private storyline...... 3!!!

[non_stop]

Hamilton tells Washington, that day, that Burr's uniform had been ripped by the laundress, and that he had to go into town to repair it. Washington, who favors thrift and also a polished appearance by his subordinates, accepts this well enough. It is certainly a better excuse than some others Hamilton has invented, whole cloth, for his friend.

And Hamilton, quietly, that day, first takes pen to paper.

New York City, 23 Apr. 1775

Forgive the lack of salutation; I do not seek to compromise you or your privacy.

My tongue, I find, is inadequate to the task before it. How can it convey the profuse and overflowing sentiments of my heart, when it is struck dumb at the sight of you? I know you are not so sentimental, and your patience for such things is thin. I beg your indulgence.

As air lends a vivifying element to the blood by means of the lungs, as water does the same by gill, so you have lent me that which previously I knew not. In the nights that I have such blessing as sharing a bed with you, it seems to me that you breathe but that I am the one animated. My blood stirs. New organs of thought and feeling have awakened within me. I was asleep; I was insensible. I thought I knew what there was to know of this world because Death has walked my path, stalking a step behind me, cutting down the few that dared to give freely of themselves to me.

I was foolish. Forgive me. I did not know that the future could bring with it

At this point, Hamilton is interrupted, sent on an errand. He folds the paper and slips it among those in his personal correspondence, carried in a satchel.

He does not finish the letter that day. He is sent overnight to courier orders to a nearby group; though merely a captain, he has the knack already of wheedling superior officers into doing what Washington wants.

The day after, he returns after Burr has already left his room. He tucks the unfinished letter onto the desk, intending to come back to it later.

A quick tour by the cook has her weighing him down with an entire basket of food, as she apparently has come into contact with one of the widows he's been supplying. "Bless you," she tells him, "little Patty has croup, and I've sent mulled wine for her and the rest of the Westerings. And a letter for my sister. Be off, now!"

"Madam," Hamilton says, "how could you say such a thing to me? You banish me from the presence of an angel. What is my crime, to be so cast down?"

The cook, who is dumpy and short, with a broad, friendly, ruddy face, and also a good forty years on him, gives him a merry laugh. "You rogue! Out of my kitchen."

"Any way I may be of service," Hamilton vows, with an answering grin, and slips the letter in a pocket. He does take the wine by the Westerings, and then the letter next door. Two more visits, and the basket is emptied, and he's on his way back to the camp.

He doesn't notice the man until he steps out in front of Hamilton, shaky and pale and lips thin. "You!" the man calls. "You! Captain Alexander Hamilton!"

"Aye, I am he," Hamilton admits, suddenly wary.

"I charge you!" And Hamilton realizes this man isn't any older than he is. Younger, in fact, scrawny, though maddeningly taller. "You have ravished my sister and got her with child, and you will answer!"

"You have mistaken me," says Hamilton, coldly. "I have done no such thing."

"You cannot hide your crimes," insists the youth. "She swells daily, and you prance about the city as though you are above the law!"

"I have gotten no one with child!" Hamilton snaps.

"You visit her--"

"I visit many." Then, on realizing how that sounds: "To bring bread to those in the city who cannot obtain it themselves!"

"Sir, you will answer. I challenge you." The youth is pale. "I challenge you."

An hour later, Hamilton stands before Washington's desk. Burr, Laurens, and Lafayette are all present, maddeningly.

"I swear to you, sir, I was not responsible for her state," Hamilton vows.

"Hamilton." Washington sets his spectacles down hard on the desk. "I know you have spent many weeks bringing food into the city. I have turned a blind eye."

"I had no improper motives--"

"Shut up. I can't turn a blind eye to this." He rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Accept the man's challenge or a court martial."

Hamilton pauses.

"What is your choice?" asks Washington, impatiently.

"Both," says Hamilton.

Laurens drops a sheaf of papers.

"Son." Washington sounds weary.

