Archive of Our Own ^beta

Occasionally, the IPC likes to indulge the fantasy that they’re a normal corporation and not a galactic superpower with few equals. Lavish balls and banquets are sweetly titled “office parties”. The IPC’s corporate retreats spare no credits and are closer to festivals and conventions than company events. It always makes them look even more out of touch than they already did.

(And sometimes it’s as deadly as the company itself. Last year’s Leadership Potential Retreat for example. Rather than a friendly game of paintball, Diamond opted to ship the Stonehearts and several managers to the edge of a blackhole and ‘simulate’ a fatal collapse of the observatory station’s systems.)

Compared to that, a friendly baseball game against The Intelligentsia Guild is, quite literally, a free holiday. Pier Point rarely has the weather or the space for sports, so Veritas Prime has kindly offered one of its many Collegiate Sports Venues… for a modest donation to university funds.

Aventurine has never worked an office job, and he can count the number of “IPC Strategic Partners’ Appreciation And Teambuilding Days” he’s been on, on one hand. So he doesn’t exactly have the experience to judge whether or not the IPC is wearing its Friendly Neighbourhood Corporation Suit well. He doesn’t care much either. All he knows is that the weather is perfect, and this looks like it’ll be an entertaining afternoon. Which is all it needs to be, really. Something that can distract him for a few hours.

He watches from the edge of the Away changing rooms, safely in the shade as the lowest paid IPC team members set up the field. Most of them are already sweating under the bright blue sky – not a cloud to be seen. The white of the field markings almost glows under the intense sun, but the heat itself is fine… as long as you’re not running around a giant diamond. The benches, at least, are covered, and currently being stacked with bats. The air smells of heat, popcorn, and cherry; flavours floating down from the stands where the snacks are already being passed around. Family members, non-players, and more than a few curious university students dot the seats.

Food and family in the same space is never a safe combination. Aventurine looks away, unable to stop the question that comes to his head like it’s casual, like it’s nothing: Would she have liked this? The vision - blonde hair in the stands and a perpetually tiny hand that should by rights be bigger than his now, waving at him – lingers uncomfortably. He grits his teeth.

“Aventurine!” Topaz appears at his side, and for once he’s actually grateful to see her. She’s wearing the same IPC-provided uniform as him – all white with a long-sleeved red undershirt and red boots. It suits her. Aventurine’s own feels itchy against his skin. (He hates uniforms, hates the names printed across their backs like another brand, hates not being able to choose and customise and exercise every inch of free will.) Numby trots at Topaz’s heels, wearing an official Team IPC Baseball Cap, white with a red brim. Topaz’s head is buried in a clipboard full of papers that she’s giving her full, intense attention. “What’s your specialty?”

“Hello,” Aventurine says instead of answering her, smirking when he sees the way her hands clench around the clipboard. Finally. Some fun. Numby makes an aggravated snorting noise.

She shoots him a glare. “Hello. What’s your specialty?”

“Gambling, mostly.” Aventurine leans his shoulders back against the cool wall and folds his arms. “But I’m also pretty good at-”

“Aventurine!”

“You didn’t even let me finish! Come on Topaz, we’re supposed to be a team today. That’s why we’re all cute and matchy, right?”

Topaz looks at her own uniform with disgust. “Will you just answer the question? Outfield? Baseman? Catcher?”

Aventurine shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never played baseball before.”

Topaz’s eyes blow wide – scandalised. She’s been to every one of the IPC’s ‘friendly competitions’ since she joined up. On the shuttle ride here she was counting everyone onboard and taking note of whether they were left-handed or right-handed. Only she and a few others have hung onto the baseball uniforms they wear maybe once or twice a year. In her head, this probably counts as an official league.

“Relax.” Aventurine waves his hand after letting her squirm for a moment. “I know how to play. I’ve watched hours and hours of it. You wouldn’t believe how much people will bet on this silly game.” Aventurine knows. He has stacks of credits in his bag and a ledger to track them.

That jolts Topaz out of her horrified stupor. “Are you running a betting ring for this game?!” She demands. Then, immediately, she second guesses herself. Classic Topaz. “Wait. No. Do people think we’ll win? Wait. No. What do you MEAN you’ve never played baseball?”

“I didn’t realise you had, outside of these little get togethers,” Aventurine deflects immediately. He’d rather piss himself in front of Topaz than tell her about his poor, sad, tragic childhood and get her aeons-damned sympathy.

