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One.
One is the number of times Aventurine needs to drink with Ratio in order to find out that he is absolutely no fun sloshed.
He usually is. A delight to be around with his subtle balance between seriousness and sarcasm (even Aventurine can’t tell where the former ends and the latter begins sometimes); his tendency to default to scientific terms, then – to a lengthy explanation of each, in that slow tone with borderline hysterical notes that suggests he deems his interlocutor stupid (he doesn’t actually think that, Aventurine suspects; you don’t do explanations, let alone lengthy, when you truly consider them fools – you stand up and leave); and his science-related jokes (Aventurine doesn’t always get the punchline, which, however, doesn’t stop him from reacting to it with a wider than usual smile).
But alcohol that is supposed to open hearts and loosen tongues has a completely opposite impact on Ratio.
It makes him emotionless. Like it sucks the life out of him – a side effect of booze previously unheard of. Makes him, a man who usually has strong opinions about everything his eye lands on, apathetic to the world around him. And – reply to Aventurine’s attempts to strike up a conversation with a non-committal, pensive hum instead of an almost forced witty remark he could laugh at a tad too loud.
Ratio is going to be fun again tomorrow. As for today – a gentleman ought to know when the moment to leave and look for entertainment somewhere else arrives. It is when the light becomes less bright and the unobtrusive jazz tune – frustratingly familiar down to the last note after hearing it for the tenth time. And this tune has been frustratingly familiar since Ratio’s lips touched the glass.
Emptying his – the dregs fall short of a full swig, but Aventurine is not in a habit of wasting alcohol – Aventurine says, “I’m going to call it a day.”
He wanted to check out that club opening in half an hour. If Aventurine sets off now and drops by a couple of other fine establishments on his route, he’ll get there as the party starts.
Ratio should as well – not follow Aventurine to the club, because, sure, in his dreams – but call it a day and head to bed. Aventurine is not going to tell him that, though, he would never ruin other people’s – excitement, but there is no excitement in sight. Melancholy, then.
Ratio glances down at Aventurine, his eyelashes trembling as if he struggles to keep eyes open.
“Wait.” Aventurine hasn’t moved yet, but who knows what Ratio is seeing right now – maybe one of Aventurines did move. “Wouldn’t you be opposed to…” He blinks rapidly, then – stops blinking, eyelids drifting shut, only to snap back a second later, revealing his gaze, suddenly very aware and present, but also – a little lost, like his consciousness just kicked in, replacing the whiskey that prior this moment was doing the talking. “Come to my room?”
Now he is being dramatic. Ratio is a big boy, too big for Aventurine to carry him to bed, too big to not be able to stand straight from two good old fashioned.
“Oh? Our dear doctor needs help to be transported to his room? Should I call a nurse?”
Ratio shakes his head.
“I mean for… To…” He takes a deep breath. And, alright, maybe it is a little fun to witness him speechless. “Do you want to come over to have sexual intercourse with me?” He fires the whole sentence off on an exhale and falls silent as abruptly, leaving only the unobtrusive jazz tune in between them.
If Aventurine got a credit every time someone hit on him he could afford… Well, nothing he can’t afford now, but there is no such thing as too much money. Men and women alike, and lots of both, have rarely missed a chance to proposition him.
Ratio’s bright head, however, hasn’t been spotted among this crowd. He has always been more interested in the distant half-full glass than in the marvelous tail spread right in front of him; meaning – literally anything other than Aventurine.
To Aventurine’s displeasure. He, for instance, has been very interested. Everyone who meets Ratio probably is. Aventurine is ready to bet every credit he would have gotten from every time someone hit on him on the number of times when someone hit on Ratio being greater. Smart, handsome, fun (when sober – basically perpetually) – what’s there not to lust after.
What Aventurine wants, he gets. Or dies trying to get. Given that they are currently discussing this matter sitting at the hotel bar instead of obliterating the hotel room bed frame, it is likely that this little game resulted in neither, instead ending with an outcome far more undesirable.
Ratio gave dead spins for the coins of flirting and folded the cards of the compliments Aventurine laid down for him without even glancing at them. Gifts, invitations, kind words – he ignored everything there was to ignore, and Aventurine, eventually, stopped trying. When a game partner lacks reciprocity, they become a casino. And the house wins by default.
It’s neither affection nor attraction, what’s happening right now. Aventurine would notice those, especially in a man who is incapable of hiding his emotions from others. Ratio has apparently reached the step where drunk people start doing stupid things.
A better man would help Ratio to bed and pretend he didn’t hear anything.
Aventurine is not like that.
He hums, his gaze gliding towards the counter – and as Ratio’s eyes follow his, settling there, starts running his hand up and down the empty glass. Nonchalantly, as if he is deep in thoughts and doesn’t even realize what he is doing.
Ratio does, though, swallowing thickly. That’s all that matters.
“What’s in it for me?”
It’s not that Aventurine doesn’t want to. He might have stopped trying, but that hasn’t changed. Yet, after trying a little too hard for a little too long, now that the ball’s landed on his color, why not push his luck.
Ratio stays silent, his eyes riveted on Aventurine’s hand. Perhaps, he doesn’t know what to say. Perhaps, he is simply incapable of – processing such a complicated question. Or, perhaps – that’s the effect Aventurine has on him now.
Powerful men, enthralled by him, Aventurine’s favorite taste. Sure, Ratio has little influence, but he is physically strong – or at least looks the part, same difference, Aventurine isn’t going to make him lift crates – and this is the second best thing.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
***
Ratio finds Aventurine in the lounge room on the way back home – and purposefully takes a seat on the sofa beside him. Unusual it is for Ratio to seek his company, but certainly not unwelcome.
Aventurine pauses the cat video he has been watching – curious creatures they are, cats; perhaps he should get himself one; or two, it won’t get lonely while he is away if it has a friend; or three, three is even better, so they won’t grow tired of each other – pockets his phone, and raises his gaze to Ratio.
He looks more presentable than he did this morning before the final meeting; his hands – less shaky, the shadows under his eyes – less dark, the eyes themselves – less bloodshot, albeit still a little lost.
“What happened yesterday?” Ratio asks; Aventurine has always valued his straightforwardness – zero sophistication, but saves time, ergo – money. Aventurine isn’t wasting any here, but there is no such thing as too many thoughts about money.
“You mean the job?”
“I mean after the job.”
“After the job…” Aventurine hums pensively, pretending that he is trying to recall yesterday’s events. “Ah. We were drinking at the hotel bar.”
“Perhaps I should clarify.” A deep frown between his brows as he is working his jaw betrays the lack of patience he has for this conversation. Ratio would prefer Aventurine understood him right away. Aventurine did. “The last thing I remember is that I was trying to find the key to my room. What happened after that?”
His own logic seems infallible to Aventurine. It is easier to continue than to start. Where there is once, there is twice, where there is twice – there is what he wanted but failed to grasp. To lay the foundation is to ensure that the rest of the structure smoothly builds itself on its own.
So, Aventurine, looking straight into his eyes, says, “We had sex.”
Ratio is very pale. In general. He went outside once when he was five years old and figured that the joys of nature, such as fresh air and sunlight, weren’t for him. But, when Aventurine finishes the sentence, whatever pigment was still left in him drains entirely, making the shade of his face match the white wall of the jet behind him.
Aventurine isn’t completely sure how to interpret his reaction – this is a new situation for them, but, just in case, continues, “A shame you don’t remember. I personally will never forget how you…” Ratio holds out his open palm, gesturing for Aventurine to stop talking. So he stops talking. Right after he says, “Pinned me down and had your way with me.”
