Chapter Text
Aventurine smells like an Alpha. That realization annoys Ratio immensely, even though they’re far from monogamous. It wasn’t pungent nor entirely unpleasant, but still unwelcome. It was Aventurine that Ratio had chosen to invite to his bed, not whoever he must have been with an hour prior. “Did you neglect to bathe before you arrived?”
“Rude,” Aventurine huffed at him. “I used soap.”
“The bare minimum,” Ratio muttered. “Use one with a better scent neutralizer.”
“Wow, just say you don’t like my scent, Doctor.” Aventurine smiled at him, and it was difficult to parse how he truly felt about that statement because his expressions were rarely genuine.
“I can barely smell you at all,” Ratio complained, and Aventurine’s eyes shuttered.
“Sorry,” Ratio said.
“It’s alright, Doctor. I can hardly begrudge your true feelings on the matter.” Aventurine reaches up to loop an arm around Ratio’s neck like he’s trying to bring them together for a kiss, but his forehead reaches only the crook of his shoulder and succeeds in hiding his face from view. His next sentence is muffled, “Unfortunately I had little control over the circumstances that led to my less-than-stellar development. I hope you don't mind.”
Ratio thinks about apologizing again. Instead he says, “If I minded, I’d hardly have let you come this far.” Beneath him, Aventurine squirms, and the tips of his ears turn red.
Ratio kisses the crown of his head (coconut, lavender), brackets his waist (tiny), and hikes him further up his hips.
He figures, since Aventurine was previously occupied before coming to see him, that it should be fine to start with two fingers. He is wrong. Aventurine makes an aborted noise of discomfort, jerking away. Ratio quickly takes his fingers away. There’s barely any slick on them. “You don’t produce nearly enough natural lubricant,” he informs him.
Aventurine shifts in confusion. “It’s fine? I can take it, just give me more time to adjust.”
Sighing, Ratio reaches over to the side dresser for his favorite lube, trying not to get frustrated. It’s fine, plenty of people produce inadequate amounts of slick; it’s a common condition. Clearly Aventurine is into this - his erection bumps into Ratio’s arm as he’s fishing the lube out.
He really is rather well endowed for an omega. Quite surprising, considering his stature.
Flicking the cap open, Ratio squirts out a generous amount on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up.
This time, he’s more careful, wriggling first one, then two fingers past Aventurine’s entrance. He waits until he relaxes around him, then starts stretching him out thoroughly, adding in a third finger soon after.
“You’re doing well,” he comments absentmindedly, more focused on his task than anything else. Aventurine stills, tightening around his fingers. He has a strange expression on his face, eyes fixed piercingly on his face. But they slide shut as Ratio massages at his prostate, slowly relaxing.
Eventually, Aventurine bats at his hand. “Haven’t you prepped me enough, Doctor? We’ll be here all day if you don’t hurry it up.”
He’s still a bit tense, but, “Alright,” Ratio says. He removes his fingers, rolling on a condom. Smearing the remaining lube on his cock, he lines it up and meets Aventurine’s eyes.
Aventurine mewls when Ratio enters him, but he can tell it’s deliberate. It’s too perfect, the way he arches his back (just so), and the way his mouth falls open (invitingly, not too wide). Every sound and movement designed to put on a show.
It irks Ratio to think about how he might be just one of many audience members. He does not want to think about Aventurine’s other exploits when they’re together. (Irrational - they’re not exclusive.) Still, Ratio thinks about smothering Aventurine until all he can smell is him.
“Don’t buy that soap,” he says, a little nonsensically.
“What are you talking about?” Aventurine says, and then hisses through his teeth when Ratio drags his tongue over his neck. He stiffens, and a faint, well-suppressed but still present, scent of distress fills the air.
He keeps up an even rhythm for a bit, but something feels wrong. Aventurine is still making the appropriate noises to his thrusts, but… “How does it feel?” he says, leaning down to drag his teeth on his neck.
The body underneath him jerks violently. “Alpha, alpha, alpha,” Aventurine babbles, with something that can only be muscle memory, because Ratio is right here. His gut sinks.
“Do not call me that,” he growls.
Aventurine keens. “Master, master, master-”
Even worse! Ratio recoils, and then realizes he is working the side of Aventurine’s neck with his serial number. Shit. He tries to move away, but Aventurine’s nails are digging into his shoulder. “Aventurine! Use my name!”
A tense silence. Aventurine continues to take shuddering breaths against his chest, and the longer he stays silent the more anxious Ratio feels, until finally, finally-
“Doctor,” Aventurine mumbles, and Ratio almost collapses against him in relief.
“Use my full name,” Ratio says to him, just to be sure. “You know what it is.”
Aventurine peeks up from his collarbone (wet eyes, splotchy cheeks), “Narcissist. Ratio. Ve-ri-tas.”
“You are the worst,” Ratio scolds, and tilts his head to kiss him hard.
Finally, after Ratio’s hard work, Aventurine collapses in his bed, smelling like him. He has his arm thrown over his eyes. Shame.