“It’s baseball,” she huffs. “We used to play it as kids.”

“With broken off tree branches instead of bats?” Aventurine jabs. It’s cruel of him, hypocritical, but he’s feeling cruel right now. Blonde hair in the stands. A gaping hole where childhood should be. It’s biting at him. What can he do but bite back?

Topaz flushes. To her credit, she only looks small and awkward for a second before she clutches her clipboard to her chest and huffs again. “Why did they even invite you if you’ve never played? The IPC’s reputation is at stake here you know.”

It’s not at stake at all, but Aventurine humours her and her dedication of every waking moment to the leeches attached to her back. He laughs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask to come. Too much sweating for me.”

The air shifts. A too-cold breeze suddenly coming from the changing rooms. Immediately they both still, like prey animals at a watering hole that can sense the lion but not see it. Numby jumps from Topaz’s side to Aventurine’s, pressed back against the wall with him.

From nowhere, not there one moment and there the next, Jade breezes past them. And yet she smiles at them like she’s been standing there the whole time, like she’s heard the whole conversation. She’s wearing the same uniform as the two of them, but with a skirt instead of pants, white stockings, and a sunhat with a red bow. It obscures her face. “He has a very special use,” she says softly to Topaz, while her eyes lock with Aventurine like she’s trying to tell him something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t get the message, too caught off guard by her abrupt entrance.

And then she’s gone, sweeping through the tunnel and out onto the field.

“Lady Jade!” Topaz all but sprints after her, like a hopeless puppy dog. “Wait, I want to ask about the…” her voice trails off.

Aventurine glances down at his feet, where Numby remains. “What do you think she meant by that?” Numby, still cowering, offers no answer. “Is it because I’m good at statistics?” If Jade wants somebody to calculate a batting average on the fly or the odds of certain strategies working out, Aventurine is the obvious choice. But surely she isn’t taking this seriously. All IPC gatherings are really just intelligence gathering opportunities for the Stonehearts, everyone knows that. Jade will probably be spending this game catching up on some top-secret project developments from people she can’t usually meet in public.

Aventurine sighs. “Maybe she just wants a betting ring going. Come on pig, you’ve gotta go back to Topaz.”

It feels nice, trailing after Jade and Topaz as they walk the length of their team’s dugout. The sun bears down on him pleasantly, a gentle bleed of warmth into his skin. Between Topaz’s rambling to Jade about batting orders, and the chattering from the guests in the stands and the IPC staff in the dugout, there’s a pleasant murmur of noise that washes over him. For a moment, he can almost believe they’re… something. Normal co-workers. Friends, maybe.

Most of the staff here are from Topaz’s department. Aventurine knows few of them, which means they probably hate him. At the least, they’ve heard not to trust the scheming, malicious Avgin. Fine. Nobody will be talking when they’re running around the diamond, and they’ll probably be doing a lot of that. How hard can it be for a team with 3 Stonehearts on it to beat The Intelligentsia Guild? Aventurine casts his eyes across the field, trying to check the competition, and…

Stops.

He blinks. Numby carries on, obediently trotting after Topaz and leaving Aventurine staring like an idiot at Veritas Ratio, standing on a pitcher’s mound.

For a moment he thinks it’s a trick of the light. The day is so bright Aventurine has to squint, shading his eyes and unconsciously stepping closer. Ratio is bathed in it, the whole golden glory. Like it’s dawn, not nearing midday. He stretches, one knee bent, leaning forward with hair falling into his face and his other calf stretched out behind him. Aventurine’s mouth drops open a little watching him shift from one leg to the other. Aeons… those legs. The Intelligentsia Guild’s more traditional uniform is only making it worse. Tight, knee-length white pants and shirtsleeve-matching purple stockings, clinging to every curving inch of Ratio’s straining calves. It’s less skin that Ratio normally shows, but somehow he looks more naked than ever. The clothes leave so little to the imagination.

Ratio stands and backs away from the mound, and for a moment Aventurine thinks his torment is over. Then he starts circling those thick bare arms. (How did he stuff those tree trunks into that tight shirt?) He practices throws emptyhanded. Perfect form, and Aventurine is sure his pitches are great too. His chest strains against confining safety gear and his thighs quake as he runs forward and skips to a stop, miming an overhand throw. As he leans into the fake throw, his ass sticks out. A curve to rival the mound he stands on.

