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The thing with Aventurine is that he believes he lacks talent. Ratio understands this to a degree; it is difficult for Aventurine to think highly of himself when he comes from a background that makes him feel inferior.
But sometimes, Aventurine takes his self-loathing a little too far.
He claims he is simply a luckier man than most. Except lucky men do not need to kill their masters to survive to see another sunrise. Lucky men don’t end up in the beds of unsavory clients he is forced to warm, nor do they find themselves trapped in the capitalistic claws of the IPC. Lucky men also definitely do not need to resort to gambling and parlor tricks to make a living—or in the damned peacock’s case, to make his own grave.
Ratio likes to tell him such at every possible occasion, to which Aventurine simply laughs and brushes him off. I thought you didn’t like flattery, the gambler would say each time without realizing yes, Ratio hates the act of fawning over others with fake platitudes, so it only makes sense for him to realize that no, Ratio is not flattering him—he’s simply stating the truth.
But the other thing with Aventurine is that he’s so smart yet selectively dense as a brick.
So Ratio has to resort to a slightly different tactic. If Aventurine doesn’t trust his words, then perhaps he will trust numbers like all IPC personnel do.
“Less than 3% of top corporate executives reached their positions without any formal education or degree.”
When Ratio said that one day after finishing a mission together, Aventurine’s expression shifted to something between confusion and amusement. “Doc, you’re aware the IPC put me through the same curriculum as Topaz.”
Except that really wasn’t the point Ratio was trying to make. So the next time they met on the campus of Veritas Prime, he tried again.
“It is statistically impossible for a man who is a self-proclaimed incompetent to understand even a single sentence of my paper on the Unified Field Theory.”
Aventurine rolled his eyes then and scoffed. “My dear friend, I only understood it because a certain scholar wouldn’t stop yapping about it over drinks back in Penacony. If I am learned, then it is all because you are an excellent teacher. The credit is all yours, I’m afraid.”
Ratio had no way of knowing that Aventurine was, once again, lying with his eyes open because the gambler definitely did not spend countless nights after that drinking session doing extra research about said thesis. Instead, Ratio went back home that day, seething in anger as he banged out on the university’s primary search engine: how does one explain the concept of self-love to the most insufferable idiot in the world?
After many other similar cases, Ratio gave up for a while. It was a strategic retreat. When the next opportunity presented itself, Ratio would be better prepared to make his case.
And that moment was now on the beach of Planarcadia.
“Did you know that less than 0.5% of the entire universe’s population knows how to surf?”
Aventurine stands there in the sand, feet submerged in the rolling waves, with a surfboard tucked under his arm. He’s wearing an open cyan floral shirt that exposes the full length of his torso—chest, bare abs, toned muscles, everything that the summer breeze is doing nothing to cover.
Ratio is a logical man, and logic dictates that a beach is the perfect venue for such attire. What logic fails to account for is, apparently, the entire population of Planarcadia collectively gawking at the gambler as if he was their hottest model.
(Aventurine isn’t a model, but nobody seems to have informed his slanted cheekbones of this fact, nor his sculpted jaws, nor his striking heterochromatic eyes. They simply have no business being so beautiful and perfect. Also, nobody has informed his perky nipples either, though Ratio would very much like to pretend he, alone, was informed about this fact by his own stupid gaze that just won’t stop noticing those enticing buds. Aeons, bless him.)
Aventurine does that thing with his lips where they kind of quirk up into a lopsided smirk of amusement and Ratio just knows the peacock’s about to say something that will make him spend another sleepless night lamenting his apparently not-obvious-enough-crush on said blond.
“No, Ratio, but what I do know is that you’ve been acting weird lately.” Aventurine adjusts the pink shades on his head, letting the lens catch the sunlight. “What’s with the statistics lately, doc? Having trouble with your latest thesis?”
“I never have trouble with writing papers. They come naturally to me,” Ratio says with a glare that does nothing to deter the mirthful look on the gambler’s face. “What I do have a problem with is you being abhorrently obtuse and it pains me that I cannot tell whether you are doing it on purpose to mess with me or not.”
Aventurine laughs and Ratio’s breath hitches like the lovestruck fool he is.
“Even if I were, I doubt someone of your nature would like me to spoon feed the truth to them,” Aventurine says.
Behind him, a group of high school girls are swooning. Aventurine turns around and flashes them a wink because he’s a fucking menace to society. One of the girls faint on the spot, and Ratio is tempted to disobey his instinct as a doctor to help her out. Thankfully, there’s a lifeguard mechatron stationed close by, so he’s spared from his duties to focus on what truly matters: curing the idiocy standing in front of him.
“What exactly are you trying to do here?” Ratio asks, glaring at the group of high school students who should definitely be studying for their exams right now instead of making kissy-faces at a hot stranger.
Aventurine shrugs. “Just having some fun. There’s nothing for us to do unless an emergency happens, so I might as well pretend I’m on vacation.”
There are so many things wrong with that statement. He could point out that Aventurine was technically on the clock. He could also point out that flirting with a bunch of high school girls was literally illegal, even if the gambler meant no harm.
Instead, Ratio says, “There is a serial murderer on the loose. This is no time to be fooling around.”
“I’m aware, but hey, I’m just back-up for this mission. Pearl’s the one with the reins,” Aventurine says with a scoff. “Besides, after that whole Penacony…” he trails off, twirling his finger in lieu of more words, “thing, I thought I was owed proper time off, but then Iron Tomb decided to be a bitch, so my vacation was postponed.”
“And you think I’m not lamenting my own missed vacation?” Ratio says with a scoff. “I lost hours and days working together with your idiotic technology department to make all those vaccines. But you don’t see me making excuses during work.”
