Chapter Text
It was all because Hercules left an unlabelled mason jar on the kitchen counter.
“Hey, what’s this?” John asked, already unscrewing the lid like the curious idiot he was.
Hercules didn’t even look up from his bubbling cauldron of cursed rosemary vodka. “Experimental. Don’t drink it.”
“Cool,” John said, and drank it immediately.
Across the room, Lafayette choked on his wine.
There was a beat —a single moment of silence, like the universe paused to decide if it was really going to let this happen. Then John doubled over, dropped the jar, and screamed, “WHY DOES IT TASTE LIKE WET PENNIES AND TRAUMA?!”
“Oh my god,” Hercules muttered, turning around. “You absolute dumbass .”
Lafayette screamed. “HIS FACE IS SHRINKING.”
“Why does my voice sound like that?” John shrieked in a pitch not heard since early puberty. “Why do my pants feel like a denim sleeping bag?!”
He ran to the hallway mirror, stared at his reflection—and then screamed again.
“You made me eighteen again?!”
“You made yourself eighteen,” Hercules corrected, pouring himself a shot of whatever purple horror he was brewing. “I told you not to drink it. Literally, out loud. With my mouth.”
“This is a hate crime .”
“You’re white.”
“I’M GAY.”
“You’re still white.”
“I have braces , Herc! Where did those come from?!”
Hercules sighed and grabbed his phone. “Let me check my notes. I might’ve written down how long the effect lasts.”
“Might have?! ”
“ Calm down, ” Lafayette said, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the stool. “You look like a lost twink from a boy band in 2007.”
“I look like a cautionary tale!” John wailed. “I can’t go out like this—I have to cancel all my plans—”
“Weren’t you going to see Hamilton tonight?” Herc asked casually.
John froze.
“Oh no .”
There was a long pause.
Then John bolted for the door.
“WAIT!” Lafayette shouted, scrambling after him. “YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO REVERSE IT YET—”
“DOESN’T MATTER,” John called over his shoulder. “I’M COMMITTING TO THE BIT.”
He tripped over a rug in the hallway. Righted himself. Kept running.
Fifteen minutes later, he slammed full-speed into Hamilton’s apartment door, heart pounding like a freshman about to confess his crush at debate camp.
Hamilton opened the door in pajama pants and a scowl. He looked John up and down once, slowly, and blinked.
John was panting. Sweaty. Slightly wild-eyed. Braces gleaming.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly.
Hamilton squinted. “Are you… okay? You look like you just lost a fight with puberty.”
John wheezed. “It’s experimental.”
There was a pause.
The door slammed behind them.
John stumbled slightly, still dazed from the swirl of magic and the trip over the rug. He looked younger— looked eighteen—like his bones had shrunk and stretched in all the wrong places again. Slighter shoulders. Brighter eyes. Cheeks flushed from rapid hormones, confusion, and a sprint back from Hercules’ potion-splattered kitchen.
And Hamilton? Hamilton looked like he was about to devour him.
“You’re eighteen,” Alexander said again, pacing a slow circle around him like a vulture circling a particularly delicious corpse. “And—technically—you’re a virgin.”
“I mean,” John started. “I guess? I don’t remember losing it yet, so—”
Alexander’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, yanking him forward with that same manic, caffeine-glittering gleam in his eye.
“Then I’m deflowering you again.”
John flushed—violently. “Wait—what—”
“You think I’m not gonna take this opportunity to see how your eighteen-year-old dick performs? You think I’m just gonna let this go?” Alexander shoved him toward the bed and crawled back on it with a gleam in his eye that should have been illegal. “Lie down, virgin boy.”
John sputtered. “Are you—okay, wait, are you sure this isn’t weird?”
“I’m always weird,” Hamilton said, already pulling off his shirt. “You should be used to that by now. Now come on. Fuck me like you don’t know how.”
At first—it was underwhelming .
He came in, hard and earnest and breathless, but too quick. Like, pathetically quick. Hamilton had barely gotten out a sarcastic comment before John gasped, groaned, and spilled inside him like a boy with something to prove and no practice to back it up.
There was a beat of silence. Hamilton blinked at the ceiling.
“That was it?” he said flatly.
John, face red, collapsed beside him. “ I’m sorry. That was—I didn’t expect—I haven’t felt like this in years , it’s like my body just—reacted—”
Hamilton flopped dramatically. “My experimental results are disappointing.”
“I can go again.”
“You better.”
And John did.
And again.
And again.
And again.
By the fifth round, Hamilton was clinging to the sheets, trembling, sweat-slick and boneless with overstimulation, panting into the pillows while his legs refused to close properly.
John’s voice was hoarse behind him, still teenage-raw. “Still disappointed?”
Alexander turned his head slowly, eyes glassy.
“I have,” he whispered, “never been more impressed in my life.”
John chuckled, breath warm against the back of his neck. “So. What’s the verdict? Eighteen-year-old dick better than twenty-five?”
Hamilton made a strangled sound.
“It’s insane. You have no refractory period. You came inside me three times and you’re still hard.”
“I’m not trying to be! It’s just—my body won’t stop. I don’t even think I can walk straight right now.”
“You?!” Hamilton laughed deliriously. “You? I can’t feel my legs! ”
They collapsed together in a heap, sweaty and tangled, Hamilton’s body limp across John’s bare chest.
