Work Text:
This is how it starts.
The first time they go home together—though really it’s the second—their destination isn’t anyone’s home. It’s an IPC-owned hotel-slash-conference-center in Pier Point’s most mind-numbingly boring neighborhood, with the bar where they’re presently drinking being the sole exception to the rule. The one that, for this very reason, has hosted every after-hours IPC function that’s shown up in Aventurine’s calendar for years now. They call it Conference Room N for the sign above the door: Neverland.
Just another happy hour, like the rest of them. Except this time, Dr. Veritas Ratio’s reluctant presence introduces an interesting new variable — and raises the stakes. Aventurine gives him that smile, the one that always works. (But does it work on Ratio? That remains to be seen.) And they drink.
Not too much, but enough. Tipsy Ratio is much the same as Sober Ratio, which doesn’t come as a surprise to Aventurine, but perhaps limits his options a little tonight. He’s not concerned, however; he still has all kinds of tricks up his sleeve. So, Tipsy Aventurine makes his customary appearance and vanishes, this time not into Drunk Aventurine, but through the door behind Ratio.
And the investment pays off. Not much more to be said than that.
He leaves moments after they’re done, closing the suite door behind him with a soft click that might as well be a slam.
Ratio, for his part, does nothing to stop him, save for a long impenetrable look in his direction that Aventurine doesn’t think too hard about. The doctor doesn’t even ask questions — just like he hadn’t done that (real) first time, when Aventurine had dropped to his knees and made his initial offer. Given the man’s academic nature, that alone should raise a red flag, but Aventurine doesn’t stop to examine it; he’s gotten what he wanted, he’s moving on.
The next time, they are home — Ratio’s home and Ratio’s bed.
Even if he wanted to, Aventurine finds himself unable to leave, stuck there in his limp, boneless, utterly fucked-out state, with Ratio next to him not faring much better. By the time he comes to his senses, it’s already too late: sleep is encroaching and Ratio’s arms are tightening around his waist as the other man succumbs to the same. This time, it’s Aventurine who doesn’t speak up.
And that’s okay, for now. But a pattern forms:
Work, dinner, Ratio’s. Home, acquisition meeting, Ratio’s. Networking, bar, Ratio’s. A perfectly routine start to the evening, Ratio’s-Ratio’s-Ratio’s, and afterwards, a clumsy messy morning.
They follow this routine strictly, until Aventurine gets a little curious.
Experiments are for the likes of Ratio, not him, but it might be time for a one-off exception. This is uncharted territory, after all. He knows how people work—even better than they do themselves, sometimes—but has only a faint, inadequate idea of how Ratio works. When they’re together, Aventurine stays winning, but the game hasn’t been without its surprises.
So, today he’ll take a different approach: a rare experiment to satisfy a curiosity that might otherwise kill the cat cake. What would happen if he left Ratio alone in his own bed for the night? What if he did it for several? Just to see.
The night is young and the possibilities endless, and so after work, Aventurine decides to go somewhere else and do something else. (Someone else? No, probably not tonight.)
Compared to the area around the office, this neighborhood is an improvement, but the bar falls short of Neverland’s standards. It’s nice enough, though, and the drinks Aventurine nurses through several hours of karaoke get the job done. He makes a few friends, dances to a few tunes, orders a few snacks. Waits. Tries to think of something else to do, but he’s getting tired, and not entirely in the mood.
Eventually his feet take him outside for a walk, and that’s when the text message comes.
> Gambler.
Hah! He didn’t expect this, not really. A new factor to take into account, but promising nonetheless.
< Yes, Doc?
Aventurine grins to himself, waiting for the invitation. What else could it be?
> You are well?
The grin wavers, and instead, something tightens in the pit of his stomach. He’s not sure how to respond to something like that — especially not now, with the little hand of the clock dipping past midnight and his usual quick-witted answers nowhere to be found.
< Last I checked. Why?
There’s a long pause from Ratio, during which the three dots show up and disappear several times. Aventurine waits, eyes glued to the device in his hand.
> k
He waits some more, but nothing else comes.
Well.
It’s good news, he supposes. A reminder to get back on track with tonight’s research.
But it’s hard to stay away after that, with Ratio haunting his thoughts this way. What’s he doing right now? Has he gone to bed yet? Did he finish that ridiculous brick of a book that he was glued to last time?