“Oh, come on, doc!” Aventurine spreads his arms wide. “Look at the beach! The people, the funny-looking imagenae, the beautiful sun, and the amazing city! Planarcadia’s a great place for a vacation and we might as well make good use of our time here. You fuddy duddy fool, learn to take a breather sometimes instead of thinking about work all the time.”
Ratio sneers at him. “Coming from the Stoneheart with the most overtime hours, I’m not sure whether your advice is valid.”
Aventurine winces, eyes shifting away. “Ah, well, fair point, good doc.” He recovers quickly as usual, the corner of his mouth already pulling up as he nods toward the water. “But all the more reason to get out there and live a little, no? Come on!” He hefts the surfboard and raises a brow. “The waves aren’t going to ride themselves. Let’s have a little fun together!”
There is no appropriate way to explain to the gambler that there is a different type of ‘riding’ and ‘fun’ that Ratio desires right now, so instead, he takes a look at the harsh waves and shakes his head. “Unlike you, I don’t wish to die an early death. Drowning doesn’t sound like an appealing way to go.”
For a moment, Aventurine’s expression freezes. It’s just a flicker, but Ratio catches it because he’s always looking, and knows that maybe he hit a little too close to home with that barbed remark. The memory of Penacony’s nightmare lingers between them like a smoldering brick wall and Ratio still doesn’t know how to breach the subject without scaring the gambler off.
But Aventurine is a fantastic actor, much to his chagrin, and in the blink of an eye, the gambler is chuckling again.
“Soooo, the great Veritas Ratio is afraid of some little waves? Guess your boasted repertoire of skillsets don’t include the laws of buoyancy and surfing techniques, huh?” Aventurine goads with a smirk.
Ratio scoffs and takes a step forward because idiocy is contagious. He pries the neon-painted surfboard out of Aventurine’s grasp and marches to the edge of the beach with the kind of confidence he really shouldn’t have.
“Who says I’m scared?” He turns back to glare at the gambler who is grinning like he just won the lottery ticket of the century. He probably did before, knowing that blasted luck of his. “Watch, and maybe you’ll learn something.”
It takes Ratio less than a minute before he accidentally head-dives into the sea and ends up with a jellyfish imagenae stuck on his head.
Ratio thinks the loss of his dignity is probably a sufficient trade. He would make a fool of himself any time, as long as it meant Aventurine kept laughing at him like that—eyes catching against the sunlight, bright, free and unbidden, present and here.
Anything was acceptable compared to the blank, listless look in Aventurine’s eyes when Ratio first fished him out of the Dreampool many months ago.
“You know, looking at you, I’m starting to think maybe drowning really isn’t the way to go,” Aventurine chirps as he plucks off the last tentacle off Ratio’s head.
Thankfully, the imagenae jellyfish wasn’t a real one. It didn’t possess nematocyst, so Ratio was spared from the nasty stinging burns he would’ve gotten if it were real. Instead, though, he suffered from what Aventurine called a hair-dresser-disaster.
Ratio doesn’t need to look at himself in the mirror to imagine how his hair looks now. He can already feel the gravity working differently on his head. The ratio—pun unintended—is definitely off and his head droops to one side more than the other.
“I wasn’t drowning. I just slipped,” Ratio argues. “But if my…misery proves to be useful, then I will allow the offense.”
Aventurine holds the jellyfish up into the air with a stick like a prize, inspecting its glassy blue. Then, he lets it flop onto the sand where it inches itself back into the sea. “How charitable of you doc.” Then, after a beat of silence: “Say, let’s get a photo to commemorate this moment.”
Ratio stares at him, baffled. “Absolutely not.”
Aventurine doesn’t listen because he knows he gets away with most things due to Ratio’s magnanimity. Instead, he sidles closer with his phone in hand, aiming at the two of them. “Smile,” he purrs, already angling the shot.
The gambler’s teeth-bright smile is annoyingly perfect. Ratio feels himself teetering somewhere between bashing his own head against the palm tree he’s leaning on or potentially slamming their lips together. He wonders what sort of image would be captured if he did that on a whim. Somehow, he had a feeling the odds were in his favor.
But Ratio isn’t a gambler, fortunately or maybe unfortunately, so instead, he grimaces. It’s a poor shot by any standards, but apparently, Aventurine likes it well enough to post it immediately on his social media account.
“Do not tag me,” Ratio grumbles, raising a hand to his head. A few strands come away between his fingers, stiff and stuck together with saltwater and jellyfish goop. “My students follow my account and my mishap is none of their business.”
“Oh, I’m sure they would love to be involved in your business, doc,” Aventurine chimes and does exactly the thing Ratio told him not to do with a loud ding.
Ratio glares at him. Aventurine pockets his phone and tosses a nonchalant wave over his shoulder as he starts back toward the water.
“Well, take your time to comb your hair back into place. I’ll go for a few more rounds on the waves~”
Ratio sits there under the shades, grumbling in discontent as he watches Aventurine wade back toward the sea.
The sky in Planarcadia is a strange mix of colors. Seemingly cartoonish with vibrant hues of orange and blue. The heat is perfect for a summer vacation, but unfortunately for him, the humidity has conspired with that damned imagenae jellyfish to sculpt his hair into something truly criminal.
Ratio slowly works through his own hair, untangling the mess one strand at a time. It takes him a while, but eventually, he manages to re-arrange his hair close enough to its normal position. He can’t do anything about the horrible smell, though. Every breath he takes smells of seaweed and something fishy. Underneath it all, he also catches a faint whiff of Aventurine’s perfume when he previously tried to get the jellyfish out of Ratio’s hair.
Speaking of said gambler, the man is still surfing on the waves.
