Jul 29
no one, and i mean no one, actually wants to be here.
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Nigeria
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from Nicaragua
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Italy
seen from Chile
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
no one, and i mean no one, actually wants to be here.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
hamburr murderhusbands or murder-husband?
this is literally gayer than having gay sex idek what to say
The worst part about not being in school now is that I can't blame my art decisions on academic stress anymore. Anyway catboy Burr tail play omg who said that
Being so insanely jeffmads + hamburr pilled you constantly check the #’s for both ships to see if there’s any new content on every social platform you can think of…I’m such a hamilton Yaoi pilled chud 💔
Now everytime I open my bag there's hamburr
Aaron Burr felt like a complete fool.
Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.
Scarlet drops struck the marble floor one after another. Everywhere he looked was red—red pouring from the man’s abdomen, spilling out from his neck, his head. A river of crimson spread across the polished tiles, thick in some places, thin in others, pooling into uneven stains.
It was horrific.
He had been at the peak of his career.
Just days ago, he’d been elected Vice Chairman of the Board. His future had never looked brighter. Years of patience, compromise, careful networking, swallowing his pride—all of it had finally paid off.
He couldn’t let this ruin everything, not like this.
Aaron Burr forced himself to take a slow, deliberate breath.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
No one saw this. No one.
All he had to do was get rid of the body. Somewhere far away. Somewhere no one would ever think to look. If he hid it well enough, people would assume the man had disappeared. Missing persons cases went unsolved every day. He could still return to work on Monday. Attend board meetings, smile for shareholders and investors.
He could still be Vice Chairman Aaron Burr. He didn’t have to become Aaron Burr, murderer.
A sharp whistle suddenly echoed through the room .Burr nearly jumped out of his skin.
He whipped around toward the doorway.
His heart stopped.
A familiar pair of impossibly violet-blue eyes watched him from the door, narrowed with unmistakable amusement.
“Oh.”
The man tilted his head.
“Mr Aaron Burr, sir."
His lips curved into the same smug, infuriating smile Burr had spent years trying not to punch off his face.
“You never stop surprising me.”
Alexander Hamilton.
Hamilton looked from Burr’s bloodstained shirt, to the knife in his hand, to the corpse lying at his feet. Then he gave a low whistle.
“I always knew there was something a little…” One elegant finger circled lazily beside his temple. “…wrong with you up here.”
He shrugged. “But murder?”
A laugh escaped him.
“That is honestly beyond even my expectations.”
His eyes drifted back to the corpse. “And your own lover, no less. Ouch.”
Burr’s throat suddenly felt impossibly dry. Questions crashed through his mind so quickly they became impossible to separate.
How did Hamilton get in?
How long had he been standing there?
Had he seen everything?
Had he already called the police?
Should—
Should he kill him too?
The thought flashed through his mind so naturally that it made his stomach lurch.
God.
He had killed one person barely half an hour ago, and he was already considering a second.Did it become easier that quickly?
He didn’t even realize how tightly he’d gripped the knife until his knuckles began to ache.
Hamilton either didn’t notice, or simply wasn’t concerned.
He continued looking at Burr with that irritatingly relaxed expression, as though discovering a corpse in someone’s house was merely an awkward social inconvenience.
“Come on, Burr.”
His voice was almost gentle.
“Don’t look so tense.”
He stepped over the spreading blood with surprising grace before crouching in front of Burr, who was still half-kneeling on the floor.
“I’m not going to report you.”
“…What?”
Burr stared blankly.
Surely Hamilton was joking.
The man had spent years challenging him at every opportunity. Only a week ago, he’d all but secured Jefferson the chairmanship by throwing his support behind him instead. If there had ever been a perfect chance to destroy Aaron Burr completely—to erase him from the boardroom, from politics, from polite society—this was it.
Hamilton had walked in on a corpse. On Burr, covered in blood.
There would never be another opportunity like this.
So…
Why?
Hamilton blinked.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He reached out and lightly grasped Burr’s chin, tilting his face upward.
“We’re friends.”
He smiled as though stating the most obvious fact in the world.
“Friends help each other.”
Didn’t they?
They were close enough now that Burr could count every eyelash framing Hamilton’s brilliant violet-blue eyes. He could see the tiny flecks of gold radiating outward from his pupils.
It was absurd.
There was a corpse cooling on the living room's floor, filling the room with the stench of blood and iron. And yet Hamilton’s hand was warm against his face. Almost unbearably, feverishly warm.
“So…”
Hamilton gave his cheek an affectionate pat.
“Up you go. Go take a shower.”
His thumb brushed absentmindedly across Burr’s skin, over a speck of blood on his jaw.
“Then we’re going shopping.”
———
“…How many more stores are we going to?”
“Hm?”
Hamilton glanced over his shoulder from the hardware aisle, one hand already reaching toward another roll of heavy-duty plastic sheeting.
“As many as we need.”
Burr looked miserably down at the heavy shopping bags hanging from both hands.The thin plastic handles dug painfully into his fingers.
