He means it, he had no expectation of this -- but how can he be expected to decline when Burr presents himself so well, when his legs would look so good wrapped around Jefferson's waist? Maybe he should let himself go a bit wild, and take what he wants.

He sends another nervous glance at the door. "We can't -- we'll be caught." They have another few moments, but likely no more. His hips are rolling against Burr's, a parody of fucking, a simulacrum of what he really wants to do, which is to feel again Burr's silky, wet passage, to watch him come apart, to control the sway of his hips. Burr's hand wraps around him, and he's halfway gone, nuzzling at Burr's throat and pressing ardent kisses up his jaw.