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Aventurine wouldn’t have invited Veritas for drinks if he knew that the wine he bought was apparently far better working for his species.
“Okay, doc. I think you’ve had enough.” The words roll off of his tongue easily, despite the fact that they fall a little awkwardly on the way out.
He watches the man who sits beside him on his couch carefully. Normally, he’d have the decency to hide his staring. Normally, there aren’t two and a half glasses of wine in his stomach and there isn’t a drunk Veritas Ratio sitting beside him.
The man is.. well, not the pristine sight that he usually is. His hair is messy and his glasses have been lost at some point from how many times he’s taken them off to rub at his eyes– he makes a mental note to help him look for them later. He knows very well just how important they are to the man, even if he’s wealthy enough to easily replace them– from some emotion he can’t quite place. His face is flushed, pupils dilated enough that the golden rims around them are even more beautiful than normal. Not to mention that his robes have been thrown over the back of his couch. Not that he’s complaining. The white and blue look good against red. His muscles also look good.
“Hm?” The noise is quiet and small, so unlike the normal Veritas that demands attention with how loudly he acts that something stirs within his chest. He ignores that feeling in favor of watching him lean forward, wine threatening to flow over the edge of his wineglass and onto the expensive white carpet below. Aventurine finds that he cares less about the carpet and more about the shine on his plush lips.
“You’ve overindulged yourself, doc. I think that it’s time to put the wine down for tonight.” He smiles, the action easy and soft and real in a way that most of his smiles aren’t. But that’s the thing with Veritas: they’re friends and fake behavior and performances have almost entirely been torn down because of how close they have gotten. While performance is safe, Veritas has also accepted him when he is not performing. It’s a choice now. He chooses not to act.
“It’s.. it’s only the third glass, gambler.” The sound of Veritas stumbling over his words, the slight slur as they leave shining lips make his chest feel light. He exhales a laugh through his nose, a soft breath that fills the air between them. His penthouse is very commonly cold. It’s not now with how close they are, with how their legs have been pressing against each other for the past twenty minutes.
“It’s the fourth, actually.” He laughs, a smile spreading across his lips as he looks over at him. He watches as the man’s face dissolves into surprise, those sunset eyes widening at his words as his brows raise up. The sight is cute. Normally, Veritas cannot be described as cute. Normally, he isn’t the one being told that he has had too much to drink.
He breathes a sigh through his nose, unsure of whether it is caused by exasperation or fondness. Either way, his hand comes up and oh so gently wraps around Veritas’ own where they are wrapped around the handle of the wineglass. The fabric of his gloves are thin and he can feel the way that the man’s body warmth begins to seep through them and into his own skin. He thinks that he likes it.
He watches closely as the man’s face scrunches up at the gentle touch, as the man’s lips purse and his shoulders shift and Aventurine cannot help the way that he tracks the shift of muscles beneath skin as he does so. He shakes his head lightly, trying to rein his focus back onto the glass within the man’s hold, on the way that such a hold has only gotten tighter after his words. It makes him smile harder, something soft flooding his chest.
“Come on, Veritas, let me have the glass?” He speaks, tone mockingly sweet in a way that he knows will have the man’s face turn brooding and annoyed and it will chase that soft feeling in his chest away. At least, he expects that to happen. Only Veritas is late for the cue and his eyes merely flick downwards to his mouth with such intensity that he can feel it go dry, that he feels his tongue turn heavy.
“You’re certain?” Veritas’ voice is rough and gravelly and it makes his stomach do swoops that under any other circumstances would cause him worry. He cannot bring himself to worry however when the circumstances are currently this, when everything is safe and soft and warm in a way that time with Veritas always is. He bites his cheek. He resists the urge to squirm where he sits.
“Absolutely, doctor.” He responds far more steadily than he actually feels, his tongue darting out to try and wet his lips despite how dry his mouth suddenly is. He watches as Veritas’ lips curl up into a small smug little smile, something in those sunset eyes sparking with a light he doesn’t know the meaning of. He doesn’t know the meaning but he does know that he cannot look away.
He watches as Veritas’ hand moves as if in slow motion, watches the flex of the muscles in his arm as he moves without the usual grace and elegance that he typically has. He finds that the man does still retain the purpose that he moves with and with the way that those sunset eyes are so honed in and focused on solely him, it makes his stomach swoop. He lets the man move, even if it takes his own hand with him.
