Work Text:
There’s a certain misconception that has spread like wildfire around the IPC: Aventurine, senior manager in the Strategic Investment Department, has a penchant for using his charm and body to get what he wants. Whether it be promotions or information from third-parties, the rumors range in absurdity and severity, some holding far more truth than others.
Not that it bothers Aventurine; he’s used to being seen as a frivolous businessman with questionable scruples at best and an object at worst.
Still, it’s a little funny. There are far more effective ways of milking information out of people than sticking hands or tongues anywhere. Let them think his tactics are transparently obvious - that suits his purposes just fine. While he isn’t diametrically opposed to desperate times calling for desperate measures, it isn’t usually the ace up his sleeve he prefers to lean on. Often, a simple flutter of lashes and honeyed gaze or some combination of teasing words does the trick just fine.
He just didn’t expect Doctor Veritas Ratio of the Intelligentsia Guild to believe every last word of it.
* * *
“Do not touch that.”
“Why? Does it bother you?”
Aventurine can’t help the amusement that leaks into his voice as Ratio sends him a disgruntled look from across their hotel room. His finger lingers on the curve of the sculpted nose before blazing a new path down the bust’s jawline.
“It is not sentient. It will not react to whatever touch you decide to administer,” says Ratio, stiff as stone.
Aventurine’s laugh is breathy. He knows that - he’s no fool - but how can he resist continuing to do so when this simple action seems to get under Ratio’s skin?
(If it truly crossed a boundary, Aventurine would wholeheartedly stop. However, the tint of pink on the man’s face immediately rules that out.)
“Are you sure about that?” Aventurine drawls, his fingers moving to cup the stony cheek. Even through gloves, Aventurine can feel its lack of human warmth. He would much prefer a different handsome face pillowed against his hand.
“You are distracting me,” Ratio says, turning back to his paperwork.
“Then don’t look,” Aventurine lilts, sing-song, fingers swooping down to the neck. He splays his fingers across it, near an imaginary wind-pipe, and then drifts higher back to the lobe of an ear. “Is this how you gain all your admirers, doctor? This handsome fellow does all the work for you.”
Aventurine can nearly hear the roll of Ratio’s eyes.
“Your idiocy certainly explains quite a bit about this mission,” murmurs Ratio.
“You don’t really think I’m an idiot,” counters Aventurine.
Stiffly, Ratio resumes flipping through pages, scratching here and there with his pen. Satisfied at the response, Aventurine kneels so that he is face-level with the bust situated on the side table in the room. From the corner of his eye he can feel Ratio’s gaze return to him.
Really, Ratio is far too funny.
“I wonder…” Aventurine clicks his tongue, purposely trailing off.
“Keep your inquiries and daydreams to yourself, gambler.”
Aventurine curls his hand under the bust’s chin. Gaze meeting stony grooves where eyes would be, Aventurine wonders if Ratio himself has ever kissed someone with this on. It would be difficult, but Ratio is a difficult person. Aventurine has noticed his tendency to grow overwhelmed by physical stimuli, which begs the question … has Veritas Ratio ever been kissed, with or without the aid of marble?
“I’ve already done my half of the work,” Aventurine reminds them, his pant-legs still soaking from that portion of their mission, “so it’s only fair you write up the report, doctor.”
Ratio does not answer.
Aventurine curls his fingers tighter against the chin. He leans closer, a few inches from the bust, and hears the shift of wood and the shuffle of fabric. Ratio has turned halfway in his chair, all but gawking at the scene playing out half a hotel room away. Like this, he looks just like that owl on his shoulder.
It’s a little endearing.
“It’s not nice to watch, you know,” Aventurine teases, not looking over at him. “I wonder…” he begins again, but this time acts.
(And Aventurine can’t remember the last time he kissed someone, either, but he knows how it works.)
Wet lips meet cold stone and Aventurine’s eyes slide shut. It’s easy to imagine plush lips instead of smoothed stone. Even easier to pretend that when he moves his free hand to cup the back of the bust’s head he will find hair, soft and messy and without an ounce of style to it.
Aventurine’s nose bumps against the statue’s. For show, he swipes his tongue out and licks the stony bottom lip. It takes cold, unrelenting, and Aventurine’s gut churns all the same.
“You damned fool,” breathes Ratio from afar. “Quit that.”
And oh, does he sound bothered. Aventurine’s earlier suspicion that Ratio knew about the rumors can neither be confirmed nor denied, but it hardly matters anymore. Aventurine is having fun riling up the impenetrable Doctor Ratio, and if he has to use his so-called charming talent to do it, he will.
“But doctor,” Aventurine sighs, tone exaggerated, wistful, “how can I ignore such a handsome face? It’s not fair.”
Aventurine catches Ratio palming at his own face. “Whatever point you are trying to prove, you are failing. Grotesquely. Now get up off the floor and do something productive.”
Aventurine’s laugh is real this time, warm, and he asks more to himself than to Ratio or his bust, “what, like you?”
It’s a slip, at best. A confession, at worst. Aventurine chews at the inside of his bottom lip and counts to ten. His hands slide away from the bust, cheeks still stained pink from his own acting. Now, he feels a thin layer of sweat covering the back of his neck. It wouldn’t be the first time he accidentally propositioned someone, but it would certainly be the first that he did so to someone he actually respected.
