Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunday scrolls through his timeline as he sits on the edge of his bed. His day is, thankfully, done and he continues his suggested routine of “unwinding” by seeing what Penacony has been up to on social media. As he scrolls, he sees a post from Oti Mall advertising one of the newly created fragrances from the fashion store and likes it unconsciously. His nose scrunches slightly as he tries to recall the scent from when he met with the store’s board, when a reply catches his eye. “I’ll take them all,” is all Aventurine had said, yet Sunday finds himself huffing out a laugh.

He catches himself, slight shock coming over him. The Stoneheart had intrigued him with his brash all or nothing attitude, and the fact it translated over to even purchasing perfume was mildly amusing - but to the point of laughing?

He closes eyes for mere seconds to reorient himself before opening them again and pressing on Aventurine’s profile picture, three circles rotating as it loads his full profile. He glanced over the label saying “Follows you” and his pinned introduction, then moved down the page to see what else he had posted. 

He stops and stares at Aventurine’s latest post captioned, “Thank you for the magazine’s invitation. It was a very special interview.” Even though Sunday has seen the cover before and read the interview in his own copy of Penacony’s Stellar Glamor Magazine, he finds himself engrossed again; the pose to recreate a candid style shot of Aventurine waking up in bed with his pajama shirt only closed at one button, allowing his lean stomach to be on view, along with his collarbones due to the scoop neck leaves him “obsessed” — as his dear sister would put it.

He hesitates for a moment, before he finally presses the Like button and sees his simple profile picture appear; another touch thanks to Robin, who believed it’d be funny to just add the Halovian wings and halo to the calendar day. 

Sunday looks over the others who’ve liked the post and smiles at Robin’s picture, then finds his brow raising at the stylized image of one of the Trailblazers and finds both raising at the doll version of that annoying Masked Fool. He isn’t too surprised at the man managing to smooth things over with the members of the Astral Express, but the fact he’s become acquainted with Sparkle leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He continues past it, looking over the other posts. A smile grows on his face at the reposts of the accessories from Oti Mall — the vintage bag already being in Aventurine’s possession and used to hold the gift money given to the Family is definitely entertaining.

The well-taken pictures of Golden Hour and appreciation that comes through them for the Dreamscape pleases him as well, his wings ruffling.

As he goes to continue through the profile, it’s like his brain comes back online and he flushes slightly. He huffs at his childish actions and closes the app. The head of the Oak Family, reduced to stalking the IPC Ambassador’s profile due to what one would call a silly crush? It’s disconcerting.

He sets his phone aside, annoyance lingering as he goes to finally start undressing in order to change into his nightwear.

As Sunday finishes buttoning up his sleep shirt, he hears his phone buzz. He sighs. Even with his strict office hours put into place, too many times he’s had staff sending him an email to solve a seemingly impossible issue.

The phone buzzes in quick succession again.

“Alright, I’m on my way,” he mutters, picking it up from the bed. He pauses and gently settles himself down, the tightening grip on his phone the only giveaway. Instead of the grunt worker he expected, the messages are all from Aventurine.

» Hello Mr. Sunday

» I recently bought a few fragrance bottles from Dreamjoy Fashion

» As a show of good will, besides the gift money, could I also gift you a bottle?

» I think the scent would suit you

He stares dumbly at the messages even as he sees the three dots signifying the other man is typing pop up.

» Perhaps we could set up another meeting as well, to go over more about how accepting the IPC’s offer would greatly benefit the both of us

Sunday’s face scrunches in disgust at the mention of the IPC; their ulterior motive of wanting to colonize Penacony angers him any time his thoughts stray to them. He halts himself from continuing down that train of thought, looking back over the chat log.

He sees Aventurine is still online, most likely waiting for a reply.

« Thank you for your consideration.

« Send over your schedule and I will see if there are any openings that line up for a meeting.

There. Professional. The ball back in his court. No hint of the emotions filling him with turmoil.

Aventurine sends an emote — of himself? It’s a tiny thing, with the smaller version holding a glass of wine and winking. Sunday covers his mouth with his hand and his wings fold inwards, hiding his face as he grins. Everything about this man is enthralling.