Aventurine has a penchant for surprises, and Ratio isn’t ashamed to admit he is often astonished by the different ways the peacock continues to surprise him. Ratio had no idea that Aventurine knew how to surf before today. Maybe it was simply one of Aventurine’s hidden talents rising to the surface again; Ratio knows more than anyone how fast Aventurine can learn something if he puts his mind to it. Still, Aventurine is a good surfer—more skilled than Ratio’s expectation.
Ratio tilts his head, squinting past the glare off the water. Aventurine rides the waves, legs set wide and balanced on the board, arms loose as if he’d been born to soar through the seas instead of forgotten in some sand-barren colony. There’s no wasted movement at all—every flick of his wrist, every subtle shift in weight, calculated to leverage gravity and momentum.
Ratio would love to do nothing more than spend the rest of the day determining a million mathematical equations that could describe Aventurine’s perfect surfing techniques. But no, his brain is too occupied for even the most mundane of arithmetic exercises right now.
All he sees is Aventurine, cutting a tight arc or swivelling into the barrel of a wave, laughing along the way. The way he sways back and forth, gliding gracefully across the vast length of azure blue, is so flawless it leaves Ratio’s mouth hanging wide open in awe.
And then Ratio starts noticing other things.
He watches as Aventurine kicks through the shallows, water flying up against sun-tanned calves. He has seen Aventurine’s legs before, but they were normally covered by his slacks. Now, he’s wearing white shorts that have no business being that, well, short. Every time the gambler crouches or bends on the surfboard, the hem rides up a little, and Ratio can see the transition from tanned skin to the lighter strip where his underwear must normally sit.
With every swerve, the wind also pushes his shirt further apart. At this point, his shirt is barely hanging on and Ratio fears the moment the golden thread keeping it together at the belt area will snap, leaving the gambler truly topless—which the crowd is definitely waiting to see.
Not Ratio, of course. He isn’t a pervert. He wants to keep Aventurine’s dignity intact, not that there’s any left at this point. It’s just that he can’t tear his eyes away from all the exposed skin.
But he’s not like the high school girls who view Aventurine as some sex god come to life. Ratio’s interest is purely scientific. It must be. He’s just measuring- ah, perhaps finding the right calculation methods to identify the probability of Aventurine’s shirt being ripped apart by the wind gales around him. Yes, it’s science. Not the biological kind, mind you. Just…natural science.
So Ratio spends the next few minutes observing the shirt as it grows more and more translucent with saltwater. Then, his gaze shifts to every muscle, and as Aventurine catches yet another wave, there is no hiding the sharply cut lines from hip to sternum, the pronounced dip of his collarbone, the impossible and unfairly beautiful way beads of water cling to his skin—
Fuck.
What is he, a teenager with a raging libido?
Ratio’s mouth goes dry. His own hand, still sticky with jellyfish goo, making the situation incredibly inappropriate, grips the tree trunk with such force the rough bark nearly cuts into his palm.
This isn’t going to work. He needs to get out of here. The heat on this blasted planet is doing something to him.
So Ratio stalks off to the side of the beach where all the sun loungers are placed. He throws himself onto one of them, crosses his legs, and snaps his eyes shut. He stays there, lying like a dead fish, until his boner dies out.
Thankfully, Aventurine finds Ratio again after the whole hard-on incident is resolved.
“Earth to Ratio? You awake there?” Aventurine leans over the chair, his shadow blocking the heat from the sun.
Ratio cracks an eye open. “I am not asleep. I am simply resting my eyes.”
The surfboard is nowhere in sight. Returned, presumably, while Ratio had his eyes shut, which is a relief because he doesn’t think he can handle Aventurine surfing any longer. But the sentiment is short-lived because the look on the gambler’s face is the same one preceding every incident Ratio has ever had the misfortune of being involved in.
“Gambler, whatever it is you’re planning to do, leave me out of—blurgh?!”
A squirt of cold water splashes right onto his face. Aventurine holds a dripping bottle, grinning. “You look a little red. Figured you needed some rehydration. Or maybe a cleansing?”
Something flickers behind Aventurine’s eyes, as if he’s privy to some secret Ratio isn’t aware of. It makes Ratio’s stomach churn with unease.
Ratio scowls, throwing an arm over his face as he tries to rub off the water. He braces himself on the lounger, slick droplets running down his cheeks and onto his collar. “Really, Aventurine? Is this your idea of fun? Getting me all wet like this?” He reaches his hand up to grab his own collar, flapping it against the sun, hoping the water will dry soon.
In his annoyance, he fails to catch the way Aventurine’s eyes trace after his exposed neck and the protruding veins alongside it.
“Well, I’m sure you’re bound to get…wet eventually, one way or another,” Aventurine drawls, eyes lazily traversing down Ratio’s body until it settles somewhere way too low to be appropriate.
It takes Ratio approximately 0.01 seconds for him to understand the underlying implication because his brain is simply wired like that right now. Another full second passes before his face catches on fire in response. He’s probably brighter than the damn sun right now.
“You love to play with fire, don’t you?” Ratio snaps, except it comes out way too hoarse and a little strangled. It’s painfully obvious he’s disturbed.
Aventurine is not the kind of person who misses any signs of weakness from his prey. The gambler smiles—calibrated to maximum sweetness just to mess with Ratio’s head—before he drops himself onto the edge of the beach chair. The frame dips under the added weight and sends him sliding down right into Ratio’s space and fuck, his ass is literally sliding against Ratio’s thighs.
“Aventurine,” Ratio says, half like a prayer and the other half a warning.
Except a warning is a sign for Aventurine to dive into the flames because he’s simply built for dangerous endeavors. He leans in closer until they’re face to face and says, “What’s wrong, doc? Is the heat too much for you? Maybe you should retire to our hut for the rest of the afternoon.”
Will you come with me, gambler?
The words almost fall out of Ratio’s lips before he catches himself on the unintended innuendo. He refuses to play along with Aventurine’s pace.
