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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"I don't know," he says, because he doesn't. His daughter had been in danger and he would not have stuck back. Would have prostrated himself before Edwards, taken every punch and done only what he could to curl his body around Theo. "I don't know. It is to my shame." Clutches on with the hand not wrapped around her to the lapel of Hamilton's jacket, pushes further against him, though already there is no space between them.

"I struck him back once when I was a boy, when he was beating Sally, but it only made it worse. Not for me, though I did receive a sound thrashing, but for her as well. I should never have thought to overpower him, until--" Well, until never. Until now. After Quebec, perhaps. But it hadn't been a concern with Montygomery. For all Edwards insulted the man in the heat of their argument, he thinks the two should have liked one another. If they had managed to be married before his pregnancy became apparent, and if Montgomery had not learned how Edwards treated Burr.

"He has you trained," says Hamilton, softly. He sort of curls himself protectively around Burr, tightening his embrace. If Burr is a sun-flower, straining towards him, then he will cast his sun's warmth and light without restraint.

"And now, striking you is not so easy," Hamilton points out. "He knows you have a faithful guardian, and that, when others become involved, they support the right of an alpha husband over that of a childhood guardian -- as is legally proper. So what does he do when he can no longer resort to fist?"

He feels a sinking, a twist in the pit of his chest.

"I think we should find Mr. Paine," he says, "and ask for a publication or two, perhaps ostensibly to strike back at the British mockery about you."

"A faithful guardian," Burr echoes thoughtfully, fingertips playing at the skin of Hamilton's face. Feeling, memorizing what is already memorized.

"To what end?" Burr asks. "You seek in this way to legitimize us more? I should think Paine's pen tired of little familial drama, yet the man is worse than a tittering maid...a very good friend to us, still," he adds, after a moment.

"What do you fear, exactly?" What does he think Edwards can do to them, without the law on his side? Simply stir up trouble?

"If I were him," says Hamilton, "I would begin by attacking the foundation of the marriage. This is what he did, by attempting to persuade you to leave and repudiate me. Presumably his next tactic would be to try and subvert me, by bribery or threat; this he may not feel would be effective, given my response to his violence towards you. So, then, there would be grounds to legally attack the marriage -- some of which he has already implied. If you were not competent to engage in such a contract at the time it was made, then it could be nullified by the relevant court, and he seems to have already asserted that you are unfit."

He is calm and blunt as he goes through the tactics. They enrage him, and they are horrifying slights against Burr, but they must discuss the possibilities.

"I believe setting a foundation of your competence may be best. Clearly, fact and law are on our side. However, I do not doubt Mr. Edwards' ability to find a judge who might be on his."

"And I do not doubt a court's ability to prove the incompetence of an omega regardless of their mental state. Yet we have Washington on our side, which seems as good as having a king, so long as the discontent regarding his leadership doesn't go anywhere." And that could be a problem, a large enough one to be their undoing, in the future. If they were not careful.

"You could simply kill him," Burr says, "and save us a good deal of trouble. How exactly does Mr Paine settle this foundation! What Edwards says is true: my very simply being here with little Theo would be enough to establish my incompetence in some courts. There are letters I've received, accounts of what some say, upon reading the news. About how sordid it is, to have me or a child here. Small mumblings of outrage, and other things--that the continental army is in such shape it must depend on babies and omegas to fight its wars."

Hamilton -- wisely or unwisely -- skips any response to the remark about murder.

"We have other omegas in the army," Hamilton points out. "Just recently, one approached me to find a safe space for a heat. And I think Mr. Paine could characterize it as an army so safe, so genteel, so civilized, that a babe can be safe in its midst. They do so love to characterize us as savages."

He sighs, kissing Burr's temple. "Perhaps I am blinded, but I don't think it sordid. I think you foolishly brave."

Theo has begun to fuss a little bit, not hungry, he thinks, just tired. It's about time she went back to sleep, so Hamilton does his best to summon that protective scent, over both of them.

"Oh, perhaps you are getting a little better at controlling your scent," Burr says, as he sighs as relaxes against him. Theo looks so sweet and precious, cuddling against him to sleep, and if they are luckily she will be out for a few hours, at least.

"I'm sure Washington didn't mean us to retire for the rest of the day. We should return to work, but I admit I am very comfortable here. You make the most inviting cushion." Another little sigh, different from the first.

"I don't think it wise to leave me or the alone, especially not here in our cabin, until we know Edwards has departed."

"I have fewer sharp edges than the none-so-tender straw," murmurs Hamilton, into Burr's hair. "Let's quiet and let her calm, and then perhaps we can take a moment?" And there is unmistakable invitation in that last question.

"A moment for what?" Burr whispers, even as he leans forward and connects their lips--a slow kiss, licking inward, and wrapping his hands around the back of Hamilton's head to keep him from pulling back. He could use this, now. This small moment of affection.

Pulls away and allows Theo to calm, head on his heart.

"It won't be so long till she is too old for this," Burr mutters, stroking over her head. "I suppose we are lucky in having so many close by who are willing to watch her."

"It will be a while yet," says Hamilton. "And I have great faith in our powers of innovation and contrivance, should we desire intimacy."

It isn't long before she's starting to drool, mouth open, fast asleep. They usually have her in a little basket when she does, near but not too close by the fire. Hamilton gingerly extracts himself from under Burr and fetches it, settling the blanket inside.

"Make sure she's enough to keep her warm--don't smother her," Burr fusses, but when Hamilton is back in range of the bed he is something like an octopus, wrapping around Hamilton and rolling them onto the mattress, though he is quite disappointed to find that kissing too aggressively renews the pain in his face.

So instead he takes pleasure in working around Hamilton's jaw, sucking and kissing and nipping. No need to avoid marks, as they once had to, and he takes great pleasure in leaving these small evidences on his body.

"How do you want me?" He asks, when he pulls away with a gasp, fluttering his eyelashes, doing his best to look pretty.

"Every way," Hamilton murmurs, "always." Hamilton rolls Burr beneath him, and nudges under his chin to his gland, where he bites a bit more firmly, possessively. His -- his. Burr doesn't belong to his uncle. Burr belongs to him. "I want to lick out your cunt. I want you to forget today, this week, for pleasure."

Burr cannot stop the little strangled noises, when Hamilton focusing his attention on his gland--bites harder than he normally does, enough to harder Burr's cock in his trousers embarrassingly quickly. Oh--the things Hamilton says, the filthy, filthy mouth on him.

"Think you skilled enough for that?" He teases, but in truth it never had taken Burr much to lose his head in the heat of moments like these. Always prone to asking and begging and poor decision making, when the blood pooled lower. Always quick to be driven wild with need. And there is something--some kind of feral delight in it. In knowing his face is a mess, darkening on two sides, sliced and bloodied, and he is here beneath Hamilton being ravished. As though he has just lost some fight, and Hamilton here claims the spoils.

"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.

Private Storyline 9

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