“…definitely writing a paper about this,” Alexander mumbled into his skin. “Gonna call it The Adolescent Refractory Anomaly . Or maybe How I Got Rail’d Six Times in an Hour by My Magical Virgin Boyfriend .”
John huffed a laugh and kissed the top of his head. “Just make sure to include a section on how much I love you.”
Hamilton went quiet.
Then, muffled against his chest: “Shut up. I’m still recovering.”
By the time they hit Round 6, Alexander had a pillow propped under his hips, a pen behind his ear, and his face buried in the mattress.
John was kneeling behind him, panting slightly, still hard despite having come five times already—his cock flushed dark and twitching like it wanted more, like it wasn’t biologically capable of stopping.
“Okay,” Alexander said, voice muffled by cotton. “We’re adjusting the angle. For data purposes.”
“You’re trembling,” John pointed out, concerned but also—God help him—horny.
“For data,” Alex hissed. “Shut up and— fuck me like you’re documenting it. ”
John groaned, sliding back in slowly, watching Alexander arch like a switch being thrown. His thighs trembled. His spine curved. His fingers dug into the bedsheets like it was the only thing holding him to Earth.
“Still disappointed?” John asked again, breath catching as he bottomed out.
“ Fuck you, ” Alexander gasped. “You’ve made me come four times and I’ve lost sensation in my jaw . I’m so far from disappointed I’m documenting the angle of entry. ”
John gave a dazed little laugh, then moved.
Slow. Fast. Shallow. Deep. He tried different paces, different thrusts, while Alexander gave soft, bitten-off commentary like he was running a clinical trial.
“Shallow—stimulates rim, not prostate— ah! —okay nevermind, revising that—John, right there, Jesus Christ, hold that— note taken —!”
And then:
“Wait. We need a control group.”
John froze. “What?”
“You. On your back. I need to isolate if it’s the position or the youth potion stamina that’s making me come in record time.”
“…You want me to fuck you again, but in missionary. For control.”
“Yes,” Hamilton said seriously, eyes glassy. “For the integrity of the data. ”
John whimpered. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“You’re eighteen,” Hamilton snapped. “Die like a man.”
John’s hands pressed Hamilton’s thighs open, wide and shaking. His face hovered over Alex’s chest as he slid back in—both of them breathless, boneless, barely functioning. Hamilton’s hair was a halo of sweat-mussed curls against the pillow.
“Ready?” John whispered.
“ For science, ” Alex moaned.
It was somehow worse . More intimate. Hamilton couldn’t hide his face. Couldn’t pretend this wasn’t making his heart twist open. He blinked up at John’s younger, too-earnest expression and felt his whole body flinch.
“You okay?” John murmured, slowing down instinctively.
“I—” Alex swallowed. “No. Yeah. Don’t stop. Just—god, it’s like I’m eighteen again too.”
John’s breath hitched. He leaned down, kissed him.
“I love you,” he said against his mouth.
Hamilton gasped. “That’s not in the protocol— ”
“Shut up, Professor.” And John fucked him senseless.
Later, as they lay in a crumpled pile of sweat, fluids, and shame:
“I’ve taken,” Alexander mumbled, “twenty-seven data points.”
“You’re leaking,” John said softly.
“That too,” Hamilton said, dazed.
Then, drowsily: “Wanna do Round 8?”
John’s cock twitched.
“I hate this potion,” he said.
“I love this potion,” Hamilton replied.
Hamilton should’ve known.
There was a tingle . A shift. Something in the air. Something in the rhythm—John’s breath catching harder, a strangled grunt behind him like something was changing .
Alexander was already sobbing into the pillow, hips twitching from oversensitivity, completely fucked out and still somehow begging for more.
“Round nine,” he slurred. “John, I swear —just one more—”
But John had frozen behind him.
His voice cracked. “I think it’s—oh my God, Alex, I think it’s wearing off—”
Hamilton barely processed the words before he felt it.
Inside him—John’s cock, already thick and flushed from eight rounds of impossible teenage stamina— grew . Not much. Just enough. Just enough to stretch the already abused rim of him wider, deeper, hotter , with a slow, unbearable pressure.
Alexander screamed .
“ Oh my God— ”
John clutched his hips like a man trying not to die. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—it just started growing back —”
“I CAN TELL,” Hamilton wailed. “JOHN. I AM ALREADY— SO FULL— ”
John tried to pull out.
Hamilton slammed his hips back . “ Don’t you fucking dare. ”
“But I’m—I’m not eighteen anymore, I’m bigger , I don’t want to hurt you—”
“ It’s for science, ” Hamilton croaked. “Now finish the round— ”
What followed was biblical.
John, back to his adult size, thick and trembling with guilt and arousal, trying to move carefully while Hamilton sobbed and begged and clung to the sheets.
Every thrust hit deeper than before— impossibly deep, stretching Alexander until he saw stars. His thighs trembled. His fingers clawed at the sheets. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or laughing.
“ John, oh my God, you’re splitting me in half— ”
“You said not to stop!”
“ I CHANGED MY MIND, ”
“Then stop clenching!”
“ I CAN’T! ”
And when John finally came—loud, hoarse, older now, with every drop slamming deep inside—Hamilton just melted . Sagged. Shuddered with the aftershocks. Barely conscious, barely coherent.
And then, muffled into the sheets:
“…Your adult cock is definitely bigger.”
