Chapter Text
Glass shatters.
Ratio’s back is pressed to the floor of his bedroom. He can’t breathe. The dagger at his throat glints menacingly in the moonlight and the mask of his assailant is covered in gemstones Ratio does not know the name for.
They are oddly reminiscent of the aventurine stone.
★★★★★
If there is anything to regret, it is that he had not taken advantage of his most recent rut and used it as an excuse to kiss Aventurine.
It would have been so easy. Aventurine had already blurred the lines between them—what would one singular kiss do to muck things up even more?
(He dreams of a sea of greens and hands that are too cold to hold.)
★★★★★
A week ago, they had traveled back from Penacony. A week ago, he had learned what it felt like to be so thoroughly possessed by another person. A week ago, Ratio had come to the startlingly obvious conclusion that he had deep-rooted affections—feelings—for the prize Omega that he had promised himself he would treat with the utmost respect and kindness. Even if such a thing came at his own detriment.
And during that week, Ratio had grappled with it: the knowledge of what Aventurine’s skin tasted like, what his slick smelled like, what holding his hand in the midst of passion could be like.
Ratio hadn’t said a word. He had kept quiet and admired his husband from afar, as he did before for the weeks preceding all of this.
There was no rush. In time, Aventurine would come to his own conclusions. And then, and only then, would Ratio allow something to grow between them. It would have to be Aventurine’s decision to pursue more between them.
Ratio could not take another choice away from Aventurine.
★★★★★
In the present, Ratio opens his eyes to a dimly lit room. It smells musty. Out of the corner of his blurry gaze he catches sight of the edge of oak barrels. So he’s in the wine cellar, then.
“Good evening.”
Ratio lifts his head and tries to move his arms. They do not budge. The weight of rope tightly coils at his wrists, preventing him from shifting more than a few inches. A shift of his foot confirms that his ankles, too, are tied together with the same cording. His knees dig into the hard cobblestone below him; not even the courtesy of a chair? Fascinating.
Two figures come into view slowly. One wears the same gemstone adorned mask from minutes—hours?—ago and the other is unfamiliar in all ways. Tall, broad shoulders, and with a scent that smells putrid to Ratio’s sensitive post-rut nose.
“I would extend the same pleasantries, but I doubt this meeting will be anything but cordial,” Ratio says evenly.
“Still with that tongue of yours.” The taller figures steps closer; rich shades of red decorate his clothes and Ratio can’t help but morbidly wonder if some of them are bloodstains. “That’s fine. I will take the time to catch you up.” The man gestures to his side. “I am sure you can already deduce who this is,” he says, words buzzing in Ratio’s head. “If you can’t, maybe take an extra minute.”
How trite.
Ratio huffs through his nose. His gaze drifts to the aforementioned second man. The smell is undeniable proof of one truth. Ratio does not flinch.
“May we cut to the chase?” Ratio asks impatiently, flexing his fingers against his restraints.
“You don’t sound surprised,” says the first man, voice darker now. He looks to the masked man. “Don’t take it personally, Kakavasha. He wasn’t ever going to be the type to trust someone completely. But the fact he’s sitting here right now proves he trusted you just enough.”
Ratio’s eyes meet a flurry of color behind the shorter man’s mask. The room smells of honey, citrus. Not a singular strand of remorse or guilt.
“Is that your real name? Fascinating,” Ratio muses, coughing a little when he realizes how hoarse his own voice sounds. How long had he been down here?
“What can I say,” says Kakavasha, that familiar lilt piercing through the silence, “the name seemed to fit the bill.”
“A stone symbolizing luck and prosperity,” Ratio says before clicking his tongue in mild disdain. “Which of these do you find yourself associating more with?”
“A little late to be talking metaphors, dear,” says Kakavasha—no, Aventurine—as he steps closer. Cold fingers curl under Ratio’s chin and lift it upward so that their eyes can meet. “And besides: you never asked.”
That is true enough. He hadn’t asked for Aventurine’s given name.
“I do not think you are thinking through the consequences of what you’re doing,” says Ratio, enunciating each word with heavy purpose.
“For the first time in my life, I’m seeing things crystal clear, Your Highness,” answers Aventurine without a single emotion. “But thanks for the opinion.”
“You do love to hear yourself talk.”
“Guilty as charged. But didn’t you enjoy it?” Aventurine teases his thumb along his husband’s jaw until it reaches his ear. He does not look away. “When you were lost in rut and gave into me finally?”
Ratio still remembers how his scent gland had tasted, how Aventurine had trusted him, how Aventurine had looked so beautifully mesmerizing as he came apart on top of Ratio without even being touched.
“I see,” says Ratio, dryly.
