Work Text:
From: [email protected]
To : [email protected]
Subj: Dinner meeting?
Message :
I know your schedule is absolutely packed today, but I have some information that shouldn’t wait until tomorrow. 7 tonight, my home? I’ll have dinner prepared and we can talk.
- A. Burr
Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough. - George Bernard Shaw
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Dinner meeting?
Message:
Nah.
- TJ
The ladder of success is best climbed by stepping on the rungs of opportunity. - Ayn Rand
It really, really shouldn’t be this disappointing. Burr feels something raw open in his chest, and he probes it for a moment, the rational observer. The edges are open like a flower and the centre is all heat and pressure.
You ask your boss out on a date - not even a very well disguised date at that - and this is what it gets you.
Well. Enough of that. Burr notices each emotion as it comes, names it, allows it to pass. Disappointment; resentment; sadness; anger, just for a moment, just a flash. He releases each emotion in succession. The process is so familiar that it doesn’t take all that long, but it feels like forever, as it always does.
He’s just barely done when his computer sings at him to let him know another email has arrived.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Dinner meeting?
Message:
Talked to my staff. You’re coming to my place. Seafood? (Say yes or you’re fired.)
- TJ
The ladder of success is best climbed by stepping on the rungs of opportunity. - Ayn Rand
Oh.
Well, there you go.
Burr responds in the affirmative (no lie; seafood is is favourite) and spends the rest of the day keyed up and anxious. He doesn’t have much by way of information. What’s he going to say? “Hamilton said a rude thing. Yes, another one. We are all very surprised.”
He really just wanted to get some alone time with Jefferson, just the two of them, but now he wonders if he was too vague about his intentions.
Nothing to be done but push on, though. He finishes up his work at 5 PM and shuts down his computer, locks up his office, gathers his things to go home. He has two hours to make himself presentable. Next to Thomas, he feels small and homely; he knows he’s not a bad looking man, but how can he compare to Jefferson’s broad shoulders, his staggering height, the clean, predatory line of his grin?
He spends far too long buzzing his hair down, which means he has to rush his shower. If he had the time, he would scrub and moisturize every inch of his body. Skin like his doesn’t come without effort; it takes time and upkeep. Patience. The reward is worth the effort.
Pressed for time, he just makes sure he washes well. There’s a moment of indecision when he reaches his ass.
They’ve never -
He pushes the thought away, tries to keep his mind focused on other things as he cleans himself. And if he’s half-hard when he shuts the water off, well, that’s not so unusual, is it? You have your hands in intimate areas and reactions happen.
Recognize the sensations and release them.
Charcoal suit, purple tie. The colour should be enough to make Jefferson at least take notice. He brushes his teeth - for the second time that evening, he realizes, he did it just before showering - and examines his face. There’s a hint of stubble on his jaw, but he likes the way that looks, so he leaves it. He feels less like a lovestruck teenager that way.
Burr has driving directions open on his phone when he gets in the car, but he read them so many times that he doesn’t need to look. Eventually he sees the screen turn itself off on the seat beside him and he doesn’t bother to turn it back on. He lets his mind drift away from what’s coming up; it’s easier to do that than to focus. He knows he’ll psych himself out.
He pulls up to the gate at 6:45. The attendant checks his ID before he’s allowed to pull in and up to the house.
Staff to guard the gate, staff to open the door, staff to lead him to the sitting room Jefferson is currently occupying. Burr feels his breath catch at the sight of him. How many purple suits can one man own? Jefferson is relaxed in an armchair with a glass of wine, long-fingered hands holding the stem of the wineglass like a medical instrument.
“Good evening, Burr,” Jefferson says. “Nice tie.”
Burr wills his voice to remain steady. “Good evening, Mr Secretary.”
The young man who escorted him leaves the room and shuts the door. Jefferson looks past Burr to the door, pauses a moment, and then says, “lock that, will you?”
Burr obliges.
He’s still facing the door, he’s just turned the latch home, when suddenly he smells something heady and sharp - it must be cologne, he has time to think, and then Jefferson’s hands are on his hips and he’s being held back against the hard-muscled body that has been haunting his mind all day.