John collapsed on top of him, boneless and limp.
“That’s not a compliment right now.”
“I know,” Hamilton whispered. “Still true, though.”
Morning sunlight crept across the bed like a war crime. Hamilton stirred beneath it with all the grace of a corpse reanimating—wincing, stretching, and immediately regretting it.
“…Ow,” he said softly. “Ow.”
John, still half-asleep, blinked awake beside him. “Alex?”
Hamilton stared up at the ceiling, blank-eyed. “I can feel your dick in my lungs. ”
John flushed immediately. “I said I was sorry—”
“You grew inside me. Like some kind of fucked-up dick Pokémon evolution.”
“I couldn’t help it! The potion wore off!”
“You potion-rammed me. Mid-thrust.”
John covered his face with a groan. “Please stop naming it things—”
“ Potion-Rammed™. ” Hamilton rolled over—slowly, groaning, limbs trembling like a fawn on ice. “Anyway.”
“…Anyway?”
Alexander sat up. Wobbled. Smirked like a man holding several war crimes in his back pocket.
“I need to confirm something.”
John raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Alex—”
“For science. ” And Hamilton slid off the bed.
Dropped to his knees.
And stared at John’s thoroughly slept-off, still-slightly-swollen, now- adult -sized cock with academic menace.
“Your size increased by approximately 1.5 centimeters,” Hamilton muttered, eyeing it clinically. “Thickness is harder to quantify without tools, but I’d estimate—”
“ You do not have to do this— ”
“ John. This is about accuracy. ” He looked up with wide, glassy, sin-drunk eyes. “I’m writing a paper.”
And then— mouth.
Warm and wet and slow. Hamilton wrapped his lips around the head, tongue flicking out experimentally, dragging heat up the underside, humming as if tasting fine wine. John flinched, groaned, hips twitching already from oversensitivity.
“A-Alex,” he gasped. “You’re sore, you shouldn’t be— ”
“I’m already suffering,” Alex hissed between licks. “Might as well multitask.”
He took him deeper—slowly, shallow at first, then letting himself sink. Stretching his throat like he had been stretched just hours earlier. His hands gripped John’s thighs. His eyes fluttered shut.
Jesus, John thought, watching him. He was red-faced, still walking funny, with bite marks on his hips and the outline of last night’s sin all over his skin—and still, here he was, committing another atrocity in the name of science.
Eventually, Hamilton pulled off with a wet pop and sat back on his heels, dazed and wrecked.
“Thicker,” he whispered. “Definitely. And I think your veins are more pronounced at full adult size. Also, your cum tastes— ugh. Okay. That’s the same.”
John blinked down at him. “You just deepthroated me for data. ”
Alexander shrugged weakly. “It’s not peer-reviewed, but I stand by my conclusions.”
And then he collapsed backward onto the floor like a man satisfied with his life’s work.
Chapter 2
Summary:
This fic started with a funny little idea. “What if John got tiny?”
I thought it would be cute. Maybe hot. A little sexy, a little silly.
And then something… happened.
By Chapter Two I was deep in the spiral. No more plot. No more sense. Just shameless, slippery chaos and a size-difference gremlin who says things like “please fill me up until I can’t remember my name.”
You can tell where the rot set in. The prose stops pretending. My dignity left the chat.
Hamilton references Lolita at the end. I’m not sorry.
Thanks for reading. Please hydrate. Your brain deserves better than this fic—but your lizard brain? Your lizard brain will thrive.
Chapter Text
It had been weeks since John took the potion. He hadn’t expected Alexander to take it.
He especially hadn’t expected him to do it deliberately. Quietly. Weeks later. Without even a warning text.
Which is why John—freshly moral, newly committed to being a good man with clean hands—nearly died on the spot when he opened his front door and saw Hamilton standing there, beaming up at him.
Grinning. Glowing. A full eight inches shorter than usual, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips like he'd swallowed a live star and licked his lips after.
“Surprise,” Alexander said cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
John stared at him.
Hamilton bounced again, as if that would help.
John’s soul attempted to exit his body via his eyeballs.
Hamilton had already been a little shorter than him before.
A bit slighter. A bit wirier. Something feral and foxlike in the way he moved, sharp and sinuous and kinetic. But this?
This was… this was not legal .
Hamilton barely reached John’s chest now. His curls were even fluffier, his frame narrowed and softened and sweetened by the potion’s effects. His face looked younger—pink-cheeked, big-eyed, lashes curled like he’d stepped out of a fantasy and straight into John’s worst, filthiest temptations.
And he knew it.
He wore it like perfume. Like armor.
He was wearing a crop top that shouldn’t have counted as clothing. Obscenely short shorts. A pair of thigh-high socks and a mischievous, lip-bitten smile like he knew exactly what he’d done.
John’s throat dried up.
“What the hell did you do,” he managed, in the tone of a man watching his entire moral compass crack in half.
Hamilton tilted his head to the side, blinking innocently. “Drank the potion.”
“You—why?” John sputtered. “Why would you—?”
“You seemed to like me tighter,” Hamilton said, with a shrug that made his croptop ride up and revealed more thigh than John could ethically process.
John made a small, wounded sound and forgot how to stand upright. It wasn’t just the size. It was the way Hamilton weaponized it.