He brings his hand to his forehead, hiding his face from Aventurine.
“Did I…” He sounds – pained. “Did I force myself on you?”
Only the years of learning how to control his emotions keep Aventurine from bursting out laughing. Ratio, a man who believes in the most out of touch with reality things, like the importance of pride, dignity, free will, and many other fancy words that exist solely on the pages of dictionaries he dug them out of, forcing himself on anyone – Aventurine has probably heard nonsense more ridiculous, just nothing comes to mind at the moment.
“Of course not. You were a proper gentleman. And I was fully on board.”
Ratio withdraws his hand, meeting Aventurine’s gaze. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Nevertheless, I apologize. It was my first time drinking.” Who would have thought. “This circumstance, however, does not excuse my actions. And although you claim it was consensual, I would understand and fully support you should you decide to press charges against me.”
Aventurine pities him a little. To guilt trip so hard over a deal so insignificant. It must be awful, to live with conscience.
“Don’t worry, doc. No hard feelings.”
Ratio nods. “Thank you. And please rest assured that such an incident will not occur again in the future.”
That’s, well. The opposite of what Aventurine was counting on; maybe there was a fallacy to his logic after all. But – doesn’t matter; the planning itself might be not his forte, but gluing back together pieces of barely a plan that are risking to fall out of his hands is.
Fortunately for him, Ratio lives with conscience.
“Say, would you like to make it up to me?”
“Of course. If there is anything I can do to right my wrongs, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Sleep with me one more time, then.”
Ratio’s frown deepens. If he continues frowning so much, no number of hot baths will be able to wash that nasty wrinkle off his forehead. “I don’t understand. You want to do it again?”
“I do. And I think you do, too.” It’s not at all what Aventurine thinks. Aventurine thinks Ratio did a stupid thing drunk; but stating the truth doesn’t bring people closer to what they want.
“But why?”
“Why do you want to?” Aventurine chuckles. “I’m afraid…”
“Why do you?”
Of course, this question Aventurine, too, understood right away.
“Look, I thought you were burdened with guilt. I’m here just to provide you with an easy way out. Give me a call if you ever want to do something about it.”
***
Ratio needs a week to conclude that he wants to do something about it.
He sends Aventurine a message. Saturday, eight in the evening, the address – a building in the residential area, might actually be Ratio’s apartment and not just some hotel, but Aventurine isn’t expecting to get it all right away, so he is not particularly hopeful.
It is a busy day, Saturday. The busiest Saturday he has ever had in his life. They usually go like this – he sleeps until afternoon, recovering after Friday, then heads out to find himself an entertainment to recover from on Sunday.
But not this time. This time, he wakes up early – ten in the morning was the only slot his dentist, the best in town, could clear for him on such short notice. She claims his teeth don’t require whitening – of course; Aventurine brings the IPC’s mice with these teeth, naturally he is very meticulous about maintaining them – but he insists on it anyway.
Then, he visits a beauty salon. Not the best in town – in fact, an ordinary parlor located in the district populated with the lower middle class. An unexpected choice, yet possessing many upsides. That’s where the true art is born, his colleagues don’t know about the establishment’s existence (wish they did, bother Aventurine with questions, he replies with a mysterious smile) – and the staff there never pretend they are happy to see him when they aren’t, and never hide it when they are.
Next is his favorite department store. Aventurine can’t wear what he has already put on once for this occasion. He settles on the charmeuse black button-up shirt and the high-waisted pants of the same color (nothing wrong with simple; besides, the price compensate for the simplicity tenfold; Ratio won’t be able to tell the exact amount, but he will be able to feel the difference with his palms as they undress Aventurine) – and still ends up leaving with five bags in hand, because there is no such thing as too much money spent on looking good.
He contemplates – would be a shame if Ratio blacked out again – swinging by a liquor store and buying a bottle of wine. Eventually does, purchases the red with subtle peach and plum notes. A single drop for bravery, should he need it, probably isn’t going to ruin the evening.
Aventurine makes it back home utterly exhausted, both mentally and physically; the main event hasn’t started yet – taxing stuff, sex.
He allows himself a moment to recharge watching cat videos – a guy says that orange cats bring good luck and, more importantly, demonstrates it by following a match while his cat stays in the room with him; the team he is rooting for wins, an undeniable scientific proof even Ratio couldn’t argue with; food for thought – and heads to the bathroom.
Having finished with the shower, Aventurine gets dressed (leaving the shirt partially unbuttoned, enough to feed the imagination without being overly revealing), takes off his wristwatch – he is planning on losing the track of time – bracelets, the earring – wouldn’t want it to get snagged on a stray piece of fabric from the sheets the quality of which he can’t trust – and generously sprays the perfume – Laudanum, his favorite – on his wrists, either side of his neck, and his hair.
And, just like that, he is ready. Child’s play.
***
That the atmosphere is all wrong, Aventurine realizes right after Ratio opens the door.
His face gives him away, always does. Brows are furrowed tightly, casting shadows over the eyes narrowed in a sharp glare, lips pressed into a thin line. Overall, an expression Aventurine is more or less used to seeing, except it usually crosses Ratio’s face only after Aventurine starts speaking, and he hasn’t yet.
Probably one of those it’s not you, it’s me situations. Who knows what’s going on in Ratio’s life; a failed experiment, a student was too stupid – or too smart, go figure with the academia lot, the IPC – period, its mere existence annoys Ratio to a great extent. But nothing a time of his life Aventurine is about to show him won’t fix.
He steps closer, raising on tiptoes to give Ratio a kiss, but a hand laid on his shoulder gently stops him. Ratio moves back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We need to talk.”
The tone Ratio speaks in makes Aventurine think he might be the problem after all. That, or unduly serious conversations before sex get Ratio in the mood. Regardless, Aventurine doesn’t rush to a conclusion – he prefers to deal with issues as they come; or, better yet, softly push them to go so he doesn’t need to deal with them at all.
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Take off your shoes, then follow me.”
Aventurine holds the bottle out; Ratio’s gaze lingers on it, hesitant, uncertain, like he is considering whether he should take it. He does accept the wine in the end, his fingers tentative as they wrap around the glass.
After he is done with his shoes, Ratio leads him to, sadly, not his bedroom, but the kitchen combined with the dining room. Aventurine doesn’t mind starting with drinking, but Ratio seems to have another idea, setting down the bottle on the counter and taking a place behind the round table, with the wine so close, yet so out of reach.
“Sit.”
Aventurine pulls the chair back from the table, his eyes drifting around the room without really taking in the surroundings. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” he says, purely to lift the heaviness from the air, before sitting down. If Ratio appreciates the compliment, he doesn’t show it.
“I am aware that you have not been truthful with me.” Time wasted on pleasantries – zero. Classic Ratio. “However, I do not understand the reasoning behind it. I would appreciate it if you could provide some clarification.”
Oh, it’s definitely him.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Aventurine says, having a slight idea. He needs specifics, Ratio has a very loose definition of lying, Aventurine has a very loose definition of telling the truth.
“I am referring to the evening we spent together at the hotel bar.”
“The evening we had sex?”
“The evening we didn’t have sex.”
Too broad. There are just too many evenings like this. All of them, really. But he is brought up to date now.
“And you know that how, exactly? I thought you didn’t remember anything.”
“Do you genuinely believe that we don’t have access to technologies capable of restoring lost memories?”
