Work Text:
In a grimy alley scrawled with rats and riddled with puddles that shimmered under flickering neon, Aventurine slumped against a damp brick wall, just outside the back door of a rundown gambling den. The stench of stale alcohol and urine mixed with something metallic — blood, probably his. The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the ground still gleamed with filth.
He looked down at his legs. Left knee shattered. Right ankle broken. Courtesy of a metal bat swung by someone he’d pissed off inside — apparently betting something he didn’t actually possess was a punishable offense. Who knew?
He scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter.
So much for luck. The same luck that once danced in his favor across entire star systems had chosen now — this planet, this night — to abandon him completely. He couldn't even summon his shields to defend himself. Nothing.
Looks like the Amber Lord doesn’t have his reach here.
He brought the base of his palm to his face, smearing blood from his nose across his cheek in a thick, rust-colored streak. His whole face throbbed, swollen and bruised. His right eye was nearly swollen shut.
Pain radiated through every nerve when he tried to shift. He winced, body stiff and soaked, legs screaming in protest. For a brief, pathetic moment, he wondered if this was it — if he’d die on this backwater planet called Earth, on a nameless street no one would remember.
Footsteps echoed nearby.
Aventurine’s heart stuttered. He tensed. Maybe someone from the den had followed him. Maybe they were here to finish the job.
“I leave you alone for one day.”
That voice. Clipped. Calm. Entirely unimpressed.
Of course he’d find me.
Aventurine let out a shaky breath, trying for something close to a grin. “How I’ve missed you, dear Doctor.”
Ratio stepped into view, the alley's dim lighting casting shadows across his face. He looked absurdly clean, dressed in a crisp suit and tie — not unlike the one Aventurine had worn earlier to blend in. Only Ratio’s was still intact.
Aventurine’s jacket was somewhere back inside. Probably stomped into the floor.
Ratio carried a sleek briefcase, the kind that made him look ridiculously like one of those goons The Family employed. But then again, Ratio looked good in anything. That was part of the problem.
“Did you lose everything?”
Aventurine rolled his head back against the wall, exhaling through his nose. “Do I look like someone who doubled our budget?”
Ratio sighed and glanced toward the night sky. “So the Aeons really have no reach here. Something is… blocking their gaze.”
“Always glad to be your test subject for your theories, Doctor.”
Aventurine tried to laugh, but it came out wrong — wet, raw — and ended in a cough that brought blood to his lips.
Ratio crouched beside him, eyes flicking over his injuries with cold efficiency. “Can you stand?” The tone suggested inconvenience more than concern.
Aventurine tilted his head, lashes fluttering in mock innocence. “Not really.”
Ratio didn’t sigh this time. He just reached down and hauled Aventurine up with practiced ease, slinging one of his arms over his shoulders.
“Wait— Ah— careful—”
He didn’t protest further. Ratio adjusted him effortlessly, carrying him on his back with surprising care, making sure his legs were supported on either side. Aventurine froze at the warmth against him, the closeness, the absolute humiliation. He stiffened, resisting the instinct to rest his head against Ratio’s shoulder.
They emerged from the alley into the fluorescent buzz of the city. People were everywhere — the street pulsing with neon signs for bars, casinos, pachinko parlors, and cheap hotels. Businessmen loosened their ties. Women in tight skirts laughed into glowing phones. The air reeked of cigarettes and wet asphalt.
They didn’t stand out. Not really. To passersby, it probably looked like someone hauling their drunk coworker home after a bad night out.
And in another world — quite literally — Aventurine would’ve belonged in a place like this. Lounging in smoky casinos. Betting fortunes he didn’t care about. Laughing with strangers who’d never know his name.
But not tonight.
To distract himself from the weight of being carried like a child, he muttered, “Earthlings sure are fond of love hotels. Why don’t you take me to one, Ratio~”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“…Huh?”
Ratio made a sharp turn down a side street, heading straight toward an establishment glowing with neon hearts and pink lighting. The kind with hourly rates and no questions asked.
“Wait. I was joking—”
“I’m not carrying you all the way back to the ship,” Ratio said plainly.
He stepped up to the counter, where a frosted divider shielded the attendant’s face for privacy.
“One room,” Ratio said.
A key slid through the small opening beneath the divider. Ratio bent forward slightly, adjusting his grip so Aventurine could reach it. “Take it.”