He started climbing into John’s lap without warning. Tugging at his sleeves, curling into his side during movies like a smug housecat. Stretching out across John’s bed on his stomach, kicking his legs and murmuring “You wanna come see how flexible it made me?” in a voice like sin dripped in honey.
And John was trying to be good. He was.
He was doing everything right—hands to himself, mind above the waist, focus on the future. But Hamilton didn’t make it easy.
Especially not when he started whispering things like:
“You could press me down and fold me in half like a bedsheet now.”
“Bet your cock could reach my stomach.”
“Want you to fuck me stupid until I can’t form a sentence.”
John aged thirty years in a single afternoon.
He lasted two days.
Two full days of restraint, of breathing exercises and silent prayers and midnight cold showers. Until one evening, as Hamilton crawled into his lap and innocently adjusted himself, John grabbed the couch cushions like a man resisting divine punishment and hissed:
“Alexander. This is temporary. The potion—it messes with your head. It’s not meant to be used like this.”
“I know,” Hamilton said sweetly, perched on the coffee table with his feet swinging, oversized hoodie slipping off one bare shoulder. “But I’m in my right mind. I’m just a slutty little genius.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
John groaned, curled forward, and buried his face in his hands.
He was going to die. He was going to die and the obituary was going to read: Cause of death: magically enhanced twink seduction.
The next morning, John woke up from a dream so vivid and filthy he almost punched his own brain. He was hard. He was starving. He was dangerously close to unraveling.
And then he walked into the kitchen.
And froze.
Hamilton was already awake. Standing on a stepstool.
Wearing John’s hoodie. One that swallowed him to mid-thigh and left his collarbone exposed like a sin.
He was flipping pancakes.
On a stepstool.
With his hair still tousled from sleep and a pleased little hum in his throat, like this was just an average domestic Tuesday and not an active emotional attack.
The magic still shimmered faintly around his skin.
John stared. Wordless. Still half-hard.
Hamilton looked over his shoulder, blinking sweetly. “You want me bent over the counter or the table?”
John turned and walked back into the bedroom.
Then screamed into his pillow.
And stayed there for ten minutes.
The morning after that, John woke up to heat.
Not the sun—though it was morning—but a different kind of heat, slow and wet and obscene, wrapping his cock in something hot and soft and sucking.
At first, he thought he was dreaming. He was floating. His hips shifted forward instinctively into the warmth, and a low, helpless moan escaped before he even opened his eyes. Then he blinked blearily—and looked down.
Hamilton.
Between his legs.
On his knees, cheeks flushed, eyelashes fluttering.
Hamilton.
John froze. His breath hitched.
He looked tiny like this. Still under the effects of the transformation potion he’d stolen, still small and flushed and soft and glowing—barely big enough to even hold John’s cock in both hands. He was struggling to fit it in his mouth, saliva slicking his chin, fingers curled around the base like he was trying to milk it. His lips were stretched wide, too wide, and yet his eyes gleamed with something filthy and determined.
It looked obscene. Like porn. Like sin. Like a fucking succubus had crawled into his bed and started draining his life force by choice.
“ Fuck— ” John choked, hand flying to the headboard. “Alex, what are you— why— ”
Hamilton moaned low in his throat. Kept sucking. Slower, deeper. His mouth bulged with the effort. His thighs rubbed together, restless, his own cock already hard and leaking where he was grinding against the sheets.
“‘S morning,” Hamilton said sweetly, voice hoarse around him. “You looked stressed.”
John whimpered. Actually whimpered.
“I—I was trying to wait, ” he gritted, fist tangled in the sheets. “Was trying to be—fuck—be good—”
“You are,” Hamilton purred, licking the underside with long, slow strokes. “You’re being so good. Just let me take care of you.”
That was it. That was fucking it.
John snapped.
He grabbed Hamilton by the hair and dragged him off, just long enough to flip him over, pin him down, and get between his legs.
Hamilton squeaked, delighted. “ Finally— ”
“You want to be used like a toy?” John growled, voice barely human. “ You got it. ”
Hamilton beamed, eyes glassy with lust. “Break me.John didn’t remember how the lube got in his hand.
Maybe Hamilton put it there. Maybe he summoned it with his demon sex magic. Maybe God himself threw it down in a moment of pity. None of it mattered. All John knew was that Hamilton’s legs were pinned to his fucking ears and he was soaked —hot and flushed and trembling under him, panting out John’s name like a prayer that kept catching on the “n.”
“You’re— fuck, you’re insane,” John gasped, staring down at the mess Hamilton had become. “You ambushed me—”
“You were holding out,” Hamilton said innocently, though his cock throbbed where it was pinned to his belly, already smeared with precum. “I just gave you a little push.”
“You sucked me off in my sleep. ”
“You didn’t stop me.”
John let out a sound that didn’t resemble a word. His hands shook where they gripped Hamilton’s thighs—small, slender things now, soft with transformation, folded up beside his head like some obscene little offering. His whole body was tiny, delicate, compact—but his expression was filthy. Pupils blown, mouth kiss-bitten and wet, lips parted in a breathless smile that said ruin me . And fuck, John was going to.
His cock pressed up against Hamilton’s entrance, slick with spit and lube and arousal so intense it made John dizzy. He braced himself with one arm and used the other to guide himself in, just the tip—
Hamilton let out a sharp, strangled sound. “Oh my god— ”
Even just the head was too big for his new size. John paused, heart racing.
