Archive of Our Own ^beta

The air hung heavy with scent.

Thick and sweet, incense and sweat and sake, with everything known and unknown in between. They intertwined with the cacophony of noise, from the flutter of birds beyond curtained windows to the liveliness of the grand estate’s busy kitchen. A ripe concoction of dissonance with a savory note of chaos. Overwhelming for those affected by sensory overload, but child’s play in comparison to him.

Outside of here, Aventurine was often afflicted with all manner of interruptions—and even this remained too intense a description. His senses were keen, honed the way a blacksmith might temper steel, for the life of a fox hybrid was never quiet. Paired with an oversensitive nose and impeccable balance, he was an unstoppable force. He could expertly pick apart the information transmitted to his senses with a single redirection of attention. Which smells were important. Which sounds should be heeded. Those categorized as unimportant were muted, dulled to his liking, and filed away if he needed to lament upon them again. 

Never gone, for nothing could ever be blocked out forever, but enough so that Aventurine could focus on the importance of what interested him.

Sitting there now, however, he could smell only hair lacquer and heady perfume. They overwhelmed his sense by proximity alone, blinding his scent receptors and making him painfully aware of how dreadfully out of place he was. It forced him to attune to the rustle of silk fabric against his skin. How it slid upon smooth arms in a luscious way. How even the smallest movement made ornamental hairpins chime against his ears. How his tail swished against the floor with subtle impatience, the fur sliding along meticulously polished wood. How every breath made the leather resting at his throat grow tighter. He was something rugged amidst a sea of grandeur, everything immaculately placed and carefully maintained. 

No amount of exquisite dressing or beautiful makeup would ever be able to mask the pinnacle of resistance ever present beneath.

Perhaps this was Sunday’s intention. To keep him blind and immersed, straining and disarrayed, adrenaline running its course through his veins with each frantic beat of his heart. He could do nothing else but fidget and wait, legs folded beneath him and fingers clasped around a teacup now chilly in his hesitation. Aventurine was parched, and no amount of tea would satiate him.

Across the grandiose table, framed in the low light of nearby lamps, was the mastermind himself. A strand of pale hair sat tucked behind his ears, lips drawn into his signature little smirk. In one hand sat a matching teacup, balancing upon well-practiced fingers. 

Sunday had traded his usual attire for something a little more … revealing, to say the absolute least. Pale blue silk, sheer enough to tease skin, but not too much—enough to leave someone wanting, yearning, salivating at what might hide beneath. It flowed into a long drape, the fabric pooling around his carefully arranged legs. The soft hue faded into a gradient of silver waves upon a matching shore, the ends embroidered with darker blue tidepools and sparkling pearls. 

Expensive, just as he deserved; Sunday was, and always had been, a sight to behold.

A sight Aventurine openly drank in without a single shred of subtlety, such was his own style. 

The sun to Sunday’s moon remained eclipsed at his side, dutifully silent, awaiting an inevitable command. Every part of their plot, he too had been dressed to suit the powerful man’s tastes. Undressed, Aventurine would argue. Gallagher’s hands were folded in his lap, knees tucked beneath him by necessity, not from comfort. His skin was flushed with heat, faint color pushing at the surface. It was a bit surreal, witnessing a purveyor of chaos sit so uncharacteristically silent. Aventurine would not complain about the view though, not when crimson silk bit into his flesh and accentuated the bulge of his chest or the ridges of a well-toned stomach.

Sunday had taken care in wrapping him, creating a gift begging to be indulged, red coiled together from neck to thigh. It kept Gallagher in the perfect position for obedience—as if he would ever disobey at all. A powerful feat, having a wolf hybrid docile and ready for commands like a lost little puppy.

Aventurine could not see below the table but he had no doubt the lack of clothing extended further below.

“Are you troubled?” The words were low and inquisitive, but slicing through minutes of tense silence made Sunday’s voice sound as if it exploded throughout his senses.

Aventurine’s ears swiveled back in the wake of it. They betrayed his poise, sensitive to expression and his own emotion. “No,” he lied through sharp fangs. “I am merely … impatient.”

“Ah,” Sunday sighed wistfully. “The ever-pressing energy of a young pup.”

The way it was delivered, with the tiniest hint of condensation, made the fur along his tail stand at attention. He bit his tongue to quiet the snarky response itching to burst free. This was not the IPC, and Sunday was not just any old galactic asshole. 

Besides, he had been the one to agree to this. Aventurine knew full well what he had been signing up for when he had agreed to meet for a night of indulgence, and offering control to someone else was only a fraction of what the evening had promised. It was why he allowed himself to be dressed in a piece of fancy lingerie worth more than he would ever make in his lifetime, makeup painted upon his pretty face and dangling hair ornaments woven into his hair. 

But Sunday was perceptive and clever. He observed the nuances in Aventurine’s face, calculated his silent response, and widened his smile. The teacup was lowered with utmost poise. “You need not hold back. We are in private here, hidden behind fortified walls; no one will hear you.”

The invitation for open disrespect caused an involuntary thump of his tail upon the floor. Not of displeasure, of course; perhaps surprise. Maybe unease. Aventurine had never shied away from speaking his mind, a trait that often landed him in hot water. Important discussions were met with enthusiasm and confidence. Nothing ever deterred the rock solid resolve in his heart. Faced with the chance to cause trouble, to spread dissonance … would he be foolish to refuse … or accept? He adored causing problems in other places, so why not here?

He knew the man across from him was cunning and resourceful, even if it lacked malice these days.

Contemplating Aventurine’s prolonged silence, Sunday merely tilted his head. “Have I disturbed you, Gambler?”

“Of course not,” he replied quickly. “I just …”

“You are nervous around me,” Sunday supplied. Ever observant, ever correct. “At least, in this capacity. We are … rather open, after all.”

Aventurine met his gaze, ears pushing forward. His nails tapped lightly upon the table between them, and he followed the winding grain with feigned interest. “You are the Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony.”

A laugh exploded from the other man’s throat, loud and ripe with amusement. “Such a simple answer,” he chuckled further. “And you are Aventurine, one of the Ten Stonehearts. Here, in this attire,” he continued, “titles are nothing but words. You are itching to engage in desires in much the same manner as I am. Here, I am just Sunday, and you are only Aventurine; fret not the formalities.” Contemplative silence, then— “Or would you prefer titles and authority, pup? ”

A shudder rippled like heat haze through his body. Hot and sharp, stinging his insides and making his ears twitch in subtle alert. Hiding his reaction was futile. Aventurine snorted, even as the faint stir of arousal deep within his stomach made itself known. “I bet you would enjoy that just as much as I.”

Another smirk of amusement. “You may mirror Gallagher, if you wish,” Sunday continued. “Sit like a good boy and wait patiently, or spill from your seams and tempt danger. Though I imagine you will do plenty of the latter once our fourth guest arrives.”

A kernel of resolve popped within him, a fire lighting itself in his veins. Aventurine dared to bite back. “I am no trained puppy, sir, ” he replied at length, tasting the words on his tongue. His eyes meticulously traced the lines of Sunday’s face for reaction as he did so. Brows furrowed in contemplation, smirk remaining in place as his own challenge was met. Gallagher fidgeted beside him, perhaps more affected by the use of the title than Sunday himself, and the inner animal in Aventurine’s chest howled its preemptive victory. Such a naïve little puppy, stepping into an inescapable trap and thinking he won. A misstep which would be understood hours later.

Accepting Gallagher’s reaction as affirmation, Aventurine made peace with the title.

“I did not invite you here for obedience,” came his measured response. “Though I imagine you are good at it.” A pause. “Hm, little fox?”

An obvious challenge.

“For some.” Aventurine straightened his spine. He did not chase the hook this time; not yet. For the excitement of pushing Sunday’s buttons was a welcome prospect all its own. “When will our fourth arrive?” His tail swished with veiled impatience.

“Any moment now. I sent someone to retrieve him.” Sunday rocked the teacup in his splayed fingers. The inside had been bone dry for some time, so it merely served as a status symbol. “I was told he’s eager to be free from idiocy.”

Lies. He knew not what Sunday had spun to spur his arrival, but Aventurine knew he would be less than pleased to arrive to such a … scene. To the visage clad loosely around his body, a mirage of a person confined to illusion and one-sided flirting. He was an abstract concept given life, the disconnect between his true self and the person he was pretending to be laid all out in the open. His attraction, his love, were mere concepts carried by his delusions. The missing piece of their fragmented puzzle was not coming to see Aventurine, surely not. He was coerced, or he was coming to meet—

“... Gambler?”

Unbeknownst to him, the door at his left had been strung open. Awash in shadow, obscured by poor lighting, was the fourth and final component of Sunday’s orchestrated evening. His clothes were slightly disheveled, pants crooked and a strand of hair out of place. Wolfish ears sat high and alert amidst purple curls, the little laurel often framing them losing its battle with gravity. Uncharacteristic for a man so well put together. Sweat glistened across his brow as bright amber eyes consumed the banquet that had been presented before them.

“What the fuck?”

The expletive, often carelessly thrown in the throes of frustration, now grated harshly upon Aventurine’s ears. Such a dirty word for such an elegant atmosphere. It felt unnatural, especially when produced by the man standing before him; it did not belong in the sprawling brilliance of Sunday’s mansion any more than the mouth of the one who spoke it. Voice low, with an edge of breathlessness and displeasure.

And still, it was so unmistakably Veritas Ratio.

Sunday remained unfazed, extending a hand in greeting. “Ah, you’ve finally arrived. Perhaps you’ll feel inclined to close the door behind you?”

Aventurine swallowed the nerves bubbling in his throat. His gaze subconsciously affixed itself to the doorframe beyond Ratio’s torso, stealing peripheral view of the window taut along his chest. Often seen outside of a dimly lit room, it somehow felt scandalous now. Presented front and center, a tiny preview for everything hidden from his viewing pleasure. The deviation from peripheral to gawk made Aventurine wrench his attention away, seeking refuge amongst the floorboards. 

Meanwhile, Ratio cautiously entered the room. The door was snapped shut behind him, a mighty exhale covering the subtle jump of surprise from the foxish man. “I was informed this was a meeting of utmost urgency, ” Ratio said after a moment, clearing his throat. “A super important meeting involving a particular party’s safety. The only thing Gambler is in danger of is catching a cold.” A footstep forward, echoing throughout the room, followed by a cool, measured, “I despise being lied to, so pray tell; why am I here?”

His alias, spoken so sharply, yanked his chin up by puppeteer strings. Aventurine met Ratio’s open staring with shock and his teeth sank harshly into his own tongue. 

Ears pushed forward and eyes glinting in the wake of flickering light, there was no mistaking what he was looking at. Ratio drank the sight of him in shamelessly, a contrast to the minor annoyance he had conveyed to Sunday’s backhanded invitation. His eyes raked openly along the soft teal silk hugging his wiry frame. Jewels worth a fortune dangled from his body, accentuated by bangles and bracelets. The immaculate outfit Sunday had chosen to him was completed with makeup tediously applied to his soft features, but it was still all Aventurine. 

His own ears twitched in time with his tail, the latter of which thumped gently upon the floor as he wondered if Ratio would remain or slam the door behind him for a second time that night.

“Why, I’ve only orchestrated a fateful encounter for you, my dear Dr. Ratio.” The honey and venom with which Sunday spoke dripped from every word. He was entirely too pleased with himself, and it felt almost paralytic beneath his tone. “I never said Aventurine was in danger. Only that he was in a bit of a … predicament.” His wings twitched in the wake of his tantalization. “This is quite a predicament, is it not?”

Ratio appeared disturbed for a moment, glancing swiftly between every party occupying the room. “That still doesn’t explain the lack of clothing,” came his exasperated reply. “Why are you in such a state?”

“Is my outfit not up to par?” A mocking pout, Sunday dropping his elbow upon the table; his chin sank into his palm half a second later. “Would you prefer I undress instead?”

Was that … a blush on his face? “That is not what I meant.”

Aventurine was beginning to feel a tad weary of the lack of progress. He disliked the way their little back and forth felt dismissive, speaking passively as if he weren’t there at all. His tail thumped louder this time, displeasure drawing the attention of the other three men occupying the room. “You are certainly in no hurry to leave, though,” he grumbled.

Ratio regarded him for a moment, completely stone faced. Then he sighed, arms crossing in disbelief. “You know damn well I’d be back out that door already.”

Yet another trap laid by Sunday. Another victory accepted with visual glee, the man extending his free hand in Ratio’s direction. “Ah, so you admit that you are here willingly.”

Realization bloomed along chiseled features. “I only came to assure he was in no danger.”

“And are you displeased with your discovery?” 

Silence descended upon the room. It lasted barely a tick, devoid of breath and only the roar of his own heartbeat quivering in his ears. Aventurine kept perfectly still, suddenly hyper aware of all the attention being solely on him.

“... I can’t say that I am,” Ratio conveyed at length. Their eyes finally met, and Aventurine melted a bit beneath his intensity. Others would not think it so, but for him, it was infinitely easier to read Ratio compared to Sunday. For all his wisdom, Ratio was rather open and direct. Honest and true, with no genuine malice; just the pursuit of knowledge. For now, there was curiosity and the hint of something raw, something a bit more primal.