“So I heard you had something to talk about,” Jefferson breathes into his ear. Burr can’t keep his hips from bucking back, and he feels the line of Jefferson’s cock, already half-hard, huge. He swallows.
“Yes, sir,” he breathes.
“And when you say something to talk about, do you mean a professional kind of talk about, or the usual kind of talk about?” The words are a silken purr, teasing, evocative. Burr has to chuckle.
“Well -” He pauses. Jefferson’s lips brush his ear and Burr feels the heat of his tongue a second before it makes contact. Jefferson drags his tongue up along the outer edge of his ear, traces back down to the lobe, and then he’s sucking , and it’s all Burr can do to keep from moaning.
“Yes?” prompts Thomas.
Burr can smell the wine on his breath, dry and crisp. It makes him hungry. “Not necessarily the usual, sir. I thought perhaps a new environment might - free our tongues somewhat.”
Jefferson hums, interested. “What do you have in mind?”
Burr doesn’t let himself pause. He spits the words out before he can swallow them. “How clean is, uh, are you?”
“Are you insinuating something?” It’s said jovially but there’s a hint of wariness there.
Instead of responding, Burr turns and takes the risk of palming Jefferson’s ass. It’s just as hard as the rest of him - this man must work out all the fucking time, Burr thinks - and he gives it a rough squeeze before tracing his fingers up and down the cleft. “Here,” he breathes.
“Do you intend to fuck me?” Jefferson asks. His voice is husky. “I don’t particularly care for taking dick, but if you’d like I’d be more than happy to bend you over and -”
“Not fuck,” Burr interrupts him. He finds he can’t articulate what he wants, so instead he stands on his toes and licks Jefferson’s bottom lip, hoping desperately he gets the hint.
There’s a beat of silence as Jefferson absorbs this, and then he breaks into a broad grin. “Absolutely disgusting,” he says, but he sounds delighted.
“That doesn’t sound like a no,” Burr hears himself saying.
“Sinful. Indulgent. How would you like me?” Jefferson asks. “In my chair? Can you reach from there?”
“A bed?” Burr offers.
“Mmm. Taking me to bed so soon, Mr Burr? How romantic of you.”
Burr feels his face flushing. It doesn’t show against his complexion, but there must be something in his face, because Jefferson opens his mouth to keep teasing, looks at him, and then cuts himself off.
Instead, Jefferson tells him, “my bedroom is upstairs, beside my office. Do you think you can wait to have your mouth on me?”
“I will just have to endure, sir,” Burr says drily.
Jefferson undresses Burr slowly, like he’s unwrapping a present. There’s time for shame to well up in Burr’s chest, and to slowly ebb away as Jefferson drags his hands reverently down Burr’s body.
“Beautiful,” Jefferson breathes, but he’s so quiet about it that Burr feels strange responding. He lets the word hang between them.
He’s hard, so hard he’s aching, but he doesn’t want Jefferson to touch him. Instead, he focuses on disrobing Thomas. He kisses each inch of skin as it comes bare before him. Burr unbuttons Jefferson’s pristine white shirt, slides it off, and fastens his mouth around one nipple. He toys with it for a moment, teeth, tongue, lips, and when Jefferson begins to whine, he gives in and sucks.
“Fuck,” Thomas breathes. Burr gives that nipple a final flick with his tongue and trails his mouth across Jefferson’s chest, leaving love bites as he goes. Slowly, agonizingly, he travels towards the other nipple, which is peaked stiff.
“Burr, come on,” Jefferson says.
“Patience,” Burr murmurs. Thomas is too beautiful not to savour. He punctuates his response by leaving a hickey next to his nipple, and Thomas groans, and Burr can feel the vibration in his lips. He rewards Jefferson by latching on and sucking.
Jefferson is hard and straining against his pants, and Burr takes pity on him and finishes undressing him. As many times as he sees that gorgeous cock, he never gets used to it; it always takes his breath away.