“I can’t— Alex, I can’t, you’re—”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop,” Hamilton gasped. “I want all of it. I want it deep. I want it so far you can’t even pull out— John— ”
John groaned—sharp and guttural—and thrust.
Hamilton screamed.
It was a broken, needy, desperate sound that echoed off the walls. His back arched clean off the mattress, cock leaking against his stomach as John forced himself deeper, inch by agonizing inch, feeling every impossible stretch. Hamilton clung to him like a lifeline, babbling incoherently, trying to take it and failing and begging anyway.
“ Tight— you’re so fucking tight— ” John gritted. “I can’t—I’m gonna hurt you—”
“ Do it. ” Hamilton’s voice was half-wrecked already, shaking. “Break me. Stuff me. I wanna feel it every time I walk— fuck, please— ”
John snapped his hips forward. Fully seated. Hamilton came.
He didn’t even touch himself—just let out a choked cry, legs twitching where John still held them up by the backs of his thighs, and shot all over his own chest in hot, messy spurts. His whole body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.
John didn’t stop.
He couldn’t. He was too far gone. His hips started moving again—deep, rolling thrusts, slow at first, then harder, faster, Hamilton’s cunt squeezing around him like a vice every time he sank in.
“You little nymphet— ” John growled, fucking him through it. “You’re gonna fucking kill me—”
“Breed me,” Hamilton moaned, head thrown back. “Come in me. Come so hard it sticks—fill me up, John, I need it—”
He was crying now. He didn’t even know what from—overstimulation, desperation, the sheer unbearable joy of finally being taken, of being used —John didn’t know either, didn’t care. He just slammed in harder, deeper, until the sound of skin slapping skin echoed like thunder.
And then he came.
Hard.
Hamilton screamed again—blissful, wrecked—and clung to John like he was drowning. He could feel it flooding him, hot and obscene, cock twitching inside as John gasped against his throat, hips stuttering in helpless aftershocks.
It should have been over.
John collapsed beside him, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. His vision swam. His cock was still twitching inside Hamilton—still buried in him, thick and spent and overstaying its welcome—but Hamilton hadn’t let him pull out.
“Just a minute,” Hamilton had said.
That had been ten minutes ago.
Now he was squirming on John’s cock.
Not riding. Not grinding. Just… rocking , slow and sweet and maddening, milking him like his body had a mind of its own. He moaned like a bitch in heat every time John twitched, each movement drawing out more slick, more cum, more needy little sounds.
“You— fuck —you said—” John couldn’t speak. Could barely think.
“I said I wanted to be bred,” Hamilton replied, all sugar and sin, the picture of faux-innocence. “Not my fault you can’t keep up.”
“I just came in you—”
“Once,” Hamilton said smugly. “That barely counts.”
He rocked again. John’s breath hitched.
Hamilton was still folded open, thighs sore and trembling but still pulled high around John’s waist, his body slick and flushed and so damn small that it made John dizzy to look at him. His hole was soaked, rim swollen and glistening where John’s cock was still snug inside him, fluttering every time he breathed.
John growled.
“Do you want me to lose it?”
“I’m counting on it.”
He smiled like he’d won. Like this had been his plan all along. Like he knew John would break.
And oh, John did.
He grabbed Hamilton’s hips in both hands and snapped them down—hard—forcing him to take every thick inch again in one brutal motion. Hamilton gasped, eyes flying open, and John didn’t wait.
He fucked him.
Fast. Messy. Deep enough to bruise. He hadn’t even gone soft yet—he’d been hard the whole damn time, cock twitching inside that perfect, aching heat, and now he used it. Fucked Hamilton open like his life depended on it.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” John panted.
“I do,” Hamilton gasped. “I want you to ruin me—again—want to be so full I feel it in my throat— ”
“You’ll be limping for days. ”
“Good.”
“You won’t be able to think— ”
“Who needs thinking?” he moaned, his head lolling back against the pillows. “You’re doing just fine for both of us.”
John lost it.
He lifted Hamilton clean off the bed and fucked up into him—hard and unrelenting, one hand on Hamilton’s back to keep him steady, the other sliding down to press against the taut skin of his lower belly—
“Feel that?” John growled. “That’s me. That’s how deep I am. Fuck—You know what? I’ve wanted this since the minute you started batting your eyes at me like some sick fucking schoolboy fantasy. ”
Hamilton whined. Eyes rolled back. He clenched around John like a vice and started coming again, wrecked and wordless, body going taut in John’s arms as he jerked and spilled all over them both.
And still John kept going.
He should’ve known.
He should’ve known the second Hamilton smiled like that—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes hazy with afterglow and still smug underneath it all.
John hadn’t even pulled out yet. Hamilton was still full of him— dripping with him—but as soon as he stopped thrusting, Hamilton leaned up, breath hot against John’s jaw, and whispered:
“You know what’d make this better?”
John had sighed. “No. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Blindfold me,” Hamilton purred. “Clamp bells on my nipples. Don’t warn me before you fuck me again.”
“Jesus Christ. ”
“Say you won’t do it.”
John didn’t say anything.
He got up.
Now Hamilton was spread out again—wrist tied to the headboard this time, soft blindfold covering his eyes, tiny golden bells swaying with every tremble of his chest. They jingled faintly with each breath. Each moan. Each time he squirmed against the sheets and begged to be filled again.