“No,” Ratio says and pushes himself up on his elbows, nearly headbutting Aventurine in the process. The gambler flinches back on instinct, which is precisely the opening Ratio needs. His arm circles around Aventurine’s waist before either of them can think better of it, and he pulls, until Aventurine is sprawled across his lap.
Aventurine’s hands find their way to Ratio’s chest in surprise. He’s wearing the same style of outfit as Aventurine but in indigo blue with gold floral accents. Unlike the gambler though, every button is still fastened.
Aventurine’s palms spread flat against the fabric. Ratio does not miss the brief flicker of disappointment across those cyan-magenta eyes.
“You should unbutton yourself,” Aventurine barks out an order, much to Ratio’s amusement. “At this rate, you’re going to end up like a boiled octopus.”
Ratio allows himself a laugh—a short, sharp sound. “I’d sooner die from the heat than expose myself to a crowd of degenerates.”
Aventurine grins, flashing the kind of smile that never fails to make Ratio’s heart flip. “Oh? Is that why you’ve been so moody all this time?” He snickers, eyes gleaming gold against the harsh afternoon light. “Then, are you saying you’d undress in a more private setting?”
A beat of silence.
A warm breeze flutters across the area, fanning the flames even more. Ratio holds Aventurine’s gaze as he swallows audibly. The gambler’s eyes snap to the movement, grin widening. Ratio feels the peacock’s breath against his cheek, the sweat in the crook of his elbow, and the faint pulse in his cock that he absolutely refuses to address right now.
He takes in a sharp intake of breath as his grip on Aventurine’s waist tightens.
“Perhaps, if with the right company,” Ratio rasps out.
He sees the light of victory in Aventurine’s eyes and decides a loss is tolerable if it leads to whatever he thinks is about to happen between them.
“Well, I happen to know the perfect place for you to unwind and relax,” Aventurine purrs in response.
Ratio should’ve known that Aventurine’s idea of ‘perfect’ was wholly different from his. He imagined them entangled in bed together; their hotel room was only a couple minutes away from the beach. But apparently, Aventurine’s love for adventure won out against all logic.
The perfect spot Aventurine had in mind is a half-cove area tucked behind a tower of rock formation, shielding them from the rest of the beach. Still, it’s very much open air and nothing about it screams private. Hell, they can still hear the sound of chattering and laughter over the rocks.
“Really? This is the best you can do?” Ratio can’t help but comment, even as Aventurine shoves him against the rocky wall. Their feet are still half submerged in sand and saltwater.
“Eh, it’s private enough for me,” Aventurine says as he drops onto his knees, promptly stealing Ratio’s breath away in one move. “Why? Think you can’t keep yourself quiet?”
Ratio glares down at him. “This is highly inappropriate. What if we get arrested for public indecency?”
“Then Pearl will bail us out,” Aventurine answers as if he doesn’t see any problem with their colleague hearing about their sexual activities. “Just focus. It’ll be fine~”
All protest dies out the moment Aventurine presses his face forward, nosing along the front of Ratio’s swimtrunks. He lets the bridge of his nose brush against the hardness there, nuzzling so close that Ratio can count every inward breath Aventurine takes. His exhales are slow and hot, teasing through the damp fabric.
And then Aventurine laughs, a soft and dangerous snicker that vibrates right through Ratio’s gut. “How long have you been like this?”
Ratio admits through gritted teeth, “For longer than you can imagine.”
“Oh my. Guess that’s my fault. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, doc,” Aventurine mutters before those pink lips part and—
Ratio’s head tilts back against the rocks for support. He groans, just as Aventurine’s tongue swirls over the tip of his hard-on through the fabric. His knees buckle, and for a split-second, his vision blurs with pleasure. He digs his fingers into the pitted rocks behind him, trying to anchor himself in reality instead of the wet mess Aventurine was charting with his skillful tongue.
The gambler looks up, locking Ratio in a heated stare that makes his world tilt on its axis. Then, Aventurine dips down again, lapping, sucking, teasing him into oblivion.
Not even Nous could save him from melting into a puddle of goo—thankfully not the jellyfish kind.
“Fuck, gambler,” Ratio hisses out with a long drawn-out sigh.
Somewhere through the sound of lewd slurping, Ratio is mildly aware of the sea breeze blowing, cooling his feverish skin. He can vaguely feel the rough sand underfoot, hear the sound of waves and laughter of highschool girls only a couple meters away on the other side of the rocky area—none of which are enough to deter him from wallowing in knee-deep pleasure.
At a certain point, his swim trunks are in the way. With a single deft motion, Aventurine yanks them down. His cock springs up, almost smacking the gambler in the face, much to Ratio’s embarrassment.
Aventurine, the unashamed bastard he is, looks at Ratio’s cock and quips, “Doctor, you’re huge.”
Ratio wipes his palm over his face and groans as his cock twitches in response to the gambler’s words. “Shut. Up.”
Aventurine arches a brow. “I don’t think you actually want me to keep my mouth shut, though.”
Ratio glares at him, eyes red-rimmed with heat. “Must you always have the last word?”
“I live to out-argue you, doc,” Aventurine says with a wink.
Damn that cheeky little bastard with a silvery and skillful tongue. Urgh. Ratio supposes this is the kind of hell he chose for himself, falling for someone like Aventurine, of all people.
(A part of him takes pride in this, though. His taste has always been impeccable—in science, in people. Aventurine is, without a doubt, a great catch, unlike what his detractors like to claim about him being easy. There is nothing about Aventurine that is easy. Easy to love, yes. But the rest of him? The rest of him has to be earned.)
(Every layer Ratio has managed to get beneath has only revealed another. It’s an endless pursuit, and Ratio’s curiosity has no bounds. They are a perfect match. Now, if only Ratio could convince Aventurine so.)