“You are free from danger, yes? There are no outside influences, no one forcing you into this?”

His questions were so openly concerned and yet, the connection from Aventurine’s brain to his mouth misfired. Head cocking to the side, confidence gnawing at his innards, he asked, “Are you in need of proof?”

Aventurine pretended he could not see the way Sunday and Gallagher regarded him with open interest. There had been a hasty plan put in place earlier, quickly discussed between the three of them based on the varying degrees of Ratio’s reaction. Whether to engage or diffuse, goad or erase, though they could’ve put genuine money on the ‘probably won’t be too upset about it’ option; a gamble he would’ve willingly taken. 

With that, the atmosphere changed. Subtle but swift, the lanterns flickering in the wake of their attuned resolve. His senses refined themselves, honing in on the gentle breaths and rustling fabric. A narrow focus, all on the man still standing at the entrance.

Quickly rectified, as Ratio approached the table with characteristic restraint. Nice and slow, as if his hosts would suddenly turn tail and flee into the shadows. He towered above all of them for the moment, but he was only looking at one of them; Aventurine, and Aventurine alone, intensity sparking in the gap between. 

His ears pushed forward as the ascent came to a close. It ended with Ratio scrutinizing him from above, forcing the fox hybrid to crane his neck painfully far. From below, the man was all leg and bulging muscle, an intimidating bulwark of prowess. Had Aventurine been a stranger to his aura, some part of him might’ve been afraid. Not now, not with excitement sending his heart into a dizzying spiral and his tail fighting to thump against the floorboards.

Then Ratio crouched in front of him, arms slinging over his knees. They were close, the proximity mingling their breath and forcing their eyes to meet. Aventurine studied his face and quickly found his previous judgment had been early. He could not read the darkness swimming in his eyes. He could not predict what Ratio would do. Where he would touch first. How he would hold him. If he would even engage in the scene Sunday had so painstakingly crafted—and the uncertainty was the most exciting aspect of all of it.

“He is a product of war,” Sunday cut in, stoking an ever-growing flame. “You of all people should know he will not break beneath a simple touch.”

Splayed fingers rose to his cheek. The touch startled him, and Aventurine held his breath. Ratio’s fingers were flushed, indicating his rush to Sunday’s mansion. Their heat sank into his skin, contrasted by the subtle bite of manicured nails. He shivered in the wake of exploratory touches. The reaction appeared to please Ratio, earning him the brush of fingertips as they rose alongside his head. Further they went, brushing along soft strands and nudging between various lengths. He remained completely still, body thrumming with energy as dexterous digits sought out their goal. Aventurine watched him with open interest, noting the creases of determination furrowing his brow. Distracted by admiration for the markings framing Ratio’s eyes, he was unprepared for the other man to arrive at his destination.

An initial touch made his ear twitch. Flies often made landfall amidst his soft fur, where a quick flick often chased them away. But the exploratory pressure returned again, and Aventurine’s silent annoyance over the disturbance melted into realization; Ratio had found his target. His nails ghosted along the underside of his left ear, smoothing the fur carefully. 

Aventurine’s spine stiffened, his heartbeat surging to roar in his ears. He was not spared his weakness as Ratio fit the majority of a long blonde ear in one hand. The reverence carried over into the softest movement, stroking the length of his ear while keeping their gazes perfectly linked. His body sank into the pleasant warmth, and he could not stop his tail from wagging in merriment as his deepest guilty pleasure was forcibly dragged out into the open. 

Ratio, clearly pleased with his findings, repeated it. Nice and slow, with the same care someone might present with their household pet. Had his spine not bowed with need and his mind clouded with pleasure, he might have been a little bit angry.

“What a lewd face you’re making. How pretty.” Sunday’s voice snapped him back from the edge, and Aventurine’s cheeks flooded with shame. “Wouldn’t you agree, Gallagher?”

The reply was instant, practiced, “Yes, Sir.” Gallagher’s voice, unheard for well over an hour, had a heavier impact than within normal conversation. His voice was low and hoarse, and it reintroduced his presence in an explosive way. He was still a willing participant, and he was watching the attempt at unraveling with his own silent admiration. 

“Aventurine.”

His name on Ratio’s lips, though spoken so many times before, sounded so deliciously wicked now. “... Yes?”

“May I … kiss you?” 

The question was so earnest and pure, unbefitting of a man like Ratio. He briefly wondered just how much experience the intimidating man actually had. His mind tempted him to tease but he bit his tongue instead. Who was he to judge, when he was melting beneath a simple ear scratch? So he conceded, shoulders relaxing and fingers tangling into the hem of his expensive lingerie.

“Of course you can.”

Ratio’s gentle approach switched at the drop of a pin. The nails of his other hand weaseled beneath the collar resting at Aventurine’s throat, hooking the sturdy leather and pulling it taut upon his skin. 

He gasped as he was yanked forward, hands flying up to firmly plant on Ratio’s knees. His space was invaded and their lips grew close, the smell of fresh soap and traces of street food tickling his senses. The ear free of touch swiveled back, flattening against his head but not from displeasure. His instincts bayed with their approval, straining for a call that would never return; not in the way that it craved.

But when Ratio finally kissed him, that ceased to matter. 

The first peck was unbelievably tender. So much so that Aventurine barely felt it. It conveyed open reverence and hesitation. Ratio’s lips were smooth, and somehow he knew any other state would have been out of place. Yet he kissed Aventurine as if he were parched and the fox hybrid was the only cure, sinking into him with incremental force. He was both everything and nothing of expectation. 

Their eyes met by proximity and he actually whined beneath the intensity of Ratio’s stare, how he viewed him with open desire devoid of shame. His ear was released in favor of seeking out his hair, tangling around strands and ornaments with strength. A sharp tug forced his head back, wrenching him open and forcing his hold on reality to slip ever further into the abyss. Aventurine leaned into it eagerly, tail thumping incessantly against the floor in excitement. 

Ratio chose then to trail nails up the soft flesh of his throat. They rose to the underside of his chin, pressing tentatively as the kiss deepened. His lashes fluttered at the swipe of a tongue, and then the hand at his throat actually began to pet him . Like he was little more than an obedient puppy begging for praise.

An attempt to move closer, to shuffle Aventurine into his lap, was swiftly staunched. Sunday cleared his throat and all of the tension in the room rushed towards the outlet. He had forgotten they were not alone, breaking free from the kiss and reeling back. His cheeks were flushed and his hands were shaky. The grounding hold on his hair loosened then, the intensity burning into his eyes fading away as Ratio cast his eyes upon the other pair occupying the room.

“Can I help you?” Ratio grumbled at the interruption.

Sunday’s wings twitched in amusement. “My, my, your tune changed quickly.” His slender fingers extended, tapping idly against the ornate table. “Might I assume you’ve chosen to stay?”

Ratio didn’t even flinch beneath Sunday’s commanding aura, but no one had expected him to. His expression had fallen back into its usual calm. “I arrived via your invitation. What rules do I need to follow?”

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d abided by them, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

A pleased smirk bloomed upon pretty features. “Ah, you’re learning!” Sunday jerked his head towards the grandiose bed occupying the room. It was the true centerpiece of everything, large enough to house several people at once. The frame was custom made, made of intricately carved wood engraved with silver. Powder blue sheets draped from each side, plush pillows and folded blankets scattered carelessly around each corner. A table parallel contained all manner of supplies and fun oddities, begging to be browsed and utilized. 

“Do as I say, and you will be rewarded properly, Doctor ,” the Halovian continued. 

Ratio’s ears twitched forward at that. “If I wasn’t so keen on unraveling Aventurine, I’d make you rescind that arrogance.” 

A brow rose in their direction. The careful mask often affixed upon Sunday’s face flickered. A subtle crack, but so out of place that it was instantly noticed. Dark and dangerous, and Aventurine wanted nothing more than to aid in shattering it to pieces. His inner pup salivated at the idea of Sunday stepping out of his façade, succumbing to pleasure and writhing in its aftermath—and with any luck, perhaps he would get to witness that very thing later in the evening.

Just as swiftly as it appeared, the crack repaired itself, and Sunday returned to his calm prowess. “Now wouldn’t that be a treat.”

Then Sunday’s attention diverted, swiveling fully to the fourth and certainly most dutiful of their little gathering. He had remained mostly silent since Aventurine first arrived, only speaking when prompted for affirmative answers, already bound in delicious red ropes. Gallagher had trailed behind them every step of the way, always on their heels, always tense and ready to bend  to Sunday’s will. That did not mean he had been forgotten, however, and anyone who made that assumption was a fool.

Sunday knew well what he was doing, presenting Gallagher in such a way. He was a prize, preened to desire and meant to be gawked over. All of this conveyed in the beautiful knotwork laced over his torso and thighs, each section meticulously wound and lovingly tied by Sunday himself. Like his master’s favorite doll, all of which belonged to him.

Every pair of eyes suddenly upon him, Gallagher’s form flickered, a mirage passing through him in a heat haze. He visibly swallowed, muscles bulging beneath the thick ropework as he glanced between Aventurine and Ratio. His gaze eventually settled upon his master, the latter of whom was peering down at him with open adoration. It was soft and gentle, a sharp contrast to the playful arrogance showcased only moments ago. Something about it felt entirely too intimate for  Aventurine to witness, as if he were intruding upon a private moment.

“Gallagher, dear, go sit on the bed.”

Gallagher nodded in wordless acceptance and carefully rose to his feet. He stumbled at first, legs suffering from their positioning, but he quickly found his footing. His skin was flushed all along his spine, obscured only by the intricate braid nestled against it. The ladder of knots came to a halt just above the curve of his ass, coiled together to weave a pleasing diamond. They wrapped down and around to a similar arrangement on his thighs, the pressure from their position giving his cheeks the tiniest bit of extra volume.

Even from the other side of the table, Aventurine could see the darkened patches healing along his shoulders, a gorgeous mix of scattered hickies and bruised bite marks connected by constellations of dragging nails. A beautiful canvas full of implication.

“Don’t be shy now,” Sunday said, tapping on the table to get his attention. “You too. On the bed.”

Aventurine swallowed, but his eyes remained firmly affixed upon Gallagher’s body. He lazily arranged himself on the edge of the bed, and it took all of his willpower not to trend downwards to the hefty prize resting beneath those luscious thighs. So he instead busied himself with following Sunday’s request, untangling himself a tad reluctantly from Ratio’s proximity. The latter let him go without much of a fuss, settling into the conditions set by the man running the show, though he had a feeling that would not last. 

Instead, he too rose on unsteady feet. It was his turn to be the focal point of the room. The lingerie Sunday had purchased for him straightened itself in one fluid movement, kissing the tops of matching stockings previously hidden from view. His top was low-cut and intricately designed, teal and gold and embroidered along every seam. He was suddenly very aware of how his tail hiked up the back, providing the perfect glimpse of the pretty panties clinging to his lower half. Aventurine lowered his tail, and one subtle head tilt from Sunday immediately returned it to the previous position.

With that reaction in mind, Aventurine took his time strolling around the table. Even though his paws were covered and the stockings fought him every step of the way, he still managed to keep a steady pace. He could feel the burn of Ratio’s eyes as he went, could nearly imagine their intensity in his mind. How they traveled up and down lanky legs, raking through golden fur, chasing the bend of his spine, all the way to the nape of his neck. He swore he could hear the flurry of dirty thoughts swirling through Ratio’s mind as his ears were studied, hair ornaments plucked carefully from their positions and tossed uncarefully to the floor …

Then he arrived at the foot of Sunday’s bed, and all of that ceased to matter for the moment.

Standing at the edge of the bed, it was the first time Aventurine had been allowed to be so close to Gallagher. He inhaled, ears pushing forward and tasting the air. The smell of lust and desire tickled his nose. Notes of whiskey and bourbon and aged oak—all Gallagher.

Up close, the broad man was all muscle. Aventurine could see each individual hair, could see the way his wolfish ears twitched and swiveled attentively. The red of his eyes was ever more intense, sinking into his flesh and nearly setting him ablaze. His breath hitched in the wake of their brilliance and he swore he saw the faintest lift of a smirk kiss the edge of Gallagher’s lips. It sparked excitement and interest deep within his body. His tail began to wag without his consent, and his senses trembled at Sunday’s soft chuckle.

“Now then, little fox; what is it that you’ll do?”

Aventurine, still distracted thoroughly by Gallagher, kept his back firmly to Sunday. His inner self was running laps, dancing around in his stomach and trying desperately to pilot his brain. He inhaled, scratching idly at the space his watch usually occupied. “I think … I want to kiss him.”

The Halovian chuckled behind him and he vaguely heard the rustle of fabric. “Then kiss him; he won’t object.”

His feet remained firmly glued to the ground, ears flattening back.

“I don’t think he’s worried about Gallagher,” Ratio supplied. 

“Ah.” A simple word and yet it dripped with sarcasm. “I would not have asked you both here, if I were worried about that.” The drum of nails upon the table for yet another time, followed by the click of Sunday’s tongue. “But make no mistake, dear guest; he is mine, and he will always remain that way.”

