Work Text:
Against all odds and common sense, the sound of turbulent rain is quiet.
It’s dark outside, as conveyed by the smattering of water splaying against the floor-length windows in rapid succession. Slivers of moonlight cling to droplets in curving angles of white-silver, one second a brilliant bright reflective, only to blur into nothing more than a fleeting wet-shine that streaks down into darkness the next.
The windows are adorned by both this ornery weather and ornate drapes. Four surrounding walls are painted a moody dark-green where they peak out behind the furniture. The wooden floors are mostly covered by a thick, gorgeous rug.
Tall, solid planes of wood draw upon the walls shelf after shelf, decorated by eclectic arrays - that is, a litany of worn paperbacks and vintage trinkets - as far as Aventurine’s eyes can see and head can turn.
Every surface looks intentional, expensive, polished.
It appears the most out of place element happens to be Aventurine.
Well, himself, and the atmosphere.
Amber seems to pamper the space in gentle brushstrokes, painting swathes of well-placed adornments in stretching arrays of warmth. The room comes to life under this veil of ever-glowing fervor.
A dash of its ardor splashes over antiquities left and right, covering anywhere from the bronze-rimmed face of a wall clock to the smooth metal of the candle holders sitting atop a strong-looking oak desk. The lingering shine draws Aventurine in, so enthralled that he nearly forgets to breathe in the process.
Aventurine blinks. When he opens his eyes, this sense of enigmatic beauty still sits atop the furniture like a layer of finely ground dust: sparkling and wonderfully captivating.
Sitting in the corner of the room is the large maw of a wood-burning fireplace, blazing steadfast between the library surrounds.
Even from where he lies, the warmth of the hearth manages to permeate into Aventurine’s very being. It’s as if tiny fingers of flames gently cradle the edges of his jaw, slowly tracing the planes of soft skin until the heatwave finds itself kissing the ends of his eyelashes, turning the honey-blonde into light wisps of near yellow-transparency.
Aventurine shakes his head once more.
It’s odd, lying here with a muddled mind in such a welcoming atmosphere. It’s as if the room itself hopes to vanquish any thought of displeasure, searching to comfort to such an extent that even laying down feels borderline smothering.
The room - brilliant and ornate as it may be - presents as less a baroque respite, and instead as more of an obvious question:.
Just where am I?
Aventurine makes to sit straight, only to startle at the sudden throb of knee-jerk pain that accompanies the movement. He draws in air through his nose, closes his eyes to center the feeling, and finds himself caught in the rising tide of nausea that seems to always accompany unbridled hurt.
In his daze, he’d made for the forest over for the trees.
Now, as he gazes downward to find the delicate wrappings of a thick blanket draped and tucked to his person, he understands better the comforting weight had initially managed to help alleviate the lingering tension seeping into his weary body.
With a ginger lift of a hand, he shifts the blanket and watches as it sluggishly inches down, down, down the length of his overwarm torso. Beseechingly, the outline of the obvious appears in the stretching reveal of soft skin hidden under a less comforting covering: long swaths of crisp white bandages.
Aventurine reaches down and traces the edge of where rib lays under skin, immediately gasping at the spike of misery that accompanies the movement. It’s as if the wound only presents itself when greeted, rearing its ugly head to preen under the attention.
Pain, of all things, Aventurine finds comes naturally. The thought should be startling or borderline concerning, yet instead here he sits with the edges of flames flickering in the reflection of dark pupils.
His eyes squint in curiosity, morbidly enthralled as he skirts his palm against the remaining blanket until it pools into a burgundy pile at his thighs.
Tucked neatly around his midsection revealed itself as a well-dressed wound. What lies beneath he couldn’t say, nor guesstimate clearly without now knowingly inflicting a battery of undue trauma. Even now his scent tinges into this god-awful sour territory, working into the space in larger and larger quantities the quicker his heartbeat seems to patter.