He can’t stop glancing between the flex of muscles and those sparkling eyes that make him feel a little bit pinned down. He watches as Veritas’ tongue darts out to finally lap up the shine of wine on his lips and almost deliriously, he wishes that it was his own tongue. The thought makes him feel warm, makes him squirm where he sits and he hopes that the man does not pick up on it.
“Here.” The word is nearly rasped out from the doctor’s mouth and Aventurine is suddenly all too acutely aware of the fact that there is glass pressing against his lips, that the glass is warm from the lips of the man beside him and suddenly his heart is in his throat. He thinks that his breathing may be coming in just a bit more quickly than it normally does. The thought makes his head nearly spin.
Aventurine has options here. He could laugh this off, tell the man that he’s being silly and needs to go rest. He should tell him that; should guide him to the guest room and give him a glass of water to sober him up and maybe tie his hair up in the process– it’s gotten long lately– so he doesn’t get too warm because he runs hot. He could also tell him that he is crossing boundaries but he is not. The third option is the most tantalizing, is the thing that calls out to him to sink his teeth into and feast like never before.
He chooses the third option.
He lets Veritas tilt his head back by pressing the glass harder against his lips, and doesn't let his eyes break away from those sunset ones. Perhaps this doesn’t mean anything or perhaps it does but what he does know is that when he parts his lips to let the taste of wine trickle onto his tongue and down his throat, Veritas leans forward like his life depends on it. He feels oddly light at that.
There’s very little wine left in the glass, he finds. Despite that fact, the wine seems neverending with how it keeps flowing down his throat because of how Veritas keeps it tilted just up enough to make the flow of the liquid slow, like he wants to draw this out for as long as possible. The thought has him swallowing around the soft taste, watching as those sunset eyes flick down to watch his throat bob with it.
He never once breaks their eye contact as the wine drips down his throat. Perhaps he should. Perhaps he should tell the man that this behavior is odd for two friends but he doesn’t because he has always had a greedy streak within him. He will relish in this moment for as long as he possibly can. He can feel his fingers twitch around Veritas’, can feel the way that they make the man’s own tighten around the glass.
The last bit of the liquid slides into his mouth. Veritas pulls the glass away from his lips. Aventurine mourns the loss of– whatever that was. Nonetheless, he swallows the wine now gathered in his mouth down as he lets his head tilt back down a bit, feeling a small amount of the liquid drip down his lips and chin from just how much he had drank without stopping. He feels just a bit embarrassed.
He lets a little exhale slip past his lips; just a small nearly inaudible rush of air escaping his mouth but with how close Veritas is, he’s almost certain that he heard it. The thought makes him feel almost light in a way. He’s not sure he knows why. He chooses to ignore it for now, merely retightening his grip on the glass and carefully slips it out of the man’s hold. Veritas lets him, his grip falling slack, because he seems too preoccupied with staring at him to do anything otherwise.
“Like what you see?” He laughs, teases in a way that is so very familiar because this closeness accompanied by this sudden attention directed wholly on him makes his head threaten to spin because it’s the exact opposite of familiar. He expects a scoff, expects a playful little response full of rejection but all he gets is a small curl of the man’s lips. He feels a little like the air has been punched out of his lungs and he blindly puts the glass down onto the table, his eyes locked on Veritas.
He thinks that he hears it fall to the floor. He pays it no mind.
Neither of them dare to break their eye contact. Neither of them dare to break it but Veritas dares to intensify it by leaning closer, by adjusting his position so that he’s more sitting in front of him than beside him and without even thinking; Aventurine does just the same. Perhaps it isn’t the smartest move but he can’t bring himself to care when Veritas lifts a hand up and oh so gently cradles his cheek with his stupidly– wonderfully– big hand.
“Yes.” The admission is barely even a whisper, meeting the air between the two of them– Aeons, Veritas is only an inch away at this point– and lingering there. Aventurine can hear his heartbeat in his ears and his breathing is suddenly far louder than it needs to be. He can’t help himself. He glances down at those plush lips before lifting them back up to those sunset eyes that seem much more intense than they were just a second ago.