And he’s never seen it like this before. He’s never had Thomas completely naked, and he can’t help but stare at him. He’s perfect - there’s a line of hair that trails from his navel down to his groin, and Burr, more than anything, wants to follow that trail with his mouth. His stomach is all hard lines and smooth skin, his thighs like tree trunks, his ass perfectly sculpted. Burr might be the one person on Earth who is more impressed by Thomas than Thomas himself.
Thomas laughs, suddenly, and the sound is full and warm. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks.
“You’re perfect,” Burr tells him by way of response.
“Yes,” Thomas says. “I know. How do you want me?”
It takes a moment for Burr to understand what Jefferson is asking. Instead of responding, he presses himself against Thomas and kisses him roughly, savouring the sensation of Thomas hard against his stomach. His own cock rests against one perfect thigh and he gives a couple of thrusts, just to see if it will feel as good as he imagines. It does.
“On the bed, please, sir,” he manages when he pulls away. “On your back.”
Jefferson obliges and Burr follows, straddling his hips and biting at the junction between Jefferson’s neck and shoulder. He leaves a mark there and soothes it with his tongue before kissing each nipple, dragging his tongue down along his stomach, and nipping the skin just below his navel.
Burr is face-to-face with Jefferson’s cock, one of his favourite places to be, but he hesitates. It would be so easy to give Thomas exactly what he wants, but there’s that temptation to make him wait for it.
“Princess,” Thomas says, a hint of desperation in his voice. When Burr doesn’t respond, he adds, “Aaron.”
Thomas has never said his first name before.
Burr groans, and in that second he decides he’s going to draw this out as long as he possibly can.
He nuzzles against the insides of Jefferson’s thighs and uses his thumbs to spread the perfectly sculpted ass as wide as possible. This isn’t a great angle; he won’t be able to reach without a strain, he’ll have to work hard for it, and he’ll have Jefferson’s balls on his face the whole time.
That thought sends a thrill through him. What was it Thomas said to him earlier? Absolutely disgusting. Sinful. Indulgent.
He leans down and strokes the tip of his tongue across Jefferson’s asshole.
Thomas groans at the contact and puts one massive hand on the crown of Burr’s head. “Fuck, Aaron,” he breathes. “Do that again.”
So Burr obliges. He licks in long, broad strokes, passing over the hole again and again, with just enough force behind the lick that Thomas can feel it - not enough to do much more than that. He’s teasing unmercifully and he can feel Thomas rolling and jerking against his mouth, craving more, too proud to beg.
Burr doesn’t need him to beg. He thinks it would be uncomfortable, even - unbecoming for a man like Thomas.
“Princess,” Thomas begins, sounding slightly broken, and Burr cuts that off right there by probing into Jefferson’s ass with the tip of his tongue. The ring gives just a little, just enough for his tongue to dip inside, and then clenches.
He can’t tell for a moment if that clench is a good thing. Thomas mentioned he doesn’t like penetration. But Jefferson doesn’t stop him, and Burr, after a moment of circling the edge of his hole, pushes again. Just a small thrust with his tongue. Thomas clenches again, relaxes, tightens, and the flutters encourage Burr to keep pushing, to keep fucking. Each time Thomas clenches he opens again a little wider and Burr can get further in, taste more of him. He doesn’t taste like anything much - a faint hint of soap, nothing more.
He opens Thomas as wide as he can, gets him loose and shuddering, and when Jefferson’s breath starts to speed and hitch, Aaron moans into his asshole.
“Fuck, Princess,” Thomas gasps. “You have such a talented mouth, don’t you? You eat ass like you were born for it.”
Burr moans again. The talk goes straight to his cock and he finds himself rutting against the bed.
“Gonna make me come, Aaron?”
Burr lifts his head. He knows his lips are swollen and his tongue is tired. But he looks at Jefferson’s face, and he decides he’d gladly eat this man out for hours if it makes him look like that. Thomas is absolutely wrecked. There’s sweat on his forehead and his upper lip, and he must have been biting his lip because the lower one is swollen. They make eye contact for a split second - that’s all Burr can take; Thomas is staring at him with unbearable intensity, with ravenous hunger, and Burr feels devoured, and he loves it but it’s too much to endure.