“ John— ”
“You wanted this.”
“I want everything. ”
John ran a hand down his thigh, slow. Hamilton shivered.
His hole was puffy now—used and leaking, stretched around nothing, fluttering every time John brushed his fingers over it. His whole body was a trembling mess, mouth open, thighs twitching from too many orgasms—and he was still whining for more.
“You don’t even know when I’m going to fuck you again,” John said lowly.
Hamilton’s breath hitched. The bells jingled.
“I know,” he whispered. “That’s what makes it so good. ”
John knelt between his thighs and lined himself up again.
And then?
He slammed into him.
Hamilton screamed.
It was half-pornographic, half-wrecked—his whole body arching off the bed, nipples twitching against the clamps, bells singing wildly as he thrashed and sobbed and took every inch.
John didn’t let him settle. Didn’t warn him. Just fucked him with purpose—deep and rough and mean this time, pounding into him like the soft thing beneath him was just built to be used.
“ Too much— ” Hamilton gasped, tears soaking into the blindfold. “ Don’t stop— ”
“You’re such a fucking mess, ” John growled.
“You made me this way—”
“You begged for it.”
“And I’ll do it again— ”
Clink. Clink.
The bells rang louder as Hamilton arched again, orgasm ripping through him with no rhythm, no control—his body just convulsing around John’s cock as he came with a cracked sob, voice ruined and gorgeous.
He made it halfway off the bed.
“Made it” was generous. He slithered, really—wet and shaking, limbs uncoordinated, knees giving out beneath him every time he tried to lift his hips. He was leaking down his thighs, bare feet slipping against the sheets, fingers scrabbling weakly at the mattress like he thought he could somehow escape.
The bells on his chest jingled with every twitch.
“Where are you going,” John asked, too calmly. Hamilton froze.
Well—he shuddered, more like. Paused, trembling, still half-blindfolded and blinking wetly against the fabric. His lips were parted like he was trying to think of something clever. He didn’t get the chance.
John grabbed him by the hips and yanked him back.
Hamilton yelped, slid boneless across the bed like a ragdoll. He kicked once—weakly—then moaned like it hurt. Or like it didn’t. Like it hurt good.
“ John— ”
“You think you get to crawl away from me?”
“I wasn’t—I just—I—”
“You think you get to leave after all that?”
“I can’t feel my legs—!”
John flipped him over with one hand.
Hamilton gasped. The bells jingled again. His thighs were smeared with slick and cum, ass twitching, hole fluttering helplessly in the air.
“Then why,” John growled, “are you dripping down your thighs like you want more."
“I don’t—!”
John spit on his fingers and slid them in anyway.
Hamilton screamed.
It was high and raw and cracked down the middle, the kind of sound that made John twitch with arousal. He bucked into the touch involuntarily, sobbing, teeth catching on the strap of the blindfold. The clamps on his nipples swung. The bells sang.
“You’re such a fucking liar,” John hissed, pressing his palm hard against Hamilton’s lower back to pin him down. “You’d let me fuck you until your lungs give out, wouldn’t you?”
Hamilton made a mangled noise. Possibly a yes.
John lined himself up again.
Hamilton keened—tried to crawl again, barely moved an inch—and John slammed into him. Hard.
Hamilton’s head fell back with a cry. His voice was wrecked now, breathless and slurred and nonsensical.
“I can’t —I c-can’t—!”
“You will. Keep the blindfold on, baby.”
“John—John— John— ”
The rhythm was brutal now. John’s hand wrapped around Hamilton’s throat, squeezing—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold. Enough to own.
The bells chimed. The bedframe groaned. Hamilton wailed like something sacred had cracked in him.
And John—
John fucked him until he stopped trying to crawl.
John left him with the plug in.
He had to.
Because when he pulled out—slow, careful, dripping down the back of Hamilton’s thighs—Alex whined like a starved animal, reached down to chase the slick with trembling fingers, and then—
“No,” John said firmly, catching his wrist.
And Hamilton blinked up at him, delirious. His pupils were blown wide. His legs were still shaking. The bell clamps were skewed to the side, and the blindfold had been yanked halfway up his forehead like he’d tried to tear it off mid-fuck and then forgotten why.
John pressed the plug in gently, watching as Hamilton squirmed at the stretch.
“Can’t waste a drop,” he said.
Alex moaned —soft, ruined, twitching like the stimulation was too much. Then, breath hitching—
He giggled.
He giggled.
John froze, halfway through buckling the base.
“...What?”
Hamilton giggled again, higher this time, and tried to hide his face against the pillow. “It’s so much, John—” His voice was raw. “I can feel it inside me. It’s gonna stay there.”
His hips bucked involuntarily. The plug shifted. Alex gasped, and then he—
He laughed. Bright and helpless, utterly gone.
John stared at him like he’d grown wings. “Are you—are you giggling?”
Alex buried his face in the sheets and nodded.
John ran a hand down his spine. Hamilton arched like a cat.
“Jesus Christ,” John muttered. “I broke you.”
Alex peeked up at him, face flushed and eyes glassy. “You filled me.”
John kissed him. Softly. Then again, harder. He slipped a hand down to squeeze Hamilton’s ass, and Alex giggled again—sweet and filthy, twitching against the sheets. “You’re mine,” John growled, not bothering to be gentle anymore. “Fucking mine. You hear me?”
