Oh god, Hamilton is whispering sweet, filthy things to him, spilling down Burr's throat and Burr can only swallow it down greedily, working himself against Hamilton's leg, rutting like an animal.
God, he's stuck here, Hamilton knotted in his mouth, and when Hamilton reaches down to stroke that swell through Burr's cheek, Burr's hips jerk a final time as he comes hard in his pants, closing his eyes and muffling his moans against Hamilton's cock, feeling it twitch and dribble something more down his throat.
The cock is still stuck, knotted in his mouth, and Burr closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. When Hamilton says I love you, Burr is helpless, can do nothing but moan against that length, lost in the rush of endorphins, in Hamilton's promises to do filthy, filthy things to him. God, he wants that.
The knot finally goes down enough to slip out of his mouth, and Burr falls back into the grass, panting. There is no semen smeared down his face--the knot had seen to that, but there is a good deal of saliva, and when Hamilton leans over to see that he is okay he tugs him down roughly, connects their mouths, open mouthed and lazy and messy, smearing against each other.
A filthy thought, reaching into his pants to scoop up some of that semen and slick, bringing it up to Hamilton's mouth. Hamilton, whose pupils are still blown, opening for him, lapping at Burr's fingers and sucking them clean, until their mouths are connected once more and Burr can taste himself in Hamilton.
He feels his cock twitch, struggling to grow hard once more. Someone will have to put a stop to this, be the adult.
"We should find Washington," Burr tries to say, but his voice is hoarse, the way someone sounds when they have just been fucked in the throat. Perhaps it is best to allow Hamilton to make the plans.
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God, he's stuck here, Hamilton knotted in his mouth, and when Hamilton reaches down to stroke that swell through Burr's cheek, Burr's hips jerk a final time as he comes hard in his pants, closing his eyes and muffling his moans against Hamilton's cock, feeling it twitch and dribble something more down his throat.
The cock is still stuck, knotted in his mouth, and Burr closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. When Hamilton says I love you, Burr is helpless, can do nothing but moan against that length, lost in the rush of endorphins, in Hamilton's promises to do filthy, filthy things to him. God, he wants that.
The knot finally goes down enough to slip out of his mouth, and Burr falls back into the grass, panting. There is no semen smeared down his face--the knot had seen to that, but there is a good deal of saliva, and when Hamilton leans over to see that he is okay he tugs him down roughly, connects their mouths, open mouthed and lazy and messy, smearing against each other.
A filthy thought, reaching into his pants to scoop up some of that semen and slick, bringing it up to Hamilton's mouth. Hamilton, whose pupils are still blown, opening for him, lapping at Burr's fingers and sucking them clean, until their mouths are connected once more and Burr can taste himself in Hamilton.
He feels his cock twitch, struggling to grow hard once more. Someone will have to put a stop to this, be the adult.
"We should find Washington," Burr tries to say, but his voice is hoarse, the way someone sounds when they have just been fucked in the throat. Perhaps it is best to allow Hamilton to make the plans.