Ratio was probably aware of the possibility of being lied to from the start, hence the fit of the lack of trust, both justified and commanding respect, afterward; what curious is that he still came to Aventurine with an inquiry.
“Maybe your machine, medicine, or what had you, wasn’t as good as you think it was?”
“Or maybe you lied to me. And I would like to know why.”
A very interesting question, the one Aventurine has no intention of answering. He is not here for an interrogation, he is here for sex; and this discussion strays him dangerously far from his goal.
“Tell me something first. If you think I tricked you, why invite me?” Knowing Ratio, it could, should and would have been an email. Or a silent treatment – until the next case, when the silent treatment would turn into the every-word-soaked-with-disapproval treatment. Like he is doing right now; the difference is – now, he is doing it voluntarily. “Surely you didn’t shoot me a text just to turn me down?”
Aventurine leans slightly forward; not breaking eye contact, he finds Ratio’s hand resting on the table and circles his knuckles with the touch most tender.
“You know what I think? I think you were still planning on sleeping with me today.”
That’s not at all what Aventurine thinks. Aventurine thinks that there are thousands more probable reasons that would explain Ratio’s behavior. A lesson in humility, a desperate need to make a point, whatever it might be, an unduly serious conversations and them alone getting him – somewhere.
Aventurine doesn’t even consider that Ratio might have wanted it from the start, from the moment his lips touched the glass. Or prior. That it was anything more than Ratio simply doing a stupid thing drunk; that he would still want to do it sober before Aventurine gets him hooked. That it’s not something Ratio should be tricked into.
When Ratio is reluctant to admit that Aventurine is right, a faint twitch flickers along the side of his neck. Barely noticeable – that is, if you don’t know what to look for; it happens quite often, so Aventurine knows.
He also jerks his hand away from the touch, as if Aventurine fingers suddenly burn him. And averts his eyes. An adorable level of transparency.
Aventurine says this to derail him from what Ratio wishes to discuss and direct him towards what Aventurine wishes to do. And hits – the bullseye he didn’t see.
A feeling rather peculiar, light and fluttering, swells within him upon the realization; he would call it a triumph, but a triumph doesn’t really feel like anything these days. He felt a similar sensation before. So long ago that now it is as though someone else felt it and then described it to him, yet he forgot the most along with its name and didn’t catch the rest.
“You don’t have to confirm or deny it.” Aventurine eases back into the chair, relaxing demonstratively, his voice dropping to a softer, lower pitch. “We can just skip the conversation and go to bed.”
Ratio stays silent. Time for go big or go home. Literally. Aventurine, of course, hopes he won’t have to act on the threat, he simply means to shake Ratio out of his thoughts.
“Maybe I should leave.” Aventurine places his hand on the edge of the table about to push himself off it.
Ratio’s gaze shoots back to him.
“Wait. Yes. I was. But I needed you to be honest with me first.”
If that’s all it takes – sure, Aventurine can do that.
“Alright.” Aventurine raises his arms in a gesture of defeat. “Cards on the table. I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
“I doubt that outright lying qualifies as merely not telling the whole truth, but let’s set aside the matter of semantics for now. I asked why you did it.”
Aventurine remembers that.
This isn’t about the truth, though. This is – about hurt pride. So, he tells Ratio what he needs to hear instead of what he claims he needs to hear.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I really am. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I didn’t know what else to say at the time. You weren’t giving me much to work with, you know?” He doesn’t pose it as a rhetorical question, pausing and looking at Ratio expectantly; however, when Ratio catches up on the fact and opens his mouth to reply, continues, “I guess I thought if I just said we had, maybe things would be simpler between us. It’s not like I meant to mislead you. It just felt like the right thing to say in the moment because you seemed so... distant. I don’t know, maybe if things had been different, I wouldn’t have felt like I had to. Does that make sense?” No; a bunch of words strung together, and a great number of those, aiming to make Ratio feel like Aventurine is saying something when in reality the substance here is as thin as water. “My point is – you want it, I want it, and, since we are on the same page now, I reckon there is only one sensible thing for us to do. I’m sure you concur, you are a sensible man yourself.” Another short break – to let sensible sink in. “Now that is settled – should we open the wine?”
Although Ratio has been listening to him pretty attentively, the speech seems to leave him lost, blinking slowly in confusion; for all it’s worth – good luck with unpacking all that bullshit. He buries his face in his hand, wearily rubbing it, then returns his attention to Aventurine and says, “Do you think I don’t know what you are trying to do?”
“I sincerely hope you do.” Aventurine smiles – he assumed his smile didn’t work on Ratio but, perhaps, about that, he too was wrong. “So, where do you keep the glasses?”
Ratio sighs heavily. “I will have to decline, unless by the most sensible thing for us to do you mean getting some sleep.”
Aventurine was going to honey-talk him a little more over a glass – but, since he is already on board, they can skip this step. Though Aventurine wouldn’t mind a drink, it’s a good wine.
“Could you at least give me a glass?”
“I don’t think you should drink either. In fact, I am not going to sleep with you if you are inebriated.”
Keep insisting on being difficult, isn’t he? That’s fine. If Aventurine wanted easy, he wouldn’t be here.
“Have it your way. Are you going to show me the bedroom, then?”
***
Ratio’s bedroom… well, it is a bedroom, saw one, saw them all. Besides, Aventurine is only interested in the bed, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, that Ratio is diligently unmaking. It’s big; a big bed for a big boy. Hopefully sturdy. The sheets are nice, Aventurine notices as he removes the coverlet – satin or something as shiny.
For this bed, Aventurine had to take a shower again; Ratio made him, If you think I’m letting you into my bed after you’ve been out on the street, you are seriously mistaken – and, although Aventurine’s time out on the street was mere seconds before entering and after exiting the taxi car, he decided not to argue.
He also made Aventurine change into a bathrobe – well, he silently left it by the bathroom door, Aventurine is just good at reading between the lines. A shame – he was rocking the previous outfit, but looks ridiculous in terrycloth.
They are matching now, though. Kind of cute. Like they are a married couple still trying for children after ten years of failure; trapped in an inconvenient marriage of convenience, they need an heir for their unimaginable fortune (yet choose terrycloth clothing – unbelievable, go figure what’s going on in the heads of old money), so sex is an obligation for them, a chore. Their situation is complicated by the fact that he is near impotent, body, mind, heart, and tongue, and she has a lover on the side, someone younger, smarter, prettier than him, and she can’t stand the very idea of laying eyes on his feeble frame.
Like Ratio apparently can’t, walking past Aventurine and not deigning him with a glance.
The wardrobe door slides open, then closed. Aventurine manages to catch a glimpse of Ratio’s clothes; he has always suspected Ratio was a secret fashionista, but never had a chance to see it in person, they don’t normally meet anywhere Ratio could flaunt his sense of style. The bathrobes are probably an exception that proves the rule.
Ratio finally approaches Aventurine, his gaze filled with uncertainty, as if he is unsure how to start. He is often confused around him – would rather die than admit it; his secret is safe with Aventurine – and usually he finds it the most flattering, but hesitance is not a quality one is searching for in a sex partner.
Still nice, to be the object of his attention; of any kind, a sideways glance, a peek when he thinks Aventurine doesn’t notice, a glare that judges every decision he has made since he was four years old up until today.
Unbearably quiet. This, between them. From them stretching to the corners of the room and maybe even farther. A deafening eternal pause during which neither of them dares to breathe. Feels like: were a dust speckle to land on the floor – real wood; hickory, if Aventurine is not mistaken, a good choice – the sound it produced would rival that of a gunshot.