Clearly, the space reads to be some level of “safe.” To bastardize this obvious intent of kindness feels like a jaded type of mockery given the hand Aventurine must have been dealt.
To configure any sort of plan forward, let alone a contingency, means there’s a few elements that must be considered.
For starters, a mysterious (and hopefully benevolent) benefactor placed Aventurine, a brutally hurt omega, in this tragic attempt at a -
Oh, Aeons.
A nest.
The intention is sweet, really, to deem Aventurine worthy of the creature comforts an omega would intrinsically want for.
This entire situation screams a level of care Aventurine’s not seen in years.
So the question must be begged:
Just where in the hell am I?
Aventurine hesitates on his next action. To move is to produce god-knows how many future waves of agony, but to linger means opening up a door of opportunity that leads down an avenue of steadily increasing confusion.
The air is tinged with these sour, bitter notes and his eyes nearly burn from the intensity of his own omega fight-or-flight aftershocks. The entire ordeal has his thoughts slipping out of his head and into the air like a giant white flag, waving in the wind.
He simply can’t comprehend the jarring aspect of being left to heal in a relative “safety” net, as the end result still defines the situation as “trapped in a net”. These thoughts bubble to the surface in a growing magnitude that flushes the room in bitter notes of a cloying scent.
“Lie down. If you expect others to feel remorse for self-inflicted pain, do realign your expectations.”
Ah.
All at once, these plaguing thoughts seem to pop.
Deeply rooted in Aventurine’s bones is a well-honed instinct, lovingly trained to remain perfectly calm despite the ever-looming threats promising to capsize him by storm. Here in the now, with a deep voice still echoing between his ears while a literal downpour rages on outside, Aventurine finds himself for the first time in a very long time undeniably sinking.
It’s confusing, to say the least, to at one moment feel so recognizably planted despite the misery, and then to have that stability in the unknown plucked without a moment’s notice.
If Aventurine’s own anxious pheromones were the instigating phenomena that drew this presence’s attention in the first place, it’s now that very same aloof tone that manages to stir up an even greater onslaught of upset.
The sudden collision of such a strong existence nearby doesn’t just fill the empty air with mocking words, it manages to consume every drop of oxygen from Aventurine’s quivering lungs. He gapes, one hand drawing up to thumb at his chest before running the length of his collarbone in insistent left-right-left swipes, the other unsettling in frantic disarray as long fingers splay against an uncovered thigh.
How he hadn’t noticed an observer before, moreso one that shocks his core and withers away any recently garnered sense of cohesion, Aventurine’s unsure.
Years, he’s sure, carefully crafted personas and disciplined mental anguish dwindled down into nothing. Stability garnered over the course of years in practice now washing away under the context of an unknown presence dominating the space in growing increments.
“What are you?” Aventurine asks, words choked between gasping breaths.
An alpha, first and foremost. One with a strong frame of mind and little room for emotional fanfare, it seems.
Slowly, the smell of something sweet peeks into Aventurine’s senses. One moment, he sits half-panting, half-gasping under the intimidating aura of the unknown, and the next it’s as if he’s meant to be smothered in that same intense scent, yet with an entirely different tone.
It’s books. Old paperbacks like the ones adorning each and every wall, embracing Aventurine in the warmth of a hug.
“As can be expected.”
Funnily enough, when Aventurine tilts his head to look up, up, up, what he sees defines the very idea of what would be “unexpected.”
Two sunset-red eyes stare down from below a pair of flattened, silver-tinged ears. Below, the hard-set lines of a half-hearted grimace appear on the sloping length of a long snout, all ending under the shiny-leather of a black nose.
Aventurine feels incredulous. Waking up equal parts disoriented and (apparently in a much-needed) recovery state mangled his mentality faculties a-plenty, but to then twist the knife by nailing all this anguish of cause-and-effect on a wolf of all creatures? He could almost laugh, if it wouldn’t further press the aforementioned injuries.
“What kind of joke is this?”
