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“So, you see,” says Jade, nodding towards the scene before them with thinly veiled amusement, her hands resting upon her hips, as though appraising a masterpiece of chaos—abstract and absolutely unhinged. “That happened.”
Aventurine quirks a brow, folding his arms across his chest.
“Uh, yep. Yep, it would appear so.”
It's…certainly something.
Not quite what he'd expected to walk into at 9am on a Monday morning, just minutes after clocking in for a day of back-to-back meetings. It'll certainly be something to laugh about (or despair at, depending on the outcome) at the IPC summer gala later this year.
At least one person might be getting a ‘congratulations on losing your virginity’ cake in the coming days.
“I kind of thought they were all prudes,” Topaz adds over Jade's shoulder, shielding Numby behind her. “I didn't think they'd all be so…”
“Freaky?” Aventurine offers wryly, earning a mildly agreeing hum in response. It's like witnessing a car crash in real-time, watching these Intelligentsia Guild graduates kiss each other stupid in the middle of the rec-room, crashing into one another like iron filings to a lodestone. He knows he shouldn't be looking, but he can't bring himself to drag his focus away. “... Dare I ask?”
“Sex curio,” Jade says solemnly, and offers no explanation beyond that. Not that that requires any further clarification beyond the ‘how’ and the ‘...why is that even a thing?’
He does have one other question, however. Just this once, he reasons with himself, he will swallow his pride for feeling the grating need to ask it.
“So, the good doctor—was he caught up in the crossfire, so to speak?”
“He was.”
As much as Dr. Ratio deserves to ‘get some’, however that proverbial ‘some’ presents itself; to have an outlet to work out all of his snippy little jabs and to come out on the other end feeling refreshed and inspired, Aventurine is not a huge fan of the mental image that accompanies it.
There's something about picturing some faceless starry-eyed lab rat squirming and whimpering under Ratio's bulk that doesn't sit quite right with him.
“Oh, haha…”
“He’s being very good about it, apparently,” she continues. “Dr. Ratio, as well as a handful of others are trying to wrest control of the labs.”
Aventurine can’t shake the nagging feeling that she knows too much when she turns just in time to see the deflating of his shoulders. She knows far too much about Aventurine, including that which Aventurine, himself, doesn't deign to unpack.
“Oh!” He laughs uneasily. “Well isn't that just typical of him? All work and no play, that one.”
There's probably an opportunity for the pursuit of knowledge here, anyway. Something–something about gauging human productivity while under the effects of a madwoman's space aphrodisiac. Something about testing one's ability to self-regulate and re-centre oneself against one's baser instincts.
In his direct line of sight, one grad pins another down into the communal couch, leather squeaking in protest as they kiss, all tongues and flailing limbs and no finesse. Those without chosen partners stand mournfully in place, observing like a cast of forlorn hawks.
Aventurine shakes his head ruefully.
With a sigh, Jade begins clapping her hands at them, shooing them as if scaring off pigeons.
“So, the theory is that the only way for this thing to wear off is to just keep them at it until they tire out,” Topaz lightly claps his shoulder in feigned solemnity. “So your good doctor might be a little bit cranky when you both head out on your mission next week.”
That's precisely why Aventurine had come into the office today — and why the labs are currently overrun with horny Guild members. There was due to be a board meeting bridging the company and its primary subsidiary — a collaborative plan of action to send Aventurine and Ratio on their merry way with.
This would be their one of their most ambitious missions yet, a perfect blend of science and quick-wittedness: a mysterious domain birthing curios of its very own, just like the aforementioned sex curio. Of course, the Genius Society had gotten to it first, leaving behind a nice little trail of trash in their wake.
It's lucky Aventurine and Ratio hadn't found it by themselves.
His laughter bubbles out of his chest at the thought, raw and jarring.
“I'm sure I can handle that. After all, the doctor and I do have some of the most riveting conversations when he's on the edge.”
Banter comes easy to them, like a well-rehearsed duel with blunted swords. Each strike lands precisely, but never with harm, and the thrill is in the exchange, not the victory. (Although, the victory can be sweet, too.)
“Or perhaps you're just a glutton for punishment.”