He wishes there was music.
The moment itself is smooth and viscous, this is what he imagines being stuck in the fresh resin would be like. But the realization that hits him – sudden, a sharp sting of static upon touching fabric, except it originates from within; where they are, who they are, what they are about to do.
“May I kiss you?” Ratio brings the hammer to the fragile glass of silence, shattering it, and the tremble from the impact transfers to him, if subtle.
Why is he asking? Aventurine is here, he’s made himself clear. Essentially, it doesn’t matter, Aventurine isn’t going to reply anyway. Instead, he closes the remaining distance between them and, placing his hand on the back of Ratio’s head, pulls him down for a kiss. Vigorous, decisive, lips crumpled, teeth clashing with teeth, teeth sinking into flesh, his tongue sliding confidently into Ratio’s mouth – Ratio’s, in return, not especially, but Aventurine understands. He gives it his all, some people need time to adjust to his style.
A minute doesn’t pass before Ratio puts his palm on Aventurine’s chest, gently pushing him away. Reluctantly freeing his hand from the soft locks, Aventurine takes a step back.
Out of breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly, Ratio gingerly touches his lower lip, puffy, glistening, its pink smudging into the skin around it like smeared lipstick, then, after withdrawing his fingers and quickly glancing at them, focuses a pair of watery eyes on Aventurine, brows above furrowed – well, probably the best of kissers wouldn’t be able to kiss the frown out of him.
“Are you always so… assertive?” He asks in the same tone he usually uses to say gambler, your – fine, if you are against me calling it a plan, then a strategy – is doomed to fail.
His whole life Aventurine has been surrounded by critics. “If you are dissatisfied with my performance, maybe you should show me how you like it?”
“I am not saying…” Ratio trails off with a sigh. “But it is a reasonable request, I suppose.”
Reasonable. Not the word Aventurine hears from him often. Ratio is generous with compliments today.
He glides his thumb along Aventurine’s cheekbone; his body, still sensitive from the hot water, reacts to the touch with a delicate shiver that pulses between his jaw and shoulders, raising goosebumps on his neck.
The fingers twirl around a strand of Aventurine’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. Needlessly; his hair is perfectly fine, he’s just seen it in the mirror – but if that’s what tickles Ratio’s fancy.
Bringing his hand back to Aventurine’s cheek and placing the other on his waist, Ratio leans down and brushes his lips against Aventurine’s – in a mockery of a kiss. Then once more. Aventurine stays – mostly still; he responds when Ratio’s mouth touches his and patiently waits for this moment when Ratio withdraws again to – nuzzle Aventurine’s cheek, plant a kiss there.
How romantic of him.
Ratio’s hand shifts to the small of Aventurine’s back, pulling him in closer. He stops drawing back, their mouths meeting in a firm lock, runs the tip of his tongue over Aventurine’s lower lip as if seeking permission, wordlessly this time, and, when Aventurine parts for him, slips his tongue inside, deepening the kiss.
The pace he sets, leisured and deliberate, lacks passion Aventurine was about to offer, but gives him an opportunity to savor, like good wine is supposed to be savored, not drunk half a bottle in a go – the velvety layer of the balm Ratio is wearing, its whisper of not quite flavor, just a waxy sweetness that lingers briefly before the warmth breaks through; the sync in which their lips move; the weight, the gentle caress of the hand on his back.
His movements grow bolder and fiercer, sending Aventurine’s pulse racing and breaths coming harder, a warmth blooming across his cheeks. Aventurine places his palms on Ratio’s shoulder and begins to carefully push him back, a slow step after a slow step – hopefully, not too assertive for Ratio – until they reach the bed.
Ratio sits down, releasing him. Aventurine settles on his thigh – Ratio’s hand instantly darts to wrap around his waist – and presses his lips to Ratio’s neck, inhaling sharply. Tobacco and cherry – Aventurine read the shower gel label – an unexpected choice for someone like Ratio, but it does smell good.
Aventurine tugs on the belt of Ratio’s bathrobe and helps him to discard it on the bed. Away with the terrycloth, It suits Ratio more than it suits Aventurine, but nothing, Aventurine is sure, suits him even better.
He does, however, stop Ratio’s hand from unfastening his own belt, redirecting it to his knee instead. Being dressed while Ratio isn’t sounds exciting.
Aventurine pauses to glance at Ratio’s body. The same he’s fantasized about once or twice, just a little different. Aventurine collected the image of him piece by piece, stealing each from people he had seen before.
From that actor they invite to every movie these days – a sculpted chest, though now it’s clear that the actor’s paled in comparison. A defined abdomen – from an underwear model featured in the centerfold of a magazine he flipped through, bored out of his mind while waiting for the nail polish to dry under the lamp. Unlike Ratio, he wasn’t exactly getting his money’s worth from the gym.
What has never occurred in his fantasies is a trail of dark hair starting at the navel – Aventurine presumed Ratio would wax because everyone else did, but can’t bring himself to mind that he doesn’t; contrasting with pale skin, it looks surprisingly attractive, widening and thickening gradually as it nears his cock.
Of a rather average size, Aventurine acknowledges with a hint of disappointment; more on a smaller side. Also not what he is used to imagining. Sure, they tend to enlarge from stimulation, but there is no way Ratio’s will ever match his otherwise astounding physique.
Aventurine isn’t going to let this tiny detail to dismay him too much. The rest is great. He has had enough of parts anyway, he is here for the whole package. There is a list of things Aventurine has wanted to do, and he would have done them even if Ratio had no cock.
He puts his arm around Ratio’s neck, drawing him into another kiss. Rather – acting as if he is about to draw him into another kiss but, when Ratio readily parts his lips, looking at him with a puppy-like anticipation in his eyes, deliberately misses, not at all assertively pecking him on a corner of the mouth.
Rubbing his nose against Ratio’s cheek – the scent of the aftershave still lingers on his skin, menthol with a subtle trace of something herbal – he lowers his free hand on Ratio’s cock, the puppy-like anticipation disappearing as Ratio closes his eyes, breathing out heavily.
Ratio isn’t touching him. Where it would matter. His hand on Aventurine’s waist is either firmly holding him in place when Aventurine simply pumps his cock or urges him closer when the thumb brushes under the head; his fingers on Aventurine’s knee – sink into the skin.
Yet somehow, his reaction – a low moan here, a lip bitten so the low moan won’t escape there – adds to Aventurine’s own arousal, causing his body to experience that strange sort of an itch, nerves bare, singing, screaming, longing for the fingertips to connect with their open ends, a greedy, yearning tingle, almost an ache, capable of being alleviated – he knows that instinctively – only by a touch where it would matter or in a greater amount. Skin to skin until they both melt into each other.
Interesting. Must be – flattery getting one everywhere. And it is flattering to witness Ratio – like this, blindly reaching for the kiss Aventurine once more denies him, angling himself to lightly nibble on the earlobe instead; to feel his thigh tremble underneath Aventurine.
Breaking away from rubbing Ratio’s cock, Aventurine stops his hand again, this time from gliding up his thigh, creeping towards where it would matter.
Because, he realizes, more than to have those long lean fingers wrapped around his cock, he wants Ratio to be desperate to do it; to see him shake with desire and to hear him beg. Then, when Aventurine decides he’s earned it – but mostly when his own desire from seeing and hearing becomes unbearable – he will pretend to think twice about granting Ratio his wish, but, ultimately, of course, grant it.