“Mhm,” Alex whispered. “Yours.”
“Say it.”
“ Yours. ”
John grinned.
Then—because he could—he thumbed the plug just a little deeper.
Hamilton squealed.
And giggled."
“Please,” Hamilton whispered, voice breathless. “Please, I need—”
“You need to come again?” John murmured, brushing Hamilton’s sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “You’re still full. That plug hasn’t moved an inch.”
Alex let out a broken sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded, wrists twitching where they were bound to the headboard. His thighs were trembling, the muscles spent and sore, his knees open in a ruined sprawl that barely held steady anymore.
John slid down the bed slowly, deliberately, settling between his legs.
The plug was still snug inside him, glistening with lube and the mess they’d already made. It looked obscene—jutting from between his thighs, shifting just slightly every time he whimpered. John ran a finger around the rim, watching Hamilton’s whole body shiver.
“You’re leaking,” John said, almost admiring.
“I’m full,” Alex sobbed.
“I know. I meant your brain, baby.”
Alex tried to laugh. It came out broken. His hips jerked helplessly.
John leaned in and pressed a kiss to the plug—then to the base of Hamilton’s inner thigh. Then another, higher. Then, impossibly gently, he unbuckled the straps and began to slide the plug out.
It made a sound. Wet, squelching, slow. Hamilton shrieked and kicked.
“Shhh,” John said, stroking his thigh. “You can take it. You can take me.”
“No, I—I’ll break—”
“You already did.”
And then, without waiting, John pushed into him again.
No prep. No mercy. Just slow, firm pressure as Hamilton arched off the bed and screamed.
John caught his hip and held him down.
“Fucking tight,” he groaned. “You’re still so tight—Jesus, Alex—”
“You filled me—” Alex sobbed. “You made me full, and you— you’re still—”
John sank in deeper, inch by inch, until Hamilton couldn’t breathe.
“Still hard,” John whispered against his ear. “Still want you. Still mine.”
Alex nodded frantically, tears slipping from under the blindfold, breath coming in shuddering gasps.
“Say it,” John growled.
“Y-Yours,” Alex whimpered. “Yours. Yours, I’m yours, I’m—”
John snapped his hips forward.
Hamilton screamed.
And giggled.
Then screamed again.
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t decide how it felt. Just knew it was too much, and not enough, and holy God, John was everywhere, inside him, over him, around him, claiming him like Hamilton had been made for it.
“John—”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m gonna cry.”
“Good,” John growled, and thrust in deeper.
“Fuck—”
And Alex shattered.
The sheets were ruined—crumpled and soaked—and Hamilton had long since lost the strength to keep his legs down. They were still draped over John's shoulders, limp now, twitching occasionally with overstimulation.
John didn’t move.
He was still inside him. Fully sheathed. Still hard. Still warm.
He’d made a home there, hips flush against Hamilton’s ass, one palm resting lazily on the underside of a trembling thigh. He wasn’t thrusting anymore. Just existing inside him, breathing steady and deep like he’d claimed a throne and intended to reign.
Hamilton’s chest rose and fell in shallow pants. His hands were still bound, his face flushed beneath the blindfold, lips parted. He wasn’t making much sound anymore—just soft, broken little whimpers every time he clenched involuntarily around John’s cock.
He wasn’t even sure he was conscious the whole time.
Just aware of fullness. Of heat. Of ownership.
His body didn’t know if they were done. His brain couldn’t tell either.
“Shh,” John murmured, stroking up and down the side of his calf. “Just like that. That’s it, my guilty little secret.”
Alex whimpered.
“You don’t have to think. Just keep me warm.”
His hips shifted slightly, and Hamilton’s entire body jerked. He didn’t even have the strength to protest properly, just gave a muffled “hnng—” and shuddered.
John leaned down, keeping his cock buried deep, and kissed the side of Alex’s throat.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. You’re doing so well.”
A sniffle. A twitch. Hamilton's head turned slightly to the side, blindfold damp now, lips quivering with exhaustion. His mouth opened like he might say something—but all that came out was a soft moan and a desperate little hiccup of air.
John chuckled low against his skin.
“You still plugged, baby?”
Alex nodded.
“Still leaking?”
A smaller nod.
“Still mine?”
This time, no words. Just a shudder, and a tightening flutter around him—barely there, but still enough to make John groan softly and rock his hips forward once. Just once.
Hamilton whined.
“Good,” John whispered. “You can fall asleep like this. I’m not pulling out.”
Hamilton shivered.
“I don’t care if it’s morning. I don’t care if you cry. I don’t care if you forget your own name—” he licked a stripe up the side of Alex’s jaw, breath hot, “—as long as you remember who you belong to. You won't grow back until I finish, right? ”
Hamilton nodded.
And then John kissed him again, slow and lingering, and didn’t move.
Cock still buried. Plug still in.
Hamilton didn’t fall asleep.
He just went soft and blank and empty and safe.
And stayed there.
John woke up aching.
Not the satisfying ache of sex, either. No, this was a full-body , catastrophic soreness—like he’d been bench-pressing God and lost. His thighs burned. His spine ached. His voice felt shredded, like he’d screamed himself hoarse, and he was half-wrapped in a damp sheet that smelled like regret, sweat, and Hamilton.
The bed creaked. Something moved beside him.
A second later:
“Hm,” Alex chirped.
John tensed.