“Don’t be upset,” laughs Aventurine, the sound tinkling and then echoing in the cellar. “I may have played you as the fool you are, but you lasted far longer than anyone has before. So, congratulations, Ratio. At least take comfort in that.”
“Delightful,” deadpans Ratio.
“Kakavasha,” says the man in red, stepping further away from the pair. “Finish up in here. Bring the necklace with you and meet me where we previously discussed.” A beat, as the man’s eyes headily wash over Ratio. “You may choose the method you prefer best, though may I suggest letting him bleed out?”
Aventurine cheerfully glances over his shoulder. “Of course,” he all but purrs.
And then the man is gone.
★★★★★
“Do you trust me?”
Ratio’s eyes drift between his husband’s plush lower lip and the wobbly eyes of the cat cake in his arms.
“This is absurd,” he hears himself say on auto pilot, “it won’t work.”
“Have a little faith, Your Majesty.”
He sees the creature placed off to the side, out of harm’s way. He feels Aventurine loom closer until barely any space separates them. Their noses bump together. Ratio’s heart skitters all the way up to his throat. He loses himself in the eyes of a man that has faced so many hardships and still stands so strongly, so confidently, so perfectly.
“So, do you trust me?” he repeats, this time with meaning.
Does he?
★★★★★
Yes.
★★★★★
When the door to the cellar closes, Aventurine slips off his mask. He chucks it to the side, the fake gems shattering against the floor’s harsh stone. He checks the door, ensures that the deadbolt is fastened, and then returns to his spot directly in front of Ratio.
And smiles.
“You are ridiculous,” breathes out Ratio, nose wrinkling.
“Hey,” says Aventurine, dropping to his knees. His gaze is soft. “You had a few absurdly dramatic lines of your own. Do you think he bought it?”
“Would he have left otherwise?”
Aventurine shrugs. And then, he cups both of Ratio’s cheeks. Without warning, he presses their foreheads together and breathes. Ratio realizes belatedly that Aventurine is shaking. The rope at his wrists prevents him from doing a single thing about it.
“Are you all right?” asks Aventurine.
“I should be asking you that,” murmurs Ratio, not making any effort to tilt his head away. “You are the one that had to spend the last day or so around such putrid company.”
Aventurine snorts a laugh. His hands smooth over Ratio’s face and come to settle on his shoulders. He keeps their heads pressed together, sharing in simple body heat.
“Oh, trust me. That scent may have been strong in here, but it was even worse when we were alone—”
“Did he hurt you?”
“What? Oh, no, of course not. I’m…” Aventurine trails off, laughs. Looks away. His hands move further down and begin to dutifully undo the knots he had tied while Ratio was passed out. “These aren’t tight, by the way.”
“I know.”
“Mhmmm.”
In silence, Aventurine undoes the rope and then settles back on his knees. There they sit, face to face, on the floor of Ratio’s dusty wine cellar. Aventurine’s eyes keep gravitating towards the cut on Ratio’s throat. Ratio can only assume how bad it looks.
“It will heal,” says Ratio before Aventurine can change the topic. “A battle scar, of sorts.”
They have so much to talk about.
“Ah. Who’s the ridiculous one now, Ratio?”
With his hands freed, Ratio can reach for him. He takes Aventurine’s hands gently, thumbs purposefully smoothing over the gland at his wrists. A calming scent fills the air and Ratio does not even spare a single effort to contain the fondness in his gaze.
“Veritas,” he tells him.
“Hm?”
Aventurine cocks his head to the side.
“It is only fair,” Ratio says, lacing their hands together gradually.
“What’s—oh.” Aventurine looks off to the side, then to the ceiling. Ratio doesn’t miss it.
“You may call me whatever you like, but it is only fair that you know.”
Aventurine laughs, warmer. “I’ve always known it. It isn’t a secret, Prince.”
Ratio does not argue. Instead, he regards Aventurine with that same patient smile. “Shall we head back upstairs and begin the next phase of our plan, then? Or would you prefer we remain down here picking apart the last few hours?”
“What a charmer you are,” purrs Aventurine but he makes a move to stand.
Ratio isn’t sure what possess him—if it’s the adrenaline of pulling off the first phase of their plan or the fear that Aventurine really had pulled off the greatest double bluff in this Kingdom’s history. All he knows is that one second he’s admiring Aventurine’s collarbone and the next, Ratio is pressing his lips to Aventurine’s temple.
“…Ratio?”
“If it becomes too much to handle, tell me,” Ratio implores, nose smoothing over the errant strands at Aventurine’s hairline.
“I don’t think it will.”
Ratio is oddly certain they are not discussing their acting.
He pulls away. As he does, he catches the way Aventurine stares at him, gaze lingering on his mouth. Ratio does not make a move to close the distance. Instead, he gets to his feet and rubs at his own bruised wrists. “I despise rope,” he mutters.
