amrev_intrigues | Private Storyline 10

Private Storyline 10

Burr isn’t sure what comes over him. What drives him to wake up in their little cabin, which is much too muggy for it being still winter, feeling warm and ill but also needy, half-hard. Like the nights when he had been pregnant, and waking to pee meant also waking Alexander to offer him some relief in other ways.

He doesn't think it's a heat--isn't familiar enough with himself, yet, to recognize it this early. But--God, he needs. And he pains. He twists in bed, and Hamilton beside him stirs, but does not wake. His stomach is twisting, and he kicks the blankets off, nearly wakes Laurens, sleeping beside them--too cold, still, to separate most nights.

He can smell Hamilton, well, despite the bath he had taken before bed. He can smell the sweat, and the salt, and the pheromones that are always present, that mean Hamilton. He whines--a little, noiseless thing, that vibrates his chest. He wants him, god, he wants him, and he doesn't want to wait. They haven't talked about this--Burr using Hamilton while he sleeps, in the same way Burr wishes Hamilton to use him.

But. Well. It would be like a surprise, wouldn't it? And Burr would not begrudge Hamilton similar things, if he woke needy. So Burr's breath stutters out of him, as the grabs the edge of the blanket and peels it slowly down Hamilton's body, revealing pale legs that glisten in the dying fire light. God, he is beautiful, here in nothing but a nightshirt, and Burr feels like he can't breathe, when he lays a hand so gently on the back of Hamilton's calves, waits to make sure he does not stir, and slides those hands carefully upward, pushing up the nightshirt, revealing bare thighs, ass.

He reaches out, strokes up and down, drinking in the sound of his skin against Hamilton's. Up, further, until his hands come to the swell of his assk, and he squeezes the flesh, works it in his hands, until he parts him, and feels himself stiffening to the point of pain, at the sight of Hamilton's entrance contracting against cold air. He can't help himself. He can't help it. He wants to taste, needs to, and so he bends down, mouth hovering over, breath puffing hot against his hole. Extends his tongue and laps, and when it meets Hamilton's flesh he shivers, bites back a little moan as he pushes his face closer--licking and lapping and sucking.

They've never done this before. Never, and it feels so filthy, is so filthy, to be tasting an alpha in this manner, and he shivers, whimpers, thrusting against the bed at the same time he takes, ravenous, from Hamilton's sleeping form.

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Oh, yes, he is being penetrated, now, with fingers -- he can feel the difference, between the false dream and the real sensation. He gasps, and finds himself bracing his weight on his knees, to arch his back and expose himself. Present himself. He can feel his nightshirt rumpled almost to his shoulders, his bare skin exposed.

Burr's words, though, make tension leak out of him. If he were alarmed, or afraid, he would be awake. But he isn't. He is needy, instead. He is raw. He is more than a little bit overwhelmed, coaxed from unconsciousness in such a way.

Burr is -- his tongue, and his fingers --

He goes pliant, adrift, not all the way awake and not really asleep anymore either, though he whines as Burr's fingers curl just so, at the damp, hot breath against his hole and the tongue that chases the fingers inside. He trembles, and his toes curl tight as Burr opens him.

He almost doesn't want Burr to breed him. This is so good; his cheeks burn, as he hears the humiliating, wet sounds of desire that Burr makes against him. A groan, barely audible, vibrates into him. Burr stokes an inferno in him, a fire, a bliss. He is so hard, he must be dripping.

"Anything," Alexander slurs, "anything, I want you, I want," and his voice breaks into another gasp of pleasure.

God, God, he can't wait anymore. He can't help it. He needs, he needs, and Hamilton makes such wonderful sounds, half asleep, out of his mind, and so pliant, so unresisting, so good.

Burr withdraws his fingers, reaches between his legs to gather up slick again, smears it on his cock. Lines the head up with Hamilton's hole, and leaves it there, panting, overwhelmed at the sight. His omega cock, which has never been inside someone in such a way, nudging against Hamilton's entrance, which quivers and shine wetly, loose.

Burr pushes in slowly, savoring. The head breaches. Hamilton's body opens to him, and the head slips inside, and Hamilton is warm, so warm, that Burr has to take a moment, to keep from pushing down to the hilt in one thrust, to keep from releasing immediately.

He whines, digs fingers into hips hard enough to bruise, and pushes in another inch, slowly, skin dragging on skin. God, the sight of him, clenching, the sight of Burr's cock disappearing inside. More, he needs more--and he pushes, a slow, relentless thrust, until his balls hit against Hamilton ass, and he is sheathed completely.

He's inside Hamilton, inside. An alpha. And it feels so good. He dips his head, body quivering, to bite at Hamilton neck, to wrap his arms around him, to hold on as he struggles to catch his breath. But he can't help himself. His hips are wiggling, twitching, grinding, and he can't stop. Soon he is fucking--little thrusts that rock Hamilton up the bed, and getting steadily harder.

It's soft mewls that escape him as Burr presses inside, trailing to gasps; his body knows what to do, and how to relax into it, to welcome the penetration, and this instinct serves him well. His fingers curl against the mattress. He is taken. He is awake, now, and knows that there isn't a magic trick that will make him amenable to Burr's seed, that will render him fertile, but he indulges in the fantasy regardless. He likes the thought.

