Chapter Text
There is something strange about Aventurine. Many small things are, like that one time when he ran his hand down Ratio’s back, stopped his fingers on one of the moles, and absurdly suggested that Ratio should burn it with a hot knife, or else it’d turn into melanoma. Apart from the fact that he tried to instruct a doctor (a medical one, in addition to other titles) on how to treat a disease—it was just a weird thing to say.
At first, Ratio didn’t pay much attention to it. Maybe Aventurine just was like that. After all, his reputation had to come from somewhere. There was no point in asking if Ratio always got something evasive in response. The thing is; the closer he looked, the more questions he had. For example, why does Aventurine never take his collar off, even when they are alone? It must be sapping to breathe with this tight piece of leather pressing on the larynx. He might get short of breath if he keeps it on throughout the night, every single night.
“You worry too much, Doc,” he said when Ratio brought this up for the first time. “Wanna pull on it? Most people say it’s sexy.”
His resistance was absurd, devoid of arguments, and the longer the conversation went on, the more Ratio frowned, the more desperately Aventurine tried to change the subject until he finally gave up and took the collar off, ostentatiously throwing it over the bed frame, like he wanted to pretend that he doesn’t care at all.
What was underneath was strange too. Ratio couldn’t help but wonder; why does this Beta have tiny scars where the Alphas and Omegas have their scent glands? It may have something to do with his race, after all, ever since the fall of Tayzzyronth secondary genders began to change and adapt to different environments. With how little is known about the Avgins, nothing can be said for sure. Or, maybe it has something to do with desert culture.
Aventurine is circumcised (clumsy work, the surgery had to be carried out by an amateur). That in itself—isn’t strange. Male circumcision is still performed and, in some cultures, is considered a rite of passage. Sometimes, part of it involves cutting into the glands, but why would anyone cut the neck of a Beta? This—is strange, and judging by Aventurine’s reluctance to the very idea of having his neck exposed, it is not a topic to discuss either.
So, there is something strange about Aventurine, and it really wouldn’t be Ratio’s problem if only Ratio had not agreed to sleep with him.
The first time happened after Aventurine waved at him at some boring charity ball that they both knew was a farce and they both didn’t want to be at.
“You seem tired,” he said, startling Ratio from his thoughts. “Champagne, music, not too loud, not quiet enough. Endless conversations about nothing and everything, and something completely unmemorable... this is not your style. Luckily for you, I came to the rescue. I know a nice place to hide. Fancy joining me?” he asked, and Ratio nodded because Aventurine was right, balls really weren’t his style, and because boring things become ten times more unbearable once an alternative presents itself, and because, maybe, Aventurine can be many things, but boring he is not.
Ratio followed him to the garden with a sense of relief. He told himself it was because anything seemed more fun than staying.
The air was damp with dew, green bushes illuminated by artificial light, and in this peaceful place Ratio could finally massage his aching temples. A headache had been haunting him since the morning, and really, he should have figured out why.
“I hope I didn’t impose myself.” Aventurine broke the comfortable silence, just to say with a slightly too smug of a manner; “You look like you have a fever. A bit irresponsible of you to go out to people like that, don’t you think?”
“It is not a fever. But you are right, I am not in my best shape.” He admitted without hesitation. A natural cycle that a large part of society goes through is nothing to be ashamed of. “My rut seems to come a few days early. By the time I realized, it was too late to cancel.”
“Oh, so that’s why Jade was looking at you like that,”
“Like what?”
“Like she wants to whip you and put you in your place,” he chuckled like his comment wasn’t improper at all.
Ratio wrinkled his nose. Alpha on the verge of the rut can be less disruptive to other Alphas than Omega in heat, but still—is. The difference is that Omega would be much more defenseless once their hormones would tell them to bend to the orders. The best Jade could do was growl at her fellow Alpha in a sudden burst of territoriality. If she was dealing with an Omega, knowing her, she might’ve actually grabbed the whip.
Regardless, that comment was out of line.
Maybe Ratio should have turned around then. Had he left, nothing would have occurred, but he stayed because his hormones told him to seek out company, and it so happened that Aventurine wasn’t the worst. With colorful eyes and an agile figure, he looked more like an Omega than a Beta he was. So when he asked if Ratio would be interested in a little more than a modest chat in the garden, he did not refuse.
The ball was set for their last working day. After that, they both had a bit too much free time on their hands. A week for Aventurine, nine days for Ratio. If Aventurine wanted to use about half of his vacation to look after the Alpha, that was his choice, and Ratio wasn’t going to complain about it.
Spending the rut alone could be exhausting, and hiring an Omega at the very last minute wasn’t an option he wanted to consider. The thought of relying on a stranger always seemed utterly unappealing. Ratio is a man with clear partialitis—and he has always preferred spending his rut with someone familiar whose presence won’t be just an inconvenient necessity. So, after presenting some preliminary conditions, Ratio took Aventurine to his apartment.
