Evidently, Hamilton's much-vaunted intellect is failing him, right now, because we must be quick and quiet doesn't process until Burr's fingers are already loosening the ties, then: "Oh, f--" and Hamilton bites back the curse, as Burr's hand wraps around him. In an instant, his blood is pounding in his ears, thickening in the length that grows at Burr's effortless command.
He muffles desperate sounds in between Burr's fingers, sucks hard on them, his lips quickly messy with saliva. At first, it's all in his head to ensure that he doesn't hurt Burr in the way he did the last time (he could see those aftereffects, and was determined to control himself when it came down to it) and then -- the incredible, wicked tongue, lips working their way down him. Oh, he's trying, he's trying, even as Burr tongues and toys with the sensitive base.
And Burr seems just as hungry for it. Hamilton's resolve weakens, and his fingers have tangled in Burr's hair without him even realizing -- and Burr is -- he's letting Hamilton draw him down, taking it, all of it, his lips stretched, and he --
Hamilton whites out a little as Burr seals his mouth over the swell of the knot, shocked at the impossibility, how filthy it is to have Burr trapped like this, to use him in such a way. Hamilton curls up a bit, releasing Burr's hair, only to touch that straining cheek, stretched tight over his knot, and when he presses, he can feel the touch from inside Burr's struggling mouth, his thick weight pressing down the hot trapped muscle of Burr's tongue.
A tremulous breath, one that might carry further than just the two of them. Better judgment driven from his mind. His hips twitch up and he comes down Burr's throat, fierce pulses of seed that Burr has no choice but to take. It is so tight on him -- the ring of Burr's lips, his nose pressed into wiry hairs. He feels as though he owns Burr, and that he is in return claimed.
It takes him long breathless moments to recover any of his faculties -- oh, gods, why had Burr borne down on him like that, opened up to the knot, and Hamilton squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will it down.
"You are filthy," he gasps, "you -- oh you're perfect, Burr, you're incredible, you vixen, you siren," keeping his voice hushed. When he takes himself in hand, strokes himself to orgasm, he rarely knots at all, and when he does, it isn't for long -- something about Burr just brings this out in him, makes his body want to stake fierce claim and pleasure the omega in the process. He can't tear his eyes away, fingers tracing the stretched mouth, the swollen cheek, this was a quick climax, it can't take very long.
French spills from him, something about the little death and casting himself willingly to the waves, if Burr is the siren tempting him, some nonsense about the heat of his tongue and his devastating beauty, and English again as he promises: "I'll have you coming on my tongue tonight, as many times as you can take, until you're soaked for me, I want you tonight. I want you every night. I love you, I love you."
He fiercely pictures someone finding them, discovery by the least erotic people possible, and finally the knot starts to go down.
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He muffles desperate sounds in between Burr's fingers, sucks hard on them, his lips quickly messy with saliva. At first, it's all in his head to ensure that he doesn't hurt Burr in the way he did the last time (he could see those aftereffects, and was determined to control himself when it came down to it) and then -- the incredible, wicked tongue, lips working their way down him. Oh, he's trying, he's trying, even as Burr tongues and toys with the sensitive base.
And Burr seems just as hungry for it. Hamilton's resolve weakens, and his fingers have tangled in Burr's hair without him even realizing -- and Burr is -- he's letting Hamilton draw him down, taking it, all of it, his lips stretched, and he --
Hamilton whites out a little as Burr seals his mouth over the swell of the knot, shocked at the impossibility, how filthy it is to have Burr trapped like this, to use him in such a way. Hamilton curls up a bit, releasing Burr's hair, only to touch that straining cheek, stretched tight over his knot, and when he presses, he can feel the touch from inside Burr's struggling mouth, his thick weight pressing down the hot trapped muscle of Burr's tongue.
A tremulous breath, one that might carry further than just the two of them. Better judgment driven from his mind. His hips twitch up and he comes down Burr's throat, fierce pulses of seed that Burr has no choice but to take. It is so tight on him -- the ring of Burr's lips, his nose pressed into wiry hairs. He feels as though he owns Burr, and that he is in return claimed.
It takes him long breathless moments to recover any of his faculties -- oh, gods, why had Burr borne down on him like that, opened up to the knot, and Hamilton squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will it down.
"You are filthy," he gasps, "you -- oh you're perfect, Burr, you're incredible, you vixen, you siren," keeping his voice hushed. When he takes himself in hand, strokes himself to orgasm, he rarely knots at all, and when he does, it isn't for long -- something about Burr just brings this out in him, makes his body want to stake fierce claim and pleasure the omega in the process. He can't tear his eyes away, fingers tracing the stretched mouth, the swollen cheek, this was a quick climax, it can't take very long.
French spills from him, something about the little death and casting himself willingly to the waves, if Burr is the siren tempting him, some nonsense about the heat of his tongue and his devastating beauty, and English again as he promises: "I'll have you coming on my tongue tonight, as many times as you can take, until you're soaked for me, I want you tonight. I want you every night. I love you, I love you."
He fiercely pictures someone finding them, discovery by the least erotic people possible, and finally the knot starts to go down.