Aventurine stared. Hesitated. Then sighed and took the key from the tray.
He didn’t say thank you.
He just clutched it tightly and held on.
Inside the small, dimly lit room, Ratio lowered Aventurine onto the edge of the bed with deliberate care. The mattress gave a soft creak beneath his weight.
Ratio set his briefcase down on the desk nearby and unlatched it without a word, fingers moving with precision as he searched for something inside.
“Take off your pants.”
Aventurine nearly choked.
Ratio didn’t even glance at him. He pulled out a bottle of Healing Spray and shook it once.
Oh.
Aventurine grumbled but did as he was told, carefully sliding his pants down past bruised thighs, trying not to wince. The fabric scraped against his knee and lit every nerve on fire. He hissed. Ratio, still maddeningly calm, crouched in front of him and helped tug the fabric the rest of the way off.
Now in only his boxers, Aventurine leaned back on his elbows, flushed from both pain and shame.
Tonight was just a parade of humiliations — every moment more degrading than the last. And of course it all had to happen in front of this man. This smug, insufferable man.
Then again… if he were being honest, there was no one else he’d rather have seen him like this. Ratio always saw through him anyway. There was no use pretending.
Ratio knelt in front of him, shaking the Healing Spray again. He aimed it at the knee — and sprayed.
Aventurine flinched, jerking instinctively at the sting. “Tch—! That’s not supposed to hurt.”
It wasn’t. The effect should’ve been instant. A cooling numbness, followed by rapid regeneration. But the pain lingered — sharp, deep, very much still broken.
Ratio stared at the injury like it was a particularly interesting data point. “Hm.”
Aventurine narrowed his eyes. “What’s the verdict, Doctor? Am I dying?”
Ratio didn’t answer right away. He turned his attention to Aventurine’s other leg, lifting his foot and resting it carefully on his lap. He reached for the hem of his sock — green and checkered, still mostly intact — and slowly slid it down.
Aventurine blinked. The gesture shouldn’t have felt… intimate.
He looked away.
Ratio studied the bruised ankle, then shook the spray again and applied it. Aventurine winced but held still.
“This confirms it,” Ratio murmured. “It isn’t just the Aeons. Our items don’t function properly here — or at least, not efficiently. Something is suppressing their efficacy.”
He ran his thumb in slow circles across Aventurine’s foot, soothing the ache in measured, practiced motions.
“You’ll be fine,” he said simply. “It’s still working… just takes more time.”
His hand shifted slightly — from clinical to gentle. The massage was subtle but thorough, and it sent heat crawling up Aventurine’s spine and into his ears.
Aventurine grabbed the nearest pillow and dropped it onto his lap. Casually.
Ratio chuckled — quiet and smug — but said nothing. He kept massaging, eyes never leaving Aventurine’s face.
Aventurine’s heart thundered.
Ratio’s hand moved again, brushing near the edge of the swollen ankle — and pain shot through his leg. Reflex took over.
His leg jerked, and his foot snapped up—
—straight into Ratio’s face.
Ratio grunted in pain and stumbled back, clutching his nose. Aventurine doubled over, groaning, hands gripping his ankle.
They stayed like that for a moment, both reeling.
Ratio straightened slowly. His jaw was tight. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket, unfastened his tie, and tossed both onto the desk.
Aventurine watched him, biting his cheek. Only Ratio could make mundane gestures look so…
Is he seriously going to have his way with me like this? Aventurine thought, wild and flustered.
He wasn’t… opposed.
But Ratio just picked up a small towel, sprayed it with the same Healing solution, and turned around.
Then, without ceremony, he tossed it at Aventurine’s face.
“Clean yourself up,” he said coolly. “You’re dripping blood all over.”
Aventurine caught the towel with a grumble.
But he pressed it to his face anyway. The warmth was fading now, replaced by the slow ache of bruises and exhaustion.
Still, for the first time that night… he didn’t feel like he was dying.
Ratio sat on the chair by the desk with the kind of practiced ease that made him look like he belonged in every room. He crossed one leg over the other and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, as if they weren’t holed up in a seedy Earthside love hotel.
“I’ve tracked down the Curio,” he said without looking up. “It’s being sold at an auction tomorrow.”