“You can rough me up a little, I can handle that,” Aventurine said as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed. Ratio made it clear he didn’t want to rush things, so for now they just talked.
“A condom’s also not needed. I’ve been tested. And it’s not like you can get me pregnant anyway, but I can pretend, if you’re into that.”
Ratio considered this for a moment. Ultimately, he decided; “I doubt I’ll be able to keep the act up once my rut hits in full. I insist, protection is important. If not for safety, then for hygiene.”
“In a few hours, I may not be able to read all your nonverbal signals. I need a clear sign to know when you don’t like something; say yellow if you want to slow down, blue if you need a break, for example, to go to the toilet, and red if you want to stop altogether.”
“A true gentleman.” He smiled, sweetly tilting his head. There was a hint of jeer in the way he said; “But if I didn’t want to get fucked hard, I wouldn’t offer my help.”
Ratio never cared about his partner’s secondary gender. Still, he often preferred smaller figures and sweet scents, which led him to bed mostly Omegas. It was a bit embarrassing, he had to admit, that he remembered a little late that Aventurine would need additional lubrication—and surprising when it turned out that he came prepared. “Oh, right. I have lube on me. Here, in the inside pocket. Should be enough.”
His presence was pleasant, even if he smelled like nothing mixed with angry perfume. Ratio feared he might not be able to keep up, but Aventurine claimed he knew what he was getting into and proved that he wasn’t lying. He seemed almost offended by the way Ratio was treating him—too gentle for what he expected. “Come on. Don’t hold back,” he panted through his teeth, legs spread to the sides, face blushing. “You think I can’t take you?” he whined and nagged until Ratio pinned him to the mattress, blinded by the nature of the act.
During the rut, sex is often not the most important thing, and as it turned out, Aventurine was aware of that too. How, he didn’t say, and Ratio wasn’t insistent enough to force an answer out of him. Aventurine took time to cook for him, brought him water and changes of clothes, wasn’t pushy, nor was he surprised by any of the Alfas’ natural reactions. Of course, none of this made his rut end any faster, but it would be idiotic to expect anything else, and aside from that, there was nothing more he could expect from a rut partner.
And so, just like that, because this arrangement worked out well and because Aventurine was still willing, they continued. The second time, the third, fourth, first only during ruts, then regardless of the cycle, only to satisfy their own needs.
A few months in, and it is now a completely normal part of life. A few months—just enough time to notice some things.
Aventurine sends him a message. In the evening, as usual—and as usual; not announcing his intention right away, yet obvious enough for Ratio to immediately know what he’s up to.
A knock sounds forty-two minutes later, twelve minutes late. The first few times it happened, Aventurine made excuses. Sorry, there was a traffic jam on the way. I ran out of fuel, had to pull over to a station. No, my car isn’t electric. Well, yes, I have a few electric ones, but I only drive them with a chauffeur. Old-fashioned stuff is nicer, you know? They have their own charm. Back then people knew how to make a decent engine.
He showered Ratio with these nonsense excuses until he stopped asking.
This time, he wears simple clothes—at least as simple as he gets—which means today has to be his day off. A pressed satin shirt with two buttons undone, pants so tight that it would be hard to sit in them, heel patent shoes, a bag shaped like a small suitcase in hand, and a collar, one of many and one of his favorites, carbon black with platinum ornaments. And, of course, perfume too. The smell of it hits Ratio like a truck.
“Red pepper and tree root, you like it?” Aventurine asks, seeing the man before him trying to hold back a sneeze. The scent trails behind as he enters, and as if he were the host, he leads Ratio into the living room.
Something is troubling him, Ratio suspects. When he is relaxed, Aventurine walks differently; takes shorter steps, is more careful with his left leg. Sometimes it looks like he’s limping slightly, but not today. Today he walks like at conferences, or before signing a contract, when he knows that all eyes on him are sharp and judging.
“It is... very intense.” If Ratio shows any reluctance, it falls on deaf ears.
“Quite something, right? I think I’ll add this note to my new line. Something more earthy would be a good change. It’s just a prototype, I have a few more. I’m sure you’ll like some of them.” Aventurine puts his bag on the couch next to him and takes out seven small vials, each filled with colored liquid. “I bet…” He selects one and hands it to Ratio. “This will be your favorite.”
The vial is tightly capped, no smell comes out until he unscrews it. Once he does, a strong scent fills the whole room. Citrus, grass, and something…
Ratio quickly caps the vial. “These are—”
“Omega pheromones,” Aventurine finishes for him. He spreads his hands, fingers wide. “Surprise!”
