alexander hamilton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
non_stop) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
amrev_intrigues2022-04-23 07:32 pm
non_stop) wrote in amrev_intrigues2022-04-23 07:32 pm
private storyline...... 3!!!
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.
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.