Aventurine felt himself clench, slick pooling between his thighs. Heat climbed within his body, bringing with it a variety of images cascading through his brain. He did not chase them though, not yet. 

Gallagher’s nose flared, red eyes narrowing in realization. His hands trembled and for a moment, the debate on defying Sunday and touching without permission was prominent on his face. The need to be touched, to be acknowledged flickered openly throughout Gallagher’s body. It manifested in the continued flex of his fingers, the jitter of his pupils, even in the way his lips parted to inhale every fresh little breath. His positioning felt a bit mechanical, rehearsed in how he balanced at the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched and fluffy tail wrapped tightly at his waist. 

He was the perfect picture of duty and obedience, a wolf reduced to a mere hound, and the deep need for freedom in Aventurine’s own soul loathed it. His instincts wanted to rip it to shreds, tear the invisible bonds free and allow Gallagher to howl to the moon—so why not start now?

A step forward, then another, without any noise from the men behind him. With tentative, careful movements, Aventurine joined Gallagher on the edge of the bed. He sank into the soft sheets, tucking a leg beneath him for comfort. They were closer than ever before, the heat from the other man’s body filling the gap between them. Delicate hands pressed against one thigh, allowing him to draw near Gallagher's face. The whiskey on his breath was stronger up close. It clouded his senses and sent his heart into a dizzying spiral. Another puzzle piece slotting into what made him whole.

Closer still, until their excited exhales intertwined and their eyes were level. His first utterance of the phrase was soft enough to make Gallagher’s ears swivel forward. Curiosity conveyed via the slight squint and Aventurine tilted his head; all of his nerves finally melted away. There remained his confidence and charisma, and he proceeded to try again.

“Kiss me,” he murmured, tail swishing in temptation. “Use me without permission.”

Gallagher studied him wordlessly for a moment. Eyes slowly widened, lips parting. He glanced subtly in Sunday’s direction but yet again, not a single noise followed. The hand in his lap twitched, as if he were weighing the risk and the reward. 

Would it be disobeying if a guest commanded him? Would he earn punishment for providing pleasantries for a visitor? 

A decision was silently made, and it appeared Gallagher had weighed the reward far outweighed the risk. The mechanical pose released, and a hand raised to his waist. It slotted there firmly, rumpling fabric and providing him with the slightest squeeze. Gallagher stitched their gap and raised his other hand, using it to caress his cheek with warm fingers.

Their lips touched.

A visible jolt passed through his body. His ears folded back, lids drooping, as Gallagher tested the waters. He was a sharp contrast to Ratio, rough and rugged. The pad of a worn thumb ghosted along his cheekbone, tracing the shape of Aventurine’s face, before spidering its way to his nape. Gallagher held him there with gentle force, keeping him in position as his tongue prodded tentatively at his lower lip. Aventurine parted them without much prompting, and with the warm seal arrived the sweetest hint of chocolate. Subtle but intoxicating, a flavor often forbidden by their canine halves. 

Heat flushed his chest and his heart quickened, feeling the chocolate slide along the pad of his tongue. He wasn’t sure when Gallagher had prepared it but the only window of opportunity had to be from table to bed. It didn’t matter, truly; Aventurine accepted it all the same. The flavor exploded throughout his senses and coated his mouth in sickly sweet euphoria. Chocolate had always been a delicacy locked behind high society and wealth. So even though his species was less affected by its delicious aftertaste, it sank into him quicker as a man with no immunity. This even more so considering the ingredients mixed inside, freely agreed to, but still unexpected.

The initial effects were superficial. Yet they still made his paws prickle and his fingers grow warm. His tail slowly began to wag and Gallagher pressed further, controlling the kiss and the range of his body movements. Once the chocolate was firmly passed, the hand behind moved forward again, and carefully manicured claws began to scratch at that mysteriously nice patch beneath his chin.

Aventurine moaned .

Gallagher broke their kiss for a moment, allowing them a quick inhale, before they crashed back together. The kiss was rougher now, Aventurine growling deep within his throat as he nipped and sucked at Gallagher’s tongue. He inched closer, heat pooling between his thighs as their hands began to wander. The primal desire for skin on skin contact was beginning to fog his brain, the aphrodisiac taking root in his core.

“Stop.”

The command instantly untangled their bodies. Gallagher drew away, leaving him cold and scandalized. Aventurine whined at the loss of contact. His head was beginning to fog over and no spyglass would be capable of cutting through soon. Swaying in place, he managed to swivel his body and affix a half-hearted glare on the owner of the voice who had torn them asunder.

Sunday had his finger curled into the loop of his chest chain. The other wolf in the room was leaning over to accommodate the hold, spit glistening along his chin. His collar was rumpled and buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the smallest peek of skin and muscle. 

Aventurine felt himself sober up just enough to muster disappointment over missing such a display. 

Sunday at least had the decency to appear sorry, even if it wasn’t honest in the slightest. His wings twitched in amusement mirrored upon saccharine lips. “You allowed yourself to be wrapped so prettily for our dear Doctor, no?” He teased. “It would be rather unfair to deny him the privilege of unwrapping his gift.”

The last remaining contact twitched at his hip, Gallagher’s fingers flexing outside the silky slip. Scent permeated his nose, conveying the itch to disobey, to follow Aventurine’s initial prompting. Seconds of silence ticked by, the four of them gauging the tension and energy in the room as they each attempted to decide their next course of action.

Unsurprisingly, and much to Aventurine’s dismay, Gallagher chose to withdraw. Disappointment cut above the blunting of his senses, burning hotly through his veins. He wanted to be unraveled in Ratio’s hands but he also wasn’t quite ready to be parted from the man beside him. 

“You misunderstand,” Sunday said behind him. “You may continue kissing each other. Just don’t undress.”

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know that?” Aventurine grumbled without thinking. His own ears flattened in the wake of his rudeness.

Yet, Sunday merely laughed, yanking Ratio closer even as the latter bared fangs in response. “Life’s no fun if you don't stir the broth; you of all people should agree.”

Aventurine considered apologizing but the thought was gone just as quickly, lost in the press of rough lips against his cheekbone. His head turned to Gallagher returning to his space, forcing him to lean back. Gallagher continued until his upright position became uncomfortable, and he was left sprawling on his back against the mattress. The wolf grasped the opportunity to move over him, pinning Aventurine to the bed at his waist. His wrists were next, swiftly clenched together and pressed into plush sheets as lips crashed into his own. Gallagher kissed the breath straight from his lungs, squeezing a whine of pleasure from him as his back arched. 

The aphrodisiac claimed him. Suddenly the room felt too small, and he was only a mere mortal within it. Every bit of his body was suddenly covered in wires, nerves hypersensitive and receptive to each brush of skin and rope against him.

Surely smelling it, Gallagher goaded him on with the roll of his hips. His hefty length dragged along Aventurine’s panties, wider than his entire lower half and then some. Erect from his own bout of specialty chocolate, no doubt, ready for its chance to be in the spotlight. Now wasn’t it, however, and Aventurine was only allowed to fall into a dizzying whirlpool as Gallagher repeated it. 

He cried out, a tear sliding down his cheek as the sensations built hotter and hotter. Too much and not enough, in all the wrong ways.

Gallagher's hips stuttered to slow, languid thrusts, continuing to frott against him in learned measure. “Okay?” He whispered softly.

Aventurine’s lips quivered. His body was a shaky mess and yet he still managed to stammer out a soft, “F-feels good.”

The vocalization he received in return was purely wolfish, a grunt of approval and desire. It was echoed by Ratio in the distance, a primal response to a primal heritage. 

And yet … Gallagher did not return for a kiss.

He instead changed his positioning, shifting up to Aventurine’s stomach. His weight was kept mostly to his knees, allowing him the freedom to wiggle, but the fox was learning. He kept completely still, lost to Gallagher’s whims and happy to indulge in whatever had been decided.

Suddenly, their faces drew close again. Gallagher’s ears were pushed forward and his eyes were dark, a face protruding from his smirking lips. The hold upon his wrists grew tighter and then a nose plunged into his hair. Exhilaration flared in his veins as he felt it begin, understanding blooming brightly in his instincts.

Gallagher was scenting him.

A confusion mix of arousal and submission clawed its way through him. Aventurine’s tail wagged weakly against the sheets, accompanied swiftly by a whimper. The wolf’s conquest ended just as swiftly. It was as if an invisible barrier was being tested, an unspoken rule. Aventurine swore he heard a growl cut through his fog but it ceased to matter when teeth dug into the soft fur of his ear.

Sharp and possessive, the sensation wasn’t overly pleasurable. The suddenness of it performed most of the work, heightening the feeling immensely. Though Aventurine himself had never participated in the custom, the act of Gallagher’s bite was a custom commonly exchanged by those who shared his species. It was a deep primal instinct and it made his body sing with desire. There was no stopping the interesting mix of growls and whines that spilled from his throat, pouring out of him as Gallagher nibbled along the edge of one long ear. He left a trail of wetness in his wake and the shaking mess of a fox beneath him.

And when he finally pulled away for a gulp of air, Aventurine was left there in a daze, tongue lolling from his mouth as he panted like nothing more than a dog .

Gallagher chuckled above him. “You’re divine, Aventurine.”

His body reacted involuntarily to the praise and he strained at the hands still clasped tightly around his wrists.

“Oh? Did you like that?”

Aventurine whined softly, hips twitching upwards in a weak attempt to beg for more contact; it was not given to him.

“Such a high ranking Stoneheart … of course you do.” Gallagher’s lips teased the edge of his other ear. His voice lowered an octave, “What an obedient little fox you are.”

“M-more,” he begged, blissfully unaware of the desperation spilling through his scent.

“Praise and preening?” A hand slid down his chest. Warm and broad, creasing fabric and bunching it around the chosen prize. “Or a little something … more?” Gallagher pinched one soft nipple and rolled it carefully, being mindful not to pull too harshly and agitate aged scars. 

Aventurine’s reaction was instant, and the noise that wrenched from his throat was enough to pause the activity throughout the room. The sensation was multiplied tenfold and the only thing capable of keeping him from writhing was the wolf managing to ground him. His legs bowed up and accidentally dug into Gallagher’s back, a tremor passing through his entire body. It was such a small, simple touch, and Aventurine was blissfully unaware of the extent of the effect it had on those around him.

“What a pretty little fox,” Gallagher continued. “You’re shaking and you’ve barely been touched yet.”

Aventurine wasn’t even sure what he had been trying to ask for. It all spilled out of him in a scrambled mess of euphoria. He could not understand his own self, something akin to words resembling common tongue dipping into the heat shared between their bodies.

It amused Gallagher, earning him a chuckle along his ear. Teeth and tongue returned to their teasing, now paired with massaging at an erect nipple. 

Newfound heat found its way into his lower half and Aventurine nearly sobbed at the slick that had begun to dribble out of him. He needed more. Something, anything, instincts baying in a wild crescendo sinking into the very depths of his soul. It culminated into a tumultuous storm—only to be quelled by the sudden decompression left in the wake of parting bodies.

Aventurine’s eyes stung with needy tears, a mighty gasp expelling from his lungs as he was abandoned upon the bed. His knees knocked together, teal lingerie spilling in sharp contrast to the sea of snow he had been left to shiver within. He was a pretty little mess put on display for all of them. 

Gallagher’s departure was soon understood by his impaired brain. While their exploration had been underway, Sunday and Ratio had taken the time to drift over to the bed. Aventurine suddenly became aware of his abundance of clothing when faced with them, for the command of undressing had not applied to anyone else but him. 

Sunday’s sheer robe now rested in a pool of fabric beyond his field of view. The pale expanse of his chest was on display, exposing bruises and bites forming a pattern along soft skin. His nipples weren’t like anything he had been expecting. Lighter blue than the sheets at his back but still noticeable in their tint, framed by fading bite marks no doubt left by Gallagher. Beneath them sat jagged scars mirroring his own, equally as terrible in their healing and sure to contain nearly the same amount of traumatic inquiry. Now wasn’t the time to follow that train of thought, however, so Aventurine diverted himself back to his mental mapping. 

The rest of Sunday’s skin was broken apart by spatters of random scars, torn unequally between elemental and weapon. He had a leaner build without his loose clinging coat, exuding an elegant prowess as a result of secluded training. It all culminated into one final location, beautifully embroidered panties obscuring a true Penaconian feast from collective hungry eyes. 

If Aventurine were to squint just a little more, if his brain wasn’t quite so addled, he might have been able to see the subtle wet stain in their center.

At his right side hovered Ratio himself, who had been divested of everything but his laurel, courtesy of Sunday himself. He observed from his disheveled position, drinking in the sight of broad shoulders and unblemished skin. Many had jested of his potential Aeon favoritism, his body chiseled from the finest marble and brought to life in their image. It was shown through the curve and bulge of muscle, strength no doubt swimming beneath the surface. His stomach was toned but not overly so, matching hips of perfect definition begging to be held by wandering fingers.

This was not what attracted all of his attention though. The delicious canvas of Ratio’s thighs framed him perfectly. He was already erect, length heavy and growing more so with each second that ticked by. What it lacked in girth compared to Gallagher, it made up for in length. A ring had been fitted snugly to the base, matching the red accentuating those intimidating eyes. There was even a lovely curl of purple nestled above it, tying everything together in all of the ways Aventurine had only ever been able to dream about.