That seems to be all the incentive that Veritas needs.
Veritas presses forward slowly, slow enough that Aventurine could pull away if he wants to despite the fact that the wine is clearly muddling his usual sharp and logical thinking. Aventurine finds that he does not want to pull away from the man, does not want to break this air between them just yet and never see what would happen if he were to just stay. So he stays. He stays and waits to see what happens.
Veritas’ lip press against his own; soft and gentle and warm and Aventurine immediately responds; immediately returns the tender passion that he is so willingly providing him. He’s warm. He’s so warm in so many different ways that it feels a little bit like being embraced by a gentle fireplace; warm hands, warm mouth. Aventurine wants to know if the rest of him is just as warm as his hands and mouth.
His hands lift up, find the soft skin of his biceps and he feels something within him at the way he can feel how the muscle there flexes with each small shift that he makes. A noise escapes the back of his throat and he lets his eyes flutter closed as Veritas’ thumb strokes over his cheek, oh so soft for a man who is oh so hardened on the outside. He lets a small breath escape his nose heavily.
He can feel Veritas shift slightly against him and with some small fear in the back of his head telling him that he’s going to get up and leave, he drags and pulls him forward by the biceps. Aventurine is, of course, not strong enough to make Veritas do anything when he has honed his muscles exactly like he wants them and maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s just him but he goes with the motion anyway. A small smack sounds out at his own surprise.
“Less sucking.” Veritas reprimands him– whines and slurs as his back hits the cushions with a soft breath punching itself out of his lungs. Now that the small fall has detached their lips, Aventurine uses this time to greedily gulp in air because not only were they kissing– holy, he was kissing the Veritas Ratio– but he also has the tendency where when nervous, his breathing gets far more shallow than it should be. His hands twitch.
“More kissing?” He inquires, hopefully, and the small little smile that he gives him is answer enough. Aeons, the man looks gorgeous like this. He’s barely an inch away from his face, boxing him in easily with how big he is and his golden rimmed pupils are dilated so wide that he can barely see those sunset colors; an eclipse caused solely by him. The thought makes something soft settle in his heart.
“Yeah, more kissing.” Veritas agrees softly, his voice nothing more than a quiet breath and Aventurine wants nothing more than to drink those words straight from his lips. The man is gentle as he leans down, as he presses soft lips against his own and Aventurine finds that his nervous system suddenly seems hypersensitive as the man happily embraces him. He lets out a small, content sound.
The feeling of Veritas on him and all around him is one that he can’t quite wrap his head around. Normally, he does not enjoy being boxed in by people. It makes him feel more than a little bit trapped and makes thoughts of that time come back to him. With Veritas, it is different. Despite the obvious strength the man has over him, despite his smarts and talent with Imaginary energy, he knows that he can push him off if he wants. Him even being on top of him is proof of that; he’s only here because Aventurine pulled him closer. That and he’s warm; more like a blanket than anything else.
A hum escapes his lips as Veritas hand slowly begins to trail up from his face, a small part of him debating about breaking the kiss to tell him to keep it where he is but the thought is washed away by the feeling of Veritas’ nose pressing further into him. He grunts, not displeased. It’s warm beneath him as Veritas’ hand finds its way into his hair and for a moment, he feels dread pooling in his stomach at the feeling, even if Veritas has always been so very gentle.
Aventurine tries to keep his breathing steady as he screws his eyes shut. He doesn’t like his hair being touched. All he can think of is memories that will never be again no matter how much he yearns for it or memories of harsh and unforgiving pulls of blonde hair, of pain blooming behind his eyes. Veritas’ touch is neither of those, he finds. No, with how large he is, it is easy to cup a large portion of his head and his thumb works gently into his scalp like it was made to do so and Aventurine kicks his feet; a small movement that makes him feel a little less overwhelmed with the current sensations.
Veritas carefully breaks their kiss by leaning just a bit backwards, a soft smacking noise entering the air between them in the process. Aventurine is warm. His face is hot and Veritas’ body is warm and he can feel the strands of hair that frame his face stick to his skin from the sweat that begins to form there. The doctor grunts, apparently taking notice as well. He can feel the way that he shifts his weight onto his knees and gentle fingers brush his hair out of the way. He thinks that he can feel his breath leave him.
