Chapter Text
Aventurine didn’t stay the night.
After a shower, he emerged from the bathroom fully dressed—water dripping from damp hair onto his shoulders—and evacuated quickly and noisily. No amount of reasoned arguments could change his mind. He didn’t want to stay, didn’t want to talk, he didn’t even want to dry his hair. The good thing is that autumn hasn’t hit yet.
The first instinct is common sense—if Aventurine doesn’t want to talk, Ratio shouldn’t interfere. But there has to be a line somewhere, once crossed, it changes the rules. On that, Aventurine would certainly agree.
Ratio tried not to think about what happened until the following morning when emotions had subsided and the pheromones dissipated from the living room. When faced with a problem, it’s best to keep a clear head. To solve a problem, you must first locate it. In order to locate it, you need to ask the right questions.
The information available about the Avgins is limited and not very helpful, mostly folk tales recorded by second-hand sources. Many mention their extraordinary fertility, which contradicts the known facts—the Avgins were a small clan, and after being exiled to the desert, their population has only decreased. Nothing extraordinary about it. There is also a common belief that the eyes of the Avgins can hypnotize a person, break them at will and make them do unthinkable things. One set of documents mentions a court case in which a man accused of murder blamed an Avgin woman. She allegedly cheated him out of money and when he demanded it back, she swore revenge on him. According to his testimony, the Avgin woman in question made him strangle his wife and burn her body in the garden behind their house. The man was acquitted while she was sentenced to have her eyes gouged out. Her side of history has not been recorded.
Ratio finds only one thing that can be considered noteworthy. Most of the humanoid organic space species contain between 82% and 85% Betas, with Alphas and Omegas making up the rest of pollination. However, sometimes there are exceptions. Some managed to escape Tayzzyronth’s gaze, while others were particularly exposed to it. Along with the supposed extraordinary fertility of the Avgins, it was also believed that Omegas and Alphas constituted a substantial portion of their population. If that’s true, this may explain the common belief in their overly sexual nature.
This, Ratio thinks, might be a good lead.
Aventurine, unlike Ratio, doesn’t follow the clear head rule. He likes things sharp and intense, most things at least, like gin and whiskey—angel face and double whiskey sour. He’s had three drinks already and is on his fourth. He’s not drunk, there’s still only one bartender behind the counter, neon lights don’t hurt his eyes, and he never once lost his balance on the barstool, so he’s not drunk—no—just a little tipsy. He’s so not-drunk that he could even drive home all by himself. The thing is, he doesn’t want to.
He came here not to think. So far, it’s working out. He had almost forgotten how pitifully he trembled at the sound of a simple demand, and how long he lay there without a word—so long that Ratio had to cover him with a blanket. No, he’s not thinking about that. Nor does he think about how rapidly he scrubbed his skin red to wash off the slightest trace of pheromones, completely paranoid that if he comes out of the bathroom still smelling like an Omega, he might provoke something. Ratio is stronger than him, he knows that, it’s nothing repulsive—well–built men are extremely attractive—but it comes with drawbacks. Like the fact that if he wanted to, he could overpower Aventurine without a hitch, and he wouldn’t be able to fight back without the Cornerstone within reach. Hearing his voice on the verge of true anger was terrifying enough to make Aventurine forget that Ratio wouldn’t hurt him, not painfully and certainly not like he feared at that moment. It was just his panicked brain that gave him the worst-case scenarios.
There’s no point in dwelling on it.
Important people don’t tend to come here, but there’s no other suitable place nearby. The owner works for IPC and the security is decent. Only music’s vile. Some sad oldies played from the dusty loudspeaker. It’s hanging from a low ceiling somewhere and creaks like it’s twenty years old.
Someone’s voice cuts through the melody.
“Hey there, I like your jacket. Can I buy ya a drink?”
It’s a coat. He’s not a fan of jackets, especially leather ones, these restrict movements the most. Fortunately, they are not the latest craze, so he can leave them all in the closet for at least the next few months.
“My, my, thank you. I like yours too.” His smile and the gestures he makes are nothing if not inviting.
The strange man takes a seat right next to Aventurine. He must not know who he’s talking to, or he is just pretending. Not important. He’s tall and not bad-looking, and only smells a little of tobacco. Aventurine doesn’t know him either, hasn’t seen him here before. He’d surely remember.
“What’d ya want?”
He’d drink the same thing he does now, but gin is expensive in this economy, so he asks for whatever his new companion likes. Unfortunately, he must have a terrible taste. It’s hard to imagine an alcohol less appealing than vodka. It’s tart, even mixed in a fizzy drink. There’s nothing sexy about it.