Hamilton's head tosses enough to shrug his hair out of the way, let him blink in the half-light --

Burr fits him like they were born for this. Not the helpless stretch he always had to bear with Laurens, the hint of pain. He feels himself wrapped snugly and securely around Burr's cock, feels its movement in the tender tissues inside him. No pain, though. When he gasps, it is only bliss.

It seems to him that Laurens carved out a space inside him, hollowed him in just the dimensions that would fit his husband. And he realizes Laurens' eyes are half-lidded, only, watching them. Awake.

If Hamilton were conscious, not caught so off-guard, he might be guiding Burr through this. Showing him the angles that feel the best, the pace that Hamilton likes. Now, Hamilton isn't remotely capable of that, and, if he was, he would be lost instantly: it is so overwhelming just to have Burr inside him, hardly even thrusting, just working at his insides with an eagerness that's more erotic than Hamilton dared to imagine. Grinding into him, little thrusts that make Hamilton choke on his breath.

He isn't sure how Hamilton stands it--the painful pleasure that comes from being gripped in such a way. He's hardly fucking, but the limpness of Hamilton's body, the warmth, the sounds have him always on edge. But he wants to fuck him, hard and good. Wants him to wake sore, in the morning. Wants him to not be able to move, without some twinge to remind him how well fucked he was.

Breathing, deep breathing, before he is able to move in earnest. But when he does, he does so hard, not stopping when his balls meet skin but further, pushing his pelvis into Hamilton's, rocking them up, up, up. Oh yes, Hamilton is awake now, and not just dreaming. His legs are sliding a bit, trying to find some purchase that is impossible, pressed down as he is, and he's making those wonderful, breathless sounds, as Burr punches the air from him.

"You take it so well," Burr says, as he pushes them together rhythmically, slapping skin, the head of his cock pushing against warm flesh again and again and again. "Such a good little alpha--who knew you'd like an omega's cock so much. Spreading your legs, opening yourself for it. You want me to come inside you, don't you? You want me to seed you?"

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.

He's drunk, off the sight of his cock spreading Hamilton open. Off the way Hamilton has to lay, take it. He's sweating, and panting, his muscles aching as he continues to thrust forward. He's draped over Hamilton now, moving just his hips, fucking hard and deep.

And Hamilton, god, Hamilton is half out of his mind. Choking little sounds, drooling, and Burr's cock is twitching, pulsing, throbbing aches as he drives forward, and he can't help himself, he can't--he bites Hamilton. The back of his neck, that place alphas sometimes bite, when they take someone forcefully, to keep them still.

He spills, choking against Hamilton neck, growling. He clamps down, and his hips stutter, hitching his cock further inside, grinding it against the end of that warm and wonderful space, pumping what seems like impossible amounts of spend.

He keeps grinding, twitching, biting, even as his orgasm winds down. He wants to knot, wishes he could, settles for pushing his balls against that entrance.

Burr's rhythm goes irregular, and Hamilton feels himself tensing and straining -- and Burr's teeth sink in and Hamilton cries out, thrashes in sudden, frenzied ecstasy, coming without being touched.

Burr grinds inside him, drawing it out, and Hamilton braces on one arm, reaching down to take himself in hand. Drags his grip, slow, milking himself of it as he feels the twitches of Burr spilling inside him. It is always so intimate, to feel someone's climax this way: to have it happen within himself. A different sort of intimacy, a sweet and enveloping kind.

He is trembling; his thighs are trembling, his arms trembling. He folds down onto the bed, every part of him just a hint sweaty, damp from warmth and exertion. From overwrought emotion.

Twitches and shivers, pinned by Burr's teeth and his cock.

Burr purrs, and soothes, once he has his breath back. Still on top of Hamilton, still inside of him, but softening, slowly. Pets down flanks, and presses kisses to his neck, his shoulders, and at length rolls off of him, to wiggle his way against Hamilton's side, wrapping his arms around him. Not caring for the wet spot on the bed.

He feels sleepy, and sated. Hamilton looks still dazed, a bit uncomprehending, and Burr leans forward to kiss him, slow, scratching at his scalp. Reaching down to squeeze his ass, so Hamilton can feel the dampness there.

"I'm sorry," Burr whispers, and pushes his head against Hamilton. "I couldn't help it. I woke up and--you were so good."

Hamilton is purring by the time Burr wraps around him, and it only grows more regular, smooth, content, once Burr is in his arms.

"I'd told you, you were welcome," murmurs Hamilton. "Didn't I?" He feels used, he feels good. The wetness has him flushing, again; what alpha takes such pleasure in this? But his embarrassment is interrupted:

"And he was good," comes Laurens' murmur, as he stirs. "You were good to him, too," to Burr.

"apologies for waking you," Burr says, sleepy. Gives a little pleased shiver against Hamilton, as his heart rate slows.

To Hamilton: "did you like that? We haven't done that before. Did I hurt you?"

"It was a lovely wake-up." Laurens shifts up behind Burr, cautious, as always, of his welcome. He kisses Burr soft on the back of the neck.

"No hurt in the least," Hamilton assures him. "You fit me perfectly, like I was made for you." He cups Burr's face in his hands, and kisses him. It isn't a neat kiss -- it's wet, and a bit off-center, and tired, and wonderful for all that. "Like I so often feel when I'm within you." Thumb strokes Burr's cheekbone.