Speaking of – now, Aventurine decides, now is a good time to finally kiss him; a tad clumsily – Ratio moans into his mouth as Aventurine brings his hand back to his groin – and very briefly, there is something else he has in mind.
Slowly, Aventurine sinks to the floor between Ratio legs.
Both mesmerized by the scene unfolding in front of him and distracted by his thoughts, he must have missed the moment when the shaft began to grow. And grow it did. A lot bigger than it was in its soft state. Settling for less is an integral aspect of one’s life – he is just glad this sentiment can’t be applied to his.
Encircling the base with his fingers, Aventurine traces the whole length with his tongue before taking it in his mouth up to the hilt. This is what he thought was supposed to happen; instead, the head hits his palate, causing nausea to coil in the back of the throat.
“Is everything alright?” Ratio asks as he draws back, his voice’s hoarse, lust mixed with concern.
Aventurine nods.
He changes the tactic; guides the shaft in at a slower speed, feeling the hot flesh pulsate against his tongue, stretch his lips, the corners stinging – then, feels nothing but the nausea rising in him again and the urge to either cough or inhale. He suppresses it all, tries to relax his muscles, but the throat only seems to constrict more the harder he forces it to open, the walls spasming traitorously.
On the bright side – Aventurine’s own arousal subsides now that he is concentrated on the task.
He pulls away with a wet squelch, breathes in, breathes out, doesn’t really help to calm down the nausea but the best way to deal with problems is to ignore them.
Ratio, as he is about to dive in, cuts him off from that miraculous solution, grabbing Aventurine’s hair and making him look up, locking his eyes, wary and attentive, with Aventurine’s.
“May I suggest we do something else?”
Aventurine replies, powering through nausea, “But I quite like what we are doing right now.”
“Fine, just…” Ratio’s hand releases his hair, cups his cheek, for some reason wiping a thumb under Aventurine’s eye, and moves to his lips that throb in response to the touch. “You don’t need to take in the entire length. The glans is the most sensitive part anyway.”
“Where would I be without your wisdom?”
“In the bathroom.” He pushes his finger into Aventurine’s mouth up to the joint. “This is quite enough. And do wrap your lips over your teeth.”
It is, indeed, easier – to pleasure the head alone, swirling the tongue around while simultaneously gliding the hand up and down. Less nausea-inducing; in fact, it recedes entirely. Probably doesn’t make the same lasting impression as deep throating does, but Ratio seems to be enjoying it; the grip of the hand, returned to his hair, tightens, however not attempting to yank him away. Aventurine considers it a victory.
The tongue brushes against the slit – accidentally; and, upon hearing a moan – dips into it on purpose. Aventurine continues teasing the very tip, reveling in the way Ratio’s hips tremble as he struggles to keep them from bucking, failing sometimes, thrusting into Aventurine’s mouth, but almost instantly catching himself, calming down with a deep, shuddering breath.
The spark of arousal ignites Aventurine’s nerves anew, making him wish the hand was on his cheek, or fingers were massaging his scalp, or their bodies were so intertwined it would be impossible to tell where his ends and Ratio’s begins.
He withdraws when the hinges of his jaw start to hurt. Pity, but – there are plenty of other activities he desires to pursue – and plenty of other activities that will rouse similar, if not more lively, reactions from Ratio.
Unsure if he would want to kiss him after this – Ratio has always come across as someone with an inflated sense of disgust, a weird quality for a doctor – and, frankly, not keen on finding out, lest the evening turns into a lecture on a personal hygiene, Aventurine, instead of capturing the lips open invitingly and temptingly to steal a shallow gasp, moves to the bed, sitting behind Ratio, legs tucked.
Every morning during the working week when Aventurine walks out of his favorite coffee shop, he is greeted by this back. Rather, not this, the back of a jogger, running past him. A funny little routine of theirs, they both yet to skip a day. Inexplicably, Aventurine hates to see him leave; explicably, he loves to watch him go.
It’s not the muscles, shifting slightly under Aventurine’s pressed to the shoulder blade hand, that make him stare, as if he is an uneducated boy from the outskirts of the galaxy shoved into an art gallery for the first time in his life. Not only the muscles. Everyone can have those if they set their mind to it, the runner on the street, Aventurine, a scholar with eight doctoral degrees who barely has time to breathe, let alone swing by a gym.
The spine, however… A lot has to be done in order to have good posture. Come into the world in a forgiving environment, have a balanced diet as a child (fruits, vegetables, meat, water, preferably clean), sit straight, wear the right shoes, don’t shoulder the weight of destiny, and never, ever bend to the will of others.
Ratio’s is perfectly straight. A link to a link as Aventurine follows the line from the tailbone to the neck, ridges forming a flawless column. Fascinating.
“How do you want to do this?” Ratio’s voice thrums faintly through his body, a quiet vibration beneath the skin.
Aventurine doesn’t reply right away, considering as he places a lingering kiss on Ratio’s shoulder. The manner in which they do it varies from fantasy to fantasy, but the one thing that always stays the same is them, facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes, who in their right mind being in the room with Ratio would choose to gaze at anything but him.
“I want to ride you,” he says, lips brushing against Ratio’s skin. To be able to lean for a kiss when he thinks Ratio earned it. To move when he thinks Ratio earned it – maybe even pin down his hands, letting go only when he thinks Ratio earned it.
Pulling away, Aventurine slips his hand into the pocket to retrieve a package. He twists the foil between his fingers, drawing out a soft crinkle, and Ratio half turns towards him, his eyes lowered to the source of the sound, narrowing gradually.
“Strawberry? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen a flavor less unpalatable?”
“Is that how you drink your coffee?” I know they don’t pay teachers well, but surely you can afford sugar and syrups?” It’s not true, of course, all of it. Ratio drinks his coffee drearily black, although he can afford not to – but if he couldn’t, Aventurine would gladly afford both for him.
“If a stand-up scene is what you’re after, you definitely chose the wrong door.” Ratio jerks the wrapper from his grasp, his lips curled disapprovingly.
“Uh-uh, the door is right. The crowd is tough, though.”
“The crowd couldn’t have been more lenient.” Ratio rises to his feet and, approaching the bed from the side – Aventurine shifts to follow him with his eyes – lies down. “Perhaps you should work on the relatability of your material.”
Oh, Ratio is the one to talk. It’s not like science concerns everyday life, but Aventurine does laugh at his jokes.
Aventurine takes off his underwear – his gaze fixed on Ratio’s fingers as they tear the package open, pull out the condom, leave the scraps on the nightstands, place the rubber on the tip and roll it all the way down to the base (each movement smooth and graceful, it takes many hours of practice in front of the mirror to achieve this kind of effortlessness – which Ratio wouldn’t waste, so he is probably natural) – then crawls closer and straddles Ratio’s hips, bracing himself on hands, positioned on his abdomen for support.
Reaching his hand behind his back, Aventurine grabs Ratio’s cock, slick with the condom lube, and lines it up with his hole. The head nudges at the muscles but ultimately slips off, smearing the slick between his buttocks.
“Don’t you want to prepare yourself first?” Ratio asks. “Or let me do it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
Aventurine appreciates that Ratio holds back a remark he is bursting with the desire to make.
He seems to find the right angle after a few failed attempts. Feels – pressure from the tip pushing into the hole, then – a burning sensation as he starts sinking down, slowly; the sheets underneath his knees glide and shift, the smooth surface offering no grip, his fingers dig into Ratio’s abdomen, his teeth – into his lip; sweat trickles down his temples, the space between the terrycloth and his skin seems blazing hot, his own arousal is out of question, he will think about it later, when the pain subsides.