The man smiles with drunken amusement as Aventurine grimaces after the first sip. “Lightweight, are ya?”
“Not really. Simply surprised. Usually, people order lighter drinks when they’re buying for someone.” That’s not entirely true, but Aventurine once heard it should be.
“Should’ve asked!”
“Nah, I’m not picky.” He smiles back nevertheless drunken, although he’s not—drunk. It’s just easier to loosen someone up when they think he is.
“Really? Who’d tell, in that fancy jacket?” Coat. “It’s not like it’s the wors’ bar in town, hah, not the best either. I’d say it suits me quite a bit more than ya. Were your places more too crowded?”
“I didn’t check. Maybe, maybe not.”
“Did your buddies leave you, then?”
“Is it so strange that I came alone?”
“People don’t drink alone just for fun. Well, most don’t.”
“You too are alone.”
The man raises his glass for a toast. “I’m not. And you?”
“Not anymore.” Aventurine does the same. Glasses clink quietly in a few seconds break between songs. The music’s still dull, but it doesn’t bother him as much anymore. He forces a few sips down his throat to make his friendliness seem more believable.
“So how did ya end up here?”
The man looks like he’s expecting a short and sincere answer. Too bad Aventurine won’t give it to him. This fantasy is way too sweet. He hasn’t talked to someone who doesn’t know his face for far too long.
“Let’s just say I had a rough day.” He begins to speak, not entirely sure where he’s going with this statement.
“How come?”
“Long story, boring too.”
The man looks at him intrigued, so he continues.
“All right, you’re not wrong about one thing; I was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. My boyfriend had a weird idea, but I guess he really wanted to try something new.” Aventurine pauses to give the other person a moment to interject, but he stays silent, having nothing to add yet. “He sprayed himself with pheromones. Well, I guess he didn’t like it as much as he expected.”
“Oh. He’s an Omega, or…?”
“He’s normal.” Aventurine says a little too fast, and adds just as quickly to cover it up; “That’s not important. Nothing happened anyway, he changed his mind and ran away, and now he’s ignoring me.”
“That’s weird.”
A brief silence follows. The man opens his mouth before Aventurine can change the subject.
“I don’t know much about this stuff, but. Maybe he got scared? If he’s normal and you’re…” He made a vague hand gesture. “Well, somethin’, maybe that scared him? Somethin’ you did, I mean. But if so, that’s pretty shi—, eh, not very nice of him not to tell you anything. I’ve heard that Alphas and Omegas are sensitive to pheromones and things like that, so the whole situation must’ve been charged.”
“When people are afraid, they shouldn’t run away from someone who hasn’t done anything to hurt them.”
“People run from quite a few things pretty quickly. Like taxes. I hate taxes.”
Aventurine chuckled. “I think I’d know if he was a tax evader. He probably just thinks I’m a freak.”
“How, if he said nothin’?”
“It’s just—” Ratio is smarter than that. He wouldn’t say that or think like that, Aventurine doesn’t make a very good impression right now. Or well, maybe he would, but certainly not for long. Now he is probably coming to the right conclusions. If Aventurine doesn’t hurry up, he will wake up in a bigger mess, and he will only have himself to blame.
It’s hard to admit that this drunk weirdo might have a point. Aventurine may not know much about how relationships should work, but good cooperation is based on profits, and a partner trembling on the couch is not a tempting investment. Ratio wanted him to stay to hear an explanation, and even if he doesn’t consider Aventurine as anyone close, he still deserves that.
“I guess I don’t.”
“Listen, it’s probably nothin’. Call him, or I don’t know. Wanna go out for a cigarette? It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
This man, aside from having poor taste, also seems to be fairly new to this game, but to be fair—Aventurine didn’t make it easy for him either. Still, he’s not trying to touch Aventurine, not even under the bar, keeps his knees pressed together, and instead of making a move, he waves his hand around and leans in with all the grace of a wild boar bursting into a gas station. Although, it may have something to do with that unique body of his. Aventurine starts to wonder if it’s even possible to fuck him. The option already is on the table, so probably yes. He’ll just have to be creative.
Aventurine nods towards the exit in agreement. A cigarette would do him good.
As they go outside, Aventurine follows half a step behind.
The night is cold and starless. Nothing new. It’s hard to see the stars under bright city lights. The bar is located on a side street, and apart from the click of a lighter, the only noise is the hum of distant cars.
“Here.”
The man hands him a lighter, but Aventurine doesn’t take it.