If there’s one small, miniscule, tidbit, bite-size, molecule, modicum of knowledge any living being should recognize when looking into the red-wine eyes of a wolf, it’s this:
Wolves don’t exist.
It's as simple as that.
This reality is at most a dream, one that is unceasingly narcissistic in its role at finding a balance between pleasure and pain, while ultimately acting as an allegory for something more. Wolves are independent by nature, symbols of loyalty and leadership. Aventurine is sure now he’s dreaming, or under a spell meant to invigorate these emotions. He wouldn’t put it past his current leadership, to hold their employees under water so they sweetly dream of providing harmony in their metaphorical “pack.”
Aventurine’s lived in this world long enough to know how magic weaves itself into all aspects of living; Aventurine worldview has been shaped by the philosophy on vampires cowering for centuries under the brightest hours of day, the proverbial shame witches find themselves burdened with in small cities with harshly enforced politics when the crops run dry, and how even he himself - coined as “blessed” by the luck of an aeon of all beings - functions day-in-and-day-out versus the remainders of society.
“Pardon me?” The wolf tilts his head, slowly trailing into the space to sit before Aventurine. He’s wearing a pillowing blue-black collared shirt with even darker pants, and when he initially had moved to settle on the carpet below, the cream of his robe had settled just-so that it revealed the chorded muscle of a gigantic forearm.
When Aventurine looks at the wolf, large and filling his view in shimmering strands of silver-purple, he recognizes the same hair trails over the carpet - his blanket, the cushions of the bed, and even the loose dress shirt haphazardly covering his own person.
“Wolves. Wolf. You. This entire,” Aventurine raises a limp wrist to survey the air around them at large, “fantasy.”
“You don’t trust that I’m real?” Give it to the make-believe wolf to don such a wonderfully authentic expression. One ear raises in curiosity as the arch of his eyebrow does the same, incredulous through and through.
“I trust my instincts, for starters.” Aventurine leans forward, shifting so the same outstretch of his fingers now land in the vicinity of the wolf’s lingering gaze. Then, Aventurine tilts his hand forward and closes his fingers together, pausing for a moment before he then spreads each digit wide and pulls back in a mimicry of an explosion.
Quietly, Aventurine observes as the wolf’s pupils dilate and assess against the changing proximity with a growing intensity.
“You’re superstitious,” he says.
“Wolves are magic, or made of magic, or something along those lines.” He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, eyes raising to the ceiling in disdain. “They usually only show up in magic induced hazes, or dreams, at best.”
At this, the wolf hums.
“Would a dream like this be so bad?” Aventurine laughs, then shakes his head once, twice in response. This earns him a more appreciative sounding hum. “If this is supposed to be some type of lesson, tell me then, what is it you need to learn?”
Aventurine pauses.
“Is this some type of trick question?”
The wolf huffs out what must be a laugh before continuing, “Maybe, if only partially.” Unnamed and bold, the wolf leans forward until the heat of his breath touches Aventurine’s withdrawing knuckles. “Consider this: you’re resolute that this is a dream. You’ll continually doubt my existence until proven otherwise, yet what is there here that ensures your own legitimacy?”
What does Aventurine know about himself?
Recalling work feels the easiest: like a big, gray haze suddenly clearing to hard lines of black and white. Daytrading normal citizens (or, on the rare occasion of gaining an upper hand: working alongside a sliding scale of heinous monsters) live’s away for the better profit of an organization hellbent on appeasing so-called stability.
A rough childhood caked in desert sand and loss. The in-betweens worked themselves out based on where the chips fell.
“You seem to have remembered something.”
“I was sent west for a business proposal.” Aventurine squints as he thinks, shuddering as pain responds to the squeeze of a hand below the sheets.
That’s right, he’d been sent on a work trip. The informational binder had a premise that wasn’t anywhere near fresh or thrilling, instead depicting another transactional type of mission that meant a great bonus check and easy travel.