“Yes, sir,” he says, and he sinks his mouth down onto Jefferson’s cock.
“Aaron, fuck, you are so good, aren’t you?” Thomas rasps, his voice a leonine snarl, his body focusing down to the single point where it meets the inside of Burr’s mouth.
Jefferson thrusts, and Burr lets him. He’s earned it. But Thomas is so close - he’s tensing his thighs, folding in on himself - so Burr pulls off his cock and starts jacking it hard and fast.
“What are you doing, Princess? I’m gonna come,” Thomas breathes.
“I know,” Burr tells him. He hesitates just for a moment before he finishes, “cover me.”
It takes a moment for Thomas to understand, but the realization hits just in time for him to blow. Jefferson’s load is just as overwhelming as his size. When they first started having their meetings, Burr would often struggle to swallow the whole thing.
He would fantasize, every single time, about being covered in it instead.
But they had to be discreet, having those rendezvouses in the office. Here, now, in the privacy of Jefferson’s bedroom, Burr allows himself this indulgence.
"Aaron," Thomas chokes out, and the first pulse hits his lips and drips down his face. With each shot, Burr finds himself getting harder and harder. He notices that he is hungry.
As Jefferson’s cock leaks one final dribble of semen, Burr opens his mouth and licks his lips. Jefferson’s come is sticky on his face, rapidly cooling. He is prepared to wipe it off. He is not prepared for Thomas to swipe his thumb through the worst of the mess and stick that thumb in his mouth. It’s disgusting, sucking come off Jefferson’s hand, and he moans wantonly, begging with his eyes for more.
Without realizing how it happened, Burr is suddenly on his back, and Jefferson’s hand is wrapped around his cock. “Do you want me to suck you off, Princess?” Thomas is whispering, and Burr shakes his head frantically.
“Please just touch me. Kiss me,” he adds, and Thomas kisses him hard, and he can feel the load on his face smearing onto Jefferson’s cheeks.
He’s just starting to settle into the rhythm of Jefferson’s hand on his cock when his orgasm hits him without warning. He breaks the kiss to throw his head back and shout. His own come hits his stomach and Thomas rubs his thumb through that, too, makes him taste it, and the knowledge that that came out of him makes Burr whine.
They breathe together, both of them wrecked, and the mess on Burr’s face and stomach is disgusting, and he touches it, suddenly painfully aware of just what that does to him.
Thomas seems to know what he’s thinking. “So you like it nasty, huh.”
Burr doesn’t feel as though it’s necessary to respond.
“Not what I would have expected from you, Princess,” Jefferson continues. “You’re always so well put together - so immaculate. You hide it well, don’t you? I’m going to have to do this to you more often.” He punctuates that by touching the semen on Burr’s face, and Burr can’t help it, he breathes and jerks his hips against Thomas.
“No, no time for that. We need to get cleaned up and dressed,” Jefferson says.
Burr feels his heart drop into his stomach.
“So that’s - it? I get you off and we just … get up and get dressed like nothing happened?” Burr hears himself saying. He sounds annoyed, but what he feels is more crushing. He feels dismayed.
“Princess, no,” Thomas rushes to say. “I just mean - it’s almost nine, look, and we haven’t even eaten yet. You must be starving.”
“Oh,” Burr says softly.
There’s a moment that draws out between them, silent, laden with unspoken uncertainty. Thomas is the first to break it.
“I think,” he begins, and he pauses. Burr is aghast at the apprehensiveness in his voice. “We should take a shower. Get cleaned up, eat dinner. And then, uh, would you like to - and you don’t have to, this isn’t an order or anything - would you like to stay, Aaron?”
Burr feels suddenly, dizzyingly happy. “Yes,” he says, with no hesitation, and Jefferson grins his predatory grin.
As they lay in bed together later, warm and tangled on the edge of sleep, Burr starts to laugh. Jefferson is almost completely gone. He half-stirs and mumbles, “what are you laughing about?”
“You said the right name this time,” Burr tells him.
“Told you I’d get it right eventually,” Thomas murmurs, and Burr nuzzles his face into Jefferson’s chest.
“Infallible as always, sir,” he agrees.