Aventurine’s mouth waters. He takes another small, unconscious step forward. He needs wants a better look. Ratio isn’t wearing his usual laurel adornment, and there’s something smudged on his cheeks. He’s not sure what he’s going to say when he gets over there. They haven’t seen each other in a while – both busy with individual projects. He’ll figure something out on the way. Something suave and charming, and subtly annoying. Something that will work Ratio up, get him spluttering all cutely and-

“Aventurine!” Topaz squawks his name, jerking him back to reality. “Get over here! We’re planning the batting lineup!”

Aventurine closes his eyes. He could ignore her. Easily. But now he’s awake again he feels like an idiot, and not the fun way he tries to be an idiot. In a far more humiliating, personal way. Being attracted to Ratio is one thing, mooning after him like Topaz does after Jade is another. It’s too normal. Too dangerous. Something beneath him, and yet far out of his reach. So he tries to erase the vision of Ratio squeezed into tight, white fabric.

But it’s still very firmly in his mind when he turns around and begins trudging in the opposite direction. In fact, he can’t stop himself from glancing back… Just in time to catch Ratio looking at him.

Aventurine barely manages to wave before Ratio’s head jerks away, looking at his own dugout. He smirks, from relief just as much as smugness. Ratio has shown his hand, and suddenly Aventurine’s own doesn’t look too bad.

“I didn’t know Ratio was here,” is the first thing he says to Topaz, instead of something smarter, less revealing. Jade is braiding up her own hair, seemingly ignoring them. That means she’s paying more attention than ever.

Topaz rolls her eyes. A wave of discontented murmuring spreads through their team. “Don’t mention him already. Let us make it through the first inning with some hope.”

First Inning

Aventurine learns quickly what she means. Ratio is a monster.

They don’t get a single batter on bases in the first inning. Ratio strikes three of them out in quick succession, throwing balls so fiercely Aventurine is surprised they don’t burn through the catcher’s mitt. It shouldn’t really be a surprise, given how hard he can throw chalk, but somehow ‘good at baseball’ wasn’t a trait Aventurine expected his learned colleague to have. He almost feels a little guilty about staring at Ratio’s ass as the IPC has their ass handed to them so thoroughly.

To make matters worse, he has a fan club. Some giggling, adoring students in the stands who go wild every time he steps up to pitch.

“He’s so fucking hot,” one of those fans sighs after Ratio strikes out their third batter with what looks like very little effort. It floats down to Aventurine as the IPC are getting up to switch onto the field. He’s not sure if he’s amused (Ratio would hate to hear this), or embarrassed to find he’s no better than a horny college kid Ratio probably throws chalk at.

There’s a confusing, ugly feeling in his chest. Just to get rid of it, to prove a point to himself, to Ratio, to those students, he takes a bat with him as he leaves the dugout and heads toward the mound, not the outfield.

He intercepts Ratio at the outline of the diamond, planting himself directly in his way and leaning on the bat casually. “I didn’t know you were a baseball player, Doc.”

Ratio’s shoulders tense. He draws into himself for a second before relaxing too suddenly to be natural. Aventurine struggles to stay casual too, now he’s seeing Ratio up close. Without his laurel accessory, his hair is dishevelled from being tossed back and forth. Other than that, you wouldn’t know he’d just thrown nine pitches strong enough to deny the IPC a single point. The smudging on his cheek is sunscreen messily applied, and it’s so cute Aventurine thinks his knees are going to buckle for the second they stare at each other.

Ratio breaks the stare-off, folding his arms and sighing. “Obviously not professionally,” he drawls, tilting up his chin to give him that familiar, superior look. “The Guild always asks me to play in these friendlies. It’s natural, given my strength and their overall lack of physical prowess. I only agree because baseball happens to be one of the most mathematical of the sports.”

“It’s not that complicated. You throw a ball and someone hits it.” Aventurine shrugs one shoulder lazily, as if he doesn’t prefer to consume baseball through maths too. As if his bet calculations and Ratio’s assessment of the field don’t use the same skillset. He’s very good at playing dumb. It tends to get him what he wants.

Like right now, it gets that irritated line to appear in Ratio’s brow. “It’s-”

“Maybe you should teach a class on baseball maths.”

“Clearly you need an education on the fundamentals first. You do realise proper etiquette is not to chatter with a rival during a match, yes?” Ratio asks, ignoring his joke. Ratio speak for: stop annoying me and go away.

“This game’s not that serious,” Aventurine scoffs, starting to feel like a broken record. “I can talk to you if I want to.”

