"Like this, at first?" asks Hamilton. "So I can show you."

"Yes," Burr breathes, and lays down there between Hamilton's legs, eager to watch, though his body aches, for having lost that intrusion.

He is transfixed, spellbound, watching his husband tease fingers around his entrance, working himself open. The tip of one finger, pressing, and Burr lets out a little gasp as it slides in, eyes darting up to Hamilton's own, and when he sees those wonderful blown pupils he realizes he is hard.

"It feels good?" Burr breathes, because while it has always felt so on himself, him and Hamilton do not share biology in all the same way. Men aren't supposed to do this, to use their body in this way, and certainly not alphas. He wants to lick him, he realizes, as he watches that finger slide in. Breath hitching, he wants to lick him, or touch him, yet he wants just as much to learn, to see, the way Hamilton fucks himself, so that he might give his husband this pleasure.

"Oh, yes." Hamilton truly doesn't know why God would make a man's, an alpha's body so amenable to such things. It feels very good, when that place is stroked deep inside, and it feels good regardless, to have a partner penetrating him. He needed to learn how to take it, of course, but it isn't so easy for women or omegas at first either. If it is a sin, then why doesn't it feel like one?

Especially now. Nothing that makes Burr's eyes catch on him like this, that lights them afire with want, can be wrong.

He uses his fingertips to stretch himself, to spread a little slickness just inside. "Come here," he says, "your fingers, alongside mine. Feel me inside."

Burr has to crawl up the bed, and over Hamilton, just a little, and he does so eagerly. He likes being here, like this, between Alexander's legs. Like Burr is the one going to breed him. To fuck into him and seed him deep.

Difficulty, tearing his eyes from Alexander's face. The sight of fingers working between his legs is worse, and Burr offers his own fingers eagerly. Shudders and gasps when one slides in easily, alongside Hamilton's own.

"You're so--warm. And soft. Alexander," he whimpers, buries his face against Hamilton's stomach, as he wiggles that finger experimentally. He is hot all over, and overwhelmed, but even better are the sounds Alexander makes, the way his body opens so eagerly to this, and Burr wants to give him pleasures, those pleasures neither of them are meant to want.

He follows Alexander's fingers, further inside. Chases that spot that Hamilton is working at, until his own come down there, and he can feel the sudden clench around him, the way Hamilton's hips jerk, as if it is somehow better for being Burr's fingers, Burr's hand.

His own gasp, transfixed, subsumed, by Alexander's pleasure. He works there, watching the sight of him inside his husband, and crawls up suddenly, ravenous, to kiss into him. Hard. Needy.

Edited 2022-06-12 16:36 (UTC)

Hamilton can't quite get at the right spot himself, unless he really works at it, has to shift around and bear down on his fingers in a certain way, but with Burr -- he follows the direction of Hamilton's fingers like an arrow, and finds it with a suddenness punches an unexpected whimper from him. He bites his lip, and then Burr is kissing him, and Hamilton is pulling his own fingers away, to let Burr explore.

"You're always so warm inside." Hamilton is breathless, from the kisses, from the cautious exploration inside him. "I like -- I like that I might feel the same to you."

His head tips back, because he can stop holding himself up enough to reach his hole now. Instead, he draws his feet towards himself, bracing his legs open and tilting his hips so Burr can see better, so that all of him is open. He squeezes, experimentally, around Burr's fingers, flutters tight at the entrance to his body. It's hard to stay lax and open, hard to control those muscles.

"You can feel for yourself," Hamilton offers, "anything, all of me belongs to you."

Burr always feels so helpless, swept away, when Hamilton opens his body to him, or vice versa. He can't held himself, as he hitches his hips forward, rocking Hamilton's body and his own up the bed, as if he is buried inside with more than just his fingers. He wants to drive Hamilton mad. To give him what he so often gives Burr.

He continues to finger-fuck him. Deft, hard movements, working against that spot, as he lays his body over Hamilton's, cocks pressed together, to whisper filthy things in his ear.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes. "You should see yourself, how well you take my fingers. Your body begging for it, Hamilton. You look like every man's fantasy--a pretty little omega, spreading his legs, eager for it. Do you know what you do to me?" and he grinds his hips down then, lets his cock drag against Hamilton's. Dripping slick between them.

