Laurens was once presented with an omega in heat, a prostitute, intended to make him a real alpha -- or some such nonsense. It was a disaster. The smell seemed to Laurens to be thick and cloying, almost sickly, and the man (for this was how Laurens' father thought that it would be most likely to appeal to him) was fretful and ill, experienced enough to be unimpressed with Laurens' efforts and gone enough to be incapable of hiding it.
Since then, Laurens has, honestly, done his best to disdain omegas entirely. And women, for that matter. If he is to have anyone, he prefers an alpha to be the one squirming on his knot -- and he adores, in turn, the feeling of being knotted. He had even worried, at first, that he was the one seducing Hamilton into something wrong, but it seemed he wasn't Hamilton's first, just the first that Hamilton really enjoyed.
And then there's Burr.
Perhaps it's that his attraction to Burr had time to grow before he knew Burr was an omega -- perhaps it's that Burr is as much a soldier as any of them. Perhaps it is that Hamilton adores him, and some of his affection transferred. Or that, instead of growing jealous and possessive -- or disgusted! -- Burr made a gift of Hamilton to Laurens, for the enjoyment of all three of them. In Burr's desire for acceptance as a soldier, he was willing to work harder than any of them, and he never grew petulant or shrewish. And his smell! If it is omega-sweet, it's in a way that reminds Laurens of scorched hazelnuts, low and rich and smoky. Burr's arousal is never unpleasant to Laurens' nose, and nearly always appealing. The hint of the feminine on him is even appealing.
He thinks often that he will never find anyone like either of them, not ever again.
"Aaron, is there--" He stops as the smell of heat hits his nose, drags at him like undertow. His instincts rear and hiss like jostled snakes, and he thinks something like, oh, this is what that's all about, before Burr barrels into him.
He thinks a protest manages to escape him before they make contact, but it's knocked out of him with the impact. Burr smells hot, sweat and smoke and salt, and Laurens hauls him up so he can grind just right, thrust his cock forward against Laurens' belly and press himself down on Laurens' length. He only twists around because then he can brace Burr against the dresser, rub himself hard where there is spreading wet at the junction of Burr's legs. It looks as though he's wet himself, like he's lost control completely.
Alexander should mind. He deserves to mind, he deserves to be upset if he lets an omega like this out of his sight, lets him be so provoked that he leaps for the nearest alpha. And this is an omega that is precious to Laurens, so there's no cause to hold back, no cause to stop --
No, that's not right. Laurens struggles to retain his thoughts in the face of this astonishing need, fueled like a smith's bellows by the gasps and the high-pitched whimpers and the pleading, God, the pleading.
Laurens becomes aware that he is growling possessively, muffling it against Burr's throat and the scent that flutters with Burr's pulse. This man doesn't belong to him. He belongs to Hamilton, and Hamilton belongs to him. And surely Hamilton cannot fault him for this. Burr is devastating.
Laurens shoves Burr's coat back off his shoulders, works at Burr's shirt and ends up tearing half the buttonholes. It is safer for clothes to be between them but better, better if they are not.
Somehow he manages to peel Burr off of him long enough to get him turned around and shoved forward onto the bed. Laurens pins him right away, teeth at the back of Burr's neck, one hand pressing firmly down between his shoulderblades, leaving him stuck and squirming. With the other, he yanks Burr's trousers, gets them only an inch or two down, only enough for him to work his hand in and fuck three fingers into Burr's cunt. He is rough with his fingers, and quick, because Burr's body is pleading for such abuses.
no subject
Since then, Laurens has, honestly, done his best to disdain omegas entirely. And women, for that matter. If he is to have anyone, he prefers an alpha to be the one squirming on his knot -- and he adores, in turn, the feeling of being knotted. He had even worried, at first, that he was the one seducing Hamilton into something wrong, but it seemed he wasn't Hamilton's first, just the first that Hamilton really enjoyed.
And then there's Burr.
Perhaps it's that his attraction to Burr had time to grow before he knew Burr was an omega -- perhaps it's that Burr is as much a soldier as any of them. Perhaps it is that Hamilton adores him, and some of his affection transferred. Or that, instead of growing jealous and possessive -- or disgusted! -- Burr made a gift of Hamilton to Laurens, for the enjoyment of all three of them. In Burr's desire for acceptance as a soldier, he was willing to work harder than any of them, and he never grew petulant or shrewish. And his smell! If it is omega-sweet, it's in a way that reminds Laurens of scorched hazelnuts, low and rich and smoky. Burr's arousal is never unpleasant to Laurens' nose, and nearly always appealing. The hint of the feminine on him is even appealing.
He thinks often that he will never find anyone like either of them, not ever again.
"Aaron, is there--" He stops as the smell of heat hits his nose, drags at him like undertow. His instincts rear and hiss like jostled snakes, and he thinks something like, oh, this is what that's all about, before Burr barrels into him.
He thinks a protest manages to escape him before they make contact, but it's knocked out of him with the impact. Burr smells hot, sweat and smoke and salt, and Laurens hauls him up so he can grind just right, thrust his cock forward against Laurens' belly and press himself down on Laurens' length. He only twists around because then he can brace Burr against the dresser, rub himself hard where there is spreading wet at the junction of Burr's legs. It looks as though he's wet himself, like he's lost control completely.
Alexander should mind. He deserves to mind, he deserves to be upset if he lets an omega like this out of his sight, lets him be so provoked that he leaps for the nearest alpha. And this is an omega that is precious to Laurens, so there's no cause to hold back, no cause to stop --
No, that's not right. Laurens struggles to retain his thoughts in the face of this astonishing need, fueled like a smith's bellows by the gasps and the high-pitched whimpers and the pleading, God, the pleading.
Laurens becomes aware that he is growling possessively, muffling it against Burr's throat and the scent that flutters with Burr's pulse. This man doesn't belong to him. He belongs to Hamilton, and Hamilton belongs to him. And surely Hamilton cannot fault him for this. Burr is devastating.
Laurens shoves Burr's coat back off his shoulders, works at Burr's shirt and ends up tearing half the buttonholes. It is safer for clothes to be between them but better, better if they are not.
Somehow he manages to peel Burr off of him long enough to get him turned around and shoved forward onto the bed. Laurens pins him right away, teeth at the back of Burr's neck, one hand pressing firmly down between his shoulderblades, leaving him stuck and squirming. With the other, he yanks Burr's trousers, gets them only an inch or two down, only enough for him to work his hand in and fuck three fingers into Burr's cunt. He is rough with his fingers, and quick, because Burr's body is pleading for such abuses.