He's not above squabbling with Topaz in the middle of the break room. Aeons only know, people have come to expect it from them. The terrible twosome , they used to be known as. ‘Like a pair of bickering siblings’ — although Aventurine would much prefer to demote her to a particularly annoying cousin.
He's about to say something equally as biting, but he's promptly interrupted by the crack of Jade's whip against the floor, followed by the skittering of miserable geniuses as they jolt away from one another.
“Topaz,” she calls out over the heavy breathing. “Fetch as many P-13s as you can find. I'll need help moving everybody somewhere quieter.”
It's funny how Topaz's tune soon changes once Jade requests her help. Aventurine will utilise that knowledge in the future.
“...And, Aventurine, go and check on the situation in the labs.” Of course . “If they need help, I trust you can help get it under control.”
Interns rush past in hoards on his way to the lab, some nodding and greeting him in passing. The shier of the bunch bow their heads as if regarding something shining and terrifying in equal measure. It’s humbling, really, for a man who clawed his way up the hierarchy from the gutters.
Corporate grey blends into clinical white as he crosses the threshold into the Guild's head offices, its starkness broken up only by the occasional portrait of some genius or another (his favourite of which being…well, that isn't hard to work out) or the copious framed accolades lining the offices.
As he rounds the corner towards the labs, he's roused back to the urgency of the present by the unmistakable screech of shoes on the floor, followed by hurried footsteps. One of the newer members of the Guild scurries past, half weeping and half panting.
Aventurine doesn't say a word. As far as he's concerned, he's a walking piece of meat to most here. And he has more pressing matters to attend to.
“I'm assuming you're the one who made that girl cry,” Aventurine drawls, poking his head around the corner, his eyes scrunched at the edges. “What did you do, doc? Or is this just like a regular Tuesday at Veritas Prime for you?”
He doesn't need to see the doctor's face to know he's just earned himself an eye-roll. The vacant expression etched into that plaster bust can't deter the way Aventurine has learned to read Ratio over the years — a feat he's exceedingly proud of, thank you very much.
(That—and sure, okay, he knows he exasperates the doctor plenty. Maybe he likes to play up the ostentatiousness from time to time.)
“I told her to get out,” Ratio replies, sitting ramrod straight on the dusty floor against the wall, his shoulders hunched up by his jaw and his robes tugged askew. “And I will tell you the same thing.”
“Funny, because I'm here under strict orders to ensure everyone on this end is okay.” Aventurine does not miss the flinch when he steps inside the lab. “I'd be awfully remiss if I didn't take an extra moment to make sure my favourite doctor is doing alright, in light of his… affliction, and all. Looks like it got a little rough in here.”
The lab, pristine as it usually is, is a mess. The blinds have been torn from their fixtures, undoubtedly in a bid to get a window open; the cupboards rummaged through and left open in disarray. The only items procured, left out in the open along the side benches, are an array of oils and lubricants, some sort of plant protein grease, and a jar of engine oil.
“Oof. I suppose rough is quite the understatement.”
“Aventurine,” Ratio says, curtly and through gritted teeth. “Don't.”
“The problem is, back at the IPC, the most sound theory thus far is that if you want this to end, you're going to need to…get it out of your system, so to speak.”
Awkwardly and devoid of all the grace he's known for, Ratio lifts himself to his feet, stumbling to the side. “Are you—is this a proposition?”
It wasn't. Gods, it wasn't.
But Aventurine would . Who wouldn't? And if Ratio had to choose somebody—somebody just for an afternoon of meaningless fucking, then Aventurine kind of hopes he'd be up there in the running. All they've been through together, the trust they've begun to nurture…
“Gambler,” Ratio continues, and this time he sounds far beyond discomforted. This time, he sounds downright pained. “Not you— don't.”
“Ah, you wound me, Veritas,” Aventurine says, forcing his bravado past the small twinge of hurt. He's being reckless—he knows it, but he's helplessly mindless to the risks he takes where Veritas Ratio is concerned. “Would it really be so repulsive, me helping you out? Let's be real, you're suffering and I'm willing.”