A wonderful little idea, then, as he crooks his fingers.

"Should I let you fuck my mouth while you ride my fingers?" extends his tongue out and licks over Hamilton's jaw.

It's almost too much, the way Burr focuses on that place inside him. He is keen and focused, and Hamilton finds that he likes having that focus on him, quite a bit.

"Not an omega," he corrects, muffling a moan into Burr's mouth. "An alpha, who'd spread his legs for you -- let you take pleasure in me," and isn't that better, in some ways? A person not built to take penetration, but who would, who transgresses those boundaries, who enjoys it. There is a bit of an extra erotic thrill in the thought.

A frantic nod. "Yes, I want that -- I want to ride you, I want you to fuck me down into the bed and hold me so I can't move, I want you to come in me like you could seed me -- I've just been inside you, Aaron, do you want to lick me clean? Will you taste yourself on me?"

God, the thinks he says. He makes Burr want to push him down, to fuck into him, though they are not meant to. He has to fight with himself, to not do as Hamilton asks. Because Burr wants to surprise Hamilton with that, to do it well and proper. Not at the end of another sex act.

His cock, though--that is an adequate consolation prize. He's never had Hamilton's cock in his mouth while Hamilton is also speared on his fingers. Never worked at him in two ways like this. And he's tasted himself on Hamilton's fingers, on Hamilton's tongue, but never on his cock, and Burr is eager for it, sliding down the mattress, nuzzling against his length.

He thrusts his fingers rhythmically, but more teasing now. Makes Hamilton chase it, as he draws his lips over the head of his cock. Plush and unresisting and light--pushing down over the head and pulling back, flattening his tongue over the head. He is daring Hamilton to lose control, to push him down, and his finger fuck in harder, thrust against that place.

Obediently, desperately, he chases it: he is always ravenous, and he is ravenous now. Reaches for Burr, and his fingers go tight in Burr's hair, as he struggles, struggles not to pull. Hips fucking up, into Burr's mouth, and down, onto his fingers. He is whimpering; he feels yielding, pliant.

"I need it," he gasps, "I need it, Burr, Aaron," gone incoherent with the hot, spill-over sensation. Burr's fingertips swirl, pressing and pushing and channeling some sort of tight, needy, rapturous pleasure through his cock. Tosses his head back, spine gone tight and arched. As though something too large is being dragged through his body, some need, some sensation. He brushes Burr's hand away from the base of his cock, because if he goes knotted now he feels like he might die with it -- cock twitches, as he comes onto Burr's perfect tongue.

He does not thrash but goes liquid, melts into Burr's hands in sudden and sweet exhaustion.

Burr licks him clean noisily, wetly. Makes it clear how much he enjoys it, as he works Hamilton through that release. He is beautiful, wonderful, perfect, when his body is lost in this way, and Burr would give so much, so much to keep him this way always.

He draws his fingers out slowly--gently, so as not to hurt him, and then he presses down, covers Hamilton's body with his own.

"Was that good?" Burr purrs, petting his flank. "You were such a good boy--" a little whisper, as his teeth nip at Hamilton's ear. They should talk about Edwards--get a plan down, solid. But Hamilton is so welcoming like this, and Burr wants only to drape over him, to ignore the pain still throbbing in his face.

How long until Laurens comes knocking, after hearing that news?

He can't help sparing a glance at Theo, twisting over so he can see to check on her -- God help them, they're so lucky she's a deep sleeper.

And then he sighs and shivers, at the praise as much as the petting.

He gazes on Burr, eyes catching on the injury to his face. He touches it, so softly, the barely-there glide of fingertips. He shifts up to kiss Burr's swelling cheek, just as gentle, just as soft.

"If I could, I would spare you every pain," he whispers. Leans his forehead against Burr's, taking infinite comfort in Burr's weight on him.

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Private Storyline 9

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