He takes his phone with him as he decides while he waits he’ll finish up his preparations for bed.

As he runs a conditioning oil through his wings and positions the feathers in a comfortable way, his phone chirps with the snippet of a robin’s call.

» I see you liked Aventurine’s post! ꒰ঌ( •ө• )໒꒱

He looks fondly at his sister’s profile picture as he slides open the notification - a selfie of him and her, their cheeks squished together as Robin has her mouth open in a wide grin, both of them holding their respective ice cream cones up in frame. It had been a spur of the moment outing before the whirlwind of planning for the Charmony Festival began.

« I did.

» ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧

» You should invite him to explore Blue Hour with you~

« Ha. Ha.

» ଘ(๑•́ ◠•̀)

« I’ll see.

He backs out of their conversation as he sees a message notification from Aventurine drop down.

» IMG_0347.jpg

He doesn’t think on the fact it’s an image file and not the usual PDF he’s given as he downloads it, switching apps to open the file.

» WJAOT 

» WAIT

Sunday’s brows furrow at the messages as the file loads, then his face goes blank. He simply turns his phone off and sets it on the counter, then lowers into a squat as he hides his face with his wings and clenches his hands together. He doesn’t know what to feel at the fact it was a… “dick pic.” He takes another minute before he folds his wings back and reaches for the phone again. He ignores the influx of messages from Aventurine and opens the image back up. He stares at the picture, trying to take it all in from an objective standpoint.

The man is reclined back in bed, his face out of frame. He’s wearing the damned sleep shirt from the magazine, unbuttoned in the same way to reveal his stomach. He follows the trail of hair that leads to manicured blond hair. He focuses on the forefront though, where Aventurine’s slender hand - not covered by a glove - holds his cock loosely at the base. 

Sunday’s never been one for sexual situations, by himself or with another; “too high-strung!” someone had once commented. But now, he finds himself flushing and a warm feeling in his stomach.

He takes in the photo again as he stands up, heading back to his bedroom.

Another message from Aventurine comes in as he sits on his bed, and Sunday decides to alleviate the man of his obvious anxiety and embarrassment by opening the chat.

» WAIT

» PLEASE

» I am so fucking sorry

» I did NOT mean to send that

» Mr. Sunday

» Can we pretend I never sent that?

» penacony_schedule.pdf

» Here’s the actual schedule

« Thank you for the schedule.

» However, I don’t think I can “pretend” that that image wasn’t sent.

» I am really, really sorry

Sunday can practically taste how palpable the nervousness through the screen and imagines how Aventurine has most likely already formulated contingency plans to deal with his slip-up.

« Don’t be.

« It was a good picture, Mr. Aventurine.

He sees three dots appear, starting and stopping, and smirks at it. Good, that’s he’s riling him up.

» Can I call you

Chapter Text

Sunday takes the initiative and calls Aventurine himself.

“Hello, Mr. Sunday,” the other man greets, a forced levity to his voice.

“Hello, Aventurine.”

“So, uh. I’m very sorry about sending the wrong attachment. Although now that I have you on the phone, we can go over the correct attachment to set up this meeting, yeah?”

“We could. As I said though - don’t be sorry. It was a good picture; pleasing to the eye.”

There’s a pause before Aventurine breaks it with a low chuckle.

“The most dashing man in Penacony, saying my dick is pleasing to his eye? My, Mr. Sunday. How scandalous.”

“I wouldn’t make false statements, Aventurine. You’re pleasing to the eye in general, so it’s no surprise your privates meet the expectation of matching as well.”

“How formal! Wait. Are you implying you had expectations of how my dick looked?”

“Well…,” Sunday trails off, slightly annoyed that he’s misstepped and revealed himself.

“That’s alright. I’ve had my own regarding you,” Aventurine steps in, taking the reins. “If your skin is soft underneath all that clothing. How you’d taste; how you’d sound.”

Sunday shivers as pleasure rolls down his spine. He feels his dick start to harden, uncomfortable and constricted in his pants despite knowing it shouldn’t be with how soft and silken they are.