“But fine. I guess I can’t leave you raging like this for long,” Aventurine comments with a laugh before he opens his mouth and takes Ratio in again, without pause, without mercy. “Come for me, will you, Veritas?”
Using his first name right now is downright cheating, but Aventurine rarely plays by the rules. Ratio tries to keep his hips still, but his dignity likes to fly away to outer space lately. As always, with Aventurine, it’s a losing battle. The question simply being when he will inevitably give in, to which the answer is quite soon.
Ratio risks a glance downward, once, and of course Aventurine is still looking up at him, even while his mouth works wonders; Ratio’s own cock glistens between the gambler’s puffy lips, and Ratio has to clench his jaw to keep an incredibly feral sound from escaping.
Aventurine’s teeth drags along his entire length, lighting fire along his veins. Somehow, Aventurine’s talent for finding weaknesses in his targets work on Ratio’s cock as well. Every spot, every sensitive area, every nerve he didn’t even know he had, Aventurine finds without fail and ruthlessly attacks them with his tongue.
The pressure builds in his groin until it is almost unbearable, heat crashing through him in waves. Around him, the damp salty air of the rocky cove does nothing to help—he is burning, feverish, terribly flushed from the gambler fueling his pleasure.
“G-Gambler, I’m coming,” Ratio rasps out through a moan as something seismic ripples through him.
Aventurine says something unintelligible in response, words garbled over the thick spurts of semen flowing down his lips. His eyes are glassy, catching light at the corners—unbidden tears.
Ratio’s chest tightens at the sight of Aventurine like this, kneeling in wet sand, because he knows this is not a position foreign to the gambler. He knows Aventurine has folded himself into this same position, out of obligation and not desire, for countless men who meant nothing and asked for everything.
Still, Ratio is but a common man. He has never been capable of half-measures, not in his work, not in this, not when it comes to the things he chooses to pursue out of passion. His hips stutter forward, and Aventurine, to his credit, takes in every last drop.
Aventurine pulls off with a squelch, coughing once, twice, then choking a little on the last of it before swallowing. Ratio watches this happen with something akin to horror. He is a man of considerable intellect and has never once in his life been rendered speechless. Now, though, he is damn close to it.
Leave it to Aventurine to defy the odds.
“Why, in the name of Nous, did you swallow?! You’ll hurt your stomach later,” Ratio fusses about in a panic that is wholly unreciprocated.
Aventurine rolls his eyes. “Can you not ruin the mood with your incessant concerns? I’ve dealt with worse. I have a pretty strong appetite, after all.”
The words land wrong. Ratio freezes, the heat that had pooled in his face retreating all at once, replaced by something colder and harder to name. He thinks, involuntarily, of the countless faceless men Aventurine has knelt for who did not pause to ask if he was alright; Ratio finds he cannot look at Aventurine directly for a moment, the sudden anger sitting somewhere between his ribs, unearned and entirely his.
“I- we can’t- no, we will stop now,” Ratio forces out, voice trembling. “I’m sorry.”
“...What?” Aventurine says with wide eyes. “Don’t say that. You can’t just leave me hanging like this!”
Ratio stares at the gambler’s glistening, flushed face—those lips still slick, a fine white shine at the edge of his mouth, a dab of it on his chin—and feels his flaccid cock twitching against his will.
Aeons. Fucking damn it.
He looks away, suddenly hyper-aware of the sound of laughter on the far side of the rocks. “I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid I already overstepped.”
“Overstepped what, Ratio?” Aventurine huffs in annoyance. “Stop using your brain for a second. This is consensual sex, you fool. I’m on my knees because I wanted to eat your cum.”
Ratio chokes at those words, the heat returning to his face along with a slice of relief. “Must you say it like that?!”
“Well, apparently, a certain someone needs to hear all the words spelled out to rid him of his senseless guilt,” Aventurine snaps back with a snort. “Seriously, Ratio? I can imagine what is going through your mind right now, but stay with me. I’m here because I want to be here. I was trying to seduce you all afternoon and finally, I have you, so don’t you dare back away now or I’ll kill you.”
What.
Now, wait a fucking minute, system hour, or whatever it is keeping time on Planarcadia because—
“You tried to seduce me? When?” Ratio can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. It comes out strangled, almost like a squawk and entirely off balance.
Aventurine blinks, eyes widening, and then breaks into a laugh. Ratio stares, half in bafflement and half in arousal, because the memory of the gambler’s mouth still lingers in his brain—vivid and obscene—but he also wants the damn facts.
“What do you think all that surfing was for?” Aventurine sputters out between high-pitched chortles that have no right to sound that adorable. “You think I risked a wipeout in front of half of Planarcadia for what, the attention of those teenagers? Doc, I was practically begging you to watch me.”
Ratio wants to argue because there is no way in hell Aventurine truly had him in mind when he did all those jumps and flips. But then he remembers the way the gambler cut zigzags through the waves, shirt in shreds, skin gleaming in the sunlight, hips wiggling for no reason—a display that is, in hindsight, quite peacock-esque of him. Like some sort of ridiculous mating dance birds do.
“You’re ridiculous,” is all Ratio manages to say in response.
“Well, I don’t know if it’s ridiculous if it actually worked,” Aventurine comments with a knowing smirk, eyes curving up into crescent moons of pure joy. “You were quite bothered, no? I know you can usually bear the heat better than this.”
Ratio levels a glare that would normally scare everyone away, but Aventurine only smiles back, beaming with pride. And so, like the rational man he absolutely is, Ratio decides to yank Aventurine up by the collar and wipe the smirk off the gambler’s face with his own lips.
