At Burr's touch, a wave of desire slams into Hamilton. A wave, exactly the way one, in all of its painful force, could take a man off his feet if he wasn't careful swimming in some of the waters of Nevis. His hand slides to cover Burr's, hold him there. Ah, but Burr's eyes are so dark, fathomless.
"Powerful," and Hamilton's voice is choked and bitter. "Not even powerful enough to save myself."
He rallies, breathing shakily in. "And I would be shamed," he says. "To use another for my own pleasure and discard him without care -- that would be shameful. To indulge," and he shifts a bit closer, enough that he can feel the soft puff of Burr's breath on his own lips, "in passion, thoughtlessly, with no respect for an equal partner: that would be shameful." He lifts Burr's hand and presses his lips to the cool and chapped knuckles. "If you took pleasure where it was offered, on a battlefield, knowing death can take anyone without warning or mercy, you have no cause for shame."
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"Powerful," and Hamilton's voice is choked and bitter. "Not even powerful enough to save myself."
He rallies, breathing shakily in. "And I would be shamed," he says. "To use another for my own pleasure and discard him without care -- that would be shameful. To indulge," and he shifts a bit closer, enough that he can feel the soft puff of Burr's breath on his own lips, "in passion, thoughtlessly, with no respect for an equal partner: that would be shameful." He lifts Burr's hand and presses his lips to the cool and chapped knuckles. "If you took pleasure where it was offered, on a battlefield, knowing death can take anyone without warning or mercy, you have no cause for shame."