This was a dream too, technically, and he would savor every moment of it.

Aventurine whined. His hips canted as the burning sensation grew. The twitch of his nose brought only dulled desires, keeping him in the dark against their intentions. It felt weird. He was renowned for his keen senses. Always on his toes, always ready to react. But there beneath their eyes and the euphoria running in his veins, he felt muddled and dim. 

For that exact reason, it took him way too long to process Gallagher’s hands still pinning his wrists to the bed. It took him way too long to realize he had been repositioned in the previous tussle. It took him way too long to understand that he was surrounded on all sides. 

Gallagher above him, Sunday to his left, and Ratio to his right.

Unraveled and exposed, held there by nothing but words, they drank him in. Hungry eyes followed every angle, every concealed shadow, sending his heart into a tizzy and his breath swiftly from his lungs. The only thing separating their bodies was the thin slip spilling in teal and gold along his small frame.

Sunday’s brows rose and suddenly the hands keeping him still retreated. Aventurine was left there without his anchor, and the vortex tugging at him all evening finally pulled him under. 

When it had first been prompted, it had been but a dream. A fun little theory, another game in a long history of wins. Something brought up in jest over late night SoulGlad and whiskey. A little bet over whether Ratio would remain, whether he would partake, or if he would march right back out those doors and never speak to him again. Even while he had watched himself transform in a mirror, it had been surreal. 

Actually lying there , surrounded by the beautiful men who had dominated his fantasies for weeks … suddenly all of his wildest dreams were a mere arm’s length away, and he felt a bit lightheaded over the prospects that awaited him.

Ratio caught him in his staring, and a knowing smirk broke through manicured features. A hand snaked its way through the space separating them. Fingers twirled their way around a strand of stray hair. The touch was gentle but beneath the waves of aphrodisiac, it still made him jolt.

“You really did all of this for me,” Ratio mused. His voice reminded him of honey and sun-bleached stones, sweet and rough in its grandeur. 

Aventurine’s words failed him. He could only manage the quiver of an exhale, his tail thumping weakly beside him. 

“Then I will be sure to reward you.”

Before Aventurine had a chance to process those words, they crashed into him headfirst. Face first, actually, with Ratio crowding into his space and pinning him to the bed by his shoulders. Their lips met and it was liquid fire and everything he needed. The heat building roared to an inferno, and the feral half of him screeched in excitement.

This time, Sunday did not halt their union. 

Ratio consumed his space and drenched him in scent and warmth and attention. Though they were both wolves, they were so vastly different. Gallagher was a rugged entity, a scattered array formulated into a single soul. Something firm, something solid, a bulwark to lean upon when support or protection was needed. Ratio possessed those qualities too but they were softer. His protective instinct manifested in a more possessive manner, of gnashing teeth and low growls, and oh how Aventurine ached for a taste.

He grew drunk on his exquisite scent, intoxicated and blind once more to the world around him. His lashes fluttered as teeth pulled at his lip, demanding access. They retreated once given, a mere test of willingness and open want. Instead, Ratio switched to his chin, fangs dragging along pale skin and leaving red lines of measured control in their wake.

Aventurine whined like he was little more than a pathetic fox in heat, and he could feel the wolfish grin bloom against him.

The illusion of tenderness was shattered. Ratio consumed him deeply and passionately, full of tooth, tongue, and claw. Nails accompanied Ratio’s kisses, sliding along the fabric bunched at his chest. They caught against the silk, threatening to rip it to shreds, but the wolf was careful so as not to incur the wrath of Sunday. Lower they trailed, thumbing the edge against soft thighs, but still Ratio did not lift it. He instead repeated the motion over and over. A way of repayment for the teasing and temptation leading up to it all, amplified by who and how.

He grew drunk on the electric spider web of pleasure. Only when his ears flattened and his eyes slid shut did Ratio dare to reward him further. Aventurine was lost in a confident, tumultuous flurry, barely managing to regain his breath before it was kissed away from him again. The nails still trickling over him completed their descent. Ratio nudged his hand beneath the trifling fabric and pressed the pads of two hot fingertips against his hip. His body rose to meet them but the wolf added more weight, keeping him flat along the bed. 

Aventurine pushed weakly at Ratio’s chest, needing a moment to catch his breath. Their ravenous cravings returned to a simmer beneath their skin. Not quenched in the slightest, but enough to keep him sated even as saliva stained his swollen lips. Ratio stared back at him with titillating eyes, the sharp ruby now searing with want—want directed entirely at him.

Ratio had not gotten away unscathed either. His own lips bore evidence of their temptations, complete with a bloodied nick that Aventurine knew had arrived via his own canines. A tongue appeared to swipe it away and a shiver of feral desire stung his insides.

“A bit of a shame, really, to divest you of this,” Ratio teased softly. The hand lingering at his hip tugged gently at the underside of fabric, and Aventurine’s eyes swiveled down ever further. It bunched at his waist, clenched in a white-knuckled fist. “I’ll make my peace with the reward. Can you be a dear and sit up for me, hm?”

His request was the strangest mix of sincere and commanding. As a high ranking Stoneheart, a person accustomed to everything being taken away from him, his first instinct was to disobey. Aventurine wasn’t the type to directly command authority or respect, but the underlying implication that he answered only to a select few had been universally understood. However, as a hybrid? Such ideals did not apply. 

The ancient howl of obedience was, perhaps, the most powerful instinct of them all.

Aventurine gave in.

He obeyed the command with heavy limbs and swirling mind, steadied into place by Ratio’s firm hand. His own found purchase at his sides, sinking into bed as he met eyes alive with open hunger. Time slowed to a crawl even as his clothes were swiftly removed. Every movement was multiplied by the fire in his veins, silk sliding exquisitely along his lithe frame. The slip was tugged over his head and cast to the side, finally leaving him with nothing more than a pair of panties and long stockings.

Ratio’s hands returned to Aventurine’s waist. Nails ghosted along the stitched edge of emerald silk, tickling his skin and causing his lip to quiver. A wolfish grin, wicked and wild, nearly blinded him. It happened so quickly that he didn’t even have time to react. Suddenly his panties were sliding off, sliced at the edges by dangerous claws. 

Sunday would surely punish them later.

For now, a collective exhale echoed throughout the room.

Aventurine fell still. Dim light defined the outlines of soft muscles, cool air making his skin prickle. The fog in his head receded for a moment and the room suddenly felt impossibly small. Playful had become intimate, personal , and he was petrified in the wake of admiration devouring his silhouette. Every scar was suddenly on display, those from battle and from the mark of a new life, his heart thumping beneath insecurity. He was broken and battered and wrong —.

“Breathtaking,” Ratio nearly snarled . 

For Aventurine, it felt like an eternity. For Ratio, he did not hesitate; nor did anyone expect him to.

Ratio had his own flavor of elegance and observation in comparison with Sunday. For a wolf, he was meticulous, thorough, and thoughtful. Where Sunday explored with word and command, Ratio preferred a more … hands-on approach; it was granted with no resistance. 

Like stars falling amidst the sky, they crashed into each other. Skin to skin, warmth seeping into his flesh and forcing his back to arch. Ratio yanked him into his lap with tremendous strength, sliding soft folds along one thigh. Aventurine cried out, soft and needy. The sound was swallowed with a mouth sealing over his own, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging his head back. His other hand slotted at his waist, steading him in Ratio’s lap and keeping him flush. The new position allowed the swell of Ratio’s cock to bulge at his entrance. 

The mere glance he had been offered earlier had done nothing to prepare him for this. His body ached at the sheer size of it, a tremor of excitement prickling down his spine; would that even fit inside of him?

As if reading his mind, a voice he had not heard in minutes sliced through the tension.

“Quite a predicament you’re in, little fox,” Sunday chuckled, low and raspy; the words were accompanied by a series of sloppy wet noises. “One wonders if your stamina will be able to match that of a wolf, given your … current state.”

Nothing witty pricked the tip of Aventurine’s tongue. He could only focus on the distant sounds of Gallagher undoubtedly pleasuring his master—completely engrossed and unbothered. His own body reacted with desire, a spark of instinctual competition wishing to provide pleasure, to be someone worthy of the same diligence. With the cacophony of noises formulating the backdrop of his current predicament, Aventurine grasped confidence amidst the fog.

He chased the tendrils of energy slowly building, and rolled his hips in experimentation. It sent a delicious lick of flame through his insides. Above, Ratio growled in mock warning; and Aventurine heeded none of it. He received a gentle peck to the edge of his mouth, fingers sliding through the length of his hair to worry teasingly at an ear. A soft whine met the action, Aventurine growing ever more wet with need. His hips twitched forward for a second time, a bit more forceful. Ratio slotted between his lips and followed the entire movement, both of them moaning in sync. 

Cliché as it was, Aventurine felt his mouth actually water . He couldn’t decide what he wanted first, to be fucked above or below.

Thankfully Ratio was in a decision making mood; he chose for them.

Ratio readjusted his hold, untangling his hand from Aventurine’s hair. One arm slung around his waist and locked him into place. Their eyes met, unblinking and intense. Then his other hand swung into Sunday and Gallagher’s direction. “Share some of that,” he grumbled.

Aventurine followed the trail of Ratio’s voice, feeling the smallest pang of guilt over ignoring their hosts. That guilt flowed away upon the sight that greeted him.

Gallagher was lying on his side, stretched along the bed like a prized pet. He was half-heartedly draped across Sunday’s lap, nestled along splayed thighs. His back was arched, glimpses of his ass given with each lazy wag of his bushy tail. The wetness from earlier tied back in, Aventurine’s ears pushing forward to drink in the obscene noises.

Sunday was leaning over him, sweat glistening along his brow as long, wicked fingers worked Gallagher open. A dribble of oil oozed its way down, begging to be chased back up and inside. His thighs were trembling, almost unnoticeable as Gallagher parted Sunday’s pale pussy and drank every drop of sweet nectar greedily. Layers of bitemarks and bruises showcased weeks worth of indulgence, and the hybrid’s former guilt devolved into jealousy.

Would he have rather been in Gallagher’s position, allowed a taste of divinity? Or perhaps Sunday’s, able to reduce such a powerful man to nothing more than a spring pup?

“How nice of you to finally ask,” Sunday practically purred, producing a container from his side. It was an ornately decorated container, another expensive little thing far beyond his salary. “Gallagher shouldn't be the only one getting ready, after all.”

Was that a hint of excitement at the end?

“I recall hearing a different set of moans only moments ago,” Ratio replied, snagging the bottle from Sunday’s outstretched hand. 

The half-hearted teasing was taken in stride, met with a chuckle and punctuated with a particularly needy moan from the man busy at his core. “Pay attention to your pet now, dear Ratio; I need to take care of mine for a bit.”

“I don’t need to be told that by you .” Ratio’s attention swiveled back to him, the bottle hovering in his peripherals. “I am no longer in the mood to treat you like glass and fragility, Aventurine. Are you prepared?”

“I expect nothing less,” Aventurine replied lowly, tail swishing along the tops of Ratio’s thighs. He was no doll. He was a Stoneheart, and he had not received that title without hard-won battles and difficult trials. Being treated with porcelain perimeters would be more of an insult than a luxury. 

Wicked fangs rose to meet him, and Ratio smashed their lips together. The kiss was a distraction really, fingers sinking into the base of his tail. They dug in, sharp nails just shy of nicking his skin. They parted his fur and Aventurine could barely feel the pressure as Ratio combed through the thickness of it. The touch was neither firm nor gentle and Aventurine shivered. It had always been on the sensitive side, so it mattered not how Ratio touched it, just that he was . Ratio ran his fingers up and down, before grasping the base of Aventurine’s tail and lifting it; he took care in not yanking too hard—not yet anyway. 

The desired effect manifested in Aventurine arching up into him, slick pooling between his thighs. His need for release was beginning to crowd his senses and gnaw at his control. He broke the kiss this time, ears swiveling back as he fought desperately to ground himself. His heart was thrumming with excitement, instincts calling to him, and he managed to wiggle a hand between their bodies. Aventurine coaxed it up the broad expanse of Ratio’s chest, tracing the edge of his breastbone. 

Here, he paused, absolutely taken aback with his discovery. 

His nipples were erect, each bud of dusky flesh betraying the calm demeanor of their owner. He had not noticed them from afar, had not noticed them even while seated right beside him. Now though, there was no mistaking it; metal glinted back at him. Small gold bars edged with amethyst stones framed each bud, accentuating but not stealing the show. 

Aventurine could not control himself—he needed a taste. His body slid back and his hands were upon Ratio’s chest. He sealed kiss-swollen lips around one beautiful bud, tongue flicking along the bar. It tasted of metal and sweat and he couldn’t resist nipping and sucking his chosen treat. Ravenous and needy, as if the Aeons themselves had demanded it.

Ratio growled above him, a dangerous warning. Nails pricked into the skin of his tail but the pain only spurred him onward. 

Aventurine met him with a growl of his own, low and possessive. To make a point, the hybrid retreated to correct his stance, before digging fangs into the flesh around the whole of Ratio’s nipple. It was a warning of his own display, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to surely leave a mark; a souvenir of remembrance every time his shirt chaffed.