Aventurine held the towel to his nose, trying to stifle the blood and his pride. His voice came out flat. “And we’re winning the auction how, exactly?”
He didn’t need to be reminded that he’d already blown through their budget — recklessly, spectacularly — chasing the high of one loss after another.
“I’ll cover it,” Ratio said.
That made Aventurine pause. He lowered the towel slightly and arched a brow. “Oh? Didn’t know you were feeling generous, Doctor. We’ll surely reimburse you when we get back.”
Ratio gave the faintest shrug. “It piqued my curiosity as well. I haven’t found any trace of how it ended up here, but assuming it functions as theorized, it should’ve had world-altering effects the moment it landed.”
Aventurine’s gaze drifted to the window, neon lights filtering through the slats like a fever dream. “But seeing as we’re still alive and Earth’s still… Earth…”
“Curios have no effect on this planet either,” Ratio said, echo the obvious.
There was a beat of silence between them. The air in the room was still, humming only with the faint buzz of the hotel lights.
“Hm,” Ratio murmured. “Rest up. We have a full day tomorrow.”
He stood, already turning toward the bathroom without waiting for a response. A moment later, Aventurine heard the door click shut and the soft hiss of water starting behind it.
For a second, Aventurine just lay there, blinking at the ceiling.
A spark of envy lit low in his chest. A shower didn’t sound half-bad. In fact, it sounded like a dream. But with the state of his body, it might as well have been miles away.
He winced as he reached up, unbuttoning his bloodstained shirt and peeling it off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud. Fortunately, his undershirt was still clean — or clean enough. He didn’t have the energy to care.
Pain bloomed down his legs as he shifted in bed, gritting his teeth as he painstakingly lifted them up, one at a time, onto the mattress. The blanket remained untouched. He didn’t dare let the fabric scrape over his injuries.
The sound of the shower continued — steady, comforting, distant.
Aventurine closed his eyes.
And with nothing left to say, and no strength left to spend, he let the sound lull him into sleep.
Aventurine woke to darkness.
For a moment, he didn’t recognize the ceiling above him — low, unfamiliar, gently flickering with pale neon from the street outside. Then he realized he was warm. Unusually warm.
There was a blanket draped over him.
He blinked, turning his head slowly. Ratio was beside him. Under the same blanket.
Of course he was facing away.
Of course.
Aventurine stared at the line of Ratio’s back, trying to process the surrealness of the moment. A love hotel. Earth. Injured. Sharing a blanket with Ratio.
And now, apparently, he had to piss.
He cursed the entire planetary system and whatever bartender gave him that last drink.
Painfully, he shifted, pulling the blanket off and pushing himself upright. Every movement sent fresh aches radiating through his body. He gritted his teeth, groaning softly as he maneuvered to the edge of the bed.
Using the nearby chair as leverage, he pushed himself up to stand.
The moment weight hit his ankle, a jolt of white-hot pain tore through him.
“Fuck.”
“...What are you doing?”
Aventurine startled, snapping his head toward the bed — Ratio was now looking up at him, expression unreadable, voice tinged with sleep.
“Bathroom,” Aventurine croaked, attempting a casual tone that failed miserably under the strain of his body.
Ratio sighed and sat up.
“I can do it, don’t worry, I—”
He shifted again, putting weight down without thinking, and slammed a fist onto the desk with a loud crack.
“Fuck!”
Wordlessly, Ratio stood and walked over.
A moment later, Aventurine found himself draped over Ratio’s shoulder, half-hopping, half-dragged toward the bathroom in a graceless shuffle of pain and gritted teeth.
He expected a lecture. A sigh. A “you brought this on yourself.”
But Ratio said nothing. No scolding. No smug commentary. Just quiet, steady support. Step by agonizing step.
It almost made it worse.
They reached the bathroom. Ratio guided him to the counter and let go, watching as Aventurine leaned forward, one hand braced against the sink, the other against the cold tile wall.
“I’ll be outside,” Ratio said. “Call when you’re done.”
Then he left.
Aventurine stared at the toilet like it had personally wronged him.
This was a new low.
Both hands occupied keeping himself upright, legs screaming, pride in shambles — he didn’t even know how to do this.
He shifted, slowly letting go of the wall to free a hand. The moment he did, his weight fell slightly toward his injured knee.
Pain. Immediate.
“Ghh—!”