Ratio's mask stutters, its solidity blinking in and out like a failing transmission. There and then gone again. His expression falters with something akin to turmoil. Something deeply pained—something Aventurine hasn't seen in him. Not since Penacony anyway, and even then, it was there and gone again in the split of an instant.
In a desperate bid to fill a silence that never usually feels this uncomfortable between them, Aventurine continues, carefully neutral. “Haha, don't say I didn't offer. If it's really that bad of an idea—”
“You don't know what you're saying,” Ratio warns him, visibly deflating as his bust dissipates fully, as if the strength to keep it solid and still was growing just as taxing as the affliction itself. “A high-stakes play for a high-stakes player. You're no idiot, so tell me, what's – ah – what's in it for you?”
You, Aventurine’s mind rudely provides, until Ratio buckles with a heavy gasp, forehead pressed against the bench. Even the grads weren't half as crumpled as this. A little forlorn, sure. Certainly pretty damn whiny, vocal in their needs. But not this.
Aventurine rushes to Ratio's side, thoughtless and impulsive, his attempt to hoist the doctor upright as futile as trying to lift a statue from its pedestal.
“There's nothing in it for me,” Aventurine insists, bunching Ratio's hair back from his face to dab the back of a gloved hand at his forehead. “But look at yourself, Ratio — you're struggling. How do you plan to use that big brain of yours in this state, hm?”
“Don't,” Ratio says again, but he's reaching to fit his palms into the lines of Aventurine's waist, searing heat through layers of clothes. “Aventurine, not like this.”
In the face of Ratio's pain, there are no nerves; there's no discernible trepidation. There's just a man willing to help, willing to be something for his very favourite genius—a diamond in the rough of this wretched world.
“Veritas . Look at me, would you?” Ratio's eyes are blown wide, darting here and there as he lifts his head. His fingers dig into Aventurine's shirt and pull, stretching the line of buttons taut. “Hey. Do I look like I don't know what I'm walking into? Tell me again to leave, and I'll leave, but—”
Ratio kisses him.
Well, ‘kiss’ is quite the generous statement. This is all heat, a kind of hunger that can't be sated just from the delicate touch of mouths alone. It knocks Aventurine backwards into the cold flat top of a rolling table, inhales the air out of his lungs. It's a need that bites and consumes, and Aventurine can't remember a time he's ever been kissed like this; he can't tune in to the receptors of his brain for long enough to think about it.
And kissing is—it's a little intimate, isn't it? For someone whose primary struggle boils down to a need for release. Is all this really necessary?
Not that he's complaining. There's no clinicality about it. It's raw and it's primal and it's two people who, dare he say, enjoy each other's company plenty enough to have each other's back like this.
“Fuck,” he gasps, batting Ratio’s wandering hand away in favour of letting his own do all the hard work. “C'mon, let me help you.”
A noble sacrifice for a man who detests servitude, now itching with some primal need to tip his acquaintance over and over and over — as many turns as it takes for that curio to break.
But the doctor has other ideas.
Lifting him up onto the table, Ratio's mouth trails fire along the column of Aventurine's neck, pressing a warning bite to the bobbing ridge of his throat, mindless of the threads of blonde hair caught in his mouth. He's hard, hot and throbbing, digging into Aventurine's thigh. He must have been like this for quite some time now, tension humming through his limbs like a live wire.
“I'll get my turn.” His voice is ragged, infuriatingly self-satisfied as ever, but fraying at the edges. “I suspect that this will be equally enjoyable.”
After a few seconds of fumbling at Aventurine’s shirt, it spills open just enough for him to brush his nose over the edges of Aventurine's brand, down into the crevice between collarbones, the ridges of his sternum, inhaling as if trying to catch a scent. Aventurine doesn't realise he's caged Ratio between the vee of his legs until the doctor hisses between gritted teeth, wracked over by a full-bodied shudder, a sight that will haunt Aventurine's dreams until he dies.
“So sensitive, doctor,” he coos, though he's shaking, too, his mouth dry. He wants. He wants like he's never wanted before, his own slacks growing uncomfortably tight, even as he tips his chin up, defiant and goading. “Don’t talk a big game if you're not planning to follow through.”
It does the job. Without a single care for propriety, Ratio coaxes Aventurine further up the table’s surface, heedless of the glass beakers that sway and topple, shattering across the floor.