Heavy-duty plastic tarps. Industrial duct tape. Disposable gloves. A clean change of clothes. Canned and microwaveable foods. OxiClean. Several expensive Japanese kitchen knives.
(“The knives in your kitchen are dull as hell,” Hamilton had remarked. “Besides, we’re not using the same knives to butcher a body and cook dinner.”)
Contractor-grade garbage bags.
“I think we’ve bought enough.”
“We haven’t.”
Hamilton picked another roll of plastic sheeting off the shelf.
“We’re going to need all of this.”
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—Burr already owned a shovel, a handsaw, a chainsaw, an industrial flashlight…
…and a frankly suspicious amount of rope.
“I bought those for woodworking and gardening when Theodosia left for college.”
Hamilton nodded solemnly.
“I believe you. Completely.”
Burr frowned.
"…I'm serious, Hamilton."
"I know."
———
“Burr.”
Hamilton didn’t even look up from the body. He pouted.
“Give me a hand, would you? Hurry up. It’ll be a pain once decomposition starts.”
“Bleurgh—”
Burr barely reached the bathroom sink before he vomited.
His entire body shook uncontrollably, one violent heave after another, until there was nothing left but burning stomach acid. He gripped the edge of the porcelain basin hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.
Maybe reality had only just caught up with him. He had killed someone. He had actually killed someone. Another human being, flesh and blood—driving his knife in over and over and over until his chest ceased to rise completely.
His stomach refused to settle.
Behind him, Hamilton continued working as though none of it was remarkable. They hadn’t even begun dismembering the body yet. Hamilton had merely opened the abdominal cavity.
“The intestines and internal organs are the first to decompose,” he’d explained earlier, as casually as someone discussing meal prep. “We’re not finishing the whole body tonight anyway, so let's deal with those first.”
The bathroom no longer resembled a bathroom.
Sheets of heavy plastic covered every inch of the tiled floor, their edges sealed carefully with strips of silver duct tape so blood couldn’t seep into the grout. Surgical gloves, knives, and garbage bags had been laid out in neat rows beside the bathtub.
Everything was horrifyingly organized.
“…How do you know so much about this?”
Burr’s voice sounded small. Hamilton shrugged without looking away from the body.
“I’ve killed someone before.”
Burr froze. The color drained from his face so quickly he'd look barely less pale than the body in the tub. Hamilton finally glanced up.
Seeing Burr’s expression, he burst into laughter.
“I’m kidding.”
He waved one gloved hand dismissively.
“Relax.”
Another laugh escaped him.
“Didn’t I ever tell you? I wanted to go to medical school.”
His knife pointed into the open abdominal cavity.
“I still remember a surprising amount of human anatomy.” He smiled.
“Good thing you’ve got the whole week off. The newly promoted Vice Chairman sure has it easy.”
Burr said nothing.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve before reluctantly kneeling beside Hamilton again.
Together they began removing the organs.
They were warm.
The texture made his stomach lurch all over again—slick membranes sliding against his latex gloves, soft tissue yielding beneath his fingers, loops of intestine slipping over one another with sickening ease.
To him, it was all the same.
Just an indistinguishable mass of flesh.
A nightmare of reds and purples and glistening membranes that refused to resemble anything human anymore.
Hamilton, meanwhile, looked perfectly at ease.
He crouched beside the corpse like an anatomy professor conducting a practical exam.
“Careful.”
He reached over and gently redirected Burr’s hand.
“Don’t rupture the gallbladder.”
His tone was patient, almost encouraging.
“If bile gets everywhere, the smell is going to be unbearable.”
He pointed deeper into the cavity.
“That’s the liver.”
“The stomach.”
“Here’s the spleen.”
“Kidneys are back there.”
“And those are the loops of the small intestine.”
He paused, examining one of the wounds Burr had inflicted.
“Hm.”
He touched the torn tissue lightly with the tip of his knife.
“This stab pierced the liver. The next one nicked the diaphragm. And…you missed the kidney by about two centimeters.”
He spoke with detached curiosity, as though reviewing a medical student’s exam rather than cataloguing the injuries of a dead man.
“This man had a beautiful heart, don’t you think?”
Hamilton held the organ up between his gloved hands, tilting it thoughtfully beneath the harsh bathroom light. Blood dripped steadily from the severed vessels, pattering onto the plastic sheet spread across the floor.
To Burr, it looked no different from a butchered pig’s heart at the supermarket.
Just another fist-sized lump of red muscle.
He couldn’t tell where the ventricles ended and the arteries began.
“…I suppose.”
The answer came automatically. He was too numb to offer anything more convincing.
Hamilton hummed.
“I’ve always thought hearts are prettier than people give them credit for.”
He turned it over with surprising care, almost admiring it.
“Look at it.”
His thumb traced one of the thick coronary arteries.
“It spent decades beating without stopping.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“And now…” He gave it a tiny, almost affectionate squeeze. “…it’s just meat.”
Burr swallowed hard. Something hot rose into his throat. Hamilton glanced up.
“Oh.” He lowered the heart. “Don’t throw up again!”
Eventually, they managed to remove the last of the entrails. Hamilton tied off one bulging garbage bag before reaching for another.