"I find myself amorous," murmurs Laurens. "Could I perhaps follow your example?" he asks Burr. "Alexander seems so accommodating just now -- or I can take care of myself, or," and he strokes Burr's hip, "perhaps indulge in you."

"I feel that too," Burr says, very quietly, and blushing to have said it. He wraps a hand over Hamilton's wrist, just to hold some part of him.

"Oh," Burr breathes, at Laurens words. He feels that little buzzing between his legs, and it would be just as pleasurable to allow Laurens to use him while partly asleep, and he is tired, but--

The thought of Hamilton being used, while Burr is nestled and tested against him, also seems very appealing.

"Oh course, you have my permission to use his body," likes that Laurens is asking Burr and not Hamilton, but watches his husbands face regardless, to see if it is alright.

Laurens shifts up behind Burr, and his fingers trace up a thigh, a warning of his presence, and then dip and skim between his legs. "You're always so wet," Laurens marvels; "May I?" And Hamilton watches with dark, wanting eyes as Laurens presses his cock between the lips of Burr's cunt, uses his fingers to spread the moisture over himself. Moves back and forth, a tease, before pulling away, leaving smears between Burr's thighs.

He shifts around them, so he is behind Hamilton, now -- nudges him forward, and opens his legs, urging, until Hamilton realizes what he wants and hooks one leg over Burr, leaving him terribly exposed.

And Laurens seems hungry to see the sight of him, how his hole works against nothing, twitches, wanting to close. Hamilton is flushed. He is not aroused, but the aching, tired strings of arousal tug at his insides, as the remnants of one lover are observed by the other. He feels his entrance with such sensitivity, the brush of air, the drying slick and the semen that leaks from within, where Burr left him so messy.

He makes a little, wanting sound, and it seems to break the spell. Laurens plays the head of his cock up and down Hamilton's cleft, teasing as the head catches on his hole, making him twitch.

"Slut of an alpha," remarks Laurens. The press against Hamilton's hole firms, and then the head of Laurens' cock is inside him, smooth and slick, a stretch so wide -- And Hamilton's breath leaves him as he is penetrated, like Laurens is pressing the air out of his body. The stretch is so much, always just this side of too much. It is uncomfortable, and he is soft, still. But that's what he loves about it. He is used. It isn't about his enjoyment, and the act of submitting himself to Laurens' desire is an astonishing thrill.

He closes his eyes and presses his face against Burr as Laurens begins to fuck him.

Slut of an alpha--Laurens says, and Burr feels his dick twitch. Oh. And then, when Hamilton gives that little shiver, when his body begins to rock against Burr's, pushing both of them, with the force of Laurens' fucking. Well.

He's tired. And sleepy. And he shouldn't be hard again, shouldn't still want, yet--he does. He likes Hamilton like this. Likes him all the time, but likes especially the little fetching flush on his cheeks, the way his head is pillowed and limp and his mouth falls open and his eyes fall shut, when he is getting fucked just so. He likes the way Laurens teased him, the little humiliations, that blur the lines between alpha and omega, male and female.

Would like to make Hamilton watch, helpless, as Laurens used Burr's cunt, until he came hard--satisfied in a way Hamilton can't. Left him dripping white, seeded. And he can't get pregnant yet. Hasn't had a heat since the birth, so he isn't fertile, but--

Well. Laurens is busy. And there's something just as appealing jutting against him. His fantasy concerning Laurens is about Hamilton, at it's core. And Hamilton is here, helpless, easy to take advantage of.

Hamilton isn't hard. Not fully. But Burr is wet, and open. And he reaches between them, while Laurens continues his fucking. Wraps a hand around Hamilton's cock, caught between the tangle of legs, only just hard enough to slip inside, with the assistance of finger. A little wet sound, as the head pops in, and he wants to feel it firm up. Harden inside.

Closes his eyes and shivers, a too-loud, blissful exhale.

Edited 2022-07-13 07:53 (UTC)

"Oh," Hamilton gasps, "oh," as the familiar, soaking heat of Burr's body closes around him. He can't breathe; he clutches at Burr. God, God, he can feel how he swells, how it makes Burr shift around him, a movement-not-movement. His heartbeat seems to force blood into the tender tissues of his cock, a rough and bruising arousal. Burr takes him in, and Hamilton feels a strange sort of jitter of muscles inside him, an eagerness for the penetration that Hamilton doesn't fully register as out of the ordinary.

And Laurens fucks him. Laurens uses him in a way that Hamilton knows is designed to make Hamilton feel helpless and pleasured. Hard thrusts pantomiming ruthlessness, just enough that he has to squirm at the friction, not enough that he is hurt. Even the tight grip of Laurens' hands speaks of care.

He can't think, can't speak. He is an instrument between them, an intermediary, an extension of Laurens and an extension of Burr -- or he is something precious held between them, petted and pleasured by both. Both realities overwhelm him. His desperate breaths have gone quick. He is limp, allowing himself to be moved and manipulated.

Laurens shifts him, changes angle, and then he is instantly hard, air punched out of him as he cries out and twitches forward deeper into Burr. "There you are," Laurens murmurs, approvingly, and Hamilton is making these ah sounds as the air is driven out of his body.