As he fanned through manilla folders, it appears all it took for success was to be whisked to a land way out by the forest and find a way to shake hands. His opponent shaped itself in the wavering unease voiced via ethical concerns with Aventurine’s side of the stakeholders. Bottom-line: appease the acre-owning royals into opening their borders for mutually beneficial trading.
It’s only then that the pieces seem to fall into place.
“I was supposed to work as an olive branch, imply all we desired was the lumber, hope the entire foundation of this deal could be built on this blaise lie about wood.” Aventurine sighs before covering his pouting mouth with his free hand, “Of course, the ore mines would come later.”
The wolf’s tail flicks into view. Shadows bend in retaliation under the wolf’s show of interest, wavering under the dance of firelight that flickers behind silver-haired edges.
“You sensed they were onto you?”
Nodding, Aventurine recognizes the show of hand for what it is. The wolf must know what he’s doing, acting so obvious about being subtle.
“The duke welcomed me in, even offered me a tour. We drank his wine.” The words tumble out from between Aventurine’s lips, and he smiles when the next thought occurs, “You use the silhouette of your side profile as your family crest, Duke Ratio.”
Room after room was filled with an extraordinary amount of eloquence. It’s as if the kingdom itself was spun from pure gold, that the waves of the surrounding lakes lapping at their doors produced this coalescence of grandiosity that could seep into the very air they breathed.
The duke embodied this and more, moving with such an esteemed air about himself that for once, a contact managed to impress Aventurine from the jump. The long, dark fabric that covered the duke’s person did little to hide his disciplined physique, and the words he spoke showcased his intelligence without droning or prolonging idle thoughts.
After the walk and a short dialogue on contracts, Aventurine found himself staring into those same deep, wine-red irises and balking at the sudden intensity of trepidation settling like a stone in his stomach.
It was as if his surroundings all felt the same flushes of heat Aventurine did when he first awakened by the fire side, watching as the portraits on the walls melted in puddles at their feet and walls blended into hardwood. Waking thoughts began falling to the wayside as sleep clawed at his brain with greedy fingers, digging and digging until his vision blackened and his senses dulled.
Now here he sits, bandaged and cleaned by the very same entity that could claw and tear this entire facade to shreds.
“I much prefer my given name when in my chambers.” Ratio breathes the words in hot puffs of air against Aventurine’s cheek.
“Veritas, right? Hard to forget after looking through all those documents. You have a beautiful signature.” The words come out lighter than Aventurine intended, as if suddenly caught in the back of his throat.
“I’ve had years to practice,” Ratio says, half laughter. He leans back, eyes flicking across Aventurine’s being the seem to linger under the weight of thought.
Aventurine does his best to follow Ratio’s gaze, trailing over the unbuttoned shirt before stopping on the worry state of gauze and bandaging.
“Before you ask, you suffered your injuries in an audacious attempt at half-awake escaping.” The wolf looks almost sly while divulging this information, near-grinning as the fluff of his cheek settles to lean against the plush of Aventurine’s poorly covered thigh.
Aventurine’s cheeks warm under the new and sudden influx of heat hitting his skin. He can smell his own interest: sticky-sweet honey that coats the both of them in a blanket of curious fascination.
“And I’m to believe you chose to nurse me back to health out of the goodness of your own heart?”
“While I may very well play the part of the powering deity for this land, it is not sovereignty that draws me to oversee my people, but rather their kindness.”
The quietness of the room allows Aventurine to hear the thundering pulse of the heart beating wildly in his chest. The wolf nuzzles into the fabric further until it drops to the wayside, and gingerly begins kneading against Aventurine’s soft and sensitive skin.
Aventurine swallows.
“And what part am I meant to play?”
The wolf downright sneers. It’s as exhilarating to see as it is handsome, reeling Aventurine in with the sharp glinting of the wolf’s teeth, a fleeting flash under the unfurled lip of such a powerfully raw expression of want.
“Why would your plan have changed? You, Aventurine of the Stonehearts, are just another peace offering.”