From outside, Ratio’s voice: “Everything well?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, uhh—” Aventurine swallowed, face burning.
The door opened again. Ratio stepped inside. He assessed the situation — Aventurine, still half-standing, still fully struggling — and raised a brow.
“Could you help me…” Aventurine cleared his throat. “Sit down?”
There was a beat of silence. Ratio just stared at him, silent, as if he needed a moment to truly comprehend what had just been asked.
Aventurine wanted to crawl into a wall and vanish. He wanted the Aeons to smite him on the spot.
Ratio, still unreadable, stepped forward.
But instead of helping him sit down, Ratio’s hands moved differently. He circled his arms around Aventurine’s waist, slipping under his shirt — fingers cool against feverish skin, trailing lightly down his abdomen.
Aventurine inhaled sharply. “What’re you—”
Ratio didn’t answer. He rested his chin on Aventurine’s shoulder, unbothered, like they were discussing the weather. One hand held his shirt up, the other dipped lower, pulling down his waistband — freeing him.
Heat rushed violently to Aventurine’s face. “Ratio—!”
Ratio’s hand settled around his soft length. Just held it. Like it was the most clinical, ordinary thing in the world.
“Well?”
No, no, no— You really think I can go like this??
He said nothing. Couldn’t. He was frozen, trembling, shame already curling like a fist in his chest.
Then Ratio moved.
A slow stroke. Gentle. Intentional. Maddening.
“Ngh— I can’t—” Aventurine choked, leaning against the counter as his legs buckled.
“Do you want my help,” Ratio murmured, “or should I leave?”
His thumb pressed lightly on the tip. A shiver crawled up Aventurine’s spine. He was getting hard. He couldn’t stop it.
And then—
He pissed.
Right there, with Ratio holding him. With heat and humiliation battling for dominance in his brain. With pleasure lingering just beneath the surface like a threat.
When it was over, Ratio wordlessly pulled his boxers back up and let go. “Was that so hard?” he said, already turning to the sink to wash his hands like it was nothing. Like he didn’t just handle him like that.
“You—” Aventurine stared, mouth open, but the words didn’t come. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger. Humiliation. Frustration. Ratio hadn’t even finished him. He was still hard.
Maddening. This man was maddening.
But he held his tongue. For once.
Ratio returned, slung Aventurine’s arm over his shoulder again, and helped him hobble back to bed. Still wordless. Still calm. He set Aventurine down gently, then climbed onto his side and pulled the blanket up, facing away. Again.
Aventurine stared at the ceiling. Then the back of Ratio’s head.
He wanted to laugh. The nerve of him.
He groaned softly, shifting with effort until he was lying on his side, facing the opposite direction.
He would never speak of this night. Ever.
He would erase it from memory, lock it in a vault, throw it into a black hole.
But the ache between his legs said otherwise.
Aeons damn you, Ratio.
With a curse under his breath, Aventurine slid his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Just a few strokes, quick and quiet. He bit down on his knuckles to keep from making a sound, but a moan still escaped.
He pictured the hand that held him — the smooth pressure, the way Ratio’s thumb pressed just right on the slit — just like he always did when they shared nights like… well. Not like this one.
His eyes fluttered shut.
And then—
A hand.
Sliding under his shirt. Settling over his stomach. Warm breath at his nape. A tongue, dragging slowly along his neck.
“Hah.. Ratio…” Aventurine panted.
“You could’ve just asked,” came the whisper at his ear.
Ratio’s hand slid lower. Found his, and closed over it. Together, they stroked.
The sensation was overwhelming.
Ratio’s hand around his, stroking him in rhythm, was one thing. But his lips on Aventurine’s neck—light, open-mouthed kisses that sent electricity down his spine—blurred everything else. Every sound Aventurine made came out fractured: moans, whimpers, broken gasps that barely held their shape.
He was already close when he felt something firm press between his cheeks, grinding slowly against him—deliberate, unhurried.
“Do you want this, Gambler?” Ratio’s voice was velvet, low and steady. He let go of Aventurine’s cock and instead gripped his ribs.
“Ngh— Yes—” the word tore out of him.
Ratio’s fingers flexed, squeezing harder—and Aventurine winced.
Ratio froze. Then, quietly, he pulled back. Sat up. Gently lifted Aventurine’s shirt and saw the blooming bruise along his side.