"Too much, it's too much," he pleads, and now the ruthlessness is true, but it's pleasure, not pain. He cannot control himself. Burr's scent is delicious and Laurens' is dominating, and Hamilton is theirs. He surges forward and sinks his teeth into Burr's neck because he has to, he can't not, Burr is perfect and Laurens is perfect and he needs, he needs -- !

He thrashes as he comes, only Laurens' teeth on him preventing him from moving enough to buck Laurens off entirely. Laurens swells, and Hamilton is so used and sore that he bleats in protest but it is so good, too, being knotted. He doesn't know if he has a knot in him, after one devastating climax already, and "Aaron, Aaron, do you -- are you --" spilling from him. If Aaron's body is wrapped around him like this, he may swell into a knot regardless, even if it's brief.

Hamilton comes apart, jerking forward into Burr's cunt, and Burr drinks him in greedily. The helplessness, how overwhelmed he is. Burr works him, against his own body, his own blissful tightenings when Hamilton is rocked deeper by Laurens fucking.

Feels the hot spill of Hamilton's come. Feels the moment when Laurens knots him, through Hamilton's body, and he wants Hamilton to knot him, so Burr can fall asleep with him inside. So Hamilton can be fully held by both knots, immobile and used.

Burr hasn't come yet, so he reaches a hand between them and works his cock up and down, leans back a few inches so Hamilton can watch. Dragging a finger over his slit, again and again, smearing come, and then he jerks, a little, blissful sound, as he shoots between them.

He knots, he does, and it almost hurts as it swells. Something compels him to twitch forward, grind himself deeper into Burr as he knots him tight, bearing his weight down and pressing, pressing. He can't go far, though, because Laurens has him, entirely has him.

A tangle of limbs. He is tucked against Burr, cradled in Burr's body, spread and held on Laurens. He can't help but purr, strong and content, eyes closed, as Laurens pets him and murmurs something inaudible against his shoulderblade. Surely Heaven would look down in dismay on such debauchery, but Hamilton cannot deny his bliss, here and now. There is no happier place to be than this, a satisfied-omega smell and claiming-alpha both.

Burr falls asleep immediately--leaves Hamilton and Laurens to work out the messy tangle of limbs, to wait for knots to go down. He feels pleasantly warm, and safe, as he drifts off.

--

He wakes before either of them, the room smelling of sex and sweat and spend. Hamilton has been spirited away from him during the night, ass still pressed against Laurens, the two tangled together--(though, Hamilton's arm is stretched--what looks painfully--behind him, reaching towards Burr). He feels a little ill. A little queasy, and heavy with sleep. A bit unhappy, though he can't pin down why. When he moves he feels that stickyness between his legs, and that is satisfying enough for him to forget his foul mood, for the time being.

He feeds little Theo, but she too is tired, and full of milk is easily rocked back to sleep. No stirring from the bed, so he tucks her back down, dresses carefully and quietly, slips out to leave them be. He reports for duty early when he can, to make up for the long days when he was confined to bed, and the breaks he must take to nurse.

Washington is already awake, when Burr enters, though he is groggy still, and hardly nods when Burr slips in, bent over tea and hard bread. Burr starts in on his own stack of correspondence, but as time wears on his mood worsens, and his back begins to ache, and his stomach turns, and he feels hot, and queasy.

Washington asks after his health, but Burr brushes him off. He is sweating though, and shivering, just a little.

Hamilton awakens restless and hard and well-used. He arches to stretch himself, feeling the ache within him from Laurens' knot. The whole bed smells of Burr, and he finds himself nuzzling forward, sniffing at Burr's pillow. It makes something sweet and heavy settle within him. He adores Burr. He adores Burr. He wants to be making love to Burr right this moment.

He has to climb over Laurens to get out of the bed, and, entirely by accident, he finds himself settled on top of his old lover, a leg hooked to prevent him from escaping. Laurens rumbles at him and draws him down, and they are kissing, slow, wet, filthy. He melts on Laurens, and thrusts lazily against him.

"You were very good last night," Laurens tells him.

"Mm," acknowledges Hamilton, "your cock was very good last night." It makes them both laugh, a little, against one another's lips. There isn't time to indulge. Hamilton shouldn't feel so bereft at that. There's rarely time to indulge, and yet right now he seems to want it very badly.

He clambers out of bed, finally, traps his stubborn erection in his trousers, and reports for duty.

--

The smell of Burr hits him, as he passes close, in the office. He goes still as a wave of heat washes over him.

"Oh, God," he says, abruptly. He touches Burr's forehead, leans cautiously close to inhale.

Hamilton looks--Hamilton looks well. That is not quite right. He looks delicious, and beautiful, and Burr feels his heart stuttering in his chest at the thought that this alpha is his. He smells so good too, his scent washing over Burr in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat, in a way that enters his nostrils to settle tingling at the base of his skull.

He doesn't think he can stand it, if Hamilton touches him, and oh--Hamilton does anyway, and Burr finds his eyes fluttering closed, and he makes a little coo, a little whine, a little begging noise, so slightly, in the back of his throat. He gives a little shake, at cool flesh to his hot, sweaty brow.

He doesn't feel well. He feels ill. He wants to nest, to have Hamilton carry him away, but--

"Alexander," he says, "I don't--" I don't feel good, stuck in his throat. He wants to keep working, though. Is confident he can get through at least a little more. Besides, even if Burr is to return to bed, Hamilton won't be able to join him till he delivers Washington's morning orders. They might as well wait till then.

