Chapter Text
You do not attempt to run away again after that final chase. It is an unspoken agreement between the two of you — there is no point, after all. Why drive yourself insane doing the same thing over and over again?
But there is one thing that will never change, and that is your pride. You will always resist, always argue, always rail against him even when it is to your own detriment. Even as he whittles away at your will, inch by painstaking inch, you fight. You just don't fight the way you used to.
You have learned the hard way that you can't withhold what he wants. However, you can limit what he gets, and you know it drives him up the wall. A chaste kiss instead of a deep one. Your hands or mouth rather than your cunt. A silent gesture of affection rather than a spoken "I love you". All of these are what he wants; just not in the right form.
With this careful torment and his weakness to any goodwill you may show to him, you maintain a mere modicum of power in this hell.
As you pace a familiar trail through the apartment (for there is nothing for you outside of it), you wonder — what is his actual name? 'Aventurine of Stratagems' is his title, is it not? He must have a name other than that. Or... maybe it is something he left behind when he received that Cornerstone. You are not quite sure.
Asking him would likely lead to a nonanswer, and you doubt that you will find anything around the place. But now that you are thinking about it, it is really nagging at you. He knows almost all there is to know about you — he has pried that information from your lips time and time again — so why is he so tight-lipped about himself?
Maybe you will have to trade for his answer again. You wonder what you can offer that would warrant it. If he has not told you now, then it is unlikely he ever will... or maybe he is just waiting for you to ask. You will not know unless you try, you suppose. So you keep pacing, wearing the soles of your feet out on the hardwood floors until you hear the sound of his access card on the other side of the door.
As it opens and Aventurine comes through, you do not walk to him. Rather, you wait in the living room for him to come to you. And true to form, he does. He meets you with an embrace and a kiss pressed to your lips — he is always so happy to see you. You find it sickening, but you had long ago accepted that that would never change. There is no other option but to tolerate it.
"You look pensive," Aventurine says, pulling away to meet your gaze. "Is something on your mind?"
You shrug, playing coy and averting your eyes. "It's not important," you reply. In truth, it is important, but you are merely spearing bait on the metaphorical hook. Now all that is left is for him to bite.
"Don't be like that," Aventurine says with his usual smile. His hands, which have been loosely resting on your shoulders, slide down to land on your upper arms. He gives them a slight squeeze; likely meant to be a reassuring gesture. It isn't. "You can tell me. I won't be mad, I promise."
His promises don't mean much to you anymore, considering how rarely they are kept. He knows this as well as you do.
You decide to draw it out a little further — make him squirm if possible. You have managed it before, after all. "Seriously, it's not important. I—"
"Come on," Aventurine interrupts, drawing out the words in a way that almost sounds like he is whining. In his own way, he probably is. "You know you don't have to hide anything from me."
Ouch. He really knows how to make it hurt. You don't have anything to hide, sure, but that is because he has already forced you to expose every facet of your being to him. There is nothing to conceal, nothing to mask. Not anymore.
You bite the bullet and ask.
"After all of this time, I don't think I ever learned your name," you say. When he opens his mouth to respond, you note that his expression is the same one he uses when trying to deflect. You hold up a hand and continue on. "Your real name. Not your title. You already know my entire family tree at this point, but I don't even know this one basic fact? I don't think that's fair."
Aventurine is silent for a moment. Then he laughs — and is it just your imagination, or is there a hint of nerves in the sound? "Ah, is that it? I guess that's really not too fair on you."
"Sore subject?" you ask with a raised eyebrow.
"What? No," Aventurine replies a bit too quickly. "It's just... personal."
"Who am I going to tell? The Nameless? The Genius Society? The Stellaron Hunters?" You sigh. Guess this was a waste of time... damn. Now your nagging curiosity will remain unfulfilled. How frustrating. "Seriously, Aventurine. At this point, you may as well write my fucking biography with how much you've interrogated me for my life story, and I don't know anything about you."
You shrug him off and turn away. He probably still has some remote work to do or something — he can keep himself occupied for a change. But then you feel his hand on your shoulder, and he says a single word so softly you barely catch it.
"Kakavasha," he breathes.
"Kakavasha," you repeat. He nods. You hum and repeat it a few times, and you find yourself enjoying the way it rolls off of your tongue. "Kakavasha. I'll remember that."
A near-silent sound catches your attention, and you realize that it came from Aventurine — well, Kakavasha. It is a choked, affected sort of noise, and you can't help but turn back to him to see what has gotten into him.
He quickly turns his head away, but you can see a single tear well up in his eye before beginning its journey down his cheek.
Before he can brush it away — before he can destroy the evidence — you lean forward and lick it up; not dissimilar to how he did the same to you in that hallway. He flinches ever so slightly at the wet heat of your tongue, and you find yourself relishing the combination of his vulnerability and the saltiness settling on your tongue. It crosses your mind that you are thinking like Aventurine, now, but you brush that thought aside.
When you move away, he grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back to him. His eyes are wide and glassy, and his lips are parted ever so slightly as his breathing grows heavy. Before you can speak, he draws you into a kiss. It is unlike any that you have shared before — this time, it is only the pressing of his lips to your own. Chaste, yet the way it is drawn out brings a sense of intimacy to the table.