“So you want to talk to me?” Ratio asks abruptly, almost cutting him off. One of his brows arches sharply.

Fuck. Why does it feel like Ratio just scored a point in a different game, one nobody announced they were playing?

“No,” Aventurine lies immediately. He stands up properly and offers his bat. It extends between them, a horizontal line. The tip of it taps Ratio’s wide chest. “Just came to give you this.”

“We have our own bats.”

“A bat’s a bat isn’t it? I thought I’d save the star player a little effort.”

Ratio looks between him and the bat with what might be suspicion, but Aventurine knows is actually curiosity. Ratio loves a puzzle. That’s why he pays Aventurine any attention, and that’s why Aventurine likes to throw him nothing but curveballs.

“… Thank you,” Ratio says, squinting at him. He reaches out and grips the bat from the wide end.

Aventurine releases the handle with a flourish and side-steps around him, making his way to the outfield. “You’re welcome,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to hit the ball into orbit, yeah?”

Ratio is up to bat first, of course. He hits it almost into the stands, and the IPC grunts who have been put furthest out go scrambling after it. Aventurine, in what’s either mercy or cruelty from the universe, gets to stand idle and watch Ratio’s ass bounce as he runs around the diamond. 8 more innings of this. It’s going to kill him.

He doesn’t even bother keeping track of the score. He’s already decided on his one and only priority for today, and he doesn’t need to track the score to know the Intelligentsia Guild are crushing them. All thanks to Ratio, of course. Apart from him, the Guild and the IPC are evenly matched, but Aventurine isn’t the only one putting in the minimum effort. Jade, on third base, starts checking her make-up halfway through the game. She casts sideways, charming smiles at the Guild member standing on her base, who immediately turns so red it looks like he has heatstroke. Only Topaz seems to be entertaining the thought of winning any glory here, bolting after the ball and throwing herself back to the bases.

When the inning finally ends, the IPC trudge back to their dugout. Aventurine gets stopped at the outline of the diamond again. He sees Ratio coming of course – too alert to miss it – but it’s more fun to act surprised when Ratio thrusts the bat in front of his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

He looks at Ratio. Ratio frowns at him, right next to his shoulder. Nobody else seems to exist on the whole field. Neither of them so much as brush each other, a respectable distance apart, but Ratio taps the bat against his chest. It’s as long as Aventurine is wide, pressed against the entirety of his chest. The weight of it pushes him one step back, slightly off balance. “Take it back, unless the IPC wants to work with less equipment.”

It’s Aventurine’s turn to take it from the wide end, grinning at Ratio and fluttering his lashes. “Thank you, Doctor, very chivalrous.”

Ratio snorts, looking away. “I am merely returning the favour.” And then he marches back to his own dugout.

Topaz has assembled the troops by the time Aventurine gets back. She shoots him a filthy look for taking so long, wasting their short break. “Okay, if we can get one of you on the bases, then maybe we won’t score zero again. But we need someone who can hit it far, so-”

“Topaz, sweetheart,” Jade says softly, smiling in a way that usually means someone is about to pay a price. To Aventurine’s secret dread, she’s looking at him. “I think it’s time for our secret weapon.”

Topaz’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Secret weapon?”

“Put Aventurine in third.”

Topaz chokes. She shoots Aventurine an evil look, no doubt furiously jealous that Jade is apparently scheming with him instead of her. It’s pointless. Aventurine has no idea what Jade is talking about. “Third? When he’s never played before? If we don’t have our best three in-” Jade looks at her. It’s a completely neutral, calm flick of her eyes, but Topaz turns red. “R-Right. Aventurine in third. I-if you think so!”

“Do I get a say in this?” Aventurine tries.

“No,” Jade says sweetly.

Second Inning

Aventurine isn’t looking forward to letting Ratio humiliate him, or to wearing a stupid helmet, but it’s almost worth it for the look Ratio gives him when he steps up to the plate. A subtle widening of his eyes that Aventurine can spot even from here. It’s gone in an instant, replaced with Ratio’s usual focus. Head down, eyes narrowed, winding back for a pitch… showing off that delicious curve of his side that Aventurine just wants to run his teeth along, licking-

The first ball whizzes past him while he’s still staring like an idiot. He barely remembers to raise his bat. Topaz makes an inhuman, furious howling noise from the dugout at the bored, droning call of “Strike 1!”