He reaches up, and wraps his hand over Hamilton's wrist, brings the hand down to his lips. Has to fight himself, to keep from sliding digits inward, from lapping over them, filthy. "You should to you work," he says, "at the very least. I don't feel so ill," he might feel better by then, he means. After taking tea.

Ill. He thinks he's ill! Ill, when he makes that sound at Hamilton's touch. No wonder he was so amorous early this morning, and no wonder Hamilton was so ardent in his response. No wonder the flush on him is so fetching, and his perfectly elegant form has such appeal. He wants Burr's throat in his teeth. He wants to feel his husband's purr from inside his cunt.

He is flushed, too, now. "You're not ill." He lowers his voice. "You're in season." Is it early, for a heat? Just on time? He wishes he knew, that there was a mother to advise Burr and counsel him.

He turns to Washington, who is pretending not to have heard. "Sir..."

Washington clears his throat. "You are both excused," he says. "Take rations enough, as, for the sake of troop discipline, your cabin should be sealed until the... illness is done."

Them both. Not Laurens. But Hamilton cannot think of any way to ask for Laurens to be added to their tally, not without revealing things best left unrevealed. Perhaps they can sneak him in at night?

"Oh," Burr says. Oh. That makes sense. It makes so much sense. He can feel it now, the hot warmth between his legs, the begining of slick. And he can feel the heat in his face, and the way his mouth has gone dry, and when he stands he is unsteady on his feet.

Burning not just from heat, but embarrassment too. He avoids Washington's gaze, as he moves to leave the room. But when he passes close to Hamilton he wobbles a bit. Sweating, just a little, and Hamilton smells so good. Maybe he can take him in the little entry hall. Maybe they don't need to wait to get back to the cabin, maybe--

A deep breath. He waits until the door is closed, before he pushes Hamilton back against the wall and sets himself on him, biting lips and scrabbling at clothing and thrusting his pelvis against a leg.

Hamilton didn't know -- God help him, he didn't know how Burr would smell, that it would be so delectable, so delicious that it altogether bypassed his nose, that he would feel it, obscenely, where his cock has started to swell. It is accompanied by a soft tenderness, an unbearable ache -- oh! This cannot be just an animal thing, thinks Hamilton, a rutting sickness; he can feel the tug of the connection between their hearts like it is something physical and keen, like they are bound on a higher, more rarefied plane. If it were rutting alone, Burr wouldn't just be drawn to Hamilton, and Burr ignores Washington, his strength, his virility, and lets himself be caught in Hamilton's gravity instead.

He is moving at the same time Burr is, breathlessly thrilled, like it's the first time they're touching, all over again. Burr is against him, grasping and biting. Hamilton finds it is simplicity itself to have his lover by the waist and turn them, capture Burr in the circle of his arms against the wall and press him there full-bodied, wet and needy kisses and the needy way Burr squirms against him, rolls his hips against Hamilton's thigh.

It is not enough, and though they can't have each other right here, Hamilton wants to feel the depth and breadth of Burr's desire. He works his hand in between Burr and his thigh, and presses the heel of his palm up between Burr's legs.

Oh -- there -- helpless slick slowly spreading through the trousers, damp against Hamilton's fingers. He can smell it. Burr makes such sounds, and Hamilton digs in, with his thumb, moving it back and forth as though to spread the wet up and down Burr's slit, though of course he can't, with the thick fabric in the way. "You're soaking through," and it escapes him in little more than a whisper, "you're filthy, you -- my darling, my darling little slut," and he wants nothing more than to thrust against Burr until he soils the inside of his trousers with male and female spend both.

Burr is overwhelmed by it; by the heat, and the need, the smell, and the feeling. Hamilton, pressing his back against the wall, between his legs and it is good, so good, and he needs more, he needs more--

"Alexander," he whines, in a desperate, pleading way. He can feel the muscles of his cunt contracting, trying to work against an intrusion that isn't there. And he's not standing so much as pushing down with the weight of his body, pressing against Hamilton's hand.

They can't do anything here, where they are, but god. Burr catches a glimpse--his eyes catch at Hamilton's eyes and can't look away. At his eyelashes, and the glimmer of damp, and he feels his mouth go wet, and open, and he wants, he wants so badly.

"Please," he says, "please, please, please."

He doesn't like being in the hallway. He wants his nest. He wants security. He wants Hamilton inside him, Burr pressed down into the floor with a cock in his cunt and fingers in his ass. And he feels himself growing fussy, distressed, at not having it.

Burr seems now to be everything Alexander has ever wanted. Would that they were already alone, that he were already so deep inside that Burr would feel him forever...

He bites at Burr's throat, lighter than he wants to. Pulling back is physically painful, makes him ache like a fever. "I'll find supplies," he promises, hoping that it won't be a promise he breaks. "Go to the cabin, I'll be there soon. Can you make it there?" Tender, but though he is protective of his husband, Burr has taught him enough to know better than to smother. To assume.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, wants to nuzzle against him. "You get more beautiful all the time."