A flood of want washes over the room in a honey-sweet outburst.
Veritas slides a hand up the side of the bed, moving to loom over Aventurine enough to block out the light. The open neck of his shirt displays a strong chest covered in layers of light silver-white fur, as if to convey the moon still manages to shine in the night sky.
A noise withdraws Aventurine from his thoughts, and it takes a moment before he registers the wolf’s chiding. Aventurine looks up to see the look of hunger staring down at him. This wolf, this man named Veritas, lowers himself down, nuzzling the side of Aventurine’s face in appreciation, warm and smooth where hair brushes skin.
“I’ll heal you, though understand this is contingent on a few conditions.” Aventurine laughs, nodding as he turns his head to properly nose against the wolf’s snout.
“And here I thought kindness was your modus operandi.”
“I hope to impart the gift of knowledge onto my people,” Ratio says, lowering himself to his elbows. The sudden movement reveals every line of tension in his body, and lingers on showing every ounce of desire, starting with the pressing warmth against the side of Aventurine’s knee. “Education breeds success, and I’d like the opportunity to learn everything I can about you.”
When Aventurine reaches up to instigate something, anything, he finds himself with his fingers running through the length of long purple hair and his lips pressed to a mouth much like his own. When he pulls back, he sees not a wolf, but a man above smiling, brilliant and blinding.
Ratio leans to nose once more at Aventurine, lips fanning light kisses to any skin he finds along the way.
“I accept.” Aventurine speaks before Ratio can open his mouth, words moving nearly as fast as the rabbit-quick heartbeat in his chest.
Ratio’s smile is wolfish, like this. The gold in his eyes nearly swallows the red now, a bright ring of yellow that exaggerates his excitement.
Slowly, Ratio works open the tie-offs of the ribbon, delicately maneuvering Aventurine until both shirt and gauze leave him bare above the sheets. Then, Ratio gently glides his fingers over the swell of Aventurine’s throat, applying a soothing pressure downward over battered skin. Aventurine sucks in a breath, cringing at the onslaught of stimulation, only to widen his eyes at the wake of Ratio’s movements.
The bruises, one by one, lighten significantly in color. The more he watches, the more Aventurine recognizes the bruises' complete disappearances.
“While efficient, I do find this technique to be ….” Ratio lingers, dropping down to perch on his calves before placing his hands on either side of Aventurine’s stomach, “rather boring.” Now, he leans until the swell of his cheek nearly pillows against Aventurine’s hip bone, eyelashes batting in innocence. “Allow me to demonstrate a less practical approach.”
The long-length of a tongue presses into the space above Aventurine’s navel, working a gentle pressure against the red thatches of lines that marr his freckled skin. Under the fan of golden lashes, Aventurine watches in wonderous fascination as moving lips reveal wounds slowly mending themselves over. The shine of spit glosses the ruddy red of scratches, slowly fading their color to a blossoming pink, still glittering under the returning fire light as the remaining blush sources itself from only Aventurine’s pleasure.
Veritas’ mouth works over him calmly and determined, only taking pause to startle Aventurine with the genial surprise of a nose pressed to blue-green bruises. The smooth planes of muscle at Aventurine’s stomach flex under these wet ministrations, the ebb and flow of pleasure-pain causing him to turn and pant wet-hot into the pillow.
This display of showmanship enthralls Aventurine down to the core. How the thrill of magic follows closely behind the trailing fingertips in a steady strum of vibrations, tickling as it lingers behind the increasing traces left behind by a hungry mouth.
Aventurine slides one hand forward to card through hanging bangs. A handsome face gazes up under the shadow of Aventurine’s palm, pupils blown wide and lips slicked and ruddy red. Aventurine feels his own mouth agape in awe, admiration apparent in the gentle way he thumbs at Ratio’s jaw.