He leaned down and kissed it. “Sorry.”
Aventurine flushed, throat tight. He could never get used to this. The way Ratio was in bed—controlled, merciless when he wanted to be, but also this. Tender in ways that felt personal. Private. Real. It made his stomach flip. It made something crawl up his chest and nest just behind his heart.
Ratio moved to the edge of the bed, reaching for something on the nightstand. Aventurine tried to turn, to see—but Ratio was already back, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he said softly.
Aventurine nodded, barely breathing.
He felt his boxers slide down, then slick fingers brushing his rim. He braced, gripping the sheets, as Ratio slowly worked him open—one finger, then two—filling him in aching, deliberate increments.
All the while, Ratio kissed down his spine. His shoulder. The space between. Each one soft. Each one undoing him.
Then he felt it—Ratio pressing inside.
Aventurine let out a low moan, breath hitching as he buried his face in the pillow. Every time. No matter how long they spent apart, no matter what they were to each other on paper, in public—they always came back to this. Like it was inevitable.
Ratio set a slow rhythm, easing in and out with measured control. One arm looped under Aventurine’s, and his hand found his again—twining their fingers together like a promise.
Tears pricked at Aventurine’s eyes. He was glad Ratio couldn’t see. Some of it was pain, yes, but the rest?
The rest was worse.
Because when Ratio held him like this—this—it shattered something. It rewired the part of his brain that had always been braced for disappointment. For the deal to go south. For the house to win.
He lived life with teeth clenched, a smile painted on like armor. Nothing real lasted, nothing soft survived. He knew this.
But Ratio held him like he believed otherwise. Like softness didn’t have to be punished.
And it wrecked him.
Ratio leaned down and bit his shoulder—that bite, the one Aventurine knew meant he was close—and he felt Ratio’s hand slide down, wrap around him again, stroking in time with his thrusts.
Their moans tangled. The wet, low sound of skin on skin, the deep, broken noise Ratio made at the back of his throat—it all drove Aventurine mad.
Because those noises were his.
Only his.
Or… so he wanted to believe. That was a dangerous thought. One he kept locked up behind steel vault doors, buried deep. He didn’t let himself look directly at it. Not now.
Now was what mattered.
And now—
Ratio came inside him with a groan that shook through his chest. Aventurine followed seconds later, helpless to stop it, spilling into Ratio’s hand as his body arched.
It should’ve ended there. Ratio would pull away, clean up, turn over and sleep like nothing happened. Detached. Predictable. Safe.
But this time, he didn’t.
He kissed Aventurine’s temple again. Then lay beside him and draped an arm carefully across his waist—mindful of the bruise.
He tucked his head into the crook of Aventurine’s neck.
Aventurine’s breath stuttered. He was still dazed, heart racing, legs shaking—and Ratio held him.
He reached for the hand on his waist. Intertwined their fingers again.
Ratio squeezed back.
And Aventurine’s heart skipped. Stumbled. Tried to catch itself and failed.
Maybe he didn’t need Qlipoth’s gaze to prove he was worth something.
Maybe he just needed this.
The next morning, Aventurine was feeling much better. He still moved slow, though he tried not to show it. The Healing Spray had done its job enough for him to walk without collapsing, but every step still tugged at bruises he didn’t want Ratio to notice.
They’d showered and cleaned up. Dressed like professionals again. There was no mention of the night before.
There never was.
It had always been that way—like a silent understanding built between layers of tension and routine. No need to ruin it by defining it.
Ratio reapplied the spray on Aventurine’s wounds. His hands moved carefully, precisely. He didn’t meet his eyes, but his touch was gentle. When he was done, he uncapped a bottle and handed it over wordlessly.
Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Jim Roger Bread Soda?”
“Just in case.”
“I’m already feeling better,” he said, taking the bottle anyway. “Isn’t this an overdose?”
“It’s fine,” Ratio replied, deadpan. “I know someone who chugs this one after the other until—and I quote—his ‘health bar’ is full.”
Aventurine laughed, surprised by it. “I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“There could only be one. Take it.”
He drank it. It fizzed against his tongue, sharp and sweet and almost too artificial to be useful—but he drank it anyway. It didn’t really help with the ache in his legs or the knot deep in his muscles, but it made him feel a little more stable. No matter. They were finishing the job today. Soon, they’d be off this planet, back to their… separate places.