“You sell pheromones now?” Ratio would like to remind him that he should have warned him. Now his whole house smells like a stranger. At least it’s not so strong that it cannot be aired out. And it’s not unpleasant, he has to admit.
“All tested and completely safe. So far, mainly Betas’ve been buying from my name brand, but now we’re opening up to new kinds of customers. Soon, Omegas and Alphas alike will be able to find fragrances in my line that will help them not only improve their self-confidence but also their sex life. Who knows, this might be what gets me to overtake Sugilite in sales.” Pausing from his unnecessarily business-like talk, Aventurine leaned forward. “So. It’d be good to try it out before it comes to market.”
“I’ve been thinking,” he continues, fixing his posture into something between casual and seductive. “You wanted to see my neck. Well, I don’t mind if you want to push this idea a little further. If you ask nicely, I might even pretend to be an Omega, just for you.”
This is another thing he does sometimes, proposes that he can pretend—not saying he’d like to—but that he can if he’s requested.
“I thought I clarified that I was concerned for your health. Asking you to remove your collar had nothing to do with me wanting to see your neck.”
“Would it kill you to play along for once?” Aventurine makes a whole show of sighing. “A scientist like you surely knows that Omega pheromones can cause semi-rut. So. It’s just a physical reaction, right? So, I’ve been thinking I could rub it on. Then you’d have a stronger experience, something you couldn’t normally have with someone like me. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
It does, Ratio thinks. He hasn’t slept with an Omega in a few years now, not that there were no volunteers, some even quite attractive, but—only a few worth considering.
“And what will you get out of it?”
“I like to serve.” The smile on his lips was far from sincere, but then again, Ratio wasn’t sure if he knew how such a smile would look on him. Thus, it was real enough. “But seriously. I’ll get some nice time, too. And if it can be even better for you, why would you say no?”
Why would he, really.
Ratio hums, and whatever expression he makes, Aventurine takes it as an agreement. He takes the vial in his palm and, completely unmoved, pours a few generous drops onto his wrists, first pushing his jewelry aside. The scent rubbed into the skin isn’t as aggressive as the vial right under his nose, but still—unmissable. Next, he pours more drops on his neck, with eyes raised, seeking something in Ratio’s face. He looks at him like he’s trying to find crumbs of food in his hair, remnants of unwashed shaving foam on the chin. A watching look the likes of with could cut through the skin. Ratio holds his gaze, watching every smooth, calculated turn of hands. Ready, Aventurine leans over the table between them, climbs up with one knee, and again reaches for the back of his neck.
“Oh no,” he whines, “The clasp is stuck. Could you…?” and points to his collar.
With one firm movement, Ratio takes it off. A mixture of perfume and hormones sticks to his fingertips, slowly warming him under the skin. The smell only intensified when Aventurine sat in his lap, trailing small kisses down his throat. His lips are always soft. They leave lipgloss marks, like bare feet on polished tiles.
A pile of clothes forms on the floor. Only the pants are a problem. Aventurine moves to the side, he has to take them off himself so as not to ruin them. “There’s a price for good looks,” he jokes, and it has to be discomfort because for rich people money’s not worth mentioning, and Aventurine knows he shouldn’t. Not when he’s lying naked on a medium-priced couch, face down, torso slightly raised on the elbows, covered with the warmth of another man. This way nothing blocks the scent. Ratio can’t help but bury his face in the crook of his neck.
This is different, he thinks. When Omegas secrete pheromones, their entire skin is soaked with them, while Aventurine only smells where he sprayed himself. But it’s still nice, and it isn’t long until Ratio feels his own body responding; blood rushing between legs, fangs protruding from the palate, long and hooked, and spider-like. Aventurine presses his forehead against the couch as he brushes his teeth lightly against his cervical vertebrae.
“‘is workin’ right,” Aventurine states rather than asks. The effects must be evident already.
Then, Aventurine adds something most expected—something strange, of course.
“What’s up with that nuzzling? Come on, I’m your little whore tonight. Fuck me like you all want to.” And just like that, the heat of the moment faded away.
Ratio could forgive many things. He had to to work with people who needed to be told that a shark is a fish not because it can swim in the water. Even if the conclusion happens to be correct, there must still be a sound argument leading to it. It is similar with genders, both primary and secondary. People assume that since Alphas and Omegas were first created during the Swarm Disaster, they must only be capable of mating. Even if their minds aren’t clouded all the time, they must lose their reason during heat or rut. Idiotic assumptions. There are even breeds of sharks that do not live in the water at all, like that one on Kraine-III which evolved the ability to swim in bodies of mercury; and if animals with much less developed consciousness are so complex, how can humans be categorized in such crude ways?
There is only one thing Ratio truly can not stand—when these beliefs spread to his person. Those who take him for an infallible genius are equally foolish as those who see all Alphas as mindless beasts, completely possessed by lust.