"I want the chance to prove myself innocent, and I cannot back down from a challenge of honor. Sir." A beat. "If court finds me not guilty, then perhaps he will withdraw his challenge."

A gamble. Hamilton is not one to back away from such gambles. Nor from challenges.

"I'll sign the orders," Washington says, finally.

Comments

[slowtoanger]

Burr nuzzles his head against Hamilton's chest, against his scent gland. He wants to smell like Hamilton--wants everyone to know that he is Hamilton's omega, and this child will be theirs. Brings his lips up and kisses there, to that spot where the scent is strongest, nibbles, sucks. Enough to fluster Hamilton--tease him.

He lets out a content sigh and stills, sliding down to hear Hamilton's heartbeat. The stress of the past few days dripping out of him.

"When are we going to be married?" Burr asks. "And rings, we'll need rings." His hand fiddles with the chain he wears around his neck. "I'll want to wear Monty's, too," he says, quietly, afraid Hamilton will begrudge him this. "And maybe Washington will allow us to share quarters, officially. Maybe he won't send me away."

[non_stop]

So many nights, carefully laying himself out under Burr so his scent is there, but that it won't rub against him, won't transfer in any way palpable around their uniforms... The freedom of this is a rush. The way Burr lavishes attention on the scent gland makes Hamilton breathe in sharp, has his mind fuzzing out. Loses track of what they're talking about, for a moment, and has to bring himself back to the present.

He reaches up, and closes Burr's hand around the ring. "Of course you will," he says. "Aaron, I'm not -- okay, I am jealous," he admits. "But." It's hard for him to explain, because it's hard for him to understand, really. A small part of it is: a dead man can't be a part of Burr's life, going forward, and it's hard to begrudge him a past that Hamilton wasn't there for. But maybe it's more that he knew he would have to open his heart to more than one person -- the baby has been inextricable from how he thinks about Burr, since he came back from Quebec.

He places his hand, gently, on Burr's abdomen. He swears he can feel the pulse of lovely, vital energy.

"But I'm also not jealous," he concludes, hoping Burr can understand even a fraction of what's going through his mind.

Oh. Rings. "You may have to settle for homemade," Hamilton says, "at least, until we get rich after the war." Strange combination if humility and cockiness, there.

[slowtoanger]

He likes it when Hamilton touches his stomach. Likes it when Hamilton lavishes attention on it, the little looks he seems to shoot Burr, when they are going about their duties, the small attentions. Care, though he had begrudged Hamilton those things in the past, when he had still viewed each interaction as a struggle, one of the desiring to come out on top.

"Hamil--Alexander." Burr says, allows his voice to dip low, silky, watching Hamilton's face, the small shudder. Smiles. He likes this power he has, this effect. Would like to break a few decency laws, if they had not only just returned from another legal matter. Dips down again to suck on a patch of skin beneath Hamilton's ear, threads his fingers through Hamilton's hair. He has always loved Hamilton's hair, and how he can touch it whenever he pleases.

He has no doubt the two of them will be unstoppable after the war. If he had thought at any time his lust for Hamilton might lessen that lust for power, he is wrong. If anything it only wets it, the idea of the bodies entwined both in private and in government, doing awful things to each other where there should be only dignity. But his excitement is also tempered, by the need to reassure. His knowledge of Hamiton's upbringing, the poverty, the fight for affection and attention he would never receive. He would invite homemade rings from Hamilton, even if in married life they had to live in poverty.

"I love Montgomery," Burr says, pulling away, to rub his thumbs beneath Hamilton's eyes. It is hard to say this, but it is true, and they are to be married regardless, so his hesitance is absurd. "But I love you too."

[non_stop]

He does so cherish even the smallest crumbs of affection -- and Burr offers him a feast. His eyes flutter closed, at the touch; they spring open at the words.

"Oh," just a small sound, escaping. He doesn't even think of what he should say in return, at first, so preoccupied with absorbing those words, sheltering them in his mind, layering them over and over with the feeling of this moment, until they fossilize in perfect impression, exquisite detail.