“Your conditions,” Aventurine says, eyes half-lidded. There’s a halo of light that flickers behind the edges of purple hair, wavering like candlelight against the curving strands and softening the sharpness of flashing canines and wolfish smiles.
“Curious?” Ratio’s mouth finds Aventurine’s chest once more, mouthing along the pale plane of skin until his lips ghost over the pink pert of a nipple. He hums, tracing the blunt edge of his canine over and over, sweeping back and forth as he slowly lets the soft swell of his bottom lip run in conjunction.
Aventurine’s toes curl and he squeezes his eyes shut, nodding all the while. “Must be important,” he says, words tossed into the sky between desperate attempts at gasping for air. “You said knowledge is a gift.”
Ratio closes his mouth and sucks, mouth insistent and greedy as Aventurine cries into the open air. His hands work in tandem, constantly moving in soothing up-down motions; first, the excitement of a lowly claw down Aventurine’s side, relieved by the calming pressure of a large palm.
“First, you’ll send word to your employer,” Ratio says, lips now working against the jut of a collar bone. One hand still works over Aventurine’s chest, thumb distractedly playing with the pink swell of a nipple as his mind works words into easy comprehension.
Aventurine’s hands slide back into Ratio’s hair, gently pulling with each new kneed against his chest. The omega in him preens, captivated by the alpha’s rapt attention to ensuring his own pleasure. When glancing down, he can see the gleam of saliva that coats his exposed skin, can feel the slick wet waiting not-too-far below.
Suddenly, Ratio shifts up and Aventurine can better feel the hot pressure of Ratio large and needy against his leg. Ratio’s mouth pants against his neck, hot puffs of air coating the space below his scent gland as he rocks his hips in circles against Aventurine’s thigh. The pressure alone has Aventurine purring outright, scrambling to get a hand to the collar of Ratio’s dress shirt, pulling desperately to meet him properly.
Ratio noses into Aventurine’s neck, canines present but accommodating, given the proximity. The longer he stays there, the quicker Ratio moves his hips, as if the scent-drunk frenzy he’s curated spawns on and on this endless well of an appetite.
It takes a few tries for Aventurine to snap Ratio from his spell, nose dripping in honey and eyes a glossy shine as he allows himself to be pulled higher. The wolf only smiles, tipping his face down to slot his lips against Aventurine’s own. The initial press is gentle, exploratory and kind before he’s licking into Aventurine with such an intense fever it leaves them both gasping for air.
Tongue and teeth work against Aventurine’s mouth, the hight of his cheekbones, the corners of crescent-moon eyes. Aventurine’s chest heaves and his hands play with Ratio’s hair, pushing and prodding as his fingers first seize then fall limp at the glide of a clever tongue.
Now pressed into the ticklish skin at the lobe of Aventurine’s ear, Ratio’s words work to send a shiver down Aventurine’s spine. “I want you to explain that the deal was a total success.” Teeth nip in punctuation, “describe how the duke has claimed you from the inside out, how a forest’s worth of trees and lands decorated in ores pales in comparison to the bargaining chip they disguised as a strategic partnership.”
The same tongue licks up the shell of Aventurine’s ear and begins sucking at the skin, revelling in the way Aventurine’s purrs kick-up a notch.
“You’ll no longer work under the thumb of others, I promise you this.” Ratio draws over the mark at the side of Aventurine’s neck, languid and cautious as his expression hardens. In response, Aventurine frames Ratio’s face with his hands, cupping his cheeks and pressing featherlight kisses to the spaces between his fingers.
“You know they won’t let you have me that easily.”
Ratio tilts his head until he’s properly rested in Aventurine’s hold, eyes blinking closed as he hums in contentment. “You’ve found no issue with the premise, then?”
Aventurine laughs despite himself, the soft puff of air filling the scant inches of space between them. He drops a hand and pinches his thumb and forefinger together, moving them from before one edge of his lips to the other.