Their lips crash together into one hot mess, tasting of salt and brine and, faintly, Ratio’s own come, which is supposed to be nasty but he’s too far gone to care about hygiene right now. He needs Aventurine—whatever it is the gambler is apparently willing to give him because he has spent way too long, not just minutes and hours but years, waiting for this moment.
Aventurine freezes for a microsecond; Ratio feels it in the flutter of eyelashes against his cheeks before the gambler practically melts into the kiss, letting Ratio take the lead in their game for once.
Their teeth click, once then twice, until Ratio finds the best angle that allows him the deepest access to everything. Ratio wants to blame the initial crash landing on Aventurine’s slippery lips, but the truth is embarrassment and desperation made him reckless with his movements. He hates how utterly obvious he is in his inexperience compared to Aventurine, but the world has reduced down to this: the sharp nip of Aventurine’s mouth, the overwhelming scent of citrus and honey, and the shallow pants ringing out between their faces.
Somehow, between all the action, Aventurine’s hands find Ratio’s cheeks, fingers cold and sandy, and pull him in impossibly close. Ratio tastes a small gasp in between quiet laughter, and then something rawer, sweeter and fulfilling, a quiet sound that tickles against his tongue.
Never in Ratio’s life has he ever tasted something so exquisite—entirely made for him. Everything about the kiss is so perfect, even though Ratio’s rational mind knows the concept of perfection only exists in mathematics and logic, not physical reality.
“R-Ratio,” Aventurine gasps out between moans. “Fuck me. Now, please.”
And then Ratio’s brain short-circuits. At least it does for a split second, where Ratio breaks the kiss, eyes wide and frazzled as he says, “What about preparation?”
Aventurine’s cheeks flush a beautiful shade of red. “A-Ah, about that…I may or may not have prepared myself before we got to the beach in anticipation of this.”
The sheer audacity of this man. Ratio wants to be angry—he really, truly does because it means that he has been completely played by this schemer from the very start. But instead, there’s only a ragged, burrowing hunger rippling through his chest because aeons, Aventurine wants this as much as he does.
“You premeditated everything,” Ratio hisses, half in outrage and half in awe.
Aventurine grins again, too proud of his own cleverness, and Ratio sees it all clearly now—how perfectly each moment aligned, the skimpy outfit, the surfing, every calculated glance his way the entire morning till afternoon. As expected of the Strategic Investment department’s ace. His strategies certainly worked wonders, defying all probability.
This is my loss.
Ratio’s hands tremble, slick with sweat and the lingering evidence of some of his own spend. With a growl, he spins Aventurine around and pins his back against the sharp grit of rock behind them. Aventurine’s breath hitches hard, hips already bucking forward, greedy for contact.
“You little minx,” Ratio curses as he dips his head low and latches his teeth onto those enticing buds on the gambler’s chest.
Aventurine responds with a loud moan that echoes over the area as his arches his back. Ratio should shut the gambler’s mouth again before someone else finds them in this precarious position, but his rational mind is long gone by now, flung to the highest heavens above.
Ratio bites down, not enough to break skin but definitely enough to bruise. A purple bloom will rise over Aventurine’s nipples by morning, and Ratio feels a hot satisfaction thinking about how the gambler will have to explain that away while shirtless on the beach tomorrow.
When he pulls back, Aventurine is already panting, chest heaving, every inhale twitching the ridges of muscle under his skin. The rock’s tough surface must be hurting his back, but the gambler’s voice is half a giddy laugh and half a dying plea.
“Y-You’re rougher than I thought,” Aventurine gasps out with a short laugh.
“My apologies, but you’ve rendered all my patience mute,” Ratio responds as he tugs Aventurine forward by the strings of his trousers, hoping to alleviate the pain a little.
Something in Aventurine’s eyes soften at that, cyan and magenta melting into sugary fondness, because this kindness is exactly the reason why he fell in love with Ratio, not that the doctor would ever hear him say it straight like that.
“How did you prepare yourself?” Ratio asks, voice hoarse as he pulls Aventurine’s shorts down.
The gambler’s cock is still untouched yet standing at full attention, flushed an endearing pink, the tip already beading with pre-come. Ratio thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever had the honor of witnessing with his own eyes.
“J-Just with my fingers…” Aventurine rasps out, shifting his head a little to the side in a small show of shyness. “I…imagined it was you…in the showers, in my bed, in my office, anywhere. I needed you so badly, Ratio.”
Ratio groans, letting his head fall against Aventurine’s shoulderblades. Fuck, just imagining what the gambler was up to in his own room made Ratio want to come so badly.
“And at the beach?” Ratio asks, lips curling with amusement as he lifts his head again.
Aventurine freezes for a second. His chews over his words, eyes glazing over. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure if you were up to public sex.” He slowly glances back, lips curling with wry bitterness. “I…wanted to see how far you’d chase the thrill. I wanted to know whether you wanted me enough to, well, throw caution to the wind,” he admits quietly, as if the words might startle Ratio away.
Aventurine’s gaze flickers, and Ratio can see the nerves—perhaps the only time since the whole Penacony spectacle where the gambler’s boldness slips and something fragile shakes loose at the edge of his voice.
Suddenly, Ratio wants to hug Aventurine tightly. He wants to crush the gambler in his embrace, whisper sweet words and consolation, give him all the things he ever dared to wish for, and tell him that he deserves everything good the world has to offer.
Instead, Ratio gently brushes his finger underneath Aventurine’s eyes. There are no tears there, but he can sense the hidden sorrow in the depths of those deceptively bright-colored eyes.
“Gambler,” Ratio says, voice soft and low, “I have never lost a pursuit in my life. Wherever my passion leads, I follow it until the end of the earth, even if it scorches my entire being.”
Aventurine’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens. But no sound escapes except for soft breathing.