When he pulls away, it is to breathe. You can hear the slight tremor of it, and you wonder just what sort of hornet's nest you have just gone and kicked. Though his reactions are (usually) predictable now that you have learned his patterns, these are new waters you are treading in. Not to mention, this is the first time you have made him cry.
You wait silently and with bated breath for him to speak. He doesn't. Rather, he pulls you against him again, wrapping his arms around you and interlocking them just above the small of your back. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, and you think you hear another near-silent sob, but you can't be sure.
"Just stick to calling me 'Aventurine' for now," he says, and you mumble out a confused agreement in response. This time, he laughs, a whispery, weak sort of chuckle that sounds wrong coming from him.
When he finally lets go of you, he says nothing more on the matter.
For once, you do not push.
***
A week passes. Then another, and then yet another. The seconds tick away, then the minutes, then the hours, and so on and so forth. The passage of time is unrelenting, and it takes a toll. The monotony of knowing how Aventurine will react to anything you do has eroded away any novelty you could conjure up.
You wonder whether it is time to make another stupid decision. How long has it been since the last one? Probably the moments leading up to that final, damning chase. The ones in which you tried to end his life. Not that you'll be making that mistake again — you would only die alone and from some manner of malnutrition, dehydration, or both. There is nowhere for you to go, no way to contact the outside world, and you would prefer that your final moments be painless.
So what could you do to make your next few days a little more colorful? Provoke Aventurine? Try to attack him, maybe? Or try to steal his access card?
No, no, none of those will have an outcome that is satisfactory. You do not want to end up at his whims again — you want something that will give you the thrill of power, not of being prey. You have eaten your fill of being hunted, you think.
You busy yourself with plans of action, thinking up opportune moments to strike and ways you could bring him further down to your level. Only one method comes to mind. Only one time accompanies it.
Well, you have always been good at waiting.
***
It is in the middle of sex that you make your move. You have been passive tonight; allowing Aventurine to do whatever he wishes and depriving him of nothing. He has grown complacent in your shared dynamic, so he does not suspect that you will do anything malicious or out of the ordinary.
You are on your back, hands gripping the sheets beneath you for dear life in order to maintain your sanity as his body hovers over your own. You can feel a climax coming on, and as your toes curl and your hands fly to his shoulders… you say his name.
“Kakavasha!” you cry, the pleasure you are feeling wholly genuine. To your surprise, you find it far less humiliating than you thought it would be — probably because the novelty of exploiting a new weakness has yet to wear off. You look up to gauge his reaction—
Just like when you said his name in that hallway, he comes on the spot. This time, his climax is paired with something that sounds like a delightfully pathetic mix of a moan and a whimper. His next exhale is a tremulous thing, and you crack a slight smile as you catch your breath.
“What’s the matter?” you ask, your voice just a bit breathless. “No comeback for this one?”
Aventurine says nothing for a while. You look up to meet his gaze and see that his eyes are wide, his lips parted ever so slightly with shock. What is most appealing to you, however, is the way his face is flushed and how his arms are shaking from where they cage you in against the mattress.
You have indeed hit a nerve. But what kind?
“You…” Aventurine trails off. “I — I thought I said…” He shuts his mouth with an audible click and purses his lips. Then he finally says in a tone that can only be described as desperate, “Say it again.”
“Say what again?” you challenge.
“Do not test my patience on this,” he warns.
You sigh. “Fine. Kakavasha. Happy now?”
“It’s been a long, long time since someone called me that,” he admits. “I never thought it would be you, but…”
He pulls out of you entirely (leaving you to wince in resigned disgust at the way his come seeps out of you) and practically collapses onto his side. He pulls you closer until you are sure that each breath is with the same air that he used. And then he speaks again, his voice so much softer than anything you have ever heard from him. It is… nice, you suppose, to see him drop the facade entirely without threatening your life this time.
“You were right. Weeks ago, I mean. I know everything about you, and you know nothing about me,” he says softly. “So I’ll tell you everything… just not all in one sitting. But I can tell you how it started.”
There is a loaded silence between you both, and you realize he is waiting for your reaction. This is an opportunity you refuse to squander — and now that he is acting like a normal person, you find it difficult to keep a barrier between him and yourself. So you let your guard down ever so slightly and drape an arm around him. “I’m listening.”
His arms tighten around you, and he begins to talk.
He talks about a harsh planet full of warring clans. He talks about the slaughter of his people, and how the other natives to his planet collectively decided that his people didn’t need help.. He talks about the death of his sister, and the laughter that still haunts his dreams. He talks about the IPC coming to his planet and not helping in the slightest. He talks about his name, and how he got it and what it means. He talks about his luck, and how it has brought him both wealth and destruction.
“The only thing of true value that my luck has brought me,” he tells you, his voice choked as he holds back tears, “is you.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just pull him a little bit closer.
When he finally falls silent, you hear him stifle yet another sob, and the only thing you can bring yourself to do is try to console him. You regret asking him about himself now, because how are you supposed to hate him like this? How are you supposed to give him hell when you are the only thing he really holds dear?
You are a killer, not a monster. And now you are starting to believe that neither is he.