Ratio frowns at Aventurine, either with disappointment or confusion. Aventurine’s hands tighten around the bat, fighting back any reaction but unable to hide the blush on his face.

He has to focus. While he might not care about baseball, this isn’t about the corporate game. It’s about him and Ratio, about showing off their constant game of needling at each other, the tension that has simmered between them since day one. It’s a constant competition to get the other to trip up first, and Aventurine is calling it: losing here counts as tripping up. (Especially if he loses because he’s drooling over him.)

Ratio won’t go easy on him just because they work together well. He doesn’t like you, Aventurine reminds himself. Then he crushes down the tight feeling in his chest. Not enough to throw a weak ball. Get serious Aventurine. This whole day is just a game of pretend. Summer ballgames and a handsome man with a soft spot for you? You’re not that foolish.

Focus. Right.

Ratio winds up for a second pitch. A different style this time. It draws his thigh tight to his body, plush and grabbable and- No! The ball! Look at the ball!

Aventurine swings, but Ratio’s pitch is too quick. The fan club goes wild, and Aventurine fumes as the ball is tossed back. What did Jade mean by secret weapon? All he’s doing here is sweating. He steps back from the plate for a second, pushing up his helmet to wipe at his forehead.

Ratio is still watching him, brow pinched. His attention burns, and it only intensifies as Aventurine pushes hair out of his face. Why does he have to stare like that? What is he looking for? What does he want? It’s the question he always comes back to with Ratio.

Annoyed, Aventurine steps back to the plate and takes up his stance again. Ratio’s eyes still burn holes into him as he steps back, readying another pitch. His gaze slides from Aventurine’s bat, to his face, to his…

… Is Ratio looking at his ass?!

Aventurine has seconds to react. So he follows his instincts. Something spontaneous. Something reckless. Something stupid.

He purses his lips and tilts his head up, blowing Ratio a quick, sharp kiss.

He expects to get a ball straight to the face. What he doesn’t expect, is for Ratio to falter, eyes wide. He almost trips over himself, clumsily letting go of the ball too early. He throws the weakest, sloppiest pitch of the game so far.

Aventurine is good at seizing opportunity, even when he’s too shocked to breathe. He doesn’t hesitate. The sound the bat makes when he swings and punts that ball across the field is so satisfying he almost yells. Topaz does – a wild, screeching cheer like they’ve just won the whole match. The ball doesn’t actually go that far, but the Intelligentsia Guild aren’t expecting him to hit it at all. They watch it go, dumbstruck.

Aventurine is watching it go too. Until, from the dugout, “RUN!!” Topaz and the rest of the IPC are on their feet, screaming at him.

So Aventurine runs. Hard lunges of his legs, his feet pounding against the dirt, as if he’s trying to get away from the spectre of the last time someone told him to run. (Even here, even now, the past haunts him. And all he can do is shake it off.)

Ratio stands there blankly, like a machine that’s been turned off. The confused look on his face is enough to bring Aventurine back to the present. He laughs, unable to help himself. Ratio has never looked so utterly lost.

The Guild are still scrambling, utterly unprepared to actually have to work in the top of the inning. Aventurine makes it all the way around the diamond while they’re yelling at each other. This time, he comes back to where he ran from. This time, people are waiting to greet him.

Topaz doesn’t hug him, but it’s a near thing. She contains herself to excited clapping and a shove. Numby dances circles around his ankles, squealing and chirping. This is the first time the grunts of the IPC have looked at Aventurine with anything other than suspicion. Jade isn’t even in the dugout. Aventurine hopes wherever she is, guns aren’t involved.

He mostly ignores the excited crowd around him. Winning at baseball isn’t his goal. All he cares about is the pitcher he’s managed to outfox. The ball has found its way back to Ratio, and he stares at it like he’s trying to fathom a mystery of the cosmos. As if he feels eyes on him, he looks up. They lock gazes. For a moment, Aventurine wonders if Ratio is going to accuse him of cheating.

He doesn’t, of course. He just looks blankly back at home, and the IPC grunt stepping up to bat. 10 points Aventurine tells himself with a smirk. 5 for scoring against Ratio in a baseball match, and 5 for gaining potentially the most valuable information of his career.

Aventurine is still being ushered back to the dugout when the field rings with a very different cracking sound. Ratio’s next, frustrated pitch crashes into the helmet of the IPC grunt hard enough to knock him to the floor. There’s a wave of silence. Ratio calmly looks away from the grunt and declares, “Out.”