The IPC's health and safety department would have a field day.
Ratio makes his way down, down along the length of Aventurine’s body, ridding him of clothes as he goes. And Aventurine can't help himself, his hips jutting up to force the doctor's attention right to where he wants him the most.
“Is– is this alright?” Ratio asks, because of course he would. Of course he'd be the kind of man Aventurine has always heard about — the kind his good fortune had never quite extended to. The kind of man to consider his needs, to give and give and give until his taking feels like giving, too. Somehow, that's almost as fucking hot as seeing that head of hair between his thighs, complete with eight-leaved laurel to remind him of who he’s really with.
What's he supposed to say? ‘Yes, please’ ? ‘Choose me. Please, let me be the one to fix you just this once’?
He's not used to this.
“I wouldn't be here if it wasn't,” Aventurine tells him instead, bracing himself on one elbow while his free hand makes fast work of his slacks.
It should be embarrassing, laying here on this table that once housed apparatus, trousers and boxers hiked down around his ankles, shoes still on, but Aventurine has never felt more desirable as he does right now, the centrepiece of Ratio's hunger.
There's no lead-up when Ratio swallows him down inch by inch, one hand fastened to his hip, his cock disappearing between lips that are deft for more than just educating; a giver through and through.
“Oh, fuck,” Aventurine laughs breathlessly, his head lolling back.
Ratio is sucking his dick.
Dr. Veritas Ratio, certified genius with eight PhDs to boot, is sucking his dick like a man starved while under the curse of a sex curio. He's putting Aventurine's pleasure before his own gratification, fingers curled around whatever doesn't fit in his mouth. Aventurine feels very suddenly virginal, whimpering and shaking beneath the onslaught.
“You're—ah—like a madman,” Aventurine babbles, nails pressing into Ratio's scalp. “You'll want me to—haah—last longer than this, won't you?”
His gaze flutters heavenward, regarding the ceiling tiles in a desperate bid to hold on. He can feel the taut pull of his balls, and then – oh – the pressure of a slicked-up finger pressed to his rim.
He comes, gasping on the rise and laughing hysterically on the fall. Laughing is all he can do not to whimper through the vise latch of Ratio's mouth, the rhythmic tightness as the doctor swallows down everything given to him. And then there's the stretch of that finger, easing inside knuckle after knuckle.
“Fuck—Ratio… hah, fuck… Mercy.” He taps insistently at Ratio’s hand, spanning half of the circumference of Aventurine's thigh. “Mercy… Just– just for a minute, okay?”
His spent cock gives a valiant twitch. Ratio glances up at him then, lips shining and pink, usually bright eyes glazed over with barely restrained need. There’s a lewd come smear on his cheek, and Aventurine stands to be corrected — this is the image that will haunt him until the day he dies.
Feather light, barely even there, Ratio brushes his lips against Aventurine’s inner thigh, stopping to breathe him in, head pressed to skin. He concedes, but his finger continues moving, a gentle stroking motion, back and forth. It’s not…unpleasant. It certainly stirs the embers of Aventurine’s desire anew.
“A minute,” he repeats, no louder than a shaky, shrunken breath, jagged like the serrated edge of a knife.
Aventurine’s hand itches to do something. It’s too awkward in this position to reach down, to get his hands into that tangle of robes, and to stroke Ratio to completion in the meantime. It wouldn’t take much, probably. The doctor is trembling, tense and on the precipice of something earth-shattering.
“Ratio,” Aventurine says instead, finger-combing sweat slicked knots of violet back from Ratio’s forehead. Why do all of his riskiest gambles always have to circle back around to the doctor? “Veritas. Before we do anything, let’s drop all pretences, okay?”
Ratio lifts his head at that, chin propped atop Aventurine’s knee.
“I want you, doc. I want to help—more than happy to help. I want you to want me, too. Not just because you have to for some fucked up curio, but because you’re fine with it being me.”
The thought of some random guild member seeing the doctor like this without knowing the softness of his smile, the private warmth of his heart, his selflessness, the gentle brush of fingers whenever he turns a page in a book, the beauty of a man who knows his strengths and recognises his limitations…
“Idiot,” Ratio responds, and it sounds suspiciously fond. Broken and needy, yes, but certainly not hostile. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t fine with it.”