At that, Aventurine can feel the vibrations of appreciation roll off Ratio in waves. He presses his mouth, open and sloppy, to the seam of Aventurine’s open, working him open into steadily heightening degrees of intensity. Quickly, the both of them work each other out of their remaining clothes, messy and rushed as they press back into one another at every possible junction.
Below Aventurine lays a puddle of honey-sweet slick, pooling cooly atop the sheets. Ratio’s eyes hone in on the spot, tracing the edges with his fingers before his attention snaps back up to Aventurine’s flushed face. Warmth crawls from his chest to the apples of his cheeks, painting watercolor-like imagery in pink-red ink.
Given the opportunity, Aventurine would begin drafting the letter now, if he could. Penning to paper each flutter of an eyelash, each movement of Ratio’s talented mouth, whatever it took to help catalog this moment in time forever.
Ratio’s working lower and lower now, just as present on Aventurine’s chest as he was before, then showing the same devotion to the freckles above his hip, mapping the sensitive stretch of plush skin that sits inside his thigh.
Aventurine’s wet and waiting, hands ghosting over Ratio’s knuckles and pulling at the curled strands of hair framing the nape of a neck.
Fingers gently skim Aventurine’s thigh, covering him near completely as they dig into meat and muscle alike. Aventurine shudders, watching with wide eyes as Ratio lifts his leg up before bending it back, mouthing along the underside until only his ass hangs closely in the air.
Warm, wet pressure chases down Aventurine’s pleasure, seeking only more of that honey-like taste in messy stripes of tongue to slick. Ratio’s works over Aventurine with rabid precision, lapping noisily against the rapidly building slick, nose dug so close that Aventurine can feel the sensation against the space as another climaxing motivation.
“Feels too good,” Aventurine startles, quickly pulling back toward the bed against the resisting strength of strong hands on thighs. “You have to - gods, alpha, that’s too much, I won’t last,” he tries again, alarmingly high-pitch as the sensation rocks over him, raw and unfiltered until he’s bowing his back, thrusting up into Ratio’s waiting mouth so he can finishing on his own flexing stomach.
Ratio works Aventurine into overstimulation, scent-happy and chin dripping in slick when he pulls back to lick once again at the surface of a now sticky stomach. Aventurine pants, holding Ratio’s hair out of the way with one hand while the other squeezes the slack in the sheets, grounding himself as best he can.
While the high wears down, Ratio massages Aventurine’s hips, mouth moving up and down the cooling sweat on Aventurine’s chest before kissing lazily over the curve of a shoulder. Aventurine catches his breath, sitting up on his elbows and knocking his knee to Ratio’s chest in a playful call to action. Ratio tosses a questioning look his way before leaning back as desired.
Given the space, Aventurine quickly flips himself over, digging his forearms into the sheets, the set of his hips low but his ass high into the air. Presenting alone has Aventurine wet and dripping once again, ready for the promise of the
Ratio uses one hand to hold Aventurine steady, thumb holding him open so the shine of slick takes on the yellow-orange tint of the fireplace, irresistible and charming. Aventurine feels the press of a soft kiss to the open space, how Ratio’s canines draw out on their own at the sudden gush of arousal that’s currently scenting the room.
Lining up has Aventurine wiggling his ass in nervous anticipation, bending forward so he presents himself further. The initial touch is electrifying, with Ratio pressing in at this slow and controlled rate that has the both of them faltering forward. Ratio hisses in response while Aventurine moans into the pillow, compliant and welcoming.
Ratio moves with intention, constantly pulling back so he can push forward just that little bit further that has Aventurine seeing not just stars, but intricate constellations bursting behind the darkness of his eyelids. Ratio’s large, and each new push sends electric vibrations up the length of his spine and straight to the head of his dick.
Aventurine’s drooling in all senses of the word, cheek pressed to the tear-stained pillow and leaking untouched every time enough weight pushes him flush against the bed. The slide is perfect, starting in measured increments before Aventurine’s feeling the press of Ratio’s chest into the arch of his back. Like this, he can feel the vibrations of contentment as Ratio purrs, his long tongue ceaselessly licking below the edge of a scent gland.
