Chapter Text
Hamilton had given up weeks ago.
Laurens had run from every smile, every sly remark, every brush of fingers Hamilton “accidentally” let linger. At first, it had been fun, the chase, the little flashes of pink that rose to Laurens’ cheeks when he caught Hamilton looking. But the boy was stubborn—maddeningly so. He always went stiff, flushed red, and then he’d run. Again and again. A quick excuse, a hasty exit, a refusal.
Hamilton got the message.
And though it stung, it wasn’t as if Alexander Hamilton lacked for bed partners. There were other eager mouths, other warm beds, and Laurens’ retreating soon ceased to matter.
So he let it go. Or at least, he pretended to.
Until now.
Hamilton startled awake when his tent flap burst open. His hand went instantly for the knife beneath his pillow, but it was not a British soldier staggering into his quarters—it was Laurens. His curls were plastered to his damp face, his chest heaving. His pupils were blown wide, his whole body trembling.
And oh, gods, the scent—Laurens's pheromones—sweet, sweet fruit wine, rut twisting it into something maddeningly wanton. It filled the small tent in seconds, making Hamilton’s own stomach twist with instinct. The glands on his neck flared up in response—
“Laurens,” he said flatly, sitting up on his cot. “What in God's name—”
Laurens' knees hit the ground with a thud.
He crawled forward on shaky hands and knees, his breath coming in broken sobs, his body nearly folding in on itself with the ache of it, until he reached Hamilton's cot. He pressed his face to Hamilton’s thigh, nuzzling desperately, dragging in lungfuls of his scent.
“So this is what it comes to,” Hamilton murmured. “After all that righteous avoidance. Now you burst into my tent, rut-mad, begging at my feet.”
As if to prove his point, Laurens’ hips jerked helplessly, grinding against the edge of Hamilton’s foot. He let out a humiliating little sound, half-moan, half-sob.
“I need you,” he begged, shamelessly. “Please, Alexander, please—your cunt, your scent, I can’t—” His hips stuttered against Hamilton’s foot, leaving a glisten of fluid on flushed skin.
Hamilton chuckled, low and cruel, leaning back on his hands. “So you think I am a common whore to be used at your convenience? That when rut takes you, I am to spread my legs because you command it?”
“I wanted you then too!” Laurens blurted, voice breaking like a child’s. “I swear it—I just couldn’t—couldn’t let myself—” He choked, pressing his forehead against Hamilton’s knee like in prayer. “Please, Alexander. Please. Help me. ”
Hamilton tapped his chin thoughtfully, as if weighing the matter. Then he crooked a finger under Laurens’ chin, forcing his wet eyes up to meet his own.
He pressed his toes up between Laurens’ thighs, grinding deliberately against the Alpha’s straining cock. Laurens let out a choked sob, rut-scent flooding sharp and thick as he humped shamelessly, trembling all over. Hamilton’s own cunt clenched traitorously at the sight, but he kept up the calm voice.
“Go on then,” he whispered. “Convince me why I shouldn’t just toss you back out and let you burn through the night alone.”
And Laurens, rut-drunk and undone, nodded frantically—tears spilling as he bent lower, mouth pressing to Hamilton’s ankle, kissing it like a supplicant at an altar. Hamilton let him sob there for a while, let him stain his bare feet with sweat and saliva. Then, almost lazily, he lifted his foot—pressing the sole against Laurens’ chest, shoving him just enough to make him stagger back on his heels.
“Mm. No, I don’t think so. You had your chance with me, sir. You ran every time I offered, remember?” His smile turned sharp, cruel. “Maybe you should just go and keep your dignity.”
Laurens shook his head wildly, curls flying, tears beading on his jaw. “No—no, it’s not like that—I was wrong, I was stupid—I need you, I only need you, please—”
Hamilton let him suffer a moment longer, then sighed dramatically. “There is another way, you know.”
He reached into the chest by his bed and pulled out a small vial—suppressants, pilfered from the medics’ stores. He held it between two fingers, dangling it just within Laurens’ sight. “Drink this, and the rut will break. You won’t need me at all.”
The way Laurens’ face twisted was like a child confronted with bitter medicine. His throat bobbed. For one fragile instant, it looked like he might accept it.