Aventurine laughs, a bright incredulous sound. “Using my words against me? Low blow, doc.”
Having evidently counted every second of that ‘just a minute’, Ratio moves, crooking his finger just so as he works Aventurine open, panting with every groan coaxed from Aventurine’s chest. It’s too slow, too careful, and Aventurine shifts, restless for more friction. Aventurine has always been more of a once and done kind of guy, but it would seem his refractory period is no short of admirable in front of Ratio, his cock straining against his pelvis.
“Breath-taking.” Ratio comments, reverent and dark with promise, toeing the line between beast and man.
The praise goes straight to Aventurine’s dick, flush climbing from his chest and up to his ears. A second finger joins the first, and Aventurine keens at the stretch. In a fit of an irrational need to keep this primal and raw—at least until Ratio’s sated, he takes a fistful of hair, pulling Ratio down for a bruising kiss.
It all spirals from there; Aventurine scrabbling for some kind of leverage to ride Ratio’s fingers, while Ratio, himself, brazenly frees himself from the confines of layers upon layers of clothing, free hand stroking himself in time with each thrust of his fingers.
“Fuck,” Aventurine hisses, deigning to sneak a peak, and…yeah, that checks out. The doctor is quite sizable, just as his fantasies have historically provided. Better, in fact. “I know you don't need me to tell you how fucking hot you are.”
It feels like a flimsy response when he's just been called ‘breath-taking,’ but it's all his lust-addled mind can muster.
Craning his neck to reach between them, Aventurine bats Ratio's hand away in favour of clumsily jerking him off, copious precome easing the up and down slide of his fist. A third finger follows suit, a little too dry, but insistent all the same, and the stinging ache is a welcome counter to the merciless ache of fingers milking his prostate; the mouth coming down to suckle at the tip of his cock.
“Holy shit— you are something else, ” Aventurine chokes out, writhing against Ratio’s body weight. “If you don’t stop– a-ah… I won’t—”
With a forceful thrust into Aventurine’s grip, Ratio comes instead, growling and spasming. He bites down on the jut of Aventurine’s hip bone just hard enough to bruise, breathing harshly through his nose.
“Aventurine,” he says, muffled into Aventurine’s skin, sharp and tooth-studded. Aventurine’s impending orgasm shrinks into the back of his mind, far too preoccupied with the sight of the doctor, undone and tousled, looking at him like that .
His shoulders slump slightly, and he sags back against the table. He’s not disappointed— of course he’s not. But he had hoped, what with having Ratio three-fingers deep inside him, that there’d be a little bit more. That he’d be able to goad the good doctor into unleashing all that pent up energy on him — in him; all around him. That maybe… maybe there would be more for them.
Suddenly, he’s dragged off the cold clinical surface. Without the chance to acknowledge the effects of gravity, to balance against the fabric bunched tight around his ankles, he grapples for the edges of the table as he’s bent over forwards, cheek pressed to metal.
“Gambler,” Ratio grits out, and Aventurine nearly laughs . Of course, Ratio would be calling him ‘gambler’ here, too. “Tell me you can take this. Tell me you can, because I don’t think I can hold back. Not with…”
The heat of Ratio’s cock sliding between his ass cheeks, smearing pre across his rim, is searing, the promise of a wildfire raring to set him ablaze. Aventurine’s mouth shapes around words that don’t quite form right, reduced to a choked ‘yes’; ‘yes, now’.
When that answer isn’t adequate, a kiss falls to his shoulder, warm breath brushing cold over sweat-slicked skin.
“Last chance.” Ratio’s voice is too close, too soft in this context. Aventurine arches his back in response, chancing a peek over his shoulder. The yearning that greets him is stark, a different kind of fire; far more dangerous than the hollow barrel of a gun. “If you don’t want this—if you can’t take this, you should leave now. Walk away. Because I can’t— I won’t be able to stop myself—”
Holding his gaze steady, Aventurine makes his counter, leaning in to press his assent to the corner of Ratio’s mouth. “Don’t you dare treat me like glass, Veritas,” he says, pointedly pressing himself back until the thick crown of Ratio’s cock catches on his rim. “Fuck me.”