Aventurine clears his throat. “Well,” he says, cutting the tangible tension as he pushes his palms to the floor in an effort to stand.
Before he can, a hand pushes him back down. A firm hand on his shoulder guides him back to his knees, resulting in a surprised gasp from Aventurine.
“Hey,” Aventurine says sharply, temporarily dropping his act. “Manhandling isn’t the only way to solve your problems, you know,” he’s starting to say, but then looks up.
That look in Ratio’s eyes. It’s hard to place, distant and swirling, and Aventurine’s throat goes dry all the same. If looks could kill, well, Aventurine thinks he might be mildly dismembered.
“That eager to see me on my knees?” Aventurine double downs, unable to stop himself from digging a deeper grave.
Ratio does not answer him. Not verbally, at least. His hand glides from Aventurine’s shoulder to his chin. Mimicking what Aventurine had done to the statue, he grips at both sides, fingertips nearly digging into reddened cheeks. Aventurine remains still.
“If you are trying to convince me that your tactics are sound, you are wasting your energy.” Aventurine opens his mouth to argue, but Ratio squeezes it back shut. “Quiet.” Oh, that’s kind of hot. “I did not say that I disagreed with the approach or its effectiveness. I simply think there are smarter and safer ways to get a job done.”
Aventurine blinks owlishly at him. Then coquettishly, he flutters his lashes and eases out the best laugh he can when fingers are firmly pushing his lips shut.
Ratio loosens his grip, but he doesn’t let go.
“Doctor, it almost sounds like you’re worried about me.”
There it is. Something flickers on Ratio’s face and his gaze averts as quickly as it had come. Fingers begin to slip away right after. Aventurine reaches for them, grasping gently at the warm skin as he uses it to rise to his feet at last. It’s a wobbly process, but Ratio does not step away. For a second, Aventurine thinks he may even squeeze his hand in return.
“Your performance was embarrassing, a zero out of ten points,” mutters Ratio, eyes glued on the opposing wall.
“My perform… Oh, Ratio.”
It’s cute. Far too cute.
Unable to stop himself, Aventurine reaches out and ghosts a hand along the curve of Ratio’s cheek. Unlike stone, it radiates heat and is soft to the touch, giving and plush in a way flesh is opposed to stone. Aventurine’s heart skips ten successive beats.
“Well?” asks Ratio, as if he’s waiting.
(Something soft blossoms in Aventurine’s heart. Something he thought had long since been broken and forgotten. That concern is unusual. That deference to Aventurine’s own comfort and pace… it’s unusual for someone so self-centered as the acclaimed Doctor Veritas Ratio.
And yet.)
“If you want to kiss me, you can just say it,” says Aventurine before he does exactly that.
Unlike the demonstration, Aventurine does not slip his tongue between his lips. Not at first, anyway. He focuses on the soft glide of wet on wet, on the way he can feel the hitch of Ratio’s breath more than he can hear it. On the way the other grips at his shoulder again, this time less controlled, less certain. On the way Ratio takes a step closer, head tilting in the exact same way Aventurine’s had a few moments ago.
It’s far too gentle. Alarm bells signal in Aventurine’s head, that there is something here more than just a friendly exchange of barbs and banter, that this is stepping into some unknown and murky territory.
He doesn’t stop.
Aventurine’s eyes fall shut and he indulges. He moves his lips with patience, fingertips inching backward to brush through Ratio’s hair. Soft, it’s so soft and lacks any sticky product and how does he always manage to be so perfect, honestly?
(Aventurine hopes he can’t feel the shake of his body, the way he holds his other hand out of reach so Ratio can’t see how inexperienced he might just be, especially when his heart feels like it’s begin forcibly dragged out from up his sleeve.)
“Damned gambler,” Ratio mumbles against his mouth, sounding fonder than before.
“If I knew kissing your bust would get your hands on me, trust me, I would have skipped all the in-between,” Aventurine says, mostly joking, hoping it’ll land as such, but meaning it all the same.
Ratio nips at his bottom lip. It destroys that image of demure inexperience in Aventurine’s head and Aventurine’s blood burns because of it.
“We will be late for our meeting if you keep distracting me like this.”
And then Ratio pulls away, gaze locked with Aventurine’s, a similar flush on his face.
“Be good and finish up your own work, and then we can revisit this later.”
“Revisit this,” whistles Aventurine, his heart in his throat, doing its best to show how very affected he is by all of this seemingly meaningless flirting. “Well, if the great Doctor Ratio wants to have hands on experience in this, too, don’t let me stop him.”
Ratio rolls his eyes.
And then walks back over to the table, sitting down and getting back to work as if they hadn’t just kissed two or three or five times.
Aventurine’s eyes narrow when his back is turned, if only to preserve the new ache in his chest. It feels a lot like hope. His eyes drift toward the bust, after, and it feels a tad silly to thank an inanimate object, but he does it all the same in his head.
“Say, doctor.”
“What.”
“Do you think a head gives good head?”
“Leave.”
Yeah, Aventurine thinks, laughing and throwing his hands up as he goes back to the sofa to work, this will do just fine.