Then he dropped forward suddenly, clutching at Hamilton’s leg with both arms, shaking his head furiously.
“No!” he gasped, desperate, voice cracking. “No, don’t—don’t make me. I don’t want that, I don’t want it—please, Alexander, don’t—”
Hamilton arched a brow, savouring the sight of him trembling, collapsed against his shin. “Don’t want it?”
Laurens pressed his cheek against Hamilton’s knee, nuzzling, kissing through his tears. His words tumbled out fast, incoherent:
“I don’t need it—I don’t need anything—just you—only you, Alexander, please—don’t give me that, don’t—”
Hamilton let out a soft laugh, curling his fingers in Laurens’ damp curls, tugging his head back until their eyes met. “So you would rather humiliate yourself like this, than drink? You’d rather rut yourself bloody at my feet than swallow one mouthful of suppressant?”
Laurens nodded—frantic, broken. “Yes! Yes, I’d rather—I only need you, please, please don’t send me away—” His breath caught, and then he bent low again, lips pressing to Hamilton’s ankle, then his calf, then higher—kissing through fabric, sobbing between each one.
Hamilton’s smirk deepened. He stretched his leg out, deliberately lazy, watching Laurens follow the line of it upward. Each kiss wetter, sloppier, less controlled.
“Good boy,” Hamilton murmured condescendingly. “On your knees, kissing the ground I walk on. That’s more fitting, isn’t it?”
Laurens whined—actually whined, high and wrecked—grinding against the floor as his mouth dragged up Hamilton’s thigh.
Hamilton stopped him with a sharp tug on his curls, forcing his head back, making him look up again.
“Beg,” he said softly, almost sweetly. “Beg properly. Not these pitiful little whimpers. Tell me what you want.”
Laurens’ lips trembled. His voice broke as he choked it out:
“I want you—I want to knot you—I need you to let me, please, I can’t breathe, I can’t—please, Alexander, I’ll die without you—”
Hamilton’s smile went razor-sharp, though his eyes gleamed with something hotter, darker.
“Mm. That’s better,” he murmured. “But you’ll have to do more than cry into my leg if you want me to believe you. Drink. Maybe I'll consider letting you knot me.”
He spread his thighs further, giving Laurens access to his cunt, already dripping with slick and anticipation.
Laurens whined before burying his face between Hamilton’s thighs. The first lap of his tongue made him shake—from Hamilton’s taste, from the thick, rich scent rolling off him. Slick coated his tongue instantly, salty-sweet, sharp, overwhelming. Laurens ate like a starving man. He lapped every drop of slick, groaning at the taste, rut feeding on it like water in a drought. Hamilton’s smug mask cracked with each slurp, each desperate moan, until his clit throbbed so hard he was shoving Laurens’ face closer, grinding down against his mouth.
Laurens moaned into it, noisy and hungry, and then kept lapping messily, broad strokes of his tongue as though he could drown in it. Every swallow left him panting harder, rut digging deeper into his bones.
“More—God—more,” he babbled against Hamilton’s cunt, licking until his chin was wet, until slick smeared across his cheeks. “You taste so—so good—please—”
Hamilton tipped his head back, a laugh breaking from his throat, though his hips betrayed him by rolling forward into every lick. “Thirsty, aren’t you? You think guzzling my slick will quench it? Ha—it'll only make you hungrier."
He was right. Every swallow left Laurens burning. His rut-addled body screamed for more, for deeper, for Hamilton clenched tight around his cock—but Hamilton’s slick only teased the need higher. Laurens’ tongue worked faster, sloppier, trying to drink him down, sucking at the puffy lips, dragging across his swollen clit until Hamilton gasped sharply and yanked his hair.
“Yes—ah—there—don’t you dare stop—” Hamilton hissed, voice trembling, cunt spasming against Laurens’ tongue. His thighs clamped around Laurens’ ears, forcing him deeper into the heat.
Laurens moaned brokenly, rut-humping against the ground, but still lapped, still sucked, still swallowed every drop of slick like a man possessed. His throat worked around it, drool mixing with Hamilton’s wetness, dripping down his chin.