He swallowed hard. A part of him cursed Ratio for finding the Curio so fast.
“It’s a good thing you have funds for the auction,” he said, glancing sideways. “You didn’t expect me to blow our budget, did you?”
“I considered the possibility. Earth has its own rules, and I wasn’t sure what still applied.”
“And yet you didn’t stop me?”
Ratio stared at him. “Would I have succeeded?”
Aventurine laughed. “Fair.”
Ratio handed him his jacket next. Aventurine slipped it on, eyes flicking down at the dried blood stains on his shirt. The coat hung looser than his own, brushing his wrists and hips—but it was warm. And wearing the Doctor’s clothes… carried a strange kind of intimacy that curled low in his chest.
Not that he would ever mention it.
They made their way to the auction with practiced calm. Neither looked particularly out of place, even with the slight hitch in Aventurine’s steps. The bidding itself was brief—clean, precise, and ultimately successful.
The moment the case was handed over to them, Aventurine nudged Ratio with his elbow. “Well?”
Ratio cracked it open slightly, inspecting the artifact within, his eyes scanning every ridge and embedded seal.
“It’s real,” he said at last. “Suppressed, but it’s genuine. I’ll have to ask Herta to study it—see why it didn’t take effect—”
Aventurine reached over and snapped the case shut, his gloved fingers brushing the latch with finality. “IPC property, dear Doctor. I was asked to bring it back, and that’s all I’m gonna do.”
Ratio looked at him, one brow slightly raised.
“If you want to study it more,” Aventurine added smoothly, “you’ll have to put in a request.”
Ratio let out a quiet breath. Not quite a sigh. “Of course.”
He didn’t argue. That wasn’t his role. He’d been asked to accompany Aventurine, to verify the artifact’s authenticity, nothing more.
Still, Aventurine felt the need to say, “Although, you did do most of the work.”
Ratio didn’t answer. He simply turned toward the exit and said, “Let’s report back.”
They rode a cab to the outskirts of town, where the forest loomed like a wall of green. The request earned them a suspicious glance from the driver, but a generous tip silenced it quickly enough.
They walked the rest of the way through the trees until they reached their ship—still cloaked, or it should’ve been. Instead, it shimmered oddly, like its camouflage was glitching, flickering between visibility and static.
What once seemed like faulty tech now made sense.
There was something about Earth—something in its air or gravity or rules—that bent what they knew. Made the familiar feel distant.
They boarded the ship and launched without incident. As soon as they hit hyperspeed and broke free of Earth’s galaxy, a sudden heaviness settled over Aventurine.
He blinked slowly, sluggish and dazed, like he was high and the gravity had thickened.
Ratio glanced at him and chuckled under his breath. “It’s the soda. Don’t fight it.”
Aventurine groaned. His thoughts felt slow, unspooling in tangled threads. His hand reached out on instinct.
Ratio took it.
His touch was warm. Steady. It made Aventurine’s heart beat faster—too fast for something that was supposed to be casual.
Sometimes, he wished Ratio would just reject him. Put an end to the ambiguity, draw a line in the sand. Make it simple.
But he never did.
“Last night…” Aventurine’s words came out slurred. He never got drunk—not easily—and he was a heavy drinker. Maybe this was what it felt like, to unravel. To break the silent agreement they'd always kept, to never speak of their shared nights. But right now, his words had a will of their own. “You didn’t.. kiss me.. Last night.”
Ratio raised an eyebrow, his thumb gently brushing Aventurine’s knuckles. “Oh?” he said, amused. “I quite recall I kissed you plenty.”
Aventurine scowled, forcing his eyes to stay open. He squeezed Ratio’s hand, tugging him closer—not that he had much strength left.
Ratio leaned in anyway.
Their faces were close now. Aventurine’s gaze dropped to his lips, and for once, he didn’t hide it.
Ratio kissed him—unhurried and deliberate. A long, tender press of lips that made everything else fall away.
When they parted, Ratio was still wearing that insufferably amused smile. “Happy now, my dear Gambler?”
Aventurine didn’t have the energy to reply. He nodded, just once.
Ratio gave a soft laugh and placed one last kiss on his forehead. “Rest.”
And just before sleep claimed him, Aventurine thought vaguely:
How the hell does the Trailblazer chug that soda one after another?