“Really?” hums Aventurine as he stands much more gracefully. “I’m sure I can change your mind on that.”
“Insatiable.”
Aventurine’s grin is beautiful.
(Ratio is so painfully in love it hurts.)
“Did you catch his name?” Ratio asks to divert his attention away from how much he wants to push this Omega against the wall and mouth at his throat and bond them and ensure that the world knows that this brat is his and he is Aventurine’s and that—
He blinks. Slowly. Like a cat. And waits.
“Nothing beyond a monicker,” sighs Aventurine, shrugging his shoulders. “But he knows about my past. So it’s likely he’s tied to the Stonehearts.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll catch you up on that whole thing later. It’s likely Sunday is using them behind the scenes to do his dirty work. I’m still trying to figure out that part.”
“And shall I play dead in the meantime?”
“For a little while longer, yeah. They won’t give me an ounce of information if they think I just let you go like that.”
Ratio folds his arms to his chest. “And do you believe they’ll take you at your word?”
“That’s why I need your necklace, dear,” Aventurine snorts a short laugh. “My word is worthless. But, with that royal gem of yours? Who can ever think that you just willingly handed it over?”
“He could have easily cut it from my neck,” Ratio points out, a hand subconsciously lifting to run along the golden chain at his throat. A purple gem glistens in the torchlight. “Do you not think he is testing you?”
“Here’s the thing,” Aventurine says. “You have to willingly hand it over for it to be useful. They can’t just take it.”
“Is that so?” Ratio frowns, his fingertips moving along the gem’s grooves. “And you know this for certain?”
“Ratio,” says Aventurine, quieter. “I have this name for a reason. Trust me on this.”
And he does. Even if most of Aventurine’s past is a shrouded in mystery. Even if Ratio has so much to still learn about the man in front of him.
Ratio sighs and slowly unclasps the necklace. “Should there come a time where you must decide between the safety of this jewel and your own, I hope you choose wisely.”
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t throw away your family’s fortune,” says Aventurine as he reaches for the gold.
(And there’s still a chance, isn’t there? That Aventurine betrays him and bluffs again and once he has the necklace in his hand, he truly does kill him? That this was all part of an elaborate plan from the start just as the man in red had eluded to? That the last few weeks had been part of a bigger scheme that even included the IPC itself? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.)
Ratio easily lets it go.
Aventurine turns the necklace around in his hands. “…Thanks,” he says, softly.
“For?”
“Trusting me.” Aventurine looks up, then. There is no deceit, no anger. Just a look that Ratio can’t quite put a name to. “No one ever has.” Aventurine clarifies.
Ratio decides something in that moment: when this is over, when Aventurine is safely removed from whatever he’s been tangled up with, Ratio will tell him. He will offer himself, completely and fully, to Aventurine. He will court him as a proper mate would. He will—
“Ratio?”
He doesn’t want to risk this, risk Aventurine.
“Yes?”
“They won’t lay a finger on you again. I promise.”
Ratio almost finds it sweet. “It is not myself I am concerned with, Kakavasha.”
Aventurine’s lips twitch at their corners. “…Say it again.”
“Pardon?”
“…my name. It sounds nice when you say it. You’re butchering the middle, but otherwise? I like it.”
Ratio can’t believe this fool. But, he smiles all the same and steps closer. He closes his hand over Aventurine’s, the one that holds his necklace, and he says warmly to Aventurine’s ear, “Come back safely to me, and I will say it as many times, and in as many ways, as you’d like.”
Ratio does not miss the heat that spreads over Aventurine’s face in varying shades of pink. His husband does not sputter but he does smell the uptick in his scent, the intrigue, the affection.
“Hm. I’ll take that bet,” says Aventurine decisively as he pockets the necklace. “See you in a few days then, Ratio. Don’t get yourself caught, you know, being alive.”
Ratio can’t help but tilt his head to the side in amusement.
(No, that part of the plan is his. He can very convincingly fake a death, he thinks. Especially one that is his own.)
“Do not dawdle. He will grow suspicious.”
Ratio turns away, then. He’ll need to get to work on his own steps to make this plan look even remotely convincing, and—
He’s pulled back around.
Aventurine’s lips press to his. It’s soft. Nothing more than a chaste and fleeting kiss. But, electric sparks shoot through Ratio and a pleasure comparable to that orgasm he chased with Aventurine in his rut overtakes him. Aventurine feels good. He feels like home.
Before Ratio can curl his fingers into the bend of Aventurine’s elbows, hold him close and return the kiss with a rumbling fervor that has been building for weeks, Aventurine steps away. The kiss breaks.
“That’s for Clifford.”
Clifford? Who is—
Ratio’s laugh is indulgent, worn at its edges. “I will pass it along, then.”
“Thanks.”
And then Aventurine leaves.