“May I go further?” Veritas asks breathlessly, his voice gone ragged as if kissing him has stolen all of that impressive stamina that he has. The question is sweet, something that is soft even in its breathlessness but it still makes him squirm with discomfort. Never mind the fact that it has been far too long since he last had any interest in taking something further but Veritas is drunk. Gentle kisses are one thing, taking this further is something that he refuses to do when the doctor’s so intoxicated.
“Doc– Ratio, you’re drunk. I’d hate to take advantage of you.” Aventurine mutters into the air between them, his voice wavering slightly as he tries his best to properly catch his breath after all of that kissing. He looks up at the man above him, at the man all around him and watches the way that his brows furrow and his lips form a small little pout. It would be cute if not for the fact that he seems genuinely annoyed.
“Not sex, gambler. Kissing. More. Everywhere I can reach.” Veritas slurs and stumbles over his words, appearing more and more frustrated by his unusual lack of articulation. It’s cute. It’s cute but those words knock the breath that he had just caught out of his lungs as he gazes up at the man, as he watches the way that those sunset eyes roam all over his face like he’s searching for something. He doesn’t know what for and he would like to keep it that way, lest his mind start to fray from the strain.
“Oh. Oh– yeah. Go ahead, doc. Kiss all you like.” No sooner do plush lips press against his own when those words leave his mouth. He melts into it, lets himself melt into Veritas’ gentle hold and the man breaks away from his lips too early for his liking. He makes a displeased noise. Veritas merely shushes him softly, presses his lips to the small little area between his chin and his mouth soothingly before making his way down and Aeons, this man doesn’t know what he is doing to him. He feels so safe that he could simply cry.
Veritas is nothing but thorough as he presses gentle kiss after gentle kiss down his lower face to down his neck, taking extra care to press a kiss to the apple of his throat. It makes him inhale sharply, makes his throat bob and it feels far more vulnerable than it should to know that Veritas is probably tracking it. Even with the alcohol inebriating him, he still most likely possesses that same calculating mind; most likely cataloguing each of his reactions.
“Aeons, I wan’ t’ sculpt you.” Veritas rasps against his throat and the sheer amount of tenderness in his voice makes his stomach do silly little things that he can’t quite ignore. It’s not bad, he doesn’t dislike the sensation but he’s nervous because as far as he’s aware; Veritas only ever sculpts himself. ‘I only sculpt things that are not lathered in idiocy.’ He had once said. The implications make him feel light.
“Don’t you have enough sculptures?” Aventurine settles on saying rather than the words of sculpt me as many times as you want that wish to come out. The man in question merely just huffs deep through his nose like what he asked was stupid– it was, admittedly. Veritas’ place is large specifically because of how much room his sculptures take up– and that long nose of his brushes against his jaw as Veritas presses a kiss to the upper side of his neck.
“No. Don’t have any of you.” Veritas huffs through his nose again like the answer was already clear and it makes something pitifully soft settle into Aventurine’s chest. He turns his head to the side and realizes that he’s accidentally bared his neck to him. Oh, well, he thinks. Veritas is very high on the list of people who wouldn’t stab him in the back if given the chance so he’ll let it slide.
“Doubt I’d be a good model, doc. You know how hard it is to sit still.” Aventurine laughs, chokes when Veritas’ lips press against his jawline firmly, when he sucks a kiss into it that sends a smack into the air. He’s tempted to tell him not to leave a mark in his tender worship, to tell him that he still has work for a couple of days before the next holiday arrives and he gets leave for a week. He doesn’t. The satisfaction within his veins at that is something he ignores.
“Don’t need you to model for me. I just need your permission. I know exactly what you look like.” The words are slurred, yes, but they make his stomach flutter with something that he wants desperately to ignore. Veritas is observant, yes, but he also knows that he can’t even sculpt himself without a reference. The fact that he knows exactly how he looks implies that he’s been staring and studying him and–
“Yeah. If you want, then go ahead.” Aventurine breathes, feeling the way that Veritas’ breathing deepens for a moment in what must be a sigh of some sort before he’s moving down his neck. His free hand finds his shoulder and Aventurine allows the way that it travels up the length of his arm to his hand that has found its way to his shoulders. Aeons, he is so warm. He didn’t know he ran just how warm before this.