[slowtoanger]

It would be easy to be offended, when Hamilton fails to return Burr's words, but it's easy to see how overwhelmed he is. His pupils are blown, from Burr's earlier treatment, but he seems breathless, speechless.

Burr grins wickedly. He knows how to extract what he wants from one less than willing. And bending down to latch his lips back onto Hamilton's scent gland is a pleasure in of itself. Not nearly as pleasurable though, as the way Hamilton gasps and digs his fingers into Burr's shoulders, angeling his head back.

He revels in the sound of Hamilton's moans as he works him over, his other hand smoothing down Hamilton's side to grip tight over the growing bulge in his pants, squeezing once, twice, while Hamilton writhes. Ah, but he is making such sweet sounds, and for as much as Burr loves them, he cannot allow them to be discovered, in this little alcove between the tall bushes.

The hand not working over Hamilton's pants he brings to Hamilton's mouth, working fingers inside past lips, pressing down hard on his tongue, and then he slides down Hamilton's body, until his mouth is level with Hamilton's crotch.

"We'll have to be quick," Burr says, "and quiet," but he doesn't allow Hamilton any preparation beyond that, loosening the ties and allowing his erection to spring free, quickly bringing his lips to the head and licking over the liquid beading there, running lips over the slit, the gland, darting his tongue to lick them free of salt.

Hamilton is making desperate, muffled sounds, his hands fisted in the grass, hips trembling with the effort to remain still. Oh, Burr thinks, such restraint won't do. He should be gripping at Burr, held down by Burr.

Burr latches his mouth around the head of Hamilton's cock and suckles, fully intending to drive Hamilton mad, for as quick as they must be, for the threat of discovery. His other hand works over Hamilton's balls, rubbing and massaging. After a moment he switches hands--pulls the one wet with saliva down to grip over the part not in Burr's mouth and gags him with the other. He pays special attention to the knot, not yet fully swollen, pulls his head away to lap at it, before he decides he wants it in his mouth, needs it in his mouth right now.

Sliding his head down that warm, hot length is easier than he thought. Slipping the knot in is not. While he hollows his cheeks and bobs his head up and down, tasting the cock on the back of his tongue, the knot bumps continually against his lips. What would happen, if Burr slipped it in and left it there, until it had swollen to its full size? Would Burr be knotted that way, in much the same way as an omega is knotted to an alpha in the proper way? The thought sends a new rush of heat to his own neglected cock, and despite himself he begins humping Hamilton's leg, looking for some kind of relief, friction.

Hamilton is making all kinds of wild sounds now, writhing fully on the grass, fisting his hand roughly into Burr's hair, forcing him down. The knot bumps against his lips, seeming impossibly large, but Hamilton is pushing, and Burr is relaxing his jaw, and then it is in, and Burr gags once before moaning around the intrusion, the ache in his jaw, the fullness.

There was a plan here, at some point. A plan that involved making Hamilton beg for Burr's mouth, and return those declarations of love. But it seems Burr has gotten himself into a situation, at it were.

[non_stop]

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.

[slowtoanger]

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.

[non_stop]

"Are you all right?" -- Stroking Burr's cheek with his thumb (was just stretched over his knot, and his softening cock throbs at the memory), kissing at Burr's mouth, the corner of his lips.

Oh. Oh. "You--" You came. Hamilton hadn't even known, he'd been so swept away by what Burr was doing to him. He noses at Burr's hand, licks up the spend, tongue dipping between Burr's fingers. This, the palpable feel of his enjoyment, has Hamilton clutching at Burr as they kiss again.

"Lafayette isn't an idiot, he's got Washington out of here," dismisses Hamilton. This is possibly wishful thinking, but it seems like the sort of thing Lafayette would do. He tips his forehead against Burr's. "You are devastating. I've never wanted anyone like this. How could I have ever thought I would be satisfied just holding you?"

He'll put himself away, he'll straighten up his clothes, in just a moment, a moment. Just wants to linger for a moment first.