Ratio graciously lets him rest for three minutes before kicking him off the bed to change the sheets. Aventurine has to pull his weight, so Ratio makes him stand there to hold the pillows.
“You are so mean to me,” Aventurine whines.
“And how productive are you being?” Ratio snarks back.
“I believe I’m excelling as your glorified shelf.”
Ratio turns to appraise him. Aventurine is still undressed, but unfortunately hugging a pillow to his front. Ratio sniffs. “You could do better.”
“You are so rude,” Aventurine says, and throws the pillow in his face.
Ratio’s annoyance returns anew when Aventurine stalks off to the bathroom, because that damn scent comes back. Ratio was not diligent enough, it seems. Times like this he bemoans being an Omega with a heightened sensitivity to an Alpha’s presence, because it was overpowering what little there was of Aventurine. Not that Ratio cares for any sentimental reason, to be clear. It just seems unfair that Aventurine lacks the opportunity to appeal to him, and he feels obligated to give Aventurine’s scent a “fighting” chance in the arena of Ratio’s senses.
Above his (admittedly, bizarre) sense of justice, Ratio is simply curious. Upon learning of Aventurine’s origins, he had done his research - and there are many rumors about the Avgin. He is aware that Aventurine presents as a poor specimen of a healthy Avgin adult but he hears that, at their most potent, their pheromones could knock a man dead. Tall tales, Ratio is sure, but only if his singular case study would let him confirm it. He can’t even scent a pillow right.
Ratio’s shower is running. He shuts his eyes and wonders what kind of Alpha Aventurine’s type is. He gives little inclination to his preferences and the mild scent on the pillow builds no image in Ratio’s mind.
It smells strangely familiar. Does Aventurine have a regular partner? In the background, he hears the water shut off. Ratio walks to his en-suite and knocks on the door. (It’s stupid that it’s closed.) “Who else are you seeing?”
“What?” The door opens a crack. Aventurine, wet hair dripping and making his head seem strangely smooth, peeks out. “Why do you want to know?”
“For my safety, and your own.” Not a lie. “When was your last test?”
Aventurine wrinkles his nose. “I take one every month.”
“You have that many partners to necessitate that amount of frequency?”
“No, I just have to. And I’m not seeing anyone on the regular, if that’s what you’re asking me, so don’t worry your pretty head about being accused of adultery.”
“Use the scent-neutralizing soap. The white bottle on the counter.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to- alright, fine,” Aventurine grumbles. “You’re so bossy, Doctor. Have a bath before, have a bath after.”
“I worry about your concept of personal hygiene,” Ratio sighs. “And I do not want you broadcasting your personal relations with me.”
“Whatever,” Aventurine sniffs, and shuts the door on him.
When he emerges and gets redressed, he smells disappointingly like nothing, so Ratio properly kicks him out of the house. Then, feeling a bit like a pervert, he scrutinizes his own bath until he spots the corner that Aventurine was most likely leaning against.
It smells exactly like the pillow, and now Ratio knew he was being ridiculous, because there was no way around it - no residue from a previous encounter could survive the glorious modern invention they call soap.
He thought about it and thought about it some more, and held the pillow to imagine Aventurine’s small frame in his arms. He’s as small as an Omega. Ratio looked at himself in the mirror. Hypocrite.
Perhaps it's an Avgin thing? No, that made no logical sense. The stereotypical stature of the secondary genders is consistent throughout the galaxy. And there were no unique environmental conditions on Sigonia that would have resulted in such a phenotypic expression becoming the norm.
Aventurine, Ratio hypothesizes, is just sick. Hormone sickness in childhood could result in stunted growth, an underdeveloped endocrine system, and weak secondary gender expression. Weak scent production.
Ratio takes a deep inhale of the pillow. Aventurine is the Alpha. How…
Underwhelming.
Ratio doesn't hide the fact that he's an Omega. He’s aware that he doesn't fit the mold of society’s demure, petite secondary gender, nor has he ever yearned to.
Aventurine being an Alpha bothers him briefly, before Ratio decides that it doesn't have to change anything about their dynamic. Aventurine clearly hadn't minded being on the bottom, and Ratio did not mind topping. They were both contrary for their genders, so they supplemented each others’ quirks. There's little to be dissatisfied with.
Except… Ratio wonders what it would be like to be taken by Aventurine. After all, that was what was biologically demanded of them. Would it feel better? Worse?
He blames scientific curiosity for causing Aventurine to pop in his head when he’s attempting to release his frustrations. (It’s not the first time he’s thought about fucking Aventurine, but it is the first time he’s pictured Aventurine fucking him. The image is comical given their size difference.) He comes quicker than he has in weeks, panting into the faint scent still lingering on his pillow.
The next time he and Aventurine are on the same planet (Ratio knows, he still has Aventurine’s work calendar synced with his from a previous project they collaborated on for the Intelligentsia Guild), he reaches out.
(Purely for scientific curiosity.)
He’s heard his students use slang. What do the kids these days call it? A booty call?
[Ratio] Come over.
[Ratio] I want you to fuck me.
Aventurine’s on his doorstep before the day ends.