Hamilton’s voice went ragged, slipping between cruel mockery and shameless moans:
“Pathetic. God, yes. Look at you—slurping like a beast. You couldn’t resist me if you tried. Say it—hah—nghh—say whose cunt you’re worshipping.”
Laurens’ answer was muffled, mouth full, but desperate: “Y-yours—yours—only yours, Alex—” before sealing his lips around Hamilton’s clit, sucking until Hamilton bucked helplessly and came with a cry, slick flooding into Laurens’ mouth. Laurens sobbed at the taste, rut-drunk and shaking, tongue still chasing more even as Hamilton shivered and twitched. He licked greedily through Hamilton’s aftershocks, drinking down every drop, crying into Hamilton’s cunt because no matter how much he swallowed, the slick didn't ease his thirst. It only made him burn.
Hamilton still trembled from the aftershocks, thighs sticky with slick, Laurens’ mouth wet and open against him. For a moment, Hamilton only panted, catching himself on one shaking elbow, the smug smile slipping into something rawer, hungrier. His body was betraying him—already tightening, already slicking worse, the glands at his neck prickling like fire. His heat. Not fully here yet, but close, close enough that his cunt ached for the very thing he’d mocked Laurens for begging.
He sat astride Laurens’ hips, cunt dripping slick down onto the Alpha’s cock without giving him the mercy of entry. He circled lazily, smearing wetness along the length, every drag of swollen folds making Laurens choke and sob.
“Alexander—please—please, I can’t—”
“You can,” Hamilton cut him off, grinding the head against his entrance before sliding back up, denying him. He let a mocking smile curve his mouth. “Because I say when, not you. ”
Laurens whimpered, hands fisting in the sheets as though to stop himself from grabbing Hamilton’s hips. His chest heaved with every pant, skin slick with sweat, curls plastered damp to his forehead.
“Gods—Alex—please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything, just let me in, please—”
Hamilton leaned down, pressing his lips cruelly close to Laurens’ ear, breath hot.
“You’re already in, aren't you?” he whispered, pushing only the tip inside before retreating again. Laurens sobbed aloud, hips jerking despite himself, immediately punished by Hamilton’s nails raking his chest.
“I said stay.”
Laurens cried, tears streaking his cheeks, but he stilled, trembling under Hamilton’s weight.
Hamilton rewarded him by sinking lower, just another inch, his cunt stretching sweet and sharp. He gasped himself, shuddering, then pulled back up, leaving Laurens’ cock slippery with his slick.
Laurens’ voice broke. “Please—I’ll die—please, Alexander, you’re killing me—”
Hamilton laughed softly, cruel and breathless. He pressed down another inch, letting Laurens’ cock sink deeper, then stopped, grinding in circles that made his own clit spark with pleasure. He sat there, half-full, shuddering, watching Laurens writhe.
Laurens moaned brokenly beneath him, hips twitching despite himself, rut-drunk. “Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—please, please, Alex, I’ll give you everything, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll—”
“Good boy,” Hamilton whispered mockingly, fingers curling in Laurens’ damp curls. “Stay right there."
And with cruel patience, Hamilton began to move.
Slow, drawn-out, devastating. He lifted himself until Laurens nearly slipped free, then sank back down inch by inch, dragging the thick cock against every sensitive ridge inside him.
Laurens sobbed with each motion, rut forcing him to buck upward, immediately punished when Hamilton slammed him down with sharp nails in his shoulders. Hamilton set the pace cruelly slow, every downward grind wringing a new sound from Laurens, every upward drag leaving him aching and empty. His own thighs trembled with effort, but his heat-flushed body craved it, wanted the control, wanted the risk.
“Do you feel that?” Hamilton panted, nails dragging across Laurens’ chest as he bounced lazily on his cock. “If you knot me, I could be carrying by morning.” Laurens cried out, head thrown back, rut tearing through him. “Yes—yes, gods, yes—I’ll give you everything, I’ll fill you—please don’t stop, don’t stop—”
Hamilton laughed, breathless, reckless. He ground down hard, his clit brushing against Laurens’ pubes, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. His own heat spiked hotter, slick dripping down to coat Laurens’ thighs. Laurens’ rut was spilling into the air like spilt wine—ripe and heady, syrup-sweet with an edge of sharpness that went straight to Hamilton’s head. Each breath was a swallow, each gasp another gulp, until he felt drunk on it, drunk on him. His head tipped back, his curls damp with sweat, mouth parted in delirious laughter because he couldn’t tell anymore if the dizziness was from exertion or Laurens’ pheromones.
God, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Hamilton had meant to keep his composure — to keep Laurens whining and begging beneath him until dawn. That had been the plan. To draw it out, to savour the torment, to prove that he could command even an Alpha in rut.
But composure dissolved the moment Laurens’ cock hit that spot again, buried so deep Hamilton swore he felt it straining against his cervix. Too deep. Full in a way that made his belly ache, stuffed in a way that made his cunt clench and gush like it was begging to be bred.
Each downward slam sent sparks racing up his spine, a sharp ache that blossomed into a dizzying sweetness. Sweat ran from his temples, down the curve of his neck. His hands slipped against Laurens’ chest. His breath came ragged.
And through the haze of pleasure, a whisper rose from the most wretched, animal part of him — the part he despised, the part that surfaced only in heat, raw and needy.
Let him claim you, fill you, knot you so you can’t run. Become his mate, swollen with his seed, marked and ruined. Why do you even need a career anyway? Just stay on his cock, stay bred, stay his.
Hamilton’s hips stuttered, his head falling back, curls clinging damp to his temples. The thought seared through him, shameful and hot and stupid. He laughed — broken, breathless, half-delirious. Gods, was he really thinking this? He’d sworn never to be tethered, never to be bound to anyone. He had plans, ambitions, a future to carve out with his own hands.
And yet.
Each thrust jolted it looser. Each gush of slick made it hazier. His cunt clenched down in greedy pulses, as if his own body agreed with the madness whispering in his skull.
What if you let him? What if you let yourself drown here and never surface?
His thighs trembled, heat slicking down in messy strings as Laurens’ rut-sweet scent poured over him, syrupy, intoxicating. It was easier—so much easier—to just give in. The thought curled low in his gut, loosening his resolve with every pulse of slick, every dizzying breath.
Laurens was wrecked beneath him, sobbing openly, clawing at the sheets as he begged and begged. “Please, please, let me—Alex, I can’t hold it, I need to knot you, I’ll die, I’ll die—”
Hamilton’s cruel smile cracked, sweat dripping from his temples, lips parted on gasps. His orgasm was too close now, glands burning, cunt drooling slick in messy strings down Laurens’ cock. He rode harder, faster, chasing something sharp and inevitable.
“Gods—fuck—you—” Hamilton choked, bouncing frantically now, pace breaking. His cunt fluttered around Laurens. He could feel the swell pressing at him, a knot threatening, and for the first time, he wanted it, needed it, reckless.
Laurens only whimpered, helpless under him, scent flooding thicker — sweet wine made molten and sharp. It filled Hamilton’s lungs, his head, until he felt drunk on it. Every inhale was another glass downed, another slip from sense to delirium. He swayed with it, riding as if in a stupor, mouth falling open around shameless moans.
“Do it,” Hamilton snarled, voice cracking as he ground down with all his weight. “Knot me, damn you—fill me up—”
Laurens screamed, back arching, hips slamming up in helpless rut. The knot forced inside with brutal stretch, locking them together as Hamilton came apart. His vision whited out, cunt spasming in violent waves, milking Laurens’ release.
Hot, endless spend flooded him, deep and scalding, spilling past the seal of the knot. Hamilton sobbed with it, hands clawing at Laurens’ chest, head thrown back in ecstasy. He collapsed forward, gasping against Laurens’ throat, dizzy, heat-drunk. “God—gonna swell with it. You’re flooding me—I can feel it—ah—Laurens, what if it takes—hah—what if I really get big with your brat?”
His laugh was ruined, breathless, dissolving into a moan as his cunt clenched around another spill of heat. He ground down weakly, chasing the aftershocks, too drunk on scent and slick to care. His limbs felt boneless, chest heaving, sweat cooling sticky against his skin. For a moment he thought it might be over—that he could collapse right there, cock still buried in him, and sleep.
But the moment the knot softened enough to slip free, Laurens moved. In a blur of strength, he flipped Hamilton onto his stomach, dragging him up onto his hands and knees. Hamilton gasped, weak, still trembling, head swimming.