Third Inning

Either Aventurine really broke him, or Ratio is going easier on them to hide the reason for his fumbled pitch, because the IPC actually score multiple points in the third inning. When it’s time for the teams to switch, Aventurine saunters over to Ratio and offers the bat again.

Ratio eyes it, and him, with distrust. Aventurine purses his lips again, only to quirk them into a smile. “Your bat, doc?”

“Your bat.”

“Our bat,” Aventurine croons.

Ratio snatches it from him this time, his cheeks red.

Aventurine’s smugness doesn’t last long. Ratio bats first, and he always faces Aventurine. He gets to watch the way Ratio’s body bends into each swing, the ripple of his arms as the bat makes contact with the ball. But this time, Ratio takes a sweeping look around the field and, abruptly, switches sides.

Ratio can adapt to a situation, but he rarely changes his own little habits. Any other day, Aventurine would be suspicious. Today though, he’s immediately flushed pink, enraptured by the new delights in front of him. The way Ratio sticks out his ass, the indecent twist of his waist as he swings forward with the bat…

… and smacks the ball so hard towards Aventurine he has to dive to the grass for cover. Even Topaz doesn’t yell at him for not trying to catch it. The ball flies so fast, so hard, that Aventurine swears it breaks the sound barrier.

Son of a bitch.

“Apologies for my first swing,” Ratio says flatly when he hands the bat back to Aventurine. He stands closer now, their shoulders touching.

“I can take it,” Aventurine retorts. Ratio hums thoughtfully. He rolls the bat up and down slightly along Aventurine’s chest, a little tease of motion. Aventurine takes it from the handle, brushing their hands together. In a deeply twisted sort of way, he’s happy to have Ratio’s full attention, whatever form it comes in. Ratio can use him for target practice all he wants if it keeps his eyes on him.

“You asked for this,” he warns him.

There’s a spark of anticipation in Ratio’s eyes.

Fourth Inning

It’s almost tradition now, blowing Ratio a kiss when he steps up to bat. Aventurine throws in a wink this time, sticks his ass out further than strictly necessary. Everyone else on the field has been well and truly forgotten. The real game is on. Ratio stares. He actually has to start his pitch over. Aventurine is no better. He gets one strike because he’s watching those thick thighs squash and stretch again.

The switch can’t come soon enough. Aventurine has two priorities. First, give Ratio his bat. Easier said than done, when he steps closer than necessary to hand it over and Ratio gives him an intense look. Like he’s starving and Aventurine is bringing him snacks from the stands. Ratio’s gloved hand closes over his own on the handle. Aventurine jolts.

“Apologies.” Ratio shifts his hand and takes the bat properly. There’s a smile teasing at the edges of his mouth.

“You’re doing a lot of apologising Doc,” Aventurine manages to sound bitter and not horny, he thinks. The longer this game goes on the sweatier Ratio gets, and the more his uniform clings to him.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“… Not if it’s on purpose.” Aventurine looks him up and down, helplessly. “Kinda defeats the point, don’t you think?”

Ratio lips his dry lips. “Hmm. I suppose so. But how can you be sure what’s on purpose and what’s an accident?”

“I can’t,” Aventurine admits, heart thrumming in his chest. “I’m just hoping.”

“Hope is a very illogical thing.” Ratio’s hands caress the bat. Aventurine can’t stop himself from watching the way they glide up and down the wood. “… But not out of place in sport.”

And outside of sport? Aventurine thinks. But he doesn’t say it out loud, because it sounds naïve even in his head. Instead, he lets Ratio saunter away and diverts to third base.

Jade doesn’t even look surprised. She surrenders third to him with a smirk, like she was expecting him to ask. Aventurine knows he’s complying with her plan, even if he’s distracting Ratio for his own reasons. Outside of his and Ratio’s little play-pretend game, the reality is he’s just an IPC asset being deployed for a desirable outcome. But Aventurine has been used many times, by many people, and he’s grown numb to it. This is just the way the world works, forever.

He's in too deep to stop this for some pathetic desire for better. This is his lot, and as usual he takes whatever he can get. It’s overshadowed by the heat in his chest, the shot of satisfaction as he watches Ratio line up holding their bat.

The IPC are better at playing defensive, where Ratio can’t immediately lock them out of the game. When Ratio steps up to bat, they have one out and the bases loaded. He takes a sweeping look of the field again, and his brow furrows when he finds Jade in Aventurine’s place. It’s such a cute expression that Aventurine almost forgets his plan.