That’s all it takes. The first thrust is forceful, punctuated with a growl. The table begins to veer off on its wheels, and Ratio quickly stomps his foot down on the brake. His hands come up to grip Aventurine’s hips, blunt nails pressing roughly into flesh, a pair of five-pointed brands. He’s far less hesitant now, rutting into Aventurine’s body like a man possessed, laying biting kisses to his neck, the slope of his shoulder, the laddered ridges of his vertebrae.
Bracing himself on his forearms, Aventurine moans and pushes himself back to meet Ratio’s thrusts halfway. As much as he can, restrained by his trousers, he spreads his thighs, inviting the doctor in deeper, harder, the vigour of it jostling him against the table. He half hopes it leaves a bruise. In the throes of his need, he hopes it leaves marks; temporary brands to remind him of this. He wants to remember this—to remember a time where the closest thing he’s ever had to a best friend had put his pleasure first, in spite of his own guttural desire.
He makes a mental note to give in return, next time. And for once, he doesn’t scold himself for hoping for a ‘next time.’
“Feels good,” he gasps into the crook of his elbow, his untouched cock bobbing with every thrust. “Feels so fucking good, Ratio… Don’t stop. Don’t fucking—”
“Not stopping.” Ratio pants into the crook of his neck, the weight of his body draped over Aventurine’s back. Gripping Aventurine’s chin between a finger and a thumb, he draws their mouths together in a messy kiss, a cacophony of teeth and tongues, grinding in deep.
Aventurine’s spirals into a sobbing mess at the relentless kiss of Ratio’s cockhead against his prostate, his thrusts growing erratic, animalistic in their fervour. He’s close—he knows he’s close. They’re both standing on the edge of something big, something dangerous, ready to fall together, just as it’s always been.
There’s a split second of panic at the sheer idea of coming untouched, such concepts foreign and seemingly impossible to him. And yet, he’s helpless to keep his spine arched just so, just to keep the angle right, needing Ratio’s cock to keep hitting this exact spot over and over again.
“More, Ratio,” Aventurine babbles, and it’s strange to his own ears. He twists around slightly, his lips parted over Ratio’s, bright eyes blown wide, not willing to rescind the eye contact now he’s had a taste of it. “Ratio, more. Fuck me, fill me up. Wanna feel it when you come inside me, doc. Wanna feel how much you need me—”
Distantly, he feels Ratio hold himself still, hilted and throbbing. He feels the pulsing of heat, seemingly endlessly, flowing thick between them; the sparks of pressure as Ratio grinds his release in deep; the slickness of spend as it dribbles out of him anyway. He hears Ratio’s muffled moan just as his senses white-out, the room spiralling into a gaussian blur of incomprehensible colour around them.
There is only them. There is only this.
“Aventurine.” He hears the sound of his name some time later before he feels the brush of Ratio’s kisses, the ragged huffs of breath against his cheek. “Aventurine. Was it enjoyable? Are you uncomfortable?”
Aventurine laughs, a little manically, trying to ease the air back into his lungs.
“You’re asking me that now, doc? Was I not obvious enough for you?” Straightening out his arms, he lifts himself slightly, mindful not to jostle Ratio. His bones creak in protest and his blood rushes back into his fingers, dull pricks of pins and needles in his hand. “Mentally, emotionally—’quite well’ would be the understatement of the year. Physically, however…”
With one final kiss to the back of Aventurine’s neck, Ratio pulls back, taking his heat and his solidity with him. In spite of his aching limbs that definitely aren’t half as young as they used to be, he thinks he’d much rather endure it for the closeness.
The intimacy. That’s new.
“Do you need a minute?” Ratio asks him, uncharacteristically uncertain. “The affliction, it’s not quite—”
“Oh, fuck,” Aventurine laughs again. He manages to get himself upright, twisting just enough to stumble against Ratio’s chest. “You’re going to be the death of me, Veritas.” Smothered by the doctor’s pectoral, fabric haphazardly strewn over skin that Aventurine would much rather be kissing and biting right now, he shoots him a grin. “Can you wait just long enough to get us somewhere a little more comfortable? I’ve always heard rumours that your office boasts a vintage Chesterfield lounge. Ah, that is... as long as you’re not too precious about it.”