“What—Laurens—?”He didn’t finish before Laurens shoved back inside, thick cock sliding into his raw, overstretched cunt in one brutal thrust. Hamilton screamed, nails clawing at the blankets.
Laurens was gone to rut — groaning, growling, crying, pounding into him without rhythm, desperate, feral. Slick splattered under them with every slam, Hamilton’s body jerking forward on the cot.
“Stop—ah—John—” Hamilton’s voice broke, caught between protest and want. His heat betrayed him, cunt spasming around the intrusion, clenching tight, dragging Laurens deeper.
Laurens bent over him, teeth scraping his scent gland, voice ragged and sniffling. “Not enough. Never enough. Gonna fuck you again—fill you again—make you mine, mine, mine—”
Hamilton sobbed into the bedding, body quaking, torn between the afterglow and the relentless drive of heat pulling him back under. Every thrust knocked the air from his lungs, every slam of cock against his swollen walls setting off sparks that made his thighs tremble.
He knew he could—no—he should yell. Yell for someone to stop this, wake the other aides, drag himself free. He could escape, pour the vial of supressant lying on his desk down Lauren's throat, get a contraceptive, and all of this would be over. Rationally, it was simple.
But his body refused to cooperate.
Slick dripped down over Laurens’ cock, glistening and warm, and every press of his cunt against that thick length dissolved his resolve. Heat clouded his mind, scent thick and intoxicating, dulled rational thought until it was a faint echo beneath the roar of pleasure. Every nerve screamed to take it, to ride it, to let Laurens rut him into oblivion.
I should stop—I could stop—I can't—
Hamilton’s chest heaved, thighs trembling, slick pooling beneath them, as desire wove itself tighter around every thought. Even as reason screamed at him to flee, to protect himself, to be careful, his cunt clenched, body arching toward Laurens with impossible urgency, betraying everything he knew was wise.
He could almost feel the knot swelling again, thick and hot, pressing to claim him, and a low, ragged moan escaped before he even realized he’d let go.
Hours blur.
Every time Hamilton writhes away, Laurens yanks him back by the hips. They had rolled off the cot a long while ago—Hamilton barely remembers the impact of the floor, only the hot weight of Laurens following him down, never letting him breathe. He had been fucked against the cot frame until his back ached, bent over the edge of the mattress until it creaked beneath them, sprawled across the writing desk he’d tried so desperately to crawl to. His fingertips had brushed the vial of suppressant—so close—but Laurens’s shaking hand had knocked it straight from his grasp, glass shattering and liquid spreading in a useless gleam on the ground.
Now there was nothing left but Laurens.
“Do-Don’t want it,” Laurens sobbed, the words breaking apart on his tongue. His mouth latched stubbornly to Hamilton’s chest, sucking until the nipple was swollen, bruised. His face was wet with tears and spit, his voice muffled against slick skin. “Want you. Only you. Hic—pl-please—”
Hamilton tried to form words. His throat worked, but what came out was wrecked, high-pitched, helpless. “Nnnhhh—J-Joh—ahh—s’too—” The rest dissolved into a wail as Laurens’s cock slammed home again, the blunt head knocking cruelly at his tender cervix. Heat spilt deep inside him for what must have been the fifth—or the tenth?—time, so much that it leaked back out around the knot still struggling to swell inside. The ground was sticky beneath his thighs, slick and cum pooling together, a mess that smeared every time Laurens dragged him back down onto his lap.
Hamilton’s nails scrabbled weakly across Laurens’s shoulders. He had tried clawing, tried shoving, but his strength was gone; now his hands only twitched there, holding on as if he couldn’t decide whether he meant to push away or cling closer. His lips trembled with every gasping breath, voice broken beyond recognition. “S-stop—no—hnnhhh, can’t, I—ngh—”
Laurens lifted his face, tear-streaked and red, curls plastered to his damp forehead. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, frantic with rut. “Don’t—don’t leave me, don’t make me—I need you,” he pleaded, words tumbling too fast, slurring with hiccups. He thrust through his own begging, hips rutting desperately even as his knot threatened to lock them together again.