“Alright, Aventurine, that’s enough.”
Aventurine feverishly shakes his head. That’s far from enough, not even close, but he is getting there. The head is the widest part, he just needs to bear with it.
Unfair – the ease with which Ratio picks up his body and transfers it to the space beside him; like it weighs nothing. A thought creeps into his mind – to try again, Ratio usually gives in to Aventurine’s determination, but pink in his cheeks can be either excitement or – the limit of his patience.
Aventurine lies down on his back and says, “If you wanted a different position, you should’ve just said so.”
The idea is to gently coax Ratio closer to where Aventurine wants him. Not necessarily exactly where he wants him, he is kind of willing to accept anything at this point, but he clearly fails to get it across, because Ratio settles on his side next to Aventurine as opposed to on top of him.
Well, now they are exactly like that poor married couple, completely clueless how to approach their spouse. One is frigid, the other would be happily never married.
“I think we should address the issue at hand.” There is no issue. Definitely none they should address. But Ratio is going to do it anyway. “Have you ever done this before?”
Adorable. As if he doesn’t have it all figured out.
“Define this.”
“Sex. Have you ever had sex?”
Sex used to be reserved for those who failed to prove their worth otherwise. His peers didn’t dare to whisper about it, but they didn’t need to. He saw men limping, their clothes stained with red, their wrists and necks bruising, new marks covering those they’d already had. Girls – the same, and in addition – with their bellies growing; eventually, he would never see them again.
Aventurine was smart enough to be worth more unscathed than he would have been – not. Smart enough to be useful.
And after he started working for the IPC – something came up. Then something else came up. Over and over, that’s the life of an IPC’s employee for you. Then the time wasn’t right, then – the music was too obnoxious, then the light was too dim, then too bright, then the sheets contained too much synthetic, then the guys were too short or too dull, or too clingy, or their sense of humor was too unsophisticated.
He rolls onto his side and, meeting Ratio’s eyes, says, “Of course I have.”
Ratio is looking at him with this gaze that suggests he doesn’t believe a single word he is saying. He is right not to; Aventurine isn’t sure whether he is completely on board with this, he likes it when Ratio blindly trusts him during the cases. But he also likes it when Ratio is smart.
“I can understand why you lied about us sleeping together. But I do not understand why you are lying right now.”
Can he? Aventurine doubts.
It starts with thoughts. With forcing yourself to think the opposite of the first thought that comes to mind just to hold on for another day, hour, minute. It’s actually quite nice to sleep under the stars, they’re beautiful instead of it’s so cold, this might be the last time I’m falling asleep. This moldy stale piece of bread actually tastes quite good instead of I’m going to throw up. Everything is going to be alright instead of nothing is ever going to be alright, things will only get worse from here.
Then, things get worse. Forcing yourself to think the opposite of the first thought that comes to mind just to hold on for another day, hour, minute, stops cutting it, but the need to survive isn’t going anywhere.
From the lowest price to the highest – thoughts, words, actions. You can’t afford the latter yet, but the words are relatively cheap. That’s how it affects the tongue; the principle is very much the same, but now you force yourself to say the opposite of what you’d rather say. Deal? instead of I am going to kill you. I’ll climb to even greater heights than you, grasp even more riches than you instead of there will come a day when I will make you watch this place burn to the ground. Everything is going to be alright instead of nothing is ever going to be alright, things will only get worse from here.
Then, things get worse. You think, you speak, you even do now, the opposite of what you intended to do, of course, still just to hold on for another day, hour, minute. And, the more you think, speak, and do, the more blurry the first thought, what you’d rather say and what you intended to do, become.
Aventurine wouldn’t exactly call it lying. But he doesn’t need to call it anything, there isn’t going to be a lengthy explanation. Ratio doesn’t understand any of this, and it should remain so. The world needs people like Ratio. People who don’t understand.
“You caught me. I’m sorry I hid it from you.” Aventurine averts his eyes. “I reckoned it wasn’t a big deal.” He fractures the last syllable with a calculated tremble. Ratio doesn’t think about what comes out of his mouth at all, never had to, if he yells at his students, he’ll still have a job tomorrow, if he insults a colleague, they’ll write a thesis and he’ll still have a job tomorrow, but – he has a soft heart. What does it feel like to carry a weapon inside your chest, Aventurine wonders.
Ratio sighs, his soft heart reflecting on his face. “I didn’t mean to imply it was a big deal. But sex isn’t had alone. It is expected to rely on your partner if you find yourself lost or confused.” Now, that’s a stretch. Aventurine was neither lost nor confused. He was well aware of what he wanted to achieve – and still is.
He reaches for Aventurine’s hair and sweeps a strand back behind his ear. Well, now it is definitely called for. Aventurine feels like his hair became all tousled – and they haven’t even done anything.
“Do you still wish to proceed?”
“Do you?”
Ratio quickly peels off the condom, places it on the nightstand, and sits up. An answer definite enough – would be, but he doesn’t leave or demand from Aventurine to leave; simply asks, “Would you mind if I took your bathrobe off?”
Again – what’s up with the question? It’s Ratio’s bathrobe, he has the right to do as he sees fit with it, may burn it for all Aventurine cares and probably should. Aventurine straightens up too, settling to face him.
Ratio smiles. Sort of. With a corner of his mouth; to think of it, Aventurine has never seen him smiling sincerely – the way he imagines sincerely – and not just sarcastically. Well, that makes two of them. And, after Aventurine smiles back – the way he imagines sincerely – leans for a kiss.
Full of surprises, isn’t he. Aventurine has assumed – a lot of things, a few proven wrong, surely there has been several he’s gotten right, he just can’t recall any as their lips entwine; as the belt around his waist loosens, and Ratio’s hands press to his chest, gently stroking it.
“Has anything ever been inserted into your rectum?” Ratio asks, barely severing the kiss.
Aventurine can’t hold back a chuckle. Hilarious, his idea of dirty talk. Exactly what Aventurine signed up for; thank goodness his amusement doesn’t discourage Ratio from continuing.
“Aside from the annual physical exam, of course.” Of course. “Toys?”
“Not really.” The idea of toys seems to him awfully pathetic. They are for loners who struggle to find a partner. Aventurine is not like that. Although he does have a couple of those plugs inlaid with gems – for aesthetic purposes.
“Fingers?”
The idea of fingers is also awfully pathetic. To chuff, to profusely soak the sheets with sweat in an attempt to find the right angle, then – in an attempt to find a position in which his limbs won’t grow numb in three minutes, then – failing at both, and in the end losing interest in chasing even the most boring of releases because the mood is off.
“Kind of.”
“Kind of,” – Ratio moves lower to kiss Aventurine’s jaw – “sounds promising. Would you like to top, perhaps?”
“Are you coddling me?
“I am being considerate. It would do you good to learn what that means.”
Lips glide across his neck, avoiding the mark. Perhaps Ratio doesn’t like it; a few would, nothing exhilarating about claiming that which has already been claimed; or, perhaps, he, again, is being considerate. He doesn’t need to, Aventurine wouldn’t mind.
“When was I anything but considered?” Aventurine weaves his fingers into Ratio’s hair.
“You clearly have no idea what it feels like to have your penis forcefully shoved into a tense sphincter.”