Burr is able to come back to himself when Hamilton pulls away. His words are sweet sentiment that make his stomach flip, and he feels the heat burning through him, turning him wild. He wants Hamilton, but he wants to that privacy, and he knows that conceding here is the quickest way to get what he wants. So he grips on, presses desperate kisses to skin before breaking apart and hurrying away, to get to the cabin before the heat really does overwhelm him.

It is cooler outdoors, which helps. Draws attention to the dampness at his collar, breeze cutting through musk. He can smell the men he passes, the alphas, and his knees tremble. He wants only to fall to the ground, to present himself to them, to let them yank down his breeches and drive into that welcoming warmth--

He needs to control himself. The sickness, which had faded into heat, returns now at his abstinence. He reaches the cabin quickly, flings the door open and shut, falls back against the wood whimpering and panting, slick running down his legs. He needs, he needs, and his hand goes there, to that pulsating soreness, feels the wetness and presses and he moans, whines.

He doesn't realize Laurens is there until he hears the choking sound, and then all at once the smell is slamming into him--alpha. And he can't help himself. He can't. He opens his eyes and sees him, the pupils blown, and he can't help himself.

They haven't talked about it. Hamilton had said, before, that if Burr needed, and Hamilton was not available, he would be amenable to allowing Laurens as a substitute. But they haven't really, discussed it. Haven't agreed on anything. Haven't brought it up with Laurens.

And Laurens certainly is not willing to cheat with Burr. Had shown such, that night in the tent, when Burr had sat on his lap, felt his hardness against him, as Laurens took a swollen nipple into his mouth and sucked.

He can't help it. He's pulsing with it, with need, so much it hurts. He's across the room, pressing Laurens back against the dresser, kisses him through protest, bends him backwards and wraps legs around his waist to grind his cunt against that length that has never been inside him. He devours, fucks with his tongue at the same time he bucks his hips, a horrible degenerate thing, whining and whimpering and making those little sounds of needs.

"He wouldn't mind--" Burr gasps out, as he grinds against him. Chokes on his own pleasure, biting high pitched sounds into his skin. "He wouldn't mind. Don't you want me? I need it, Laurens I need it, please, please, give it to me, fuck me, take me, mate me, please--" babbling, mindless, wet sounds between them, rubbing slick soaked trousers over the hard length still trapped in Laurens breeches.

And he wants Laurens cock inside him. Right now, right this instant. He doesn't want to wait. He wants to taste him, his seed on Burr's tongue. Should die, for wanting it.

Edited 2022-08-06 03:53 (UTC)

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.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. He can't think beyond the primal, rhythmic pounding, the rush of blood in his ears, the rough wonderful pain as Laurens shoved thick fingers into his weeping cunt. He needs it, he needs it, and he twists against the bed sheets, bucking and trying to force himself down further, to well and truly fuck himself on those fingers.

The sound, oh, the sound, and the smell, the feeling, hot, warm, dominant alpha pressing him down, using him roughly. Burr can feel him, the press of him stiff against the curve of Burr's ass, and he wants him, needs him, writhes wildly as those fingers circle around something blissful inside. He clenches down, feels more slick, and it must be costing Laurens hand now, must be running down his wrist, but it's not enough. Burr is spasming, but the clenching is fleeting, and he is too empty, needs more, more--

He whines, an awful, sorrowful omega sound, before he is kicking out and throwing himself at Laurens, pushing until he is on top and Laurens it on bottom, and he tears at him, yanks down trousers and tries at once to seat himself on Laurens cock. He thinks of Hamilton, but it is a distant though, buried behind hormones and mad, uncontrollable desire. He tries to skewer himself, rubs his wet cunt over the length of him, but Laurens hands are there, clamping down over delicate hips, and Burr lets out a frustrated sob.

"Please, please, I need it, I need it--" he feels on fire, and his breath is coming too fast, and Laurens smells so good, so strong, so virile, and Burr needs to convince him, needs to present himself, needs to do better.

So that is when he bucks again, slides down and swallows Laurens in one needy, pleading gulp.

The passage into Burr's body seems even tighter than usual, though so slippery, so soaked, that Laurens can hardly believe it. Burr is always so wet, so willing, but this is something altogether else. It seems thinner, this wet, and it drips; Laurens cannot recall the other omega he experienced in heat doing anything quite this demonstrative, and he can't deny that it affects him. Burr's body seems to run wild with the need to be penetrated.

He should have Burr well-pinned, and his attention is entirely on the squelch his fingers make as they dig in, make Burr shake for it. This must be how Burr is able to squirm away from him, that and his feral instinct giving him an unaccustomed strength.

"Aaron--" Laurens cries, in protest -- "Hamilton, remember --" And his hands dig in at Burr's hips, holding him still, trying to hold him still, even though Laurens' own length strains to bury itself. He would gladly mate Burr, mate him over and over. "Alexander!"

But this doesn't seem to have the desired effect, as Burr swallows him down, and, God, he wonders if Alexander has been using Aaron's throat more than he thought, because Aaron takes him better than any slut, any whore Laurens has known. The strength of desperation? But his throat shudders at the tip of Laurens' cock, and his tongue works and works on the underside, and Laurens cannot breathe. His hand fists in Burr's hair.

Burr doesn't hold back. He hurts, and he needs, so desperately that he feels like he'll tear apart at the seams. He drives Laurens' cock in and out, makes sloppy, choking sounds, drips drool all the while he can feel the liquid staining his thighs. He whines while he does it--that omega begging sound, that please fuck me sound--so that his throat works harder against Laurens' cock.