Then Laurens’s nose pressed hard against the slick skin of Hamilton’s throat. He dragged in a shuddering breath, nearly choking on the omega’s heat-scent. It clung heavy in the room, thickening every time Hamilton cried out, musk sweet and sharp, driving Laurens further past the edge. A feral sound tore out of him as he rubbed his face against the skin there, inhaling like he could drown in it.
“Mine,” he rasped, before sinking his teeth into the side of Hamilton’s neck. Not deep enough to fully mark—his rut-drunk body couldn’t commit to the bite—but sharp enough to draw blood. Laurens moaned against the skin, shuddering, thrusts jerking unevenly as he ground the mark in. His own alpha-scent flared, flooding the air and clinging to Hamilton’s skin.
Hamilton sobbed at the sting, head rolling to the side, but his body arched despite himself, scent spilling rich and needy. Their musk mingled—omega-slick sweetness tangled with the raw, sharp press of alpha—and the air turned suffocating with it. Laurens’s tears smeared into the damp mark as he licked and mouthed over it, whining into the skin.
Hamilton couldn’t think anymore. His head lolled uselessly, mouth falling open, eyes glassy and unfocused. His body twitched with every rutting thrust of Laurens’s hips, every hot surge of cum that forced his swollen belly tighter.
Somewhere in the haze, he dimly registered noise—obscene, broken noises that filled the room, sobs strung together with high keening cries, hiccupping gasps for air between ragged moans. It sounded so filthy, so debauched, that for a heartbeat Hamilton thought there must have been someone else there, watching, making a spectacle of it.
But no. No, the sounds were coming from him.
That realization never quite made it to the forefront of his mind; it swam dizzily in the sludge of overstimulation, his brain too waterlogged with pleasure and pain to hold onto it. All he could do was tremble, his body jerking with involuntary wails he didn’t even recognise as his own voice. His throat burned from the strain of it, but the noise kept spilling out, helpless, unstoppable.
The alpha yanked him back down, face pressing to the back of Hamilton’s neck, inhaling his scent like it was a drug. “Can’t… leave… me…,” Laurens groaned, voice ragged, rut-driven, hips punishing and relentless.
The overstimulation climbed impossibly high. Walls trembled beneath him, cunt throbbing, every nerve raw and screaming, begging for release, demanding more. Hamilton gasped, trying to draw in air, feeling as though he were drowning in wine—intoxicated, mind melting into a sweet, sticky fog of pleasure and panic. Every thrum of Laurens’ hips against him was another wave, dragging him further into oblivion.
The knot inside him stretched, filled him impossibly full, while his own slick slicked every surface it touched, glistening and hot, dripping down to coat Laurens’ thighs. Hamilton felt drunk on it, drunk on the scent, drunk on the feeling of being utterly claimed, entirely his alpha’s.
Every nerve, every muscle, every inch of him was alight, buzzing, trembling. He tried to focus, to think, to regain some sliver of control—but his body was a traitor. Each press, each drag, each punishing slam of Laurens’ rut sent sparks shooting up his spine, every movement igniting the ache in his belly, the slick heat in his cunt, the desperate throb of his knot.
And then, with one impossibly deep, brutal slam—his womb and the knot pressed together in a perfect, unrelenting strike—Hamilton’s world went white.
His knees buckled, spine arched, hands slipping uselessly to the floor. Every nerve fired at once; cunt and knot both milking and swallowing in waves that blurred into one continuous, unending heat. The sensation was too much, too sharp, too sweet. His brain didn’t stand a chance.
Vision blurred into stars, flashes of light and color bursting behind his closed lids. He quivered, trembled, shuddered, unable to stop the helpless cries spilling from him, body slick, raw, and shaking. Muscles convulsed under the relentless pressure, cunt clenching, knot swelling, and still Laurens drove him forward, each thrust stealing the last remnants of his consciousness.
The world narrowed to white-hot sensations, to slick, burning heat, to the overwhelming scent of Laurens marking him, claiming him. He was undone. He was weightless. He was drowning.
And then—finally—he slipped over the edge completely, the floodgate opening, the overstimulation collapsing every thought. The last thing he felt was the crushing, endless press of the knot, the heat and their scent and rut and slick merging into one perfect, all-consuming nothing