This show of intimacy, how Ratio hums and molds to find Aventurine’s pleasure, has Aventurine close once again, much too quickly.
“Veritas,” Aventurine whines, head tilted to better smell Ratio’s need in the air. “‘M’sorry,” he then slurs, eyes pressed shut. Things slow to a less intensive place as kind lips kiss over where tears form, indulging in the salty-sweet taste.
“Don’t apologize for feeling good, Aventurine,” Ratio says. The calmness of his voice is so undeniably soothing. Aventurine feels considerate hands swiping over his tear-swollen cheeks. “You want to feel good, don’t you?”
Aventurine sucks in a breath, nodding into the pillow. “I do feel good, to be fair.” He laughs despite himself, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks the wetness away to reveal Ratio’s earnest smile.
“How about a proposition? You won’t hesitate whenever you need to let go, and all I ask is that when you do, you promise to say my name.”
Aventurine could come on the spot right then and there. Instead, he grinds himself up against the patient Ratio waiting above him, and shudders in response. After, Ratio fucks into him like a man starved. The slick between them only serves to ease the glide and prolong the time frame, steadily working Aventurine open at the telltale sign of a knot pressing more insistently the more time marches forward.
Certainly Aventurine’s back must be riddled with all sorts of marks by now. While Ratio’s hips move increasingly fast, so do the efforts done by his sharp teeth and curious tongue, finding spot after spot to suck and soothe.
The scents in the room spike in intensity, the paper-like scent of books flooding Aventurine’s nostrils as a hand moves to wrap around him, jerking up and down in sloppy strokes to match the rhythm set above. Aventurine can feel the red-burn of the sheets against his knees, how the ache in his arms strains the further he sinks toward the mattress. Every sense he’s capable of explodes in this firework show of appreciation, exhausted and happy.
“Just like that,” Aventurine says, gasping and moaning as the unkind flick of a wrist twists at the head of his dick, smoothing slick down the length and back up in clumsy slides. “Gonna come, alpha, please let me come, fuck, Veritas.”
He finishes into the palm of a moving hand, covering the blankets in a mess of warmth and coating his inner thighs in a clear, dripping mess. As he works through the motions, still half-caught on finishing a mantra of Veritas’s name, he feels the overstimulating pop of a knot pressing flat to his backside, large and swollen where it fits snug at the entrance.
Ratio bites into an upper part of Aventurine’s back, canines sharp and unforgiving as he pumps deep and full into Aventurine, hips stuttering against Aventurine’s ass until he’s spilling out around himself, sloppily adding to Aventurine’s own ministrations.
All energy flees Aventurine’s body at the sensation, leaving the pair of them bundled together in one another’s arms, panting and sticky under the blanket of shared pheromones. Ratio’s whispering soft praises, running practiced hands over scrapes and bruises until Aventurine’s skin turns clear again, and then follows the same pattern with quiet kisses.
They lay like this long enough for their heartbeats to simmer and the fire to die down, now shrouded in a layer of contemplative darkness.
“You know, I’m a little disheartened you didn’t stick to your guns,” Aventurine suddenly says, voice cool as he turns to press into a firm chest. “I’ve always been a sucker for a wagging tail.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, the brushing of soft fur finds its way against the skin of his ankle, swaying calmly between leg and blanket.
“Remind me in the morning,” Ratio yawns, lips pressed to a crown of blonde hair. “After the bath.”
“You really know how to treat a bargaining chip.” Ratio laughs at this, dazedly smiling, yet so bright that Aventurine can feel it in the air.
“Would you prefer I call you my strategic partner?” Ratio’s tail draws up the length of Aventurine’s leg, making to wrap around Aventurine’s middle in the open space below Ratio’s very own arm.
“I’ll do you one better and let you drop the strategic part,” Aventurine says quietly, beaming and warm.
“I like the sound of that.”