It’s not for lack of trying, either — Aventurine does make an effort. He walks around, hits up his usual spots, even tries to make plans with someone from work. But nothing especially enticing materializes, and sooner or later his feet take him to the entrance of the doctor’s apartment building.
All for the sake of curiosity, he tells himself. It’s two in the morning already, too late to expect to be entertained the usual way, but the established pattern has already been broken; only uncertainty lies ahead.
< I’m outside.
Aventurine takes his time typing out the rest. The later he sends the next message, the better the chances of Ratio noticing, if he missed the first one. He’s thought this through.
< Would you be so kind as to open the door?
There’s no response in the app, but the door buzzes almost immediately. Aventurine steps into the lobby and heads for the elevator bay that goes up to Ratio’s floor, trying to ignore the subtle nervous energy coursing through him.
Upstairs, Aventurine finds the door unlocked and his host’s back retreating down the absurdly long hallway that leads to the bedroom. So he woke him, then. He’d suspected as much. The doctor turns left and disappears from view, leaving the rest to Aventurine without having to say a word: doors locked, hands washed, lights off.
Aventurine takes his time. He takes a shower, first thing. Leisurely changes into borrowed clothes — too large on him but comfortable enough. In the kitchen, he gets a glass of water, then rifles through the contents of Ratio’s fridge for a quick bite of something better than what the bar had to offer. He eats it over by the floor-to-ceiling window, enjoying the silence of the apartment and its impressive nighttime view. Twinkling lights as far as the eye can see.
As soon as he slips into Ratio’s bed—careful so as not to wake its other occupant—he hears Ratio turn around behind him. A pair of arms coil around his waist until they settle into a comfortable position; a pair of hands find a home on his midsection, twitching a little over his sides. And then, Ratio’s face tucked in between his shoulder blades. He remains silent, but Aventurine feels every one of his slow breaths, how they even out and quiet down as he drifts off.
—Ah.
Though he’s comfortable as can be, falling asleep rarely comes easy to Aventurine, and this time is no exception. For a long while, he lies awake and wide-eyed, overthinking every thought that crosses his mind: what took place, what it all means. Not even the steady cadence of Ratio’s breathing can lull him to unconsciousness.
It’s hard to tell how much time passes like this, but as soon as Aventurine’s eyes start closing, it’s Ratio who stirs. There’s a displeased grunt in his ear, and then Ratio’s gone, having disentangled himself softly and quietly, so as not to disturb him. If Aventurine had been asleep, he wouldn’t have woken up — but he hadn’t been.
He feels the loss of Ratio’s touch keenly, and as the doctor’s steps retreat down the hallway, there’s even an irrational twinge of anxiety that he’s gone for good. How absurd. But, to his—again, irrational—relief, there’s a recognizable click of the bathroom door closing down the hall. Then, nothing, until the muffled, distant sound of running water.
And then, Ratio’s back. With another delicate maneuver, he falls into his previous spot again, straight into Aventurine’s open arms — ready and waiting without Aventurine even realizing it.
Ratio makes no comment, but does the same: he envelops Aventurine with his larger frame again, slides his long fingers into his hair. Aventurine lets out a soft sigh as they idly scratch at his scalp, comb through the blond strands, massage the nape of his neck. It’s almost reminiscent of how they tend to twitch at the doctor’s sides during long silences or moments of tension, he thinks belatedly, even though this is different. Relaxed and intentional.
He reciprocates by running his palms up and down Ratio’s back, feeling all that shapely muscle that he’s gotten to know very well in recent weeks.
But, it doesn’t—can’t—last. Not with sleep finally on his heels.
Before Aventurine falls victim to it, he spares a few stray thoughts for his futile, failed experiment that never quite got off the ground. What was his hypothesis, even? Perhaps it was less of a hypothesis and more of a hope.
So, a gamble, in the end, and once again Aventurine wins.
It doesn’t surprise Aventurine that they wake up hours later than usual, but it is unexpected for Ratio to still be in bed when he opens his eyes.
The doctor stretches, yawns, but makes no move to get up. He’s generally quiet in the mornings, for better or for worse, only ever offering a few exasperated comments on Aventurine’s questionable morning routine. On this occasion, his roaming fingers do the talking instead. They resume their place on Aventurine’s sides where the borrowed flannel has ridden up and begin to caress the exposed skin underneath.
Some part of Aventurine wants to comment on it, wants to tease Ratio, but he’s no longer willing to risk ruining whatever this has turned into, whatever it’s been all along. Not anymore; he likes it here.
And that’s how it really starts. All in.