Ratio thinks the words are somewhat embarrassing, but less so when they are spoken with intent. And Ratio truly means every single word. But if Aventurine needs further evidence—well, Ratio is more than willing to provide the entire catalogue of his body as proof. His hands are shaking, not from fear, but from the same undoing he’s only ever felt in the presence of this man. There’s nothing to do but follow it now to the very edge like he has confidently declared.
“You are absolutely stunning,” Ratio whispers as he gently cradles Aventurine’s cheeks, thumb pressing against bone, before sliding down to his jaws. “Every part of you is worthy of care.” He moves his hand down Aventurine’s chest and feels the gambler’s muscles rippling under his touch. “But do you know what I adore most about you?” The moment the tips of his fingers brush against the tuft of hair below, Aventurine lets out a soft whine.
Ratio’s fingers pause. Aventurine’s hips jolt, the muscles at his waist fluttering tense under Ratio’s touch. Right now, with the gambler twitching, so perfectly bare for him, Ratio feels an inexplicable urge to ruin him.
Ratio wants to memorize every shift of breath, every small tremor, to catalogue all this data for eternity, or at least for the rest of this sweltering afternoon. He wants to hone in on the most sensitive bundle of those nerves and wring every strangled sound and plea from Aventurine’s lips. He wants to record all the ways he makes the gambler lose control.
“What I love the most about you…it’s your courage,” Ratio confesses as he takes Aventurine’s twitching member into his hands. Aventurine chokes on thin air, eyes fluttering as waves of pleasure ripple up his spine.
“Sometimes, you’re too reckless for my heart to handle. But you take the sort of leaps no man has ever taken,” Ratio continues as his hand pumps up and down. “You’re incredible. No one can compare to your brilliance.” Ratio can feel the pulse in Aventurine’s cock, hot and uneven against his palm, sticky with anticipation. He wraps his fingers around the shaft, thumb brushing the underside. “So if you want to take another daring plunge down the edge of the unknown, know that I will follow without fail.”
“A-Ah, okay, I-I get it now, please shut up…!” Aventurine cries out as he squirms against the rock, face flushing alarmingly red.
Ratio repeats his motions with precision, bringing Aventurine to higher heights. He tightens his grip, then loosens it, all according to the micro-expressions flitting across Aventurine’s face. The gambler bites his lower lip as if fighting for silence, but to no avail as soft whimpers and keening noises escape.
Good, because Ratio wants every last sound and shudder. This is all for him and only him, if possible, from now on.
“Alright. I’ll stay quiet,” Ratio says, voice shredded with heat, “so you make all the noise instead.”
Aventurine gasps. “Y-You…!” His voice breaks off into a whine as Ratio leans his weight forward, pinning Aventurine more securely against his body.
Ratio bites the edge of Aventurine’s ear, savoring the tremor it ripples through the smaller man’s body. His hand moves, wrist twisting, thumb circling the head of Aventurine’s cock in a way that makes the gambler’s knees quake.
“A-Ah, stop, I’m going to—” Aventurine bites down hard on his own lips. The gambler’s voice, usually so smooth and controlled, is now nothing but shattered staccato, every breath a desperate bid for air, every moan a testament to how close he’s teetering on the brink of climax.
“Come for me,” Ratio says into Aventurine’s ears as he licks the shell, pushing Aventurine over the edge.
Aventurine goes taut, eyes fluttering open, lips parting into a soundless moan as he comes hard. The heat from Aventurine’s spend blazes against Ratio’s palm, slick and sticky and so alive.
In this moment, nothing exists—not the scorching sand beneath their feet, not the pungent smell of their semen in the air, and not even the faint, mortifying knowledge that if they were to slip a meter right or left, all of Planarcadia might witness them in the act. All Ratio sees is the gambler and how his body begs for more.
Before Aventurine comes down from his high, Ratio releases his grip on the gambler’s weeping cock. He curves his hand behind Aventurine’s waist and, without another beat or warning, plunges two fingers right into the puckering hole there.
Aventurine jerks forward with a gasp. “W-Wait, too soon, Ratio!”
“Shh,” Ratio hushes, even as his fingers continue pushing against Aventurine’s walls, “be quiet, unless you want us to be seen.”
True to Aventurine’s confession, his hole is somehow still lubricated. Ratio barely feels any resistance against his fingers as he prods his way through the damp canal. When he adds a third finger seamlessly, Aventurine whimpers, shifting back on the intrusion. His thighs clamp together, hips fighting between shying away from the touch and grinding down to take Ratio’s fingers deeper. Ratio makes the decision for him by curling his finger, igniting Aventurine’s nerves with each stroke.
“R-Ratio, you wretch…!” Aventurine glowers at him through teary eyes. The gambler scratches his hand against Ratio’s wrist, trying to pull him away. “That’s enough. I told you…I’m prepared already. Just put me out of my misery now, will you?” He bats his eyes coquettishly, pleading for the real thing.
This time, Ratio complies and yanks his fingers out of Aventurine’s hole.
“Am I?” Ratio asks, staring straight into those mesmerizing eyes. “Am I enough to truly put you out of your misery?”
Aventurine’s breath hitches, his expression freezing. Ratio knows he’s probably destroying the mood again with this loaded question, but he needs to hear this. He’s given Aventurine enough reassurance of his desires. Now, what he wants is reciprocation.
Does the gambler desire him the same way?
Do you also love me in the same way I love you to the brink of insanity?
Aventurine doesn’t answer immediately. He holds Ratio’s gaze for a long, breathless moment, looking at Ratio as if he’s searching for an answer somewhere, searching so hard that it makes Ratio’s skin itch with anxiety. The silence between them thrums with tension, leaving Ratio more vulnerable than anything he’s ever felt before.
All of his pretense is stripped away right now, leaving behind only a naked, trembling hope that maybe, perhaps maybe, he’ll be enough for Aventurine too. If Aventurine laughs right now, pushing him away, or cracks a joke—Ratio isn’t sure he’ll ever recover.