And the image of that made his inner fox go feral .

It appeared Ratio shared the same sentiment. A hand came down upon his ass, his entire frame shaking in the wake of it; the pain melted into brazen satisfaction. 

Aventurine hissed, fangs one wrong movement away from drawing blood; it was a miracle it had not happened already.

Ratio seemed to weigh the implications, hesitation taut in his muscles as he decided whether or not it would be worth it—then the decision was made. Another slap descended upon the other half of his ass, harder than the previous. It jolted him forward and sent his canines plunging into warm skin. Copper tainted his tongue, sharp and intoxicating, and the predator side of his lineage reveled in the momentary indulgence. 

Aventurine mustered all of his willpower to yank himself free. His entire body was shaking, trepidation and lust squeezing his insides; it was a miracle he had not cum from the slap alone. He crooned in apology, gently licking the trickle of blood away. Guilt nipped at his insides, but not a trace of accusatory anger could be found in the shape of Ratio’s body.

Instead, the heat pulsating in his ass was suddenly contrasted by chilly oil dripping against the surface. The difference made him whine, tongue flattening along the aftermath of his bite. Ratio winced at the touch but it did not deter either of their approaches. Aventurine laved at the broken skin, the faint beating of Ratio’s heart dancing upon his tongue. Or maybe it was his own, the force of it hammering against his ribcage as the apex of their night drew closer.

Ratio grunted above him. The slosh of liquid tickled his ears and then suddenly something viscous slid between the apex of his ass. Aventurine hiked his tail up on reflex, curling it against his body to protect the fur. This appeared to be the original intent of Ratio’s grasp, as his hand filtered off for readjustment. He wriggled in Ratio’s lap then, managing to spread his legs a bit in a vague offering of further access. The invitation was accepted and fingers joined the sluggish descent of lubricant. With his newfound freedom, Ratio parted his cheeks and allowed the ooze to kiss the rim of his hole.

Aventurine went completely still, the sound of his heart overshadowed only by Sunday’s distant pleasure.

Yet, Ratio just clicked his tongue. “Eager, are we?”

He let go of the prize in his mouth, gaze swiveling up to view Ratio beneath long lashes. Aventurine could feel himself beginning to boil over, a gnawing want ready to burst out of him at any given moment. It would be a miracle if he lasted longer.

“ Take me. ” His voice was thready and hoarse. “No more play.”

“But what if I want to play, hm?” Ratio’s question was followed by the release of his ass.

Aventurine wavered a bit without his strength to keep him up. His hands quickly found purchase against Ratio’s softly toned stomach.

A bottle was then hovered into his line of sight. The same bottle from before, provided by Sunday. “Let go of my chest and sit back up, and all of your wildest dreams will come true.”

It should’ve embarrassed Aventurine how swiftly he complied, but not a single soul would fault him, really. Ratio was a handsome man, and the cock hovering just beneath his folds was a weapon begging to be used. 

Nearly eye level with him once more, he was given the luxury of watching the uncapped bottle tilt into an open palm. A generous, borderline unnecessary splash of liquid filled the cup of Ratio’s left hand. The cork stopper dangling from the side was flicked back up and in. It was tossed carelessly back into Sunday and Gallagher’s direction, and then all of Aventurine’s focus was upon the tantalizing hand mere inches from his face.

The claws of his index and middle digit had been clipped.

Oh fuck.

Aventurine trembled, and he was finally given the stimulation he had been craving for much too long. Ratio dipped his hand between their bodies and finally made contact with the most intimate part of his anatomy. He had done well in ignoring the searing ache until then. Kept to the back of his mind via sheer willpower, filed into the depths of his attention and somehow displaced; he could do none of those things now. Not when those Aeon-hewn fingers brushed along his swollen clit and honed in on their prize.

Ratio arrived with juxtaposition. Burning fingers and freezing oil, his body sinking against the fingers prodding at his entrance with a noise suspiciously close to a sob. His lips were parted, oil meeting slick as his forehead smashed into a hard shoulder. Not a note of hesitation delayed the approach, Ratio smearing the oil until he was satisfied. It incited a new burning sensation of its own, another aphrodisiac meant to drive him mad. Aventurine hissed in warning but it was ignored. 

Instead, Ratio plunged two long, thick fingers inside of him. They were met with no resistance, and Aventurine’s insides swallowed them with greed. A delicious little cry feathered along the other man’s chest, his trembling fingers finding their way to the expanse of Ratio’s back. No hesitation again. Ratio began to stroke his walls with firm thrusts. They were not alone, his thumb positioning itself to knock against his neglected clit with each flush dive. 

He arched into Ratio’s body and from his mouth fell a garbled string of expletives. The ensuing pleasure was dizzying, sparking in his stomach and building heat in his thighs. Between the waiting, the teasing, the temptation, the aphrodisiac, and Ratio’s ungodly fingers—it was no surprise he lasted barely thirty seconds. 

Aventurine screeched, ears pressing back completely; he sounded more fox than human. His first of many orgasms rippled through his body, coating Ratio’s fingers in honey sweet slick. 

But it did not end there.

Their previous banter came back to haunt him. Ratio continued thrusting his fingers in and out without pause. His free hand clamped tightly at Aventurine’s waist even as the poor little fox attempted to hide from the inevitable. He even threw in another layer, beginning to run his thumb in circles around that delicious bundle of nerves.

Another—more babbling, nails sinking into flesh, tail going taut with pleasure.

Someone laughed, possibly Sunday, the hurricane of overstimulation he was caught in swallowing the sound.

With one quick shift, the fingers were withdrawn from his body. Aventurine sagged in the wake of their departure, an absolutely desperate sob echoing throughout the room. His insides were twitching, clamping around the ghost of what had ruined him. They did not return to shore his defenses. 

“Messy,” Ratio scoffed. Glistening tears half-concealed the ascent of honey-soaked fingertips, a flattened tongue swiping sweetness away. A satisfied swipe of his lower lip soon followed. “My assumption was correct.”

He was not given a chance to ask, not that his mouth would’ve been able to form the words anyway. Aventurine had no idea your tongue could feel like jello but Ratio had certainly evoked it.

Ratio’s hand returned to its prize but his fingers did not. He instead smeared the mix of oil and slick at his entrance, a tremor flickering through his body. Their positions were shifted slightly, with Ratio pulling him a little closer and propping up one side of his body with a strong hand. Something prodded at his entrance and some part of his brain sobered up, their gazes tangling together and breath catching in his throat. 

This was it.

He swore the world stood still. In reality, it was only himself, so still even the shadows would envy his façade. 

After weeks of moon-swallowed fantasies, the time had finally come.

Hesitation— “No condom?”

Screw this man and his common sense.

Aventurine snarled ; if they delayed any longer, his nails would see fury.

The warning was heard loud and clear. Ratio canted his hips and the universe blessed him with all its stars.

The initial breach burned in that delightful little way. Ratio was bigger than his initial assessment, and he splayed him open to near capacity. It was a delicious glide, and his body accepted the intrusion with greed, walls slick in the aftermath of orgasm. Aventurine moaned beneath the weight of Ratio’s grunt. Effort strained muscle along his torso, and he followed the bends and folds with heavy-lidded eyes. Deeper and deeper, until their bodies were flush and the pressure of Ratio’s tip kissed his cervix.

“Fuck me,” Aventurine gasped. He was trembling like a leaf amidst violent winds. 

“With pleasure,” the other man responded.

Aventurine was little more than a ragdoll beneath Ratio’s firm grasp. Hands curled beneath his thighs and hoisted him closer, raising him from the cock buried deep inside. He whimpered pitifully at the loss but he wasn’t empty for long. Ratio let gravity press them flush for the first thrust. A fire burned along his skin, sending his fingers scrabbling for purchase against the wolf’s broad back. 

His initial movements were slow and exploratory. Ratio gauged the force required to render him speechless, and he honed in with terrifying accuracy—as expected of a scholar of his caliber. No shred of mercy remained once Ratio found that pace. He held Aventurine against him, one hand steadying his waist, and began to roll his hips at an even rhythm.

Comprehension and perception became vague concepts. Aventurine could only focus on one thought; full. Pleasure amassed into every winding curve of his body. In, out, in, out, stroking along his walls and dragging his most primal desires to the surface. His teeth bared. He snarled. He whimpered. He cried. It was euphoria, gifted by the Aeons themselves, leaving him messy and unabashed. Aventurine was so terribly dizzy, drool oozing from his mouth and fangs slapping helplessly against the flesh of Ratio’s shoulder. He was nothing more than a puppet on strings. 

The wait and the want was worth it and more.

Ratio matched his energy without inhibition. His own brush with bliss was showcased by nails pricking into his skin. Snarls of his own meshed with Aventurine’s. Possession displayed openly upon wolfish features, red pupils razor thin and focused solely on him. Ratio angled his next thrust and sank inside of him, hard and deep. 

Unbeknownst to Aventurine, it spurred forth the desired effect. His nails bit into Ratio’s back as he subconsciously slid back off his swollen cock. Up onto shaky knees he rose, draping himself over Ratio’s body. Here, the other man trapped him, both hands now caging his waist and holding him firmly. The thrusts resumed, the new angle giving Ratio unfettered access to his throat.

Tongue and teeth teased at the collar. It was such a soft, simple touch, and yet it became the catalyst for his third orgasm of the night. Aventurine shivered in Ratio’s hold, a new round of slick coating the length buried inside of his body. He could feel his own need drip further, staining the sheets.

Ratio wasn’t done, however. How could he be, when the ring clamped at his base was certainly the culprit for the lack of knot inside of him?

Aventurine realized that amid his haze. Panting into the soft fluff of Ratio’s hair, he pawed weakly at his nape. “F-fill,” he managed to gasp, throat hoarse. 

He received a growl in return, but it lacked aggression. “Not yet, sweet fox.”

An absolutely heartbroken whine met him in response. He wanted to be knotted, to be locked into place and filled with his hard-won prize. It wasn’t in the cards yet, unfortunately, and it appeared his question had initiated an unspoken progression. Ratio slowly freed himself from Aventurine, deliberately taking his time so the fox could feel every slow drag against sensitive walls. His pussy gaped in the wake of his removal, the pool beneath his splayed thighs growing ever larger.

“Hush now,” Ratio commanded gently. 

He was gathered in strong arms and carefully maneuvered until he was facing the opposite direction. Aventurine’s hazy eyes cleared a bit as he suddenly remembered they were not alone. This room wasn’t his. This had started, and would end, as a show.

Which was what he was met with, as Ratio settled him flushed against his chest and allowed him to relax in the aftermath of his ferocious fucking. 

Gallagher was lying flat against the sheets but Aventurine could not see his face, aside from brief flashes between thrusts. Sunday was riding him, facing towards Aventurine and Ratio. His hands were tangled in the sheets near Gallagher’s parted ankles. The Halovian’s back was bowed and his wings were folded over an open mouth, concealing the pink of his tongue in sharp contrast. His furrowed brow glistened with the faintest kiss of sweat. Their eyes met and the slightest twinkle of amusement flickered across his face. Then Sunday went right back to using his favorite toy and—holy fuck.

Sunday’s stomach bulged with every deep thrust, Gallagher’s massive length literally distending his stomach. It was mesmerizing, the way his insides stretched to accommodate the intrusion. Experience made itself known, and the glide was smooth. Even with the pleasant surprise of his previous discovery, the next was somehow even better .

Those were wings. Fucking wings .

They were smaller than the ones protruding from the curls of Sunday’s hair. The same color actually, previously concealed beneath those pretty panties. Two sets, four in total, a set spread wide from the area around what he assumed to be his clitoris. The second set was nestled closer to his thighs, also open though folded slightly. They bounced with each bulge of Sunday’s stomach and Aventurine found himself drooling over the chance to possibly bury his face between them. 

“Pretty, yes? He got to watch you only a moment ago.” Ratio’s breath tickled his ear, his skin prickling in the wake of it. A tongue traced the edge of soft fur as a hand slithered its way around his chest. 

He looked down, slender fingers framing the edge of long-healed scars. Further below showed Ratio’s cock resting against his pussy, still hard and smeared with Aventurine’s cum. It was so big in comparison that part of him wondered how that had fit at all. 

Teeth sank into his ear, a playful warning. It was mirrored with the trace of a nail against one of his scars, the jagged edge suddenly standing out more than ever before. They were an intimate part of himself, and Aventurine had always maintained a complicated relationship with his identity as a person. Allowing Ratio to touch them, to explore them; it had only ever been a far off dream. His brain was too far gone to divide his attention between the hand at his chest and the feast before his eyes. Thus, Aventurine waded into the current, and allowed it to carry him along.

Ratio busied his hands in two places. The first being his chest, nails gently dragging along the length of surgical precision. His massage of one pert nipple was nearly enough to make Aventurine squirm on its own. The second hand sought his pussy, still warm in the aftermath. Two fingers found his clit, pinching it gently and rolling it in disjointed rhythm with the hand higher up. Aventurine whimpered softly, his own hand sliding atop Ratio’s as it moved below, but it was swiftly knocked away.