“You should come over. When I finish ‘em. I can remake ‘em, if they aren’t t’ your liking.” Veritas breathes against his skin and the feeling of the warm air fanning over his neck has him restless with something so soft and sweet that he doesn’t know what to do other than squirm. Warm lips press against his neck, against every inch of his neck except the brand that is laid there and for that he is thankful. He can handle stares, he cannot handle another touching it.
“Maybe I’ll like them better if you don’t remake them. Proof that the great Veritas Ratio–” A kiss is suckled gently into his skin. “Can make mistakes.” Aventurine teases, even as every piece of his mind wants to simply melt beneath him and savor the feeling of warm skin atop his own. He’s nervous though. He’s nervous in a way that he has never been and he’s rambling just to fill the air. Veritas doesn’t stop him– he seems to be encouraging him to continue if anything.
“I’m not perfect, dear gambler.” Veritas breathes into his skin, his lips moving against his throat with every small word that escapes his mouth. It makes him shudder. The man seems to not want to let go now that he has latched on and Aventurine does not want him to let go either. Despite that fact, the dear he added to that already fond nickname makes him squirm beneath the body atop him.
“I think you’re perfect.” The words tumble past his lips before he can even think about them, before he can even register the fact that yes, he does think that Veritas is perfect even with his tendency to make his students cry because he is so strict. Silence loudly rings out into the air following his words and Aventurine tenses, certain that he has messed this up. A sigh escapes him through gritted teeth.
“You’re perfect.” Veritas replies– the words tumble unceremoniously past his mouth with the way they slur together but even then Aventurine squirms beneath him because what in the world. There are many small fantasies that he has allowed himself to dream of; Veritas Ratio thinking that he is perfect when he isn’t is something that he never allowed himself to think of because of the impossibility of it all. Veritas has swept the rug out from beneath him.
“High praise from you, doc.” Aventurine breathes into the air between them as soft lips dip to press against the lower part of his neck where his chest begins. His voice is filled with false confidence, with bravado that he doesn’t truly feel. He’s out of his depth. He knows how to flirt and win people over but apparently he has already won Veritas over and his flirts have never worked on him. He doesn’t know what to do with something so tender and warm.
“It’s not enough. Y’ deserve more.” Veritas murmurs into the warmth of his skin– he was cold before this happened. He’s warm purely from the man’s body heat and actions making him flustered– and Aventurine doesn’t know what to do with that. He could say many things in response, he knows that, but they all seem to slip away from his mind as he lies beneath the man.
“Oh, I adore you.” Those words throw him for a loop and Aventurine swears that he can feel the rug be swept out from beneath him as his heart speeds up within the confines of his chest. He takes a deep, stuttering breath and glances down at the top of Veritas’ head as thoughts race through his mind. Almost crazed; Aventurine thinks that the sight of his laurel pin barely hanging onto his hair makes him feel more than that confession does.
Veritas is always so clean, always so orderly– whenever he sees the man there is never a single piece of violet hair out of place. He can’t recall ever seeing him look so messy. His laurel pin is barely hanging on, his hair is all sorts of messed up, there’s a delightful flush to his face, his clothes are all askew and he’s still pressing him into the couch like his very life depends on it. It makes him squirm.
Aventurine lets out a stuttered breath as Veritas makes his way back up his throat, not an inch of unmarked skin going without the lavishing that he is giving him so very eagerly. Aventurine pants softly, his breath stolen as he lets the man decorate him in soft and adoring kisses that make his head spin. He wraps his legs around the man’s hips. He delights in the fact that Veritas seems to enjoy it, if the way that he sucks onto his skin as a treat is any indicator.
He expects the man to simply go back to kissing his mouth, expecting more of that gentle heat that makes him feel far more loved than he knows he deserves. Still, he’s letting him kiss how he wants to because if he’s honest with himself he wants it too. He wants this man to continue lavishing him in kisses, never wants them to dip into something heated that will make his stomach clench–
Lips press against his nose, something that instantly startles him out of his thoughts and he looks at the man in surprise. He must look silly, going cross eyed momentarily to stare at him but Veritas does not laugh; he only lets out a small little huff and lets his lips trail back down to the small pouch above his lips, lingers there for a moment before allowing himself to dip lower and press his mouth against his own. Aventurine melts into the cushions below him.