He sucks hard. Pulls Laurens' orgasm out like something resisting, swallows those profusions down greedily, and all the while his hand squeezes and works there where his knot should be. But there is no knot, and Laurens is still hard, and Burr pulls off, come dripping down his chin and will at once seat himself, if Laurens does not stop him. Will grab his wrists and hold him down and take what he so desperately need.

He's crying now, and trembling all over, and begging, pitiful mewling. I need it, I need it, please, please. Thinks he will run out of the cabin naked, if Laurens will not give, will throw himself onto the grass and spread his legs and let them use him. He feels his mind straining, beneath the smells, a camp full of Alpha's, and he needs, he needs, he needs.

It has taken Alexander interminably long to get everything that they need. He had to argue with the quartermaster, which he did with a sharp and lashing tongue -- was flagged down by someone else who needed orders, and he barely remembers what he said. When he gets back he can smell a hint of Burr's desperation through the door. Pushes in, already putting down the rations in his hands and kicking the door closed before he even sees --

He is brought up short. Burr is trembling and writhing, struggling against Laurens, struggling for more, Alexander immediately recognizes. Burr is wanton and fevered, sweating all over, naked, mewling, and wet, wet, so wet. When Alexander freezes it is in astonishment at it (the sounds that Burr makes, the pure and pleading sounds). Not, he is distantly surprised to find, possessiveness or anger. Why isn't he jealous?

Because there's nothing to be jealous of. He's here. They're all here. They're together. Laurens smells just as right as Burr does.

He sheds his clothes frantically, tearing and stumbling, and when he is on the bed it is to press Burr between them. He does not hesitate. His cock finds the soaked place between Burr's thighs and -- oh, Burr right away is spreading his legs and baring his neck for Alexander, is clinging to Laurens and weeping and coming close to presenting himself, as close as he can get.

Alexander finds his hands tangling with Laurens' on Burr's hips, holding him steady. There is nothing, nothing like this, the eager, rippling muscles in his mate, a cunt gone fever-hot and gripping Alexander the same way Burr clings to Laurens beneath him.

Alexander fucks him hard, just like he needs. Like they all need.

Edited 2022-08-16 11:28 (UTC)

He shivers--a full body trembling right down to the core of him, as Alexander pushes in. Let's the upper half of his body go limp against Laurens while he pushes his ass up, presents himself, a good omega.

It feels so good. It's perfect, that passage inside of him spread apart by the head of Hamilton's cock, the slick displaced, squelching and running down between where they are joined, where Hamilton's balls are pressed between them.

Perhaps if he had not been forced to wait, and the abstinence had not driven his heart higher in the fervor of absence, he would not come immediately. As it is, he begins jerking straight away. His knees and legs clenching inward as he shakes on Hamilton's cock, his cunt gripping and pulling and urging Hamilton deeper.

He whines, and moans, and does nothing to control himself. The smell, begging to be fucked, seeded, even as Hamilton drives into him. He needs more, his body pulsing painfully with an orgasm that can't satisfy him. He needs more.

Each thrust pushes him down against Laurens, grinds his cock near the spot where Hamilton is inside him. And Burr squirms, wiggles with each movement, until the head is catching there against the stretched ring of muscles where Hamilton drives relentlessly forward.

His mate, his darling, darling mate, in such need, in such violent desperation. And he has the solution. He presses in so deep, rolls his hips like he could find somewhere deeper still. And his -- his second mate? Pinned beneath them both, unsatisfied. Both of them, they belong to Alexander, and they are unsatisfied.

He stretches up to bite hard at the scruff of Burr's neck, to keep him still, and he pushes Burr's thigh up, widening the space between his legs. He has to stop thrusting, just for the moment -- hence the bite. Burr has to be still. It would be better if he would go sweet and limp for Alexander, though Burr is so wild that this seems unobtainable.

Alexander draws his hand up Laurens' swollen length, directs the head to press between the soft lips of Burr's cunt, where Alexander's cock has him stretched tight. Slips fingers in alongside his own length, and spreads those to make room --

Oh, it must hurt, and now Alexander releases the scruff. Where his teeth sank, he bathes in long licks, grooming and soothing as his hands go to Burr's hips and angle and pull him down so he's strained-tight around the two alphas who are so devoted to him.

The sounds Laurens makes are choking, and his hand covers Alexander's, to clench spasmodically on Burr's hip. Alexander almost doesn't notice. Burr has never been so tight, and Burr's sounds are distressed; maybe it is that they won't fit. That would be the height of unfairness, now -- Alexander knows Burr, remembers Burr's exquisite rapture at taking them both once before. Surely Burr would want this again. Surely Alexander belongs this way, nestled against Laurens, inside his husband. Surely -- !

He hitches forward and meets Laurens halfway in the wet, glorious kiss, the ravenous kiss. They share breath, and Burr sounds as though his has been driven entirely out of his body. Like there is not enough room in his slight form for both of them, and for his lungs to expand.

"My slut, my beautiful slut," Alexander says, like a prayer, nosing against Burr's neck. "Is it enough? Is this enough for you?"