“Eyes up now.”

The man’s rough voice instantly electrified his senses. Aventurine complied, gaze landing upon the luscious view for a second time. His eyes were blessed with Sunday sinking back on Gallagher’s hips. The Halovian’s head craned up, the wings previously covering his mouth flying open to both sides. A melodic cry rang throughout the room, Heaven-blessed and borderline sinful. Meanwhile, Gallagher grunted below him, fingers nearly tearing the sheets in their ferocious grip. Aventurine could see the amount of strain on the larger man’s body, the way he toed the line of instinct and obedience; some part of him craved the removal of that inhibition. To see the way Gallagher would unravel all of them in his silent authority. 

Sunday’s expression slowly schooled back into its usual smug calm. Their eyes met, a dribble of saliva trickling from subtly exposed fangs. There was an audible squelch as hands sank back into the sheets, Sunday extricating himself with deliberate slowness. Gallagher hissed as he did so, fighting to remain still as Aventurine watched the subtle swell of a faint knot bulge against his cock ring. How cruel, and so utterly hot at the same time. 

“You’re drooling, Aventurine.” A hypocritical jest. “Are you enjoying the show?” Sunday’s wings twitched as he crawled between the spread of Gallagher’s legs. 

“I would say so,” Ratio answered on his behalf, dragging the pad of a finger over his clit. His hips twitched up, a movement chased with interested eyes. “You seem much the same.”

Sunday purred . He continued his approach with the languid sway of a feline. Behind him, Gallagher tipped to the side, red-hot eyes boring holes into all of them. Closer he drew, Aventurine shivering at his proximity paired with the finger still lazily rimming his sensitive clit. 

“I’ve waited a long time for this, dear Gambler.” Sultry, dangerous, unbefitting of a creature regarded so commonly as prey—yet spilling out of him as if it belonged there. “Are you enjoying Dr. Ratio’s attention? I’m certain he’s keen to unravel you at the seams. The amount of discipline it takes to contain a wolf is … so terribly dangerous, and so terribly rewarding.” His eyes darkened as he said this, coming to a halt between splayed thighs. With open hunger, they trailed down, drinking in the sight of Aventurine’s sinful form. “Gallagher,” he said sweetly, “was particularly … difficult to tame.”

Something about the way his name was spoken roused the wolf. Beyond Sunday’s hunched form, the man still bound in ropes rolled to his side. He crawled over to join them, ending his approach by hovering over Sunday’s back. A pleased little flap of wings announced approval. Yet another pair of eyes drank him in, ears pushing forward to strain for any sounds Aventurine might have betrayed. 

His breath caught as Ratio’s hand suddenly moved down and splayed him open. Cool air rushed to meet him, heat instantly prickling the tips of his ears. Sunday cooed at him, slender fingers delving dangerously close. He felt a bit dizzy suddenly, aware of the attractive men crowded around him. This must’ve conveyed in his scent, for Ratio and Gallagher had a similar reaction; deep inhales, knowing growls.

“You hear that, little fox?” Sunday dragged his finger through the slick at his entrance. “You’re driving them wild, laying there unable to control your scent or your instinct.”

He whimpered and the sound grated through his parched throat. Aventurine wasn’t sure who to look at, Sunday’s smug smirk or Gallagher’s feigned fatigue. Their intentions were clear despite the palpable tension but they were beyond hesitation now—an agreeable idea for all involved.

Aventurine still couldn’t find words but that wouldn’t stop him from sluggish action. His hips twitched up, forcing Sunday’s finger to chase the movement. A glint of interest flickered in those pretty golden eyes. Lips parted, wings bending in to half-heartedly conceal a chuckle.

“It seems our dear Doctor prepared you well,” he said, giving his clit a gentle flick. A jolt passed through his body, Ratio biting at his ear. “Perfect, really.”

As soon as he spoke, a light slowly began to glow at his back. It reflected off of Gallagher’s muscles, beginning to spider around Sunday’s torso. Something formed along the groves of the Halovian’s skin, kissing his body with purpose. Small and prehensile, akin to a snake, pulsating with cool desaturated light.

That was new.

“Vines?” Ratio asked above him, breath tickling his fur.

Sunday’s fingers slotted alongside the ones keeping him open, so much smaller in comparison. “They’re my abilities, why not use them for other ventures?” 

Aventurine ignored the conversation entirely. His attention was transfixed upon the vines slowly making their grand entrance. They were small, their colors flickering between an array of golds and blues, and they slid towards him with purposeful elegance. Down around Sunday’s hip they approached, slithering along his kneecap and not feeling anything like his brain had been expecting them to. Roughness was the proper word. Yet Sunday’s vines were smooth and cool to the touch. Not like snow or water, more akin to a cool summer breeze. It was strange how such a small press had invoked such a memory, and it was gone just as quickly.

The vine continued, curling beneath his knee and appearing on the other side of his thigh. Further it rose, brushing along his soft stomach and poking lightly at his chest. Sunday did not halt here, the smooth length edging his collarbone until it coiled around the leather band still snug at his throat. The squeeze was light and airy for the moment. Its weight alone made him shudder but the weight of the implications, how his life was now literally at Sunday’s mercy, nearly pushed him over the edge for a third time. 

Aventurine had always loved danger a bit too much. Others would surely judge him for tucking into dark corners following threats to his life or weapons at his back, hand down his pants and teeth sunk deep into the fabric of his gloves. What a terrible, wretched enjoyment, for which Aventurine felt not a drop of shame for.

He moaned Sunday’s name, and the part of his lips allowed the vine to complete its original intention. The smooth tip brushed against his tongue. No taste came with it, to his surprise. Just cool firmness, stroking the inside of his cheek and making his veins burn. Aventurine had no idea how much the sight of him affected the room, the way three pairs of eyes sat transfixed upon his open mouth.

His mouth wasn’t the only place attended to either. Sunday’s vines simultaneously curled around both of his thighs, forcing his legs open by more than just vocal command. The duty of holding his pussy open became delegated to the tendrils prodding at his entrance, their chilly tips pushing inside just enough to keep him exposed. Not enough to pleasure him but also too much to ignore. Their arrival, however, allowed both Ratio and Sunday to free their hands. His own were not spared though. A longer, thicker vine coiled around each of his wrists and pulled his arms to either side.

Exposed completely, and entirely beneath their decisions.

Aventurine’s tail thumped against the bed, the softest whine of need greedily swallowed by the vine in his mouth.

“On his back.”

He genuinely had no clue who had barked the order. Maybe Sunday, maybe Ratio, maybe even Gallagher himself—it didn’t matter. Not really. Aventurine’s body was rearranged all the same. His whine at the loss of Ratio against his back earned him a gentle hush. After a few moments of awkward movement and quick rearrangement, Aventurine was left flat on his back in the middle of the sea of blue silk.

Gallagher got into position first.

He felt the bed dip at his feet, and his attention swiveled down. The wolf prowled towards him, tail swaying with confidence. Gallagher was nearly swallowed in the room’s low light, the splash of red rope making him sexier than ever before. His hunt halted as he settled between Aventurine’s splayed thighs, the vines lifting his legs so Gallagher could tuck his own knees beneath them. His fingers thrummed along the expanse of milky white skin but he didn’t dare touch him further; not yet.

Ratio was next.

He returned to a similar position as before, settling above his head. Aventurine’s head craned back to watch as the sheets rustled behind him. Lips parted by the vine, his jaw fell evermore as Ratio’s cock loomed over him. The weight of his sack pressed against the back of his skull, and he felt giddy at the idea of holding them. Maybe even in his mouth. 

The last, and far from least, joined them momentarily—Sunday.

His arrival came while Aventurine was distracted. It took a bit of awkward rearrangement but he eventually figured it out, settling over his face and leaning into Ratio’s torso above him. Aventurine stared up the length of their bodies, enjoying the sliver of space between them as they stared each other down. Then the true prize of the night caught his eye, and Aventurine inhaled deeply. 

The wings were lax now, folded to the side amidst pale blue curls. Sunday’s pussy was gaping ever so subtly, a direct result of Gallagher’s cock splitting him open. Pre-cum glistened around the edges, begging to be chased away by an exploratory tongue. His wings looked so soft, and Aventurine wondered momentarily if they were sensitive to teeth and tongue; he wanted to test that theory so badly.

Aventurine whined, and his hips lifted from the bed.

“Playtime,” came Sunday’s voice. The wet sounds of kissing filtered through the room swiftly following, and Aventurine watched with open jealousy. He could only view glimpses of each movement, the way Sunday dominated the kiss, the way Ratio let him. Aventurine wanted to be both, wanted to give and receive, and flame danced through his stomach.

The meaning of the word ‘playtime’ had a different effect on Gallagher though. 

Aventurine had not noticed it at first, attention focused entirely elsewhere. But he soon became aware, hands he had already felt that evening finding their way to his hips. He jolted in surprise, a mixed moan of need startling out of him. Gallagher could barely be seen beneath Sunday’s raised hips but he could feel the shift of energy in the room. 

Gallagher’s figurative leash had been removed. 

His tip knocked against Aventurine’s pussy. A gasp spilled from his lips and his eyes went wide. There were no more panties serving as a vague barrier. Just flesh and skin in their most primal forms. Still just as massive, still posing the question of how that would manage to fit inside—a question answered with one quick snap of Gallagher’s hips. 

One hand hooked around the curve of Aventurine’s thigh, serving only as a point of leverage. The other aligned itself with the cock hanging heavily below. Their lower halves slotted together in imperfect balance. Aventurine’s slick aided the glide, and his walls burned deliciously as they greedily swallowed each agonizing inch. 

Aventurine screeched, surely startling the room. His toes curled as the initial shock of Gallagher’s intrusion wore off. It was replaced by raw, open desire, the aphrodisiac ramping back up as its moment of glory finally arrived. He could actually feel the way his stomach distended the deeper Gallagher pushed. Hot and heavy, scrambling his brain and completely distracting him from the way vines tightened and entrapped him firmly against the bedsheets.

He was the fullest he had ever been in his life and then some. The bulk of Gallagher’s length had completely stamped out any semblance of complex thought. Aventurine’s only sounds were growls and whimpers and whines, his body squirming against the bed as it decided what it preferred. Closer, further, less, more; all of it and none of it. Another train of thought swiftly derailed as Gallagher seated himself fully inside. 

It was overstimulating in the best possible ways.

“Cum for us, pretty little fox,” someone said.

Aventurine wasn’t sure who. It didn’t matter. His eyes were screwed shut, brow furrowed from the sheer willpower needed to not spasm around Gallagher. The vine in his mouth was accommodating to the panting breaths swiftly swallowed, at the very least. It hovered gently to the side, stroking the inside of his hollow cheek just enough to remind the fox of its presence in their escapades. 

Then Gallagher thrust once, and it was all for nothing.

He came hard . The world collapsed atop him, and Aventurine’s fox-blooded howl surely startled anyone unlucky enough to be in earshot. His back went taut and tears managed to squeeze free from eyes tightly shut. It was good foresight, really, to pin him to the bed. Claws curled into the sheets, shredding them on complete accident. Had he been allowed to hold onto Gallagher, his back would’ve looked much the same. The throes of instinct and raw need were displayed so earnestly upon his body that no one would’ve faulted him. Gallagher may have even found enjoyment in it. 

It should’ve been a miracle, really, the way his body didn’t give out. Normally he was stronger than this. Lasted longer, required more effort. Whatever had been in that chocolate had completely obliterated all sense of reason or willpower. Aventurine was adrift in a sea of pleasure, and his only anchors were the very storms threatening to swallow him into shadowy depths. 

His senses came crashing back over him. Gallagher had begun to move while his mind was lost in a sea of clouds, chasing a high of his own with languid thrusts. Every deep press was felt tenfold, sparks and heat clawing throughout his overly sensitive body. 

The men above him had not remained dormant either. Something dripped onto his cheek, and Aventurine’s attention swiveled upwards. Sunday’s hand had found its way to Ratio’s cock. It was stroking the length of it in similar time to the thrusts into his own body. Nice and slow, pausing to thumb at the weeping slit, before gliding back down. He could see the firm hold in the way Ratio’s skin bunched, if the pleased grunts and groans weren’t enough on their own. 

Sunday’s wings were twitching. The little blue feathers were damp in some places, and Aventurine watched with open interest as they fluttered. Were they …? He moaned, partially from Gallagher’s sudden thrust, and partially in realization of just what Sunday’s wings were up to. Sunday was pleasuring himself, the feathery tips brushing along his swollen clit. Not very well, Aventurine noted, but it was apparently enough to make his thighs shake and his insides wet.

The vine in his mouth sensed his intention. Or, perhaps for the first time in his life, Aventurine lacked convincing deception. It prodded at his tongue, coiling around it with gentle encouragement. He followed the movement with interest, up and out. Unbeknownst to him, Sunday had slowly lowered himself until they were within range. Feathers tickled the tip of his nose and the gentle waft of laughter fluttered down. The sound was lost amidst the slap of skin on skin and hasty kisses.