Veritas mumbles something into their kiss but with how he refuses to back away and the way that his words are still slurring from the effects of the wine; it comes out horribly garbled and messy. Aventurine’s brows furrow at the sound of it, trying to catch even a single recognizable syllable within that jumbled mess. As expected; he fails. Nonetheless, he can feel Veritas’ hand tighten around his own on his shoulder.
“Repeat that?” Aventurine asks as the man pulls away enough to actually breathe and he can’t help the way that he stares at those pupils that are so dilated that he can barely even catch the faintest hint of those golden rims around them. Their breaths mingle in the air between them and he can both hear and feel how the man’s breathing stutters as he licks at his lips. It feels far too intimate.
Aventurine stares as Veritas remains silent, a thing that is not truly uncommon for the man and he rationalizes with himself that it has to do with the fact that they are both still catching their breath. Their breathing intermingles between them and fill the air, cutting into the quiet of his penthouse and all Aventurine can think is that he wants this to happen more. He wants his penthouse to not be so silent anymore.
“Aventurine,” Veritas begins, his tongue darting out to lick across his lips and he can’t pull his eyes away from him as those plush lips shine with the man’s own saliva. He’s never seen the man look so messy before. The thought makes him feel a little crazy; makes him feel a little like he’s going to fall into depths that he can’t escape from and he finds that he is entirely willing to do so. Isn’t that a thought. If he wasn’t so focused on Veritas, perhaps he would actually focus on it. He is focused on Veritas however.
“I..” Veritas murmurs, trails off as he stares down at him. Being stared at like this, with those sunset eyes makes him feel as if he actually means something, makes him feel as if he actually occupies a deep part of the man’s heart as much as he wants to deny it with how impossible it is to think but he can’t. After all, his recent behavior has only proved that it is very much possible.
For a moment, they merely stare at each other. Then the man’s sunset eyes roll back and a grunt escapes his lips before he’s suddenly crushing him into the couch and Aventurine can’t help the way that he wheezes as his chest is smooshed beneath the weight of what is an absolute sculpture of a man. He scrambles a bit to nudge Veritas to the side a bit, just to relieve some of the crushing pressure off of his much smaller frame.
“Veritas.” Aventurine mutters– scolds like the man can hear him and he tries to shake him by his shoulders as that big hand slides off of his own but all the motion does is make a loud snore echo out into the room. Perhaps if he wasn’t pinned by a man that is far too heavy for him, he would find the noise that is so inelegant cute because Veritas is always so perfect. Nonetheless, he can’t find it anything other than annoying right now.
He tries once more to shake him awake, only succeeding in pulling a groan straight from his lips but other than that; the man remains atop him and unconscious. He lets a swear fly past his lips, one that even his synthesis beacon has trouble translating as it comes out as the man attempts to crush him beneath his body weight. He should have picked up on the fact that he was about to pass out on top of him but he didn’t and is now paying the price.
A sigh slips past his lips; halfway to a wheeze with the fact that Veritas is still laying on top of him. He is so going to tease the man about this later once he wakes up, once the inevitable hangover that the man will surely have is gone and all that’s left is the brooding scholar that he typically is. But that is later and this is now. Right now, he thinks that he could most likely find his way out from beneath him.
Aventurine hesitates. He could find a way to get out from underneath this man that is making it a little hard to breathe still with how his weight is entirely on him but.. he finds that he does not want to actually move. He could do with Veritas sliding down his chest a bit more so he can breathe much more easily but something within him finds this– this position, this warmth, this touch– so very perfect that he can’t bring himself to wrench away from it.
Aventurine allows himself to settle. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he wills his muscles to stop being so tense. He finds that it is a far easier task than it normally is as he lets his hands find both Veritas’ shoulder and his messy purple curls, earning a soft noise of contentment from the sleeping man. It makes his lips stretch into a gentle smile as something warm and sweet settles into his chest.
He knows that they will have to talk about.. all of this when they wake up but for now, he is calm and content. He lets himself fall into sleep knowing that Veritas is here.