Oh, he watches: and how. When Hamilton watches, he devours, consuming the lewd vision ahead of him with the same dangerous focus he brings to every obsession. And Burr is his obsession, now. There has never been anything so filthy and lovely, Hamilton is sure. It's filthy because of how completely Burr's composure has shattered; it's lovely even in Burr hurling himself into abasement.
Burr begins to come on his tongue, so quickly that Hamilton is stunned, almost forgetting to take advantage of it. But he catches Burr's wrist with one hand and holds his hand there, ensures he's in the right place to feel what Hamilton's about to do, and with the other hand sinks in two of his own fingers angled upwards, dragging them mercilessly along the clenching and spasming internal walls. His touch is possessive and proprietary, dragging out the length of that orgasm, forcing every spasm out, and making sure Burr knows exactly what Hamilton is doing to him.
And, at Burr's words, he laughs. He presses a soft (wet, filthy) kiss against Burr's knuckles, right where his fingers sink too shallowly into his body, just the way kissed Burr's hand not five minutes ago, before Burr flung himself headlong into wantonness.
"Why would I?" Hamilton returns. "Aaron," breathed against Burr's thigh, "why would I gag you when you say things like that?"
He releases Burr's wrist, undoing buttons with that hand, nudging Burr further onto the bed. Echoing the motion he made between Burr's legs, he slides the same two slick-soaked fingers into Burr's mouth, pressing down on his palate, making Burr taste his own arousal.
"Why would I bind you," and Hamilton has to swallow, moisten his dry throat, because, god, he cannot remain unaffected, "when I can watch you fuck yourself right here?"
Waistcoat and shirt, impatiently yanked off, and trousers undone; he doesn't take the time to divest with boots and stockings. If he doesn't get inside Burr absolutely right now, he might actually die.
"And why would I hit you," folding Burr's legs up and apart, pushing, pushing until he's straining under Hamilton, "when you're being such a perfect slut for me?" He takes himself in hand, rubs the almost-dripping head of his cock all along Burr's entrance, mingling them together. He lowers himself so his lips are at Burr's ear.
"You could have told me, Aaron," he admonishes. "Showed me how much you need it." He breaches Burr then, pausing as he feels Burr's entrance go tight just under the head of his cock. Just to enjoy the feeling. "I wouldn't have left you unsatisfied."
No more pauses, no going slow to let Burr grow accustomed to the stretch. Hamilton penetrates him fully, unyieldingly, sinking forward into the incredible silky heat of Burr's body. How Burr grips him, opens to him, clutches at him. He needs to knot this man. Can't help but be aware of the seed that has already taken root in Burr's fertile soil, and the thought does not diminish his enjoyment in the least.
no subject
Burr begins to come on his tongue, so quickly that Hamilton is stunned, almost forgetting to take advantage of it. But he catches Burr's wrist with one hand and holds his hand there, ensures he's in the right place to feel what Hamilton's about to do, and with the other hand sinks in two of his own fingers angled upwards, dragging them mercilessly along the clenching and spasming internal walls. His touch is possessive and proprietary, dragging out the length of that orgasm, forcing every spasm out, and making sure Burr knows exactly what Hamilton is doing to him.
And, at Burr's words, he laughs. He presses a soft (wet, filthy) kiss against Burr's knuckles, right where his fingers sink too shallowly into his body, just the way kissed Burr's hand not five minutes ago, before Burr flung himself headlong into wantonness.
"Why would I?" Hamilton returns. "Aaron," breathed against Burr's thigh, "why would I gag you when you say things like that?"
He releases Burr's wrist, undoing buttons with that hand, nudging Burr further onto the bed. Echoing the motion he made between Burr's legs, he slides the same two slick-soaked fingers into Burr's mouth, pressing down on his palate, making Burr taste his own arousal.
"Why would I bind you," and Hamilton has to swallow, moisten his dry throat, because, god, he cannot remain unaffected, "when I can watch you fuck yourself right here?"
Waistcoat and shirt, impatiently yanked off, and trousers undone; he doesn't take the time to divest with boots and stockings. If he doesn't get inside Burr absolutely right now, he might actually die.
"And why would I hit you," folding Burr's legs up and apart, pushing, pushing until he's straining under Hamilton, "when you're being such a perfect slut for me?" He takes himself in hand, rubs the almost-dripping head of his cock all along Burr's entrance, mingling them together. He lowers himself so his lips are at Burr's ear.
"You could have told me, Aaron," he admonishes. "Showed me how much you need it." He breaches Burr then, pausing as he feels Burr's entrance go tight just under the head of his cock. Just to enjoy the feeling. "I wouldn't have left you unsatisfied."
No more pauses, no going slow to let Burr grow accustomed to the stretch. Hamilton penetrates him fully, unyieldingly, sinking forward into the incredible silky heat of Burr's body. How Burr grips him, opens to him, clutches at him. He needs to knot this man. Can't help but be aware of the seed that has already taken root in Burr's fertile soil, and the thought does not diminish his enjoyment in the least.