Ratio bites his bottom lip for that, but he's smiling, raw and ruckled. It stirs something deep in Aventurine’s gut, and it's infinitesimally hotter than being fucked to within an inch of his life, somehow.
———
“Damn,” Aventurine whistles, eyes flitting about the room. “You sure do have expensive taste. Hey, I bought you that vase, didn't I? From that auction on the Luofu.”
After having left the laboratory in a state of disarray, probably breaking about a dozen safety regulations in the process, Ratio's office is a welcome reprieve. Stone sculptures line the walls, each meticulously encased in glass. As is the habit of scholars all across the vaster universe, Ratio’s many certificates and commendations are on display, framed and hung in chronological order.
And yes, apropos of the rumours, tucked into the far corner of the room is a mahogany corner sofa.
If any semblance of shared interest in the appraisal of antique furniture is present between them, it falls to the wayside when Ratio spins him and kisses him back against the closed door. Aventurine had left his shirt partially undone for the purpose of ease of access, his tie stuffed into the pocket of his trousers, and still, Ratio struggles through the buttons, the vein in his neck pulsing with heat.
Just as if there's never been a time they haven't done this, Aventurine itches for Ratio's touch, caught in an equal struggle at the plethora of drapes and sashes that hold Ratio’s outfit together.
“Why must you wear so many clothes,” he asks between kisses, a question that has likely been posed on every university forum ever. “ Aeons, doctor. It's like you don't even think about sex curios.”
If Ratio had hoped to shut Aventurine up with his tongue—well, it's working.
Blindly, he begins with the shoulder piece, placing it somewhere…somewhere he actually hopes it won't break. Then goes the first sash, then the second, pulled at desperately until they fall open, taking the outer layer with them. He twists his finger into the chain and pulls, greedily keeping Ratio close, the rest of his outfit falling off easily.
Aventurine kicks off his shoes and shimmies out of his trousers. There's no grace to it, to the way they leave their clothes pooled in a heap on the floor.
It’s quite lucky that nobody is allowed to step foot into Ratio's office without prior invitation. Only one person holds the key card to this room, and that very person is currently guiding Aventurine backwards towards his own personal couch, kissing him down into it like he needs air.
There's an ease to the way they fall into place together, Aventurine’s knees caging either side of Ratio's chest, his heels digging into the small of his back.
“Third time's the charm,” Ratio growls against Aventurine's throat, the swollen head of his cock notching on Aventurine's rim.
He thrusts shallowly, teasing with the promise of more. Aventurine's head spins with it.
“Ah— I thought your grasp of mathematics was unparalleled. This'll be your second.” Aventurine keens on the rough slide of the cock buried inside him. He throws his head back into a cushion, his hair bunching up in a knot at the back, lips parted around his breath. “Though if… mmn… If you're talking about overstimulating me into an early grave, then yeah… Ahh, yeah, third time's the charm.”
There's no grace in the way Ratio fucks into him this time, all sharp edges and rugged desperation. Aventurine doesn't bother holding back. Let them hear. Let them all hear the mad gambler, fucked senseless by the esteemed Dr. Ratio.
“Third for me, too,” the doctor pants with exertion. He scoops Aventurine’s hips up beneath his palms, and – oh – hits his prostate square on. “You…fuck. You were beautiful when you came undone. It unravelled me.”
“Oh- my gods—”
Aventurine isn't sure what does it the most for him. Is it Ratio cussing, or the idea that he somehow climaxed to nothing else but the sensation of Aventurine’s cock in his mouth? Is it the fact he'd managed to keep that revelation to himself? The way he'd prioritised Aventurine’s pleasure over his own?
Is it the knowledge that Ratio finds him beautiful?
It doesn't matter right now. Aventurine can't think, can't possibly contemplate Ratio’s multitudes. He's putty in the doctor's hands, moulding to the shape of Ratio inside him. Every thrust drives him further up the couch, his bare back squeaking against leather.