Aventurine doesn’t move, and just as Ratio gathers himself to throw him out the door, he takes a shaky breath.
“Just… don’t bite my neck, please.”
His voice is soft for one brief moment, like it all slipped out by accident. And maybe it did since Ratio can’t recall Aventurine ever trying to set a boundary before. It’s not like Ratio ever bit him, he wouldn’t, not even blinded by a rut. The necks of the Betas are paper thin compared to the Omegas. Digging fangs into it would cause severe pain, and considering that pheromones don’t work on them, most Beta’s don’t find it even the slightest bit exciting.
He’s still angry (although disappointment would likely be a better word), but not so much anymore. He can’t afford to be. It’s all too strange and he should act before it becomes normal.
Aventurine lets out a surprised “Hum?” as he sits back on his heels to regain composure.
“Enough.”
“Hm?” he goes again, “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, I suppose there is. Whatever is that you are trying to achieve by talking to me like that, it won’t happen.”
Aventurine turns his head, awkwardly looking behind.
“Come on, this cannot be. You’ve never complained about dirty talk before,” he’s trying to make a joke of it. Why, Ratio isn’t sure. Hopefully, he’s about to find out.
“If this is your idea of dirty talk, I clearly made a mistake inviting you into my bed. I won’t let you insult me,” he says exactly as firmly as in any situation when someone overestimates his patience. This seems to alarm Aventurine. He turns his head at an uncomfortable angle, gaze glued to the deepening wrinkle between Ratio’s eyebrows.
In other circumstances, Aventurine would probably laugh that, oh, but they’re not in any bed unless this is where the Doctor sleeps after long hours of grading students’ essays. What a workaholic he must be, and a hypocrite, how can he criticize Aventurine’s work-life? Now, he does none of that.
“All right, you don’t have to fuck me. I’ll suck you off, okay? Is that better?”
“What in the name of…” It’s almost like they’re having two different conversations at the same time. Ratio is justifiably outraged, while Aventurine got stuck mainly thinking how to bring about intercourse. The prospect of throwing him out the door becomes more and more tempting.
Ratio massages his forehead with astonishment, and after half a second pulls his hand away throwing it into the air, more irritated than at the eighth lecture in a row with the worst group of students arranged at the end of the day.
“Listen to me and this time think before you speak again. You have five minutes to explain yourself, otherwise I will assume that sleeping with an Alpha is some fetish of yours, and so is the reason for your peculiar behavior.”
Aventurine only watches for a few long seconds, frozen in place with something vague in the eyes.
“Well? Speak, or take your clothes and get out of my house.”
“No, it’s… Not. Sorry, don’t be mad, I… um,” he starts and stops mid-speaking. His eyes widen. When Ratio raises his hand to rest on the back of the couch, he flinches. Whatever more he wanted to say got stuck in his throat.
Suddenly, the couch seems too narrow for both of them. They are close, so close that the heat of forgotten lust weighs between them like lead. Aventurine is trying to turn on his back, and Ratio stands up to make room for him. He’s struggling, even when no weight is pressing down on him anymore, movements devoid of distinctive bravado. He leans on his hands and pulls himself up, head bowed, limbs like cement, soft penis hanging from between his legs. He had an erection barely a moment ago, and now it’s gone. Though the hormones are still swirling in the air, Ratio’s arousal is fading as well.
“I’m—” Aventurine tries to say something but his voice is too shaky.
Ratio saw his students cry after failing an exam, forgetting the simplest words due to stress and fear of failure, however a panic attack—that he’d only seen once before. It was during the last term, an exchange student living on a scholarship and part-time work broke down in tears, covered his mouth and started hyperventilating. He stopped communicating for a good twenty minutes. Asking him questions was pointless and only made the situation worse as he tried to force out a response.
This time Ratio has more experience, and he tries to hold on to that.
“We will talk later.” he says, his first instinct being to put his hand on Aventurine’s head. That’s not a good idea. The smaller man, already shaken, flinches again at the sight of an outstretched hand. He curls up and covers his neck with both hands, joints whitened, fingers clasped into a basket. The wisest thing would be not to touch him, then. Ratio steps away for a moment to grab a blanket from one of the cabinets on the other side of the living room. Before dealing with his own nakedness, he covers up Aventurine.
“Lay on your side, press your knees to your chest,” he instructed because it is easier to control the breathing in the fetal position, and lying on the back may seem too revealing for a man who cowers at the prospect of the simplest touch.
It works. Aventurine gradually returns to his senses. He lies motionless with a blush on his cheeks. He must be exhausted, or ashamed, or he is either. It’s always hard to tell with him.
Before he has a chance to open his mouth, Ratio forestalls him.
“Take a shower, wash that smell off of you. I’ll bring you something to sleep in, you can stay the night.”