“Would you?” he asks, pointing at the cigarette between his lips. The flame came closer to his face. Aventurine inhaled the smoke and blew it out in a thin, gray stream, right onto the fingers of a stranger. His gaze shamelessly falls between his legs and finds no thickening there. It's no surprise at this point, so in the next step Aventurine moves slightly closer, with the same friendly smile, and puts his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“I feel better now, thanks to you.”
“Good to hear.”
“Would you like to comfort me some more?”
“Like, how?”
“I have a few ideas.”
Aventurine stood on his toes and before he could kiss the man, he held him in place with surprising strength.
“Woah, woah! Didn’t you say you had a boyfriend?”
Boyfriend is a huge overstatement—or actually, just a lie—but yes, Aventurine did say that. That’s something he should clarify. He almost forgot.
“We are open. He can fuck whoever he wants, too, and I just happened to want someone. Just. Like. You. So what do you say? Your place or should I rent a room?”
The man takes a step back. His heel clicks against the pavement. “No offense pal, but ya’re not my type.”
It’s one thing to walk away once interest is gone, but to stay, continue the conversation, and go to a secluded place together, only to reject someone in the end—now, that is just insulting.
“Why did you buy me a drink, then?” Aventurine asked with barely concealed irritation.
The man shrugs. “You looked sad. Looked like you needed some company,” he says and extends his hand, finally introducing himself. “Boothill, by the way.”
“... Miecrea.” Aventurine thinks only for half a second before deciding on a name. If he told the truth, he’d have to take the blame for a second humiliation this week. Although, this time it might be fun. He considers this for a moment, but it’s too late, he’s already lied and now he’d have to admit to that if he’d like to change his mind.
Aventurine can imagine this guy’s shock when he realizes he’d just said no to one of the richest men in Pier Point. But he will never know unless he sees Aventurine’s face on the news and connects the dots himself. In some ways, it’s even funnier.
Their handshake is as firm as it is uncomfortable.
“Right. ‘Was nice meetin’ ya.” He nods in farewell, and in his last words, as he goes his way, he says over his shoulder, “There’s no bounty on yer head if ya’re curious!”
Aventurine stands there for a good few seconds. Was that?... No, impossible. Not in a place monitored by the IPC. He feels fine, he’s almost certain his drink wasn’t poisoned. The man disappears around the corner, and no shots are heard.
Aventurine will never go back to this bar again, just in case.
While reading one of the sources, Ratio remembers something. Aventurine’s past is no secret considering he never tried to hide his brand. It would be pointless anyway, his trial was public and caused a lot of noise. TOP STORY OF THE MONTH. An Avgin Slave Murders His Owner, follow for more information. He faced the death penalty at the time since on the planet this all took place, slavery was legal, and murder, well—murder wasn’t. And yet, this crime surprised no one, not even local reporters. They called this case brutal, violent, and heinous, but never shocking, and never asked why this happened. And rightly so, only an idiot wouldn’t know what slavers are capable of. Aventurine could be the luckiest man alive, and he still wouldn’t be safe, not while locked and owned. Regardless of the letter of the law, he was in the right to defend himself by any means necessary.
Although most details were hidden once he became a Stoneheart, Ratio never doubted that this man had been through a nightmare. His drastic reaction shouldn’t be surprising, it’s always been clear that something like that could happen—and yet.
And yet, it doesn’t explain enough. It doesn’t explain the tiny scars on his neck, or why “don’t bite” is the first boundary he set. Why this, and why now? Even the knot swelling in his throat doesn’t bother him—Ratio had to push his head away to stop that from happening. Come to think of it, Aventurine seems to enjoy the process. He often watches with strange fascination as the shaft of Ratio’s penis grows like an elongated ball. Sometimes he sits behind Ratio’s back, rests his chin on his shoulder, and strokes it to satisfaction.
“Do you think Jade would still hire me if I had it?” he once asked and Ratio gave him such a look that he didn’t even press any further. “I’m just thinking. She’s quite territorial. A textbook stereotype.”
Circumcision is a common practice on desert planets, so Ratio assumed that perhaps Sigonia was one of them. None of the sources confirmed his suspicions. Therefore, Aventurine’s scars must have a different origin.
There are several possible explanations, but one seems to stand out. The scars on his neck are where the glands would typically be. Still, Aventurine has no other physical features to indicate a secondary gender. His neck is soft, with no protective layer that Ratio could safely bite into. If he’d been born an Omega, he likely wouldn’t have removed an entire flap of skin just to blend in better. This procedure is almost unheard of.
And if he wasn’t born a Beta, and likely not Omega either, there’s only one option left.