“And can’t even begin imagining how hard it must have been for you.” Really – poor guy; all the sympathy in the world to him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Ratio’s hand moves to his shoulders, pushing the sleeves to slide down his arms. Aventurine shivers, the air of the room that once was sweltering now is impossibly cold against his skin.
“I was waiting for the realization to come to you on its own.”
“Shouldn’t have given up so quickly, then. Not everyone is as brilliant as you are.”
“In my defense, the pain was excruciating.” He pulls away, looking at Aventurine questioningly. “So?”
Tempting. Ratio writhing under him (preferably not in pain), moaning, his face red, pupils dilated, his cock – leaking. From picturing it alone Aventurine feels – more than he did a moment ago; just when, as luck would have it, Ratio removed his hands from Aventurine’s body, and he is left, again, without a touch he craves the most.
In reality it would be – Ratio complaining through every step of the way although everything was going smoothly.
“Next time.”
Ratio nods. “I trust it that you’d cleaned yourself before coming here?”
Oh, for the love of…
Aventurine can imagine having this conversation with someone else. No one in particular, a mysterious shadowy figure, interrogating him on a similar matter. Can imagine standing up and leaving, because the mood is not simply off, it offed itself.
Their mood, though – the mood between them must be pretty persistent. An unkillable pest. Out of polite recognition of its resemblance to himself, Aventurine respects that.
“Do you want me to describe it in vivid detail or you’re good?”
“No need. One moment, please.”
He leaves – Aventurine strains his ears to the sounds, doors being opened and closed – and returns probably less than a minute after, with a box and a bottle in his hands. Ratio sets them on the bed before taking a seat and giving Aventurine a quick kiss.
“Lie down on your front.”
Commands don’t really work on Aventurine. He can pretend they do – if he is expected to – only to end up having it his way, but maybe just for today, he might do as he is told. Maybe – it will be less disastrous.
A shame he won’t be able to see Ratio.
He pulls a pillow out from under the blanket and, bringing it closer, buries his face into the plush surface.
Although Aventurine has decided to go along with Ratio’s lead, this position doesn’t seem appealing. To never turn his back to anyone is the most important lesson he’s ever learned; better to be cornered than sneaked up on. But if the events turn out so it is inevitable, then – to never let them touch it. Hands free of knives have no reason to near from behind.
This is exactly what Ratio does, bringing his palms to Aventurine’s shoulders. He has strong arms – it comes as a surprise, apparently it’s one thing to simply eye them or to be manhandled by them like a rag doll, swiftly, mind occupied with something else entirely, and another – to stay still accepting the touch, hyper-aware of each stroke.
At least his hands are warm. Hot, even. They spread warmth over Aventurine’s skin, and as he moves to another spot, the heat lingers, sunk into his muscles.
“Relax a little.”
Aventurine neither wants nor expects him to change, but would it kill him not to rub every weakness he catches a whiff of in Aventurine’s face? Probably not, but they are never going to find out.
“I am relaxed.”
Ratio hums in agreement; that sarcastic sort that usually precedes disagreement. “Like stability.”
Is it math? Engineering? He has no idea, but laughs into the pillow anyway, masking a pained hum that threatens to break free when Ratio kneads the area between his shoulder blades.
Fingers dig into the muscles in a way that seems to Aventurine more therapeutic than sensual. Not that he knows the difference. To undress in front of a person he doesn’t know, to bear with their attention towards the part of the body that should be concealed and not paraded – it all sounded very intriguing, but it’s the same old song, he simply couldn’t make time to visit a masseur, so he never did.
It’s just, if Aventurine himself was performing a massage on Ratio – he would do it differently. He would apply some oil – on his own body, too, so that upon an occasional glance, the eyes would feast. He would – tease him, altering quick brushes with deliberate caresses. Perhaps, it wouldn’t be a massage in a traditional sense, but it would slowly fill him with desire.
Like thinking about it fills Aventurine. Ratio is touching him – abundantly. But his arousal is toned down by the fact that Ratio is touching him where it matters too much.
Ratio reaches the small of his back and, patting it lightly, says, “Lift your hips.”
“You’re awfully commanding today.”
“I could not help but take advantage of the situation since you seemed to be listening to me for a change.”
So he did notice. All of it. There is a mean side to him, too, a classic – give a man an upper hand and he will bite it to the elbow.
Aventurine raises his hips, legs spread slightly, knees sliding against these stupid satin sheets as he struggles to assume a comfortable position.
Once he does, Ratio’s hands gently land on his buttocks, fondling and pulling them apart, and a warm gust of breath ghosts over his skin, slowly moving downward, brushing against the reflexively twitching hole, but doesn’t linger there, continuing it descend.
Aventurine is anticipating this touch, yet still finds himself utterly unprepared. A violent shudder rips through his body – first, from surprise; then – from the novelty, hotness, softness and wetness combined, drastically different from fingers as Ratio’s tongue runs from the taint to the tailbone, leaving Aventurine’s breath caught in his throat; then – from sensations, vivid and intense, concentrated in a single spot but washing over his body in its entirety, knocking out the years of self-control and the last coherent thought.
The violent shudder flows into a subtler shiver that settles in his limbs along with the demanding tingle that prickles his skin again, but this time Ratio is actually touching him. With his hands, holding Aventurine’s buttocks, with his tongue, circling around the hole and, occasionally, lightly pushing inside, and this is almost it, the ache is lessened where their bodies meet, but he could have done more. Could have – covered Aventurine’s body with his, pressed him into the mattress, at the very least – dug his fingers into the flesh until it started to bruise.
Everything – the tongue, the hands, the presence – suddenly ceases. How demanding the bare nerves become without it. He lets out a drawn out whine that breaks into a moan in the middle as it all – and more – resumes; the palm, the hot, wet breathing and, a stark contrast to these, fingers, coated with cold lube, entering his hole.
It seems like this is – exactly what he wanted, but still – not quite; his greatest vice, to ever chase, to sometimes catch, and to never – be satisfied, be it money, power, death or pleasure; when did it prevent him from trying, though.
Aventurine parts his legs wider, arches his back, wriggles, hips jolting in an attempt to push both the fingers and the tongue deeper, desperate yet fruitless, for Ratio’s grip is firm. Aventurine’s cock stiffens – and the sheets don’t look so stupid anymore, delightful it would be to rub his cock against the fabric, velvety and warm. Alas. All he can do is to moan into the pillow, moist and hot from his feverish, frantic gasps and sweat, squeezed tightly in the fingers sore with tension.
Despite the lack of friction, he feels he won’t last long. The pleasure twists into a tight knot in his lower abdomen, nearing the release with every passing second. Aventurine tries to stop Ratio with words, but, for the first time in his life, there is no room in his mouth for those. So, wasting the last remnants of his willpower, Aventurine unglues his trembling hand from the pillow, finds Ratio’s, and sinks his nails into the backside of his palm.
And whimpers at the loss when Ratio pulls away.
“What’s wrong?” His hand with Aventurine’s on top moves to the small of his back, gently stroking it.
Aventurine takes a deep, soothing breath, forcing himself not to think about what he was feeling just a second ago and his throbbing cock; manages so-so, but good enough to blurt out, his voice shaky, “I’ll come if you keep going.”
“You should have just gone ahead.”
“And be left without the main dish?”
“This is sex, not your favorite restaurant.” A questionable statement overall, but the last part is true. Aventurine’s favorite restaurant wouldn’t scold him for eating dessert with a soup spoon, nor would it ask questions save from the usual, was everything to your liking? And, of course, it wouldn’t rudely point out the fact that Aventurine didn’t even consider dining in any other restaurant after laying his eyes on this one. “There is no main dish.”