Almost.

“Heyyyy batter, batter,” Aventurine calls coyly, and Ratio’s head jerks towards him immediately. Aventurine waves - waggling his fingers. Ratio swallows. He turns back to the pitcher with an obvious blush, and Aventurine can’t wipe the smirk off his face.

(People are staring. That’s something Ratio worries about, not him.)

Going for third is a gamble. Ratio tends to hit home runs, and there’s no guarantee Aventurine will even get to pester him like he’s hoping for. There are many other players on the field, and each of them is watching the ball like a hawk.

But he is a blessed child. So like every other gamble, this one pays off.

Ratio – who, Aventurine notes with satisfaction, keeps sneaking glances at him – does not sent the ball into the stands this time. He hits it further than his teammates can, but the IPC are ready for him this time. They pounce on the ball, scrambling to get it back as the batters run around the diamond. Ratio moves slower, held up by the pace of the runners in front of him. He’s halfway to third when the ball comes sailing over his head, towards Aventurine.

Unfortunately, Aventurine is not looking at the ball, but at Ratio’s bouncing chest. So as Ratio lunges, sliding for third with his arm outstretched, Aventurine scrambles for the ball that’s about to go over his head. He jumps, swiping at it like a cat after a toy, and fumbles it to the right. The ball drops, momentum gone, and Aventurine dives after it.

He and Ratio end up in a tangled heap on third base.

They lay side by side, panting into each other’s faces, hot and sweaty. Ratio has been taking the brunt of the sun, sweltering in the pitcher’s position all day, and the heat of him is burning through Aventurine’s clothes where their chests press snugly together. He’s so close. Aventurine is choking on him. Everything beyond Ratio’s face is hazy and unimportant. His hair has fallen into his eyes. Aventurine, not thinking, reaches up to brush it out of the way. Ratio’s eyes are wide, darting about his face like he’s not sure where to look. He swallows.

Aventurine licks his lips. Ratio smells so good. That usual Ratio scent – chalk, old books, something floral Aventurine has never asked about – but laced with sweat, turned rich and sweet by antiperspirant. Cloying, thick, human. Aventurine has to breathe through his mouth to resist the urge to tuck his face into the side of Ratio’s neck and sniff him like a dog. It draws him in deeper, blocking out thoughts of anything other than Ratio. Close. Tight. Stifling.

One of Ratio’s legs shifts, the thigh sliding higher up Aventurine’s own. He probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. It’s a tiny movement, imperceptible if not for the fact Aventurine can feel him breathing right now. Aventurine has never been more grateful to protective gear. It’s the only thing stopping Ratio from feeling something that will push them past the point of no return.

At the same time, he almost wishes it wasn’t there. He wants to roll them over and press Ratio into the dirt, to spread his legs apart, dig his thumbs into those thick thighs, and leave bruises. He wants to smear mud along the back of that white uniform as they grind their hips together, running his hands up and down that evil, evil body. He wants to fuck Ratio, right here in the mud, the sand, the dirt. Filthy. Messy. Desperate and reckless. Like they’re not in public, like he doesn’t care who’s watching-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SAFE?!” Topaz leaps over them, a shadow cutting through Aventurine’s world of Ratio, Ratio, Ratio, and marches towards the umpire. “That’s clearly out!”

“Absolutely not!” Pipes up one of Ratio’s colleagues, intercepting her. “Doctor Ratio clearly touched third before your baseman did!”

“You could barely see third through the dust!” Topaz snaps.

“Safe!”

“Out!”

“Safe!”

Ratio and Aventurine watch the argument grow, more and more team members getting involved, until they finally look back at each other. The spell broken, Ratio separates them with a blushing face and grumbled complaints. He gets to his feet first, while Aventurine is still recovering, and then offers him a gloved hand. Aventurine takes it and tries not to stare at Ratio’s bicep as he pulls him to his feet.

“Are you alright?” Ratio asks. His eyes are still blown wide. A frisson of anticipation, of tension, still spans between them. Aventurine can feel the lines of it tugging at him. But it hangs there, awkward and impossible to act on now.

He nods, instead of jumping Ratio’s bones. “You?”

Ratio tuts and examines his side, now smeared with dirt. “I wouldn’t turn down a shower, but I suppose that will have to wait.” Oh, Ratio in the shower is not helping the uncomfortable tightness behind Aventurine’s cup.