Aventurine shivered. His mouth actually began to water, a truly embarrassing revelation, one he would touch on later when he relived the entire evening in intense detail. The scent of Sunday’s ardor still managed to crash through the dulling of his senses. Sweet and sinful, descriptors sure to mirror the taste of genuine ambrosia. He wasn’t left to wonder for long. The vine shifted further, twisting up to prod lightly at Sunday’s entrance. It sank into the gape left behind by Gallagher, a soft moan kissing his inner ear. Aventurine watched as it pulled him open, pearlescent drops sliding free and staining his lips and tongue.

He snarled inwardly at his inhibitions, and dove in for a taste.

Sunday’s back arched, pushing him down against the tip of Aventurine’s tongue. The expectation was everything he had desired and more yet somehow nothing like he had expected. A hard thrust from Gallagher hiked him higher, allowing him to flatten his tongue along the bulge of Sunday’s clit. It pulsated in time with his own heartbeat. Sunday didn’t taste anything close to the way he smelled. A hint of sweet, more refreshing, like the waters of a mountain spring. Somehow that fit, and Aventurine found himself thinking anything else would’ve been out of place.

He didn’t linger there for long. There was still so much to partake in, and Aventurine wanted all of it. His desires were met with Sunday’s own, and they met in a middle ground of heat. His tongue sank into warmth, the vine aiding in allowing a grand feast. Wings closed against his face, forcing his eyes closed, but Aventurine did not need his sight to hear the pleasured fervor cascading from above. He drank Sunday in full, working him open and pulling the dregs of Gallagher’s pre-cum across his senses. A rhythm swiftly formed, his tongue greedily fucking where his fingers could not reach, before withdrawing to provide that sensitive bundle of nerves a few quick flicks. 

Not to be forgotten, the man still using him as little more than a toy decided to readjust. Gallagher’s hands slid up his thighs, and the vines previously holding him open reluctantly retreated. He was folded into the bedsheets and kept wide. The new angle allowed Gallagher to penetrate deeper against all odds. Further into his body, each thrust devouring every dreg of thought that dared inconvenience him. 

The muddled growl of euphoria bent into a scream. Subsequent vibration broke Sunday’s resolve, and the Halovian spasmed around his tongue. Soft wings folded along his cheeks, clamping around him and shaking in the wake of his orgasm. Slick flooded his senses, and Aventurine devoured all of it. He genuinely wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the new position or Sunday himself but he swiftly joined him, clenching around Gallagher’s cock and earning him a clenched-teeth snarl.

He collapsed back against the bed, gasping for breath as a dribble of Sunday’s cum ran down his cheek. Somewhere along the way, his arms had been released, and Aventurine had subconsciously been digging his fingers into the backs of Sunday’s thighs. Another set of bruises to join a sprawling canvas, a lasting mark however short it may be. Aventurine preened at the thought of it.

Gallagher’s hips still pushed against him. A bit withdrawn now, the bulge of his knot begging to be driven home. It was a testament to his patience, how he leashed his own instincts and kept them corralled. It was also a test to Aventurine’s, unfortunately, as Gallagher retracted himself from the deep ache inside of him.

The room was shuffled yet again. A disorientation tactic set forth into reality, unbeknownst to Aventurine. Never in the same position for very long, never allowed to conceptualize his own positioning. Not that he would complain. Still … the exhaustion was beginning to creep into his bones, a sentiment deeply understood by those undertaking his demise. They would push him but not until collapse, thus Aventurine was neatly arranged on the bed of pillows Sunday had ordered in preparation. His back sank gratefully into the plush fabric and so unfolded the next act of their grand play.

The man himself slotted into the space to his left. Pale in the overhead light, the glisten of sweat defining the dip between his chest. His head wings fluttered in amusement, smirk dripping with gratification. 

“You are a remarkable individual, Aventurine,” he purred, pressing into his side. Sunday propped himself on the barricade of pillows, one cheek resting against an open palm. “I had a bit of a wager with myself over how long you would last. Even gambles you do not participate in are easily won, it seems.” 

“A bit rigged, it feels,” Aventurine half-heartedly teased. He drew his legs closer, feeling his insides pulsate. He was swollen and sore, gaped open and yet aching at the emptiness. They had yet to provide him with what he desired. A sentiment collectively felt, as Gallagher and Ratio sat near the center of the bed. The rings Sunday had shackled them with were biting into flesh, clamped tightly around need hanging heavily between muscled thighs. Their bodies hovered close but their attention remained transfixed on Aventurine and Sunday.

“Rigged, he says,” Sunday mused, idly swirling a gentle fingertip around one of Aventurine’s exposed nipples. “Were I to rig it in my favor, our dear wolves would have been off leash from the start.”

Our. Aventurine could not mask the effect that had upon him. It was a word he had a tenuous relationship with. A slippery slope into mine . Something he could not have. Something he had never allowed himself to. Fantasies were one thing. Acting on them was something else. Never had the concepts of ours, mine, yours been something he had indulged in. A life where everything had been taken from him allowed no room for notions of humanization. He had always been a tool, a means to an end, a vessel in which the wills of others were conveyed. Sunday’s words bit him like snake venom, and its potency sank into his blood and dissolved his bones.

“He isn’t—”

“Yours?” Sunday supplied softly, nuzzling into the framework of his long ear. “That has never stopped you. Is that not why you’re here?” 

An unspoken answer passed between them, something Aventurine dared not say. He did not catch on to the longing gleam in Ratio’s eyes, the way desire and voice pushed at his throat and yet could not form anything he wished to say. Two ships passing through port and not a single light to flicker across dark waters.

“I think you will find many treasures at the end of the night, dear Aventurine,” the man at his side continued. 

Aventurine wasn’t sure what all of that entailed. His insides clenched at the implications. He feared more than anything the answer to labors unseen. A terrifying, double-edged blade crossed with the throes of passion. No amount of pre-planning and banter had prepared him for reality, that he would have to wake up from this sweet dream and face the paths slotting together brick by brick in every direction. 

Life was kind enough for the moment. Rather, Sunday took its place. A water bottle was shoved against his lips. Aventurine accepted it wordlessly, drinking his fill as activity continued all around him.

Somewhere alongside his romantic panic, Ratio and Gallagher had rearranged themselves. Fought for it, more likely, red claw marks flashing between shifting skin. Gallagher was facing them, propped on his knees and long tail swaying in pleased fervor. His hand was tangled lazily in purple curls, that of which belonged to the man laying partially on his side in front of him. Ratio was curled slightly, legs drawn up to showcase the backs of delicious thighs begging to be marked. An exciting view paired with sloppy wetness, surging straight to his inner ear and tempting them to swivel forward with full attention.

He could not see the true extent from his own angle. It was an unfortunate trade-off for being able to see the way Ratio’s back muscles twisted and contorted with each swallow of Gallagher’s cock. Aventurine could see a single hand splayed on Gallagher’s thigh, pushing there as Ratio worked him off like a cheap whore. Gallagher caught his gaze and smirked, rewarding Aventurine’s attention by twisting his hand into those pretty purple curls. He tugged Ratio’s head back, forcing him off his cock and allowing the man between his knees to moan his delight into the open room. Gallagher shoved him right back down, a garble of noises following suit, but Ratio did not struggle from his grasp. 

The next time he came up for air, it was on his own terms. Ratio glanced back at them, spit and fluid coating his lips. A pleased tongue swiped along the rim. “He tastes like you, Gambler.”

Aventurine whimpered. That shouldn’t have sounded so fucking hot.  

Then Ratio went right back to it. He could tell even from afar that he wasn’t very good at it, but Gallagher was graceful in his silence. His movements were sloppy and uneven. Never the same pace or force. 

Sunday noticed it too, and the Halovian chuckled softly against Aventurine’s head. His fingers had picked up a subtle rhythm while observing, tracing idle circles along Aventurine’s chest. They shifted up and up, dipping beneath his chin and thrumming at the underside. 

It was a subtle question, an exploratory temptation that Aventurine met without hesitation. He closed the gap himself, pushing up to catch Sunday’s lips with his own. There was no way he was going to miss such an opportunity; he’d been literally salivating the whole night. The initial taste awoke something inside his stomach. His tail slowly began to wag and Aventurine nipped at Sunday’s lower lip, earning him access to his wicked mouth. So many truths and lies had spoken from those lips, and now they were pressed so perfectly against his own.

Aventurine’s hands began to move of their own accord. They slid up soft skin and approached the apex of Sunday’s thighs. He waited a moment, inhaling between kisses, but received no command to halt. His fingers resumed their ascent and swiftly found their target. Warmth radiated from Sunday’s lower half, indicating his own struggle with need. The leftover evidence of his previous orgasm still clung wetly to the inner parts of his thighs. Sticky and hot, painted there by Aventurine’s own action.

The question of permission was answered so seamlessly. Sunday physically pushed himself down upon Aventurine’s tentative fingers, grinding against them. Aventurine chased the movement and slipped three inside without resistance. It wasn’t hard, really. Still gaped from Gallagher and wet from orgasm, exquisite and warm and inviting. His tongue had provided him with a vague map but it completely failed him now. Sunday’s walls were swollen and velvety, feeling more like down on a bird than flesh of a human. Soft and pillowy, just as the wings tapping weakly against his exploring hand.

Aventurine allowed Sunday to pull away, the softest exhale of pleasure fanning along their lips. Again they met, his fingers curling further inside. The Halovian twitched around him and moaned again. Divine. A sound so few would ever be blessed enough to hear. Meanwhile, Aventurine was enthralled. He broke the kiss temporarily. The pillows welcomed him as he studied Sunday’s face with open interest, watching the lines in his face shift and change. His thumb found its way to his clit, Aventurine not hesitating in lavishing him with uneven and messy circles. 

Fingers clamped lightly around his forearm, Sunday’s lashes fluttering  in bliss. His hips began to move in time with Aventurine’s fingers, riding them with parted lips and shaking thighs. How sweet he sounded, flowing into the river of sound washing vividly through his ears. The sound of Gallagher’s grunts and Ratio’s sucking, mixed with the near obscene squelch of Sunday’s pussy, brought together by the thrum of his own heartbeat in his veins; a melody of perfect backdrop. 

“Aventurine, sweet,” Sunday moaned. “Slow your movements.” A juxtaposition as the owner of those words kept grinding desperately against his hand. 

Still, Aventurine complied, tail lashing in vague displeasure. 

“It will be worth it,” he continued above, nuzzling into Aventurine’s forehead. “Would you like to see something fun?” 

“More enjoyable than this? ” Aventurine purred, curling his fingers to brush against sensitive nerves. Sunday cried out, arching into his open palm. He hastened his strokes for a few moments, relishing in seizing control from such a powerful being. The sight of Sunday falling spellbound at his touch was almost too wondrous to bring to an end. The future would see it repaid twofold, an unspoken promise sealed long before he had ever entered Sunday’s estate. Once his disobedience was sated, Aventurine stilled his hand, allowing the man to relax upon splayed fingers. 

Sunday’s lower wings flapped against him in lighthearted punishment. When he spoke, his voice was slightly winded, and Aventurine took it as a win. “Naughty fox. Witness but a taste you will receive in return.” A wing flattened against his cheek and prompted it gently to turn—Aventurine obeyed.

The incessant heat consumed his insides once again. Sunday’s tendrils of light had returned amidst their kisses. They snaked along the bed and coiled loosely atop the sheets, stretching from their pillowed perch all the way to the wolves opposite. Their reach spilled along tanned skin. One was tightly coiled around a thick thigh, its girth biting into flesh and tempting them for a taste. Up it went, where the tip had met its mark. Sunday had not waited for Aventurine’s permission nor his attention. While Aventurine had stolen control from Sunday, the true mastermind of their encounter had still been commanding beyond his capacity for understanding.

Penacony’s inner workings went far deeper than anyone would know.

The vine was buried deeply within Ratio’s body. His entrance was gaped around the intrusion, puffy and pink and glistening. It thrust in and out, deepening with each gentle slide. Aventurine’s throat went dry in realization, watching the way Ratio’s hole greedily swallowed. Another vine had taken up residence at his cock, wrapped around the girth of it and coiling around the heft of his balls. It worked him over, playing with the ring clenching him tightly. To top it off, the vine holding his length had slotted its tapered point into Ratio’s tip; he was enjoying just as much pleasure as Aventurine had.

Gallagher was in a similar state, though the vines upon him were more easily witnessed. Their light slid along his chest, playing idly with each side as they sought more exciting ventures. The brilliant light contrasted nicely with the red ropes still biting into his dark flesh. Around his throat, his torso, spiraling down to places Aventurine could not see. The proof of their intrusion bulged through his toned stomach, ears flattened in pleasure as drool dripped down his chin; Sunday took good care of his pup. 

“We are approaching our final act,” Sunday whispered, fingertip sliding from navel to jaw. He tipped Aventurine’s gaze back to him. “You face many choices now. How will you finish this exquisite night?” 

“Release,” he mumbled. “All in, a grand final act … once I’ve finished with you, of course.” 

Sunday chuckled, rutting against Aventurine’s fingers once again. “True to your nature; devious, handsome, beautiful little fox.”

His tail should not have wagged at that, but thump away it did. The little noise in the back of his throat spurred both of them forward. Aventurine resumed his previous movements, stealing glances between the twist of Sunday’s face and the fun Ratio and Gallagher were having. He was the luckiest man in Penacony, to witness such things.