Edited 2022-08-20 19:20 (UTC)

It hurts. He can feel the stretch, his hole burning as Hamilton fits Laurens cock inside, and he bucks, his muscles clenching and giving out, and when his trembling legs do go limp, Laurens is only driven deeper beside Hamilton. He can feel the way Hamilton retreats and Lauren's cock just forward to eat up the new space. There is no place inside him that is not stretched and used.

They're inside him. They're both inside him, and he feels mad with it, that he wants this, that he wants them both to knot him, mate him, breed him. And the though of both of their releases, swirling and mixing together by the motions of their arousals somewhere deep inside him, where it might catch and thicken him and they wouldn't know--it makes him wild.

He is limp now, between their bodies. He is trembling, sweat beading down his head, and his chest heaving. And he's mewling, and his knees are catching against the mattress though he cannot support himself.

"It hurts," he says, voice shaking, even as he bucks his hips again, tilts his ass up, so that he can feel more the helpless spasming of his entrance. "oh, please," he says, doesn't know what he's asking for, as he clenches down hard again and chokes.

He wants them both. But he can't, can he? They won't fit. But he wants it. He bites down on Lauren's neck, on that place mates bite. Hard enough to break skin, because he wants it. And he wants Hamilton to keep going. Reaches back, urges him harder, faster.

Edited 2022-10-29 07:08 (UTC)

He takes them fiercely and mercilessly, a claim over them both. Laurens, accommodating, and Aaron, helpless. The impossible grip of his mate's body. Warm, thick smells, musky, animal.

He can be forgiven, perhaps, for not lasting long under those circumstances. Even if the muscles still pull a little inside him from where he was taken already twice this morning. Even the slight swell of his knot can't fit past Burr's terribly stretched and battered entrance, and this is intolerable.

Hamilton grabs on to Burr, bodily, and flips him over onto his back next to Laurens, surging on top of him. His knot presses in easily, swells fast, and he sinks his teeth hard in at Burr's gland, canines breaking the skin, swell of sweet blood on his lips and his cock deep in Burr's body, which pulses, flutters around him as Burr's cunt milks pleasure from his knot. Burr's cunt must have been worked so hard it's tender, because it engulfs him in the softest heat he's ever felt. Soft, welcoming, wet heat, and he is lapping up the trickles of blood, bathing Burr's throat in long licks, when he realizes: he has mated Burr, truly, now, in the most primal of ways. Burr is his, and with that immensely pleasurable thought, he feels himself release into Burr's vulnerable womb.

The purr that rises in him is answered outside him. A nuzzle at Hamilton's own throat, slow licks where he is sensitive, and he arches a little, bares his throat to Laurens's attentions. Because it is Laurens, halfway up, one hand on Hamilton's shoulder, nose buried in the soft flesh under Hamilton's jaw. His body remembers Laurens penetrating him, biting him, doing both with Burr's approval. Why does this feel right, this way? Why does it set him at ease that Laurens takes Hamilton's scent on him, breathes it in the way he does?

Laurens helps guide them when Hamilton instinctively shifts, instinctively wants Burr laying on his chest. And then Laurens nudges Burr's thighs farther apart and -- ahh, his hot breath, and then his tongue must be lending Burr some special torment, either on his cunt's lips or at his other passage, because Burr shifts up and goes a little tighter on Hamilton's knot. Hamilton takes his cock in hand, and doesn't even have to coax it to hardness -- Burr is hard and desperate, and his cock weeps wet almost as much as his hole does. He is a mess.

Burr whines out his displeasure when Hamilton pulls him bodily away, when Laurens cock slips out, doesn't slip, nothing so gentle as the rough pull of his cock head against Burr's entrance. But that whine becomes choked into silence, into a moan, when Hamilton forces him down and knots him. His back rises off the bed when Hamilton bites, and a wave of pleasure courses through him, and he can feel the way his body clenches and squeezes over the width of him, the knot that seems to stretch even as Burr can feel the fluids of his arousal leaking out loose beneath the knot.

He's never been mated, like this. Well and truly. He is Hamilton's, and they are married but they are mated now, in the proper way. He closes his eyes and focuses, hard, to feel the pulses of the cock inside him, seeding him. He shifts, clenches, to milk out more, to be good for his mate.

And he's never been mated like this, when Hamilton's seed could take. If he weren't caught up in the heat sickness like he is now, he would not act so. But he is caught up, and he whines and squirms and begs with his scent. Fertile and breed me and yours. The scent and omega makes when he is desperate for something, when he wants to be seeded with a child.

And he's licking then, as Hamilton shifts them, licking up Hamilton's collarbone and his neck and his eyes are closed but he collides and--oh, yes, he is kissing Laurens then. Lazy kisses, faces pressed against Hamilton's body, all of them together here, together, but not as much as they should be, and--

Burr jerks when Laurens licks him. Pulls away and goes behind him, circles his tongue and Burr's legs fall open impossibly wider, speared open on Hamilton's cock. He's panting straight away, trembling, when Lauren's pushes his tongue forward around beside Hamilton's cock.

Hamilton thought once, before, that Burr didn't know the paternity of their child. That too many were needed to satisfy him. All Burr knows now is that he needs, desperately. He's squirming them, pulling at Hamilton's knot, fucking those bare few centimeters he can, whining and begging and needing.

"More," he says, and the heat surges again,"please please please please please."

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