“There.”
He held the biodegradable bag open with practiced ease.
“Drop those in.”
Burr reached forward obediently, but suddenly, the warmth against his palms finally became too much. His stomach convulsed. He gagged, then doubled over, retching into the garbage bag Hamilton was holding open.
Nothing came up except bitter stomach acid.
Hamilton closed his eyes. A long, suffering sigh escaped him.
“…Seriously?”
He waited until Burr had finished coughing before calmly tying off the bag with practiced hands.
“Well.”
He stood, stretching the stiffness from his back.
“At least you didn’t throw up on the corpse.”
He picked up the heavy black bags one by one.
“Come on.”
“Let’s go get rid of these before they start smelling.”
———
“Whew.”
Hamilton leaned against the shovel, catching his breath. “For two people who’ve never done this before, digging a hole this deep would’ve usually taken us all week.”
They had been at it for nearly three hours.
Mostly because there was only one shovel.
Burr had adamantly refused to buy a second one—apparently purchasing an extra shovel in the middle of the night was where he finally drew the line.
So they took turns. Or, at least, that had been the plan.
In reality, Burr did almost all the digging after Hamilton repeatedly declared him “completely useless” during the dismemberment.
By the time they were finished, it was well past midnight.
The pit was just deep enough.
Hamilton tossed the tightly sealed, deodorized garbage bags containing the victim’s organs into the pit. They covered everything with dirt, tamped the ground flat, scattered loose leaves over the freshly turned earth, and finally climbed back into the car.
Burr’s hands were still trembling too violently to hold the steering wheel. His shoulders burned from digging.
Without saying a word, Hamilton slid into the driver’s seat. The engine hummed softly as they pulled back onto the empty road.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then Hamilton broke the silence.
“Mind if I stay over tonight?”
Burr looked over, exhausted.
“…What?”
“We’re finishing the rest tomorrow morning anyway.”
Hamilton shrugged, his eyes never leaving the road.
“And driving all the way back into the city at this hour sounds like a pain.”
“…There’s only one bed.”
“So?”
“The guest room’s been turned into a storage room.”
Hamilton glanced sideways at him.
“…You’re seriously planning to make the man who just helped you cover up a murder sleep on the couch?”
“The couch that’s still sitting in the blood-soaked living room?”
“I-I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“You’ll drag DNA everywhere.”
A beat passed.
"…Or do you detest me so much you can’t even share a bed with me?"
Burr let out a tired sigh.
"…Fine."
———
Sleep refused to come.
Every time Burr closed his eyes, he saw blood.
A torn-open abdomen. Loops of intestine spilling onto white tile. His own hands disappearing wrist-deep into another human body.
His stomach twisted violently.
He shot upright, lunging for the trash can beside the bed.
He didn’t make it.
Acidic vomit splattered across the sheets. The sharp burn in his throat made his eyes water instantly.
A few tears escaped before he could stop them. Whether they were from the retching or from humiliation, he honestly couldn’t tell.
He’s pathetic.
There’s no going back.
He isn’t even guilty.
So why is his body acting like this?
Beside him, Hamilton stirred. He rolled over with an annoyed groan before propping himself up on one elbow.
"Burr."
He rubbed sleep from his eyes.
"Seriously?"
"We spent hours cleaning blood, and now you’re making another mess?"
Burr sniffled. The sound was embarrassingly small. Embarrassingly miserable.
Hamilton’s expression shifted almost immediately. The irritation disappeared.
“…Hey.”
His voice softened.
"You want a distraction?" He watched Burr for a long moment. "If you keep spiraling like you did today, you'll end up on Monday’s front page. Forget about him."
Before Burr could ask what he meant, Hamilton leaned forward. Warm hands cupped his face with surprising gentleness.
Then, without another word—
He kissed him.
Hamilton didn’t hesitate. He didn’t seem to care that Burr had vomited only seconds ago, or that traces of saliva and stomach acid still lingered on his lips.
The kiss tasted bitter. Burr could taste the sourness of his own stomach acid, the pungent taste of half-digested food, and his own mint toothpaste on Hamilton's lips. It was disgusting. Burr should have recoiled immediately.
Instead—
Hamilton’s lips were unbelievably soft.
"Mmph—wait—stop—I just threw up—"
Every protest dissolved into the kiss. Hamilton’s hand slid around the back of Burr’s neck, fingers threading gently through his hair as he held him close.
He was warm. So impossibly warm.
The warmth felt almost unreal after an entire day spent surrounded by cold flesh, steel, and blood. For a brief, shameful moment, Burr forgot there was a corpse waiting for them downstairs.
The kiss seemed to last forever. When Hamilton finally pulled away, their lips separated with a soft, wet sound.
He wiped at the corner of his own mouth with his thumb before smiling—a small, almost satisfied smile.
"There." He tilted his head. "Feeling better?"
Then, almost absentmindedly, he brushed a stray tear from Burr’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.
"Don’t cry." His smile lingered. "Tears don’t suit you."
Do they fuck nasty after this?
🙌 YES
no go to sleep 🛌
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