“Maybe to you there isn’t.”
Ratio sighs, sliding his hand from under Aventurine’s. “I will go rinse my mouth. Use this time to calm down.”
When the sound of footsteps quietens and gives way to that of the running water, Aventurine flips the pillow over and rolls onto his back.
He doesn’t really take Ratio’s advice. Aventurine doesn’t need to calm down, he needs – as close as he can for as long as it lasts.
Bringing his fingers, weakened by a tremble, to his arm, he runs them from the wrist to the shoulder, watching as the skin bristles with goosebumps; then moves his flat palm to the not heaving anymore but still struggling to accept the oxygen chest – and, from there, lower, pressing firmly into the skin, dragging his nails through it until he reaches the hips, cold again.
His own touch doesn’t feel particularly exciting. Never has.
Fortunately, Ratio doesn’t make him wait for too long. He stops by the bed, looking down at Aventurine, his throat working in a swallow while his gaze is traveling over Aventurine’s body. As if he likes what he sees. Aventurine would really like him to like what he sees.
“Still want to ride me?”
“You start. I’ll take over later.”
Aventurine spreads his legs, slightly bending them; Ratio settles in between and moves over him, positioning himself on top, one hand landing softly on Aventurine’s cheek while the other rests beside his head, bringing their faces within a breath of each other and – closer than a breath when Ratio kisses him.
Guided by that itch, nerves bare, singing, screaming, a greedy, yearning tingle, almost an ache, capable of being alleviated only by a touch where it would matter or in a greater amount, Aventurine wraps his hands around Ratio’s body and squeezes Ratio’s sides with his knees, drawing him as near as he can. The embrace probably hurts Ratio like it hurts him, bones digging into skin and muscles, but he doesn’t protest.
And this is it. How odd, though, that among all the things they have done today, this one feels so different from the rest.
Aventurine has to release him eventually. It’s nice – and not what they both are here for.
Ratio doesn’t hasten to withdraw; he does break away from the kiss, but stays hovering above him, caressing Aventurine’s cheek. Facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes, who in their right mind being in the room with Ratio would choose to gaze at anything other than him – but, perhaps, this fantasy of his has also turned out to be beyond his capabilities.
This is… too intimate. Too personal. For two colleagues who just decided to fuck.
“Having a second thought?”
Absolutely nothing is written over Aventurine’s face, he knows it for a fact. Has stared at his reflection in the mirror for such a long time that now he is always as if watching himself from a distance. Must be – Ratio being considerate again.
“Now you are definitely coddling me. Do your worst.”
Ratio nods or, perhaps, simply rubs his nose against Aventurine’s cheek and, after giving him a quick kiss, pulls away.
He strokes his half-erect cock, brings it to hardness, puts on the condom, liberally lubes up the shaft, and moves closer, lower, spreading his own legs wider, the underside of Aventurine’s thigh presses to his, hot and moist from sweat; taking Aventurine’s ankle in his hand, the thumb circling the bone, Ratio’s lifts his leg, forcing him to angle his pelvis. Not particularly comfortable, but Aventurine will get used to it, there is little he can’t get used to. Ratio’s fingers slide into his hole, probably checking if he is open enough. He is. At least, he feels like it. Perhaps, too open.
“Tell me it gets too unpleasant.”
It’s not too unpleasant. Just – unusual. Ratio’s cock, hot and heavy, pushes inside, gradually filling him, while his hand is stroking Aventurine’s legs, thighs, hips; he is moving agonizingly slowly, his palm shifting to Aventurine’s abdomen – then, without a warning, he curls his fingers around Aventurine cock, sliding up and down.
And hot white drops land on his skin as Aventurine gasps for air, surrendering control over his body to the omnipresent tremor. Just like that, no drawn out buildup, no orchestra, no fireworks, no red carpet, no applause.
As if he is lying in his own bed, bored to death, he’s already watched every cat video out there, but still isn’t tired enough to fall asleep. So he puts the phone aside and touches himself, and closes his eyes, thinking about something, the top quality fabric of his pajama, its golden accents, the aroma of the honey scented perfume his room is bathed in; then – thinking about someone. About models in the magazines, about actors in soap operas, about joggers, may they escape what they are running from. And then he comes, sharply, no drawn out buildup, no orchestra, no fireworks, no red carpet, no applause, and, without opening his eyes, caring not that his sperm is going to dry up and make him feel disgusted – and a little guilty, how an accidental reminder of sex in an everyday life often does, he’s read – tomorrow morning, falls asleep.
“Don’t pull out,” Aventurine says, because Ratio is – starting to pull out. He hasn’t yet, still hot and heavy inside him, but now – unpleasantly. But it doesn’t matter. What’s the point in all this if Ratio doesn’t come.
“It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. Humiliating is what it is. Even more blood streams to his face, and here Aventurine thought he has forgotten what shame is.
Ratio lies down, his hand is on his cock – and now it’s not only simply humiliating, but straight up insulting; to have a warm, willing body right next to him and to miserably fuck his own fist, like…
Aventurine turns to face him, bringing his hand to the condom rim. He can’t imagine it’s pleasant to wear it. His fingers slide along the drenched in lube rubber, trying to hook the edge with his nails, but slipping the moment he thinks he has finally got it.
With a sigh – and ease – Ratio takes the rubber off, placing it next to the first one.
Ratio’s crazy stalker – he definitely has a couple – rummaging through his thrash tomorrow upon finding the condoms will conclude he had an eventful night. How sorely mistaken they will be.
Aventurine jerks him off roughly, sharply. The same way he would jerk himself off if he was alone. There is no time for pleasantries now, no time for games, no time for giving pleasure. Just a quick release. Ratio has earned it. To be so patient and attentive, and to receive in return – nothing. At least, this.
Ratio closes his eyes, clutches the sheets beneath him and, knitting his brows together, comes into Aventurine’s hand, letting out a low moan, the marble of his face reddening.
Well, that was… And then, it wasn’t. Good at times with the ending the most anticlimactic. Definitely not what Aventurine expected; and it’s not like he expected much, just – a little fun. And, maybe, to be able to say exactly what he’d rather say after thinking the first thought that comes to mind – that it was great – next time he sees Ratio.
He’ll still say it was great.
Aventurine rubs his fingers, stained with sperm, together, watching as the white moves between them, and says, “It’s time for me to go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s late. You are probably exhausted.”
But them’s the rules, no? This is how it goes in the movies. Not in porn – there is nothing of this sort in porn, in porn the world ceases with an orgasm. In the movies about people like him; rather – similar to him in terms of a mindset, not a single director is enamored with the life of a senior manager. Businessmen in expensive suits, corporate attorneys, corrupt politicians, and those women who steal hearts as professionally as they steal wallets. They all – fuck, then scram before it becomes awkward.
“I’m not.” He could move mountains. Or stand up – if he had no choice but to. “But thanks for your concern.”
“More of a reason for you to stay. In my experience, the entire process tends to go much more smoothly during a second attempt.”
“You want to do it again?” Aventurine raises a brow.
“Why are you surprised? What happened to a man who was so confident I wanted to sleep with him when he was manipulating me into it?”
What could have happened to a man who didn’t exist, truly.
“It almost sounds bad when you put it like that.”
But if Ratio insists – who is Aventurine to refuse. He has always found it a little difficult – to say no to him, despite what Ratio might think.
Must be something they have in common.