When Aventurine moves, Ratio involuntarily flinches. Aventurine blinks, and then laughs, sending Ratio spiraling in despair. But before his heart breaks into pieces, Aventurine’s hand brushes a stray hair from Ratio’s forehead.
Ratio’s breath hitches. He watches as Aventurine swallows once, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat.
“The kind of death I’m seeking now,” Aventurine starts and Ratio’s heart skips a beat in trepidation, only to land safely when the gambler continues, “if I could, I want to dive into the oceans of your heart and drown there. I want to be crushed by your waves, so that if there is another after me, all they will see is my wreckage buried there, reminding them that I will always be your first.”
Ratio is struck silent, wrecked and trembling, as Aventurine’s words hang delicately in the charged air. It is a confession Ratio never expects and can hardly bear. The words pierce him right through the heart.
He thinks he will never forget this moment for as long as he lives. Perhaps the memories will stay with him, even after death, carrying on to their next lives where Ratio believes, inevitably, he’ll be pulled into Aventurine’s orbit all over again like the planets to the sun.
Normally, Ratio doesn’t believe in such sappy sentiments. But right now, he believes they are meant to be in every universe.
Still holding Aventurine against the rock, Ratio leans in until their foreheads touch. The tip of his nose bumps Aventurine’s as he breathes out, low and shaky, “Have you taken a new interest in poetry, lately?”
Aventurine smiles at him, the warmth in his gaze spelling out the unspoken, those three magical words Ratio hopes to hear from Aventurine’s mouth one day. But for now, he is content with what he has been given.
“Well, when the person you fancy is a professor, sometimes, you have to go out of your comfort zone to learn new things with the hope that at least one endeavor might please them,” Aventurine says with a chuckle.
“Then listen and learn, because all I need is you,” Ratio declares solemnly like a vow. “Wild, unfettered, and freer than you believe. The most perfect equation I have ever laid my eyes upon. Infallible, illogical, and intriguing to no end. There will be no other besides you.”
Words are useless past a certain point. Ratio turns Aventurine around, carefully adjusting their position until his cock is aligned with the gambler’s inviting hole. Aventurine grinds back until the head of Ratio’s cock nudges slick and snug at his entrance.
“Please, Veritas,” Aventurine begs sweetly, “take me apart. Drown me.”
That’s all Ratio needs to hear as he grips Aventurine’s hips to anchor him steady, bites back his own groan, and pushes in.
The ring of muscle swallows him without resistance, then tightens exquisitely. Together as one, their moans mingle in the heated air. Aventurine’s body trembles at the intrusion under his hands. Ratio can feel Aventurine’s skin and he is so hot, so tight, and so fucking alive around Ratio’s cock that Ratio almost loses himself in the first thrust.
He should be trying to record this precious moment right now. He should be trying to remember every single detail, how Aventurine’s thighs shake with need, the exact pitch of Aventurine’s moans, the way his hips sway to the beat of their thrusts, but Ratio can’t think at all. He just can’t—all conscious thought dissolves under the heat of friction and the thrill of finally having Aventurine in his hands.
One of the universe’s brightest minds, rendered completely mute because of a damn gambler. But Ratio couldn’t care less. He deserves this, he wants this, he lives for this.
“Ah, Veritas, harder,” Aventurine begs, “faster, please!”
Ratio complies because he is built for Aventurine’s pleasure and happiness. He braces one hand on Aventurine’s shoulder, the other firm at the gambler’s hip, as he thrusts hard, enough to make the boulder quake under their shared weight. Aventurine’s body seizes, head thrown back in a long, shuddering exhale that sounds almost like a howl. The sound vibrates through Ratio’s chest and down to his groin where it fuels his desire.
Surely, someone must’ve noticed their lovemaking by now. But even if they did, Ratio has no intention of stopping. Even if Pearl sent a command for help right now, Ratio isn’t confident to continue his duties in favor of pounding Aventurine until he catches the glimpse of an aeon.
“Come together with me,” Ratio pants, the sound of harsh breathing echoing through the area. “Aventurine,” he says, and then whispers like a prayer, “Kakavasha.”
This is revenge for when Aventurine called him Veritas. The effect is immediate and Aventurine comes with a high-pitched moan. Ratio follows right after with a groan, hips jutting against that tight hole, making sure that it squeezes every single drop from him.
Their bodies stay locked together, Ratio’s cock buried deep inside, both of them shivering with aftershocks. Eventually, his arms tremble as he pries his hands off Aventurine’s hips. If possible, he wants to cradle that impossible waist forever, and etch the memory of their shape into his bones, but if he holds on any longer, he might never let go.
Ratio leans down to leave a kiss on Aventurine’s back. “How do you feel?”
The sound of Aventurine’s soft breathing fills the air. The gambler looks behind him with a lazy, satisfied smile. “More alive than ever.” Then, a short pause. “What do you say to round two? We should do this again.”
Ratio is tempted to say yes to anything that comes out of Aventurine’s mouth, but for the first time in a long while, his rational brain kicks in. The sound of muffled whispers and horrified screams reaches his ears and he sighs heavily against Aventurine’s back.
“I concur. But we’re changing venues,” Ratio says with a wince. “I’m afraid we’ve been exposed.”
“...Oh. Oops.”
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A couple hours later, when Ratio scrolls through Planarcadia’s forums in their now-shared hotel room and finds a couple posts complaining about public indecency near the beaches, Ratio regrets his actions for a tiny moment. Just a tiny sliver of time, though, because he has Aventurine in his arms now and, when weighed against the grand scheme of things, Aventurine is all that matters.
(And Pearl is definitely not working overtime to get rid of all the evidence online.)