“Is that right?” Sunday asks, leaning back in bed. He moves his free hand down and considers for a moment before slipping it under the band of his underwear, palming at himself. His wings flutter as he holds back a groan. “Go on.”

“What else is there to say, Mr. Sunday?”

“Don’t be coy.”

“My apologies,” Aventurine huskily laughed. “Why don’t you fill in the gaps, sir?”

Sunday felt the urge to roll his eyes, a look of exasperation sweeping over his face.

“It always falls to me,” he protests, no real heat in his voice.

“Are you touching yourself then, Aventurine?”

He hears the other man hum in assurance.

“Good boy.”

He thinks he hears a curse word shakily come through the line but presses forward.

“Such a good boy for me. I’d let you taste me - my lips on yours, my tongue in your mouth, even my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mhm,” Aventurine moans. Sunday feels his cock twitch at the sound in his hand as he slowly strokes it.

“I’d let you finger me; laid out on the bed, open for you and only you.” Even as he said it, he could imagine it — Aven’s fingers slick with lube, spreading him open. His pace begins to pick up with him rubbing his thumb over the slit of his cockhead, humming in a higher pitch at the slick feel.

“Would you let me eat you out, sir?” Aven asks huskily, wet noises from his end punctuating his words.

“Only if you continue to be a good boy for me.”

“Fuck-” Aventurine groans, cutting himself off.

“Let me hear your lovely voice, Aven. You’re so good for me.”

“Maybe I’d even ride you after you got me all loose and ready. Would you like that?”

“Of course, baby.” The way Aventurine responds makes him shiver, leaking more pre-cum as he tightens his fingers on his cock. “I think you’d love it. My cock deep inside you, your hole wet just for me.”

“I’d mark you up, show everyone that the dashing Mr. Sunday of the Oak Family was in my bed. All night long.”

Sunday can imagine it: Aven’s thick dick inside him, pressing in all the right places as he’d take control. Sunday thinks he would let the blond mark him — maybe even let him touch his actual wings, despite their rugged appearance.

Just the idea of Aven fucking deep into him and trailing his fingers through his feathers is enough to set him off.

He jerks his hips minutely, hand stuttering as he chases the high and cums. A high, breathy moan escapes him - something he’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t feel so wrung out and pleased.

He hears Aventurine curse, slick sounds coming through the phone as he tries to reach completion.

“Come,” Sunday says, harmonic tuning slipping into his voice. He hears Aventurine on the other end breathe punched out gasps then a loud moan as his orgasm descended upon him.

Heavy pants are the only thing that fills the room, as both of them recuperate.

“Holy shit,” Aventurine said, voice shaky. “I don’t think I’ve ever come like that before.”

There’s nothing exactly funny about it, but Sunday feels a laugh build up in his chest; maybe it’s just the way the whole thing began, or maybe it’s just the way the other sounded. It bursts out, loud, and devolves into the ugly snorts he usually keeps hidden. Aventurine joins him in the laughter as well, both of them setting each other off when they think they’ve finished.

“Holy shit,” the other says again as their laughs finally peter out.

“So, you enjoyed it?” Sunday asks, trying to be suave and completely missing the mark as his voice comes out soft and vulnerable.

“I did, baby. You were talking about how I sounded lovely? If only you could’ve heard yourself.” 

He squirms at the endearment, unsure whether he likes it or not as he gains more clarity.

“… Thank you, Aventurine. I enjoyed it as well.”

“Hey now, no need to continue being so formal after all of this. I liked you calling me Aven, Mr. Sunday.”

“Then I’d say the same to you. You can just call me Sunday… Aven.”

There’s a second of silence, enough to have a thread of anxiety form, before Aventurine laughs.

“Sorry, I forget you can’t see me! I think I haven’t genuinely smiled this much and felt this good in a long time.”

“I don’t think I have either,” Sunday admits softly, a smile of his own appearing.

“For that meeting — may I actually take you on a date? We might have done this a bit backwards.”

Sunday snorts, covering the lower half of his face in a self-conscious action.

“I think… I’d like that, Aven.”