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“Number ten paces, fire!”
Aaron turned and aimed. Alexander was going to try to kill him, he knew that the moment the man arrived wearing his glasses. He fired his pistol, noticing only too late that Alexander had not been aiming at him, but rather, the trees above him. Alexander’s shot had hit a branch somewhere behind the brunet. Aaron’s, however, had struck Alexander’s side, effectively sealing his fate.
The man collapsed, dropping his pistol. Aaron steps towards him, his expression blank for the most part. To the side of Alexander, Aaron can’t help but observe the former. He sits at Alexander’s level, listening to the taller man’s pained grunts and heaves. He can’t help but find it… oddly sensual.
…
It wasn’t enough for Aaron.
He shifts to sit closer to Alexander; not in an act of concern, but in an act of haphazard infatuation. Aaron rests his hand near Alexander’s wound, listening to the pained groans from the latter man. Irrationally–though with some resistance–he slips his fingers in the wound, feeling the man tense in pain.
Aaron’s fingers slowly slid in and out of the bloodied wound. The warmth of the newly exposed meat and flesh along with Aaron’s own fetishized desires made the sensation surprisingly welcomed. Alexander’s head tilted back with an indignant moan of pain. Oh, how Aaron longed for this man’s blood at his hand, longed to see the one responsible for all of his political failures be the one who’d failed instead.
Now he was here, and he had exactly what he wanted: Alexander Hamilton, with all his reckless actions finally catching up to him. It was glorious, and it sent all sorts of ideas to his head, and more than enough to his dick–each one more deranged than the last.
He felt his trousers grow tighter and hotter as the scene progressed. Aaron shifted his gaze to peer at Alexander’s expression: a stare of abhor and detest, yet reluctant arousal as well. He took the latter as an excuse to continue.
Aaron removed his fingers, the wound latching on and reluctant to let them go. He let his hand hover for a moment, debating what to do as the crimson liquid trickled down. He stilled before raising his hand to his mouth, sucking the blood off finger by finger. He roughly grasps Alexander’s chin; the hatred in the other’s stare only fueling him.
Aaron forces Alexander’s lips to his, as well as forcing the kiss to deepen. He grinds against the man–much to the latter’s dismay. Aaron pulls away, glancing at the blood left in Alexander’s mouth before shifting his focus to his pants, and getting them off.
The buckle falls open, allowing his trousers to fall enough to expose his growing erection. He thought about retrieving the bullet from the other’s wound, but decided against it. It had widened from his finger’s treatment, but didn’t give much room for more than three fingers. Granting himself one caressing stroke, he led his cock to the wound. What he thought felt great with his fingers tripled as he thrusted further in than his fingers could reach before. Alexander’s fractured bone shards dug into his skin, making Aaron groan. The erotic, wet meat morphed the pain into brilliant pleasure. Alexander’s own thoughts and opinions didnt even register to him at the moment, only his own, selfish satisfaction. He thrusted deeper, faster, harder until his body tensed, but soon gave way to relief.
He pulled his bloody, softening cock out of the wound, the flesh convusling and tightening around the tip, before he completely pulled out. Neither man said anything as Aaron got decent again; Alexander because he couldn’t, and Aaron because he simply didn’t want to.
Aaron concealed himself behind his umbrella, seeing as Hosack and the rowers were already rapidly approaching. In the back of his mind, Aaron already knew he’d be dead, but I suppose that’s what he was aiming for.
…
Good riddance.