Aventurine slid down the length of the pillows after a bit. His fingers were still buried in Sunday and the new angle gave him access to his chest. He traced the pale outline of a scar before sealing his lips around a single pert nipple. Giving it a firm suck, Aventurine’s hand shifted a bit. He pulled free from Sunday and in the same moment, brought his flattened fingers down against his clit in a quick slap. The sudden movement made Sunday lurch against him, crying out in surprise. The reaction made his insides giddy, heat gnawing at his own lower half, and he repeated it. Not enough to hurt but heavy in its landing, flushing a string of curses and pleas from the Halovian’s sinful mouth. 

Another gauge of what he could get away with—another gauge in which Aventurine accepted advantage.

His onslaught became a reckless one. Still he suckled Sunday’s chest, while his hand began a familiar rotation. A slap or two to his wet entrance, then diving right back in to fuck him hard and swift. Each touch, each movement graced their ears with precious euphoria. Sunday rode his movements in turn, meeting each twist of Aventurine’s wrist and singing his enjoyment to the vaulted ceiling. Soft and gentle seemed not to fit him. Porcelain in appearance but not in body, and so Aventurine cracked that facade until Sunday could do little more than bury his face amongst blonde strands and gasp and drool within. 

It was only after a particular hard slap did Aventurine change course. He pinched his clit between thumb and forefinger, feeling the overstimulated bundle of nerves pulsate against his skin. Sunday suddenly felt so small against him, clinging desperately as pleasure overran his brain. Even those who commanded the authority could crumble beneath it. Aventurine could not find the words to describe how he felt at that thought but if he had to summarize it neatly, it would’ve been: fucking delicious.

Across the bed, Ratio and Gallagher had halted their own activities. Their instincts were more interested in what Aventurine and Sunday were up to. Some part of it surely stemmed from the dissipation of vines, for Sunday could not concentrate enough to keep them corporeal. They now occupied the space beside them, Aventurine glancing to the side as Ratio’s warm palm slid up his thigh. His lips twitched into the faintest smile and he repeated the rotation he had implemented, striking Sunday’s clit and gracing all of their swiveled ears with an angelic cry as he came at the hand of Aventurine.

“You’ve been busy, Aventurine ,” Ratio whispered, sliding up against his back; he could smell the sex on his breath, hear the rasp in his voice.

The sound of his name sent a shiver down his spine, earning Sunday a particularly deep twist of his fingers. His movements stuttered to a close. He could feel the way Sunday dripped against his hand, slick pooling in his palm as his thighs trembled with the strain of remaining upright. When Gallagher threaded an arm around his waist, Sunday accepted the support gratefully. He collapsed into the wolf with a mighty exhale, lashes fluttering and insides twitching. Aventurine was nice enough to withdraw his hand, finally allowing him a moment to fully catch his breath.

“No other … than my dear Gallagher … has been able to unravel me that way,” Sunday said between gasps. His ego swelled at those words. “Mischievous fox.”

“I could get used to those moans,” he teased in return, drawing his hand to his mouth. It smelled of Sunday’s labors and sweet symphonia. Aventurine brought it to his lips, fully intending for a taste, yet Ratio’s hand at his wrist stopped him. He went rigid, feeling the way Ratio crowded against his back. His arm went limp in Ratio’s hold and back down it was guided. Positioned at his own entrance, only the smallest inch down preventing touch; his insides twitched.

Ratio grumbled quietly in his ear before placing a kiss against his temple. “Use it here.” The statement was swiftly followed by Ratio knocking Aventurine’s palm up into himself, smearing Sunday’s slick along his entrance. “He cannot enter you in the way you desire; thus accept an alternative.” The wolf’s own hand dragged through Sunday’s ambrosia, pushing it further into Aventurine and making him whimper. 

It was the last of a trifecta—a final seal in the contract of their evening.

“Take the ring off.” It wasn’t a question or a plea.

Sunday smirked and lifted a hand in wordless compliance. His finger drew a counterclockwise circle and then Ratio sighed at his back, pressing further into Aventurine.

Understanding flooded him, and he began to tremble. Finally, the time had arrived—instinct could finally have its own euphoria.

“No more interruptions,” Ratio said. His voice barely filtered out his physical restraint. 

Aventurine didn’t want restraint. Aventurine wanted unapologetic roughness. He wanted to be used. He wanted to be torn apart. He wanted to be split open by the knot he had been teased with ever since he had first learned of Ratio’s status as a wolf hybrid. He wanted to be— “Breed me.”

There was no hesitation in Ratio’s snarl. The hungry wolf had finally been given permission to eat. His head sank into the apex of head and shoulder, breath tickling along the skin of Aventurine’s throat. Fangs ghosted the soft flesh before they plunged, breaking through just enough to send a delicious sting all the way to his fingertips. Aventurine cried out, head falling against Ratio’s shoulder. Meanwhile, the hips at his back began to rut against him. It was sloppy and in no way meant for pleasure, a movement of seeking and desperation.

A hand slid down the length of Aventurine’s body and hooked beneath his knee, hiking his leg up until Ratio could slot between his thighs. He rolled his hips a few times, relishing in the drag of skin on skin, all the while lapping at the blood welling from punctures.

Ratio kissed each wound and lined himself with Aventurine’s entrance. His tip bulged at the entrance. It wasn’t the first time something had been inside of him that evening, but this was different . This felt more real, more raw and open and vulnerable; a surrender of trust beneath nature’s most primal call.

“I hope this doesn’t disappoint.”

“You could never,” he gasped, nudging gently into Ratio’s head.

No other words spilled from Ratio’s mouth. He was instead given what he had been anticipating since his first meeting with Sunday. Aventurine’s body swallowed him greedily, the angle giving Ratio an even deeper reach. He sank swift and heavy, meeting as flush with Aventurine’s ass as he could. They moaned in unison, both threatening to snap beneath the night’s building desire. Neither would last long and both of them knew it.

In front of them, Sunday and Gallagher mirrored a similar position. Gallagher was already busy fucking into him, all six wings on the Halovian’s body bouncing with each deep thrust. His face was buried in pale grey curls and both of their eyes were closed; they were lost in culmination. Even still, one of Sunday’s hands bridged the gap between their bodies and slotted into Aventurine’s palm. It was the final anchor, the last connection they would have for the evening, and he met it with the curl of his fingers. 

It was followed by the natural brace of his body. Perhaps not the best descriptor. Rather, it sank into a position perfect for what it sought. He curled against Ratio, aiding in keeping his leg suspended as the wolf fucked into him. Hard, fast, and unforgiving, chasing a release he had willingly been denied all night. Aventurine felt every thrust with sharp clarity. Ratio dragged against his walls in a delicious way, wringing from him cry after moan after keen. A slight shift in position changed the angle, and then suddenly every thrust struck its mark.

That bundle of nerves sent stars exploding throughout his eyelids. Fire and ecstasy eroded his veins until Aventurine pushed weakly at Ratio’s hip. His pace remained unchanged, a testament to stamina and restraint. Eventually Ratio let go of his leg, instead choosing to hold tightly to Aventurine’s hip. He was so lost in pleasure that he kept it hiked up subconsciously. 

“R-ra-” Aventurine moaned. His pussy clenched around the cock splitting him open. “Veritas.”

The moan of his name sent the wolf over the edge. He snarled into Aventurine’s ear, tightening the hold at his hip. Ratio hastily shoved his other arm beneath Aventurine’s torso and hiked him up. The movement was followed with interest, though it unfortunately broke his hand away from Sunday’s—a sadness quickly forgiven. 

His back now sat flush with Ratio’s chest. He could feel the erratic thump of his heartbeat even through muscle and bone, his hot breath sinking into his hair. Ratio slung one arm around his waist and locked Aventurine there, the other sliding up to close over the collar still biting into his throat. 

“Brace yourself.”

It was the only warning Aventurine was given before Ratio resumed. His thrusts were not fully drawn this time, no longer hard and fast. Now, he held Aventurine in place and merely rocked in and out. Slow but heavy, pressing as deeply inside as he could manage.

Meanwhile, Aventurine’s head fell back. It hit Ratio’s shoulder, resting there as his tongue lolled from his mouth and his eyes rolled into his skull. The pleasure was too much and his energy too spent. Into the throes of passion he stumbled, babbling Ratio’s name between fucked out cries. 

The next few thrusts felt different. Thicker, harder to pull back, something catching as it was dislodged from within. A wet squelch followed each slide, until realization washed over him with giddy excitement—Ratio was preparing to knot him. 

Aventurine twisted in Ratio’s grasp, instinct swallowing him into a shapeless void. When his final orgasm of the night finally rolled through him, it was with a screech so desperate and wanton that it startled all of them. His back muscles went taut, pussy clenching around the cock still seeking release in his body.

Here, Ratio found his own. His movements slowly stuttered to a halt, until the swell of his growing knot could be removed no longer. As soon as the wolf inside of him understood this, Ratio pushed as deeply into Aventurine’s exhausted frame as he could. It sealed them together, a binding contract in full effect, and Ratio snarled in feral victory; a lapse of primal urge swiftly replaced with human concern. 

He was so fucking full. Ratio’s knot bulged inside, pushing him beyond the limit of even Gallagher’s girth. Hot warmth seared his insides, cum swelling his stomach and distending it from the sheer amount he was being blessed with. Aventurine could not control his tail or the whimpers and whines spilling from his throat. Every little movement, every little shift sent sparks up his spine. He felt so sensitive and exposed, locked in place and unable to escape; not that he would. 

Ratio growled softly in his ear. It lacked aggression, or really any emotion at all. It was just noise, a release of its own, as the arm at his waist released its hold. His hand instead settled at Aventurine’s stomach, resting with an open palm against the bulge created by his own doing. He pressed lightly, a stream of garbled sound releasing from Aventurine’s lips.

That must’ve pleased Ratio’s instincts, for the man withdrew his hand. They were instead placed back into their previous position, Ratio taking extra care not to jostle him around too much. Aventurine’s side collided with the soft sheets and his head was allowed to sink into a plush pillow, his lungs burning as he inhaled a shaky breath. His exhaustion was palpable, a sentiment sure to be mirrored. 

Ratio slotted against his back, chin resting gently in his hair. A hand returned to his stomach but it was gentle this time. No pressure accompanied the touch. It was almost … protective. 

“You look spent, Aventurine,” Sunday breathlessly teased. The Halovian was in a similar state as he was, Gallagher already softly snoring at his back. Their bodies were locked in place by a mighty knot hidden from view, but Aventurine already knew it took a champion to contain it. 

You are in a similar state, he mused, but the words could not escape him. He could only manage a soft mmh , eyes heavy with sleep.

“Rest now, Kakavasha.” Such soft sweetness, an unexpected intimacy that followed him into another layer of their sweet dream.

< ——— >

Aventurine whined as sunlight caught his eyes. He rolled over beneath a warm blanket, burying himself further into darkness. A soft chuckle made him realize he wasn’t alone, and suddenly all the night’s previous activities came rushing back to him. He tentatively pulled the fabric down. Heat gathered in his ears, embarrassment roiling in his stomach. 

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living.” Ratio’s soft voice drifted over.

Aventurine swallowed his sudden nerves, sliding the blanket back over his head. “My head hurts.” He stretched along the bed, wincing as sparks of pain shattered along his lower back. “... And my poor spine.”

A hand gently stroked along the exposed point of one ear. “We were rather … rough.”

That was putting it lightly. “... I’m surprised you’re still here,” he murmured after a moment. After a moment of silence, Aventurine dared to peek around the edge of blue silk. Ratio was lying across from him, space between but still near enough that he could trace the lines of perplexed worry in chiseled features. Why did he look so concerned …? His ears pricked, nose inhaling tentatively. Something smelled different. Cleaner, more inviting, soothing the concerns mounting in his chest. “Are you ill? Did something happen?”

Ratio worried at his lip, before sighing in defeat. Perhaps he knew there would be no way to avoid an explanation. His name was quite literally Veritas; it would be a juxtaposition in itself to withhold the truth. “Sunday gave you a collar when you arrived here.”

Aventurine subconsciously reached up, feeling at his throat; the leather had been removed while he slept. “Yes. What’s the problem?”

Another exhale, more of a groan really. “It was there to prevent any … accidents. I normally retain remarkable restraint in all things, but something about you … confounds me.”

And still it did not click. Aventurine squinted at him, drawing his tail along his waist. “What are you saying?”

Ratio reached out, and his fingers slid against the warmth of his shoulder. Soft and reverent, an opposite to the roughness in which he had been afforded only hours previous. They nudged at the scabbed over punctures Ratio had given him and Aventurine winced involuntarily. “This mark never should have happened but I … underestimated the power of Sunday’s chocolate gifts. This is no ordinary bite mark, Aventurine.”

The realization set in a second too late.

“This is a mate mark. My mate mark. I … lost control, and I bound my heart to you.”

Aventurine’s eyes went wide. “You did WHAT?” 

Ah, what a long day it would be. Weeks maybe. Then months. Perhaps even years.

Perhaps … an eternal forever—an imperfect together.