He knew that tone. That light, deceptively casual, falsely innocent tone. It was the vocal equivalent of a smile with a knife behind it.
Alex hummed again. “You know what I just realised?”
John didn’t answer. Maybe if he stayed still enough, he could become dead.
“I think you might be a little bit of a pervert.”
John groaned. “Please don’t.”
“I mean,” Alex continued, his voice thick with fake wonder, “I thought you were sweet. Puppyish. A bit pathetic, yeah, but tender about it. But then you saw me all small and slutty and magic-poisoned, and suddenly your soul just… left. ”
“It did not.”
“You fucking lost it.”
“I did not.”
“You told me I was God’s punishment for your restraint,” Alex said brightly. “You told me I was a fever dream sent to test your mortal resolve. You told me my giggle was illegal and that you would go to hell.”
John rolled onto his side, dragging a pillow over his head. “I was out of my mind.”
“You told me I was a nymphet. ”
“I didn’t know what that meant.”
“ You whispered it, ” Alex continued, delighted, “like a dirty word. You said, ‘what are you doing to me, you fucking nymphet,’ and then cried when you came.”
John made a horrible noise into the pillow. “I’m going to kill myself.”
Alex leaned over him, warm and naked and smug as sin.
“I didn’t know you had a whole Humbert Humbert thing going on.”
John clawed the pillow harder. “I don’t!”
“You sure? Because you did a lot of things last night that say otherwise. Like, for example, the part where you begged me to keep the blindfold on while I whined about being too small to take it.”
“You were literally riding me.”
“You told me to keep making the little gaspy noises.”
“I was trying to be supportive!”
“You called me your guilty little secret.”
“I WAS SPEAKING IN TONGUES!”
“Oh?” Alex chirped. “So when you said ‘I’ve wanted this since the minute you started batting your eyes at me like some sick fucking schoolboy fantasy,’ you were what— possessed ?”
“Yes,” John said. “Possessed. Cursed. Charmed by a goblin in heat. I didn’t know you’d shrink into a pocket-sized moaning machine and then—then— giggle while I was inside you.”
Alex tilted his head. “So you admit you liked it?”
“I never stood a chance.”
Alex beamed, then stretched, lithe and lazy and far too satisfied for someone who had been begging for cock like a magical street urchin twelve hours ago.
John watched him with the fear of a man who had no defense left.
And then—because Hamilton was cruel like that—he said:
“Honestly, I thought you’d leave a mark.”
John blinked.
“What?”
“You know,” Alex said, voice too casual. “Something small. A little bruise. A love bite. An initial. Maybe a J.”
“There’s no bruise.”
“No?” Alex leaned forward. His hair fell into his eyes. “You sure? I feel bruised. You fucked me like you were trying to make it permanent.”
“I didn’t—there’s nothing there, Alex.”
“Oh,” Alex said, mock-pouting. “So I imagined it?”
John turned bright red. “Yes.”
Alex slid down the bed like a satisfied cat, resting his chin on John’s chest. “You wanted to, though. Admit it.”
“I didn’t,” John mumbled.
“You were this close to carving your name in me.”
“I was not.”
“You said ‘mine,’ like an actual Victorian widower in mourning.”
“Alex.”
“You whined.”
“I was being overwhelmed!”
“You were trying to destroy me!”
Alex grinned.
John groaned, eyes closing again. “Please stop talking.”
Alex didn’t.
“You put me in your lap like a good little fucktoy, and you kept me there for, like,the whole night. You kept saying ‘just a little longer.’ You didn’t even move. You just kept me plugged up and— oh my God. You cockwarmed me.”
John didn’t deny it.
“Like a disgusting, sex-crazed degenerate,” Alex said, clearly thrilled. “While I was small and panting and purring like a kitten. ”
“I hate you,” John said hoarsely.
“Do you?” Alex said sweetly.
John looked up.
Alex’s smile curled. “Because you didn’t look like you hated me when you were begging to fuck me raw while I was begging to die on your cock.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘you look like sin and you sound like a crime,’ and then made me promise not to grow back till you were done.”
John smacked himself in the face with the pillow.
Alex cackled. “You’re never gonna live this down.”
“I’m going to exile.”
“I’m getting this entire conversation notarised.”
“I’m going to become a nun.”
Alex pressed his lips to John’s jaw, a smug little kiss of victory. “Sure, Humbert. Whatever you need.”
John whimpered into his hands.
Alex— that little shit—kissed his shoulder and said,
“You’re hard again.”
SleepIsAGovernmentLie on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Jul 2025 03:19AM UTC
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cailulmuprupcuaHamilton on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Jul 2025 03:46AM UTC
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LaiIsa on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Jul 2025 10:10PM UTC
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SleepIsAGovernmentLie on Chapter 2 Thu 17 Jul 2025 07:06PM UTC
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cailulmuprupcuaHamilton on Chapter 2 Fri 18 Jul 2025 02:15PM UTC
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SleepIsAGovernmentLie on Chapter 2 Fri 18 Jul 2025 07:23PM UTC
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Arctic_Fox (Guest) on Chapter 2 Thu 17 Jul 2025 09:43PM UTC
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Arctic_Fox (Guest) on Chapter 2 Thu 17 Jul 2025 09:46PM UTC
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averageslugcatenjoyer on Chapter 2 Sat 26 Jul 2025 12:06AM UTC
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