Good little alpha-- The words hit him right in the gut, reverberate through him, thrilling, rapturous. In no world besides theirs is this what a good alpha would do -- submit, be taken, but Alexander loves it, and so does Burr: he can smell it, he can feel it, in the fervent grip of Burr's hands and the way he has to pause and breathe. He likes Alexander's body. And there's another layer to it, too; a good alpha makes his partner happy. A good alpha fulfills his partner's needs. And Hamilton knows, headily, like he's doing just that, because Burr took him, while he was helpless, while he was asleep. Burr wanted him so much that he couldn't resist.

The shreds of the dream are still lingering, the fantasy, being held down and presented for breeding. Burr's words make his skin feel hot, light up a coil of excitement in his belly. "Yes," he begs, "yes, Aaron --"

Hamilton, in sex with Burr, particularly, is so often focused on pleasuring his partner -- but he cannot do that here, has no room, no leverage, no ability to do anything but take it. Cannot even coax his stumbling tongue into his usual inflaming words, his eloquence dashed with every thrust. He finds he has drooled on the pillow, his mouth slack, and he twists his head to the side and moans, helplessly.