“Ratio—” he calls out, a demand and a plea all at once. “Ratio… Ratio, need—”
“I suppose you'll be getting four,” Ratio tuts petulantly. There's strain there, too. He's holding back.
He's holding back for Aventurine.
Aventurine plummets over the edge with a guttural cry the moment Ratio’s fist closes around his aching length, painting their stomachs in rope after rope of come.
“Don't stop—” he just manages to say, worrying his lip against the pleasure-pain as Ratio obeys. “Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop… Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you fill me up, professor.”
The world tilts askew for a moment. Bleary eyes open to the sight of Ratio hoisting Aventurine’s leg over his shoulders. The sheer primal need in the darks of his eyes, his brows pinched in the middle.
Pliant to Ratio's skilled ministrations, Aventurine is helpless to do anything but tremble and sob, impervious to the sounds torn from his chest. His flagging cock tries for a twitch, oozing the remnants of his last three releases against his pelvis.
It's too much. It's too much, and it's not enough. It won't be enough until...
“I'm close—” Ratio tells him, biting his kisses into the meat of Aventurine’s thigh, his muscles pulled taut and flexing with the effort of keeping pace. “Aventurine .”
“Please…” Aventurine hears himself beg, his voice reduced to whines and whimpers. He doesn't really even know what he's asking for, caught somewhere between ‘please don't ever stop’ and ‘please fill me up’.
Each staggered thrust punches broken sounds from the pit of his chest. His mouth moves, but this far gone, he's not sure if he's even saying anything at all.
Either way, Ratio leans in to kiss him, open-mouthed and messy, as the last few snaps of his hips hit home.
Somewhere along the way, Aventurine vaguely feels his body seize into a rhythmic dance of convulsions before sinking back into plush leather. A weak spurt of clear liquid lands just below his navel, and the sensation alone is enough to rupture all of his five senses. The heat inside him seems to go on endlessly, shooting through the very core of him, setting his fingers and toes alight.
He comes back to himself for just a second when he registers Ratio’s weight collapsing atop him.
Neither of them move for a long time after that.
“You called me ‘professor,’” Ratio murmurs some time later, thumbing at the wet trails cooling into the flush of Aventurine's cheeks. The sound of his voice alone, still winded, is enough to send Aventurine through the motions, caught somewhere in limbo between feeling so very safe and involuntarily trembling out of his skin. “Aventurine, just focus on my voice, alright?”
Soft. His voice is so soft up close like this, when he's talking mindlessly about math and economics, trying his best to appeal to Aventurine's interests. Pushing his nose into the sweat-slicked crevice just behind Ratio’s ear, Aventurine smiles as the world around them flickers back into view.
“Mmph…” Aventurine hums vaguely. There's so much he wants to say but can't. It'll be just another secret he carries to his grave, probably. It'll eat at him from the inside for a while, the myriad ways in which he adores Veritas Ratio.
Maybe if Lady Luck smiles down on him—on the right day, at the right hour, and in the right context, he'll be able to say it.
But this isn't it.
“How are—”
“Better,” Ratio tells him, clumsy in his movements as he tries to fit himself into the space between Aventurine’s body and the back of the couch.
Aventurine laughs, a shaky little breathless sound, and shifts onto his side, draping an arm over Ratio’s waist.
It's always so easy. Their banter, their bickering, their philosophical debates in the darkened quiet corners of missions. This, too, is easy.
“Do you think it's gone?” He asks, dreamy and still a little faraway. “No offence, doc, but I don't think I can handle a fifth.”
Ratio's fingers mindlessly climb the ladders of Aventurine's rib cage. It's too intimate. It's too much of everything Aventurine always swore to himself that he'd never let himself want.
“It's gone. Fret not, you're spared.”
“Mmn, alright. When I can move again, I'll consider myself spared.”
Ratio doesn't say anything, but he inches closer and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crinkle between Aventurine’s brows.
A quiet, shaky breath gusts out of him at the touch.
–
If he dozes off bonelessly on Ratio's couch, in Ratio's office, tucked into the circle of Ratio's arms—well, that'll be his best kept secret yet. Otherwise, Topaz would never let him hear the end of it.