“Hey Doc, by the way,” Aventurine blurts out. A greeting several minutes too late, just to have something else to focus on other than Ratio’s imaginary, dripping wet muscles.

Ratio’s gaze darts away, then back to him. Aventurine thinks he sees the side of one lip quirk up. Almost a smile. “Hello, Gambler.”

“Come here often?” Aventurine manages to get out with only a slight giggle.

Ratio snorts.

They stand there awkwardly for a few moments. Aventurine sways back and forth, smiling. Ratio looks up at the sky like the Antimatter Legion are invading. It’s awkward, in a way they never are. They’re equally blunt with each other, comfortable in their harsh edges that fit together just right. This is… cute. They’re being cute, Aventurine realises with horror

“I ‘come here often’ enough I suppose. What about you? Are you planning to come to more of these games?” Ratio asks, finally looking at him again.

No, is what Aventurine wants to say. “Maybe,” is what comes out of his mouth.

He might be imagining it, but Ratio seems to grow taller. “Well, maybe I’ll finally have an actual competition instead of just humiliating the IPC for a few hours.”

Aventurine shouldn’t laugh, which is exactly why he does. “You’re torturing them you know. Can’t you go easier on them, Doctor?” He purrs with a slight pout, cursing himself the whole time. He can’t stop being cute. Ratio brings it out of him.

Ratio scoffs. “I don’t hand out good grades in my class. Why do any different here? Nobody will ever improve if you delude them about their abilities.”

“Well they won’t get any better if you crush their spirits either... Not that I mind seeing Topaz crushed.”

Ratio hums. “An interesting hypothesis. But I can’t bring myself to test it. If someone condescended to me like that…” He trails off, but he doesn’t need to elaborate. Aventurine has heard him gnashing his teeth at the way The Genius Society address outsiders. “I push my best students the hardest. It’s the highest compliment, isn’t it, to trust that someone can match you on their own merit?” His face is so earnest that Aventurine nods. He’s not sure if he really agrees, but he does want to see more of that bright look on Ratio’s face.

“So when you punt baseballs at my face at the speed of sound, that’s a compliment?” Aventurine teases.

Ratio doesn’t ‘light up’. He’s not expressive enough for that. But he does smile slightly. The edges of his eyes soften. Aventurine realises – equally ecstatic and horrified - that it really is a compliment. Ratio won’t go easy on him because he does like him, as impossible as that sounds.

“Teaching, baseball, research, business… is there anything you’re not good at Doctor?”

Ratio lifts his head slightly. He doesn’t always enjoy praise, but he preens when it comes from Aventurine. “You’re not going to compliment your way to a soft pitch. I’ll have you out next inning,” Ratio teases him back. Doctor Ratio. Teasing. The whole world seems to murmur around them, a swell of noise.

Aventurine pouts again. “Really? There’s nothing I can do?”

Ratio’s eyes dip to his lips again. They’re swaying closer. “Nothing,” he says quietly.

Aventurine licks those lips Ratio is so fixated on. “I think you’re underestimating the things I can do, Doctor.”

The frisson of excitement is drawing taut again. Ratio tilts his head up, a challenge in his eyes. “Maybe you should show me.”

“I think I have been showing you.” Aventurine’s eyes are half-lidded. Distantly, he hears a crack. Maybe Topaz has finally snapped and started shattering bats over her knee. “You almost got to third base just then, Doctor.”

Ratio frowns. “I did get to third base.” He kicks with the toe of his boot at the base beneath them.

“No,” Aventurine laughs. “You got to third base in the game. I’m talking about third base, with-”

Something small and hard crashes into Aventurine’s shoulder.

“AVENTURINE!”

“RATIO!”

They both spin in the same direction, toward where their names are being shouted with rage. Topaz has her arms thrown up, utter disbelief on her face. Ratio’s teammates are gesturing at him frantically, pointing toward Home. Back on second base, an annoyed runner taps their foot. The baseball that has surely left a bruise on Aventurine’s shoulder rolls away from them.

Ratio, red-faced, glares at the dirt beneath his feet like it’s to blame, and sprints back to Home. Aventurine looks around the diamond and shrugs, smiling like he ignored the restart on purpose.

Sixth Inning

Accidentally sabotaging the IPC’s best chance to get Veritas Ratio ‘out’ in a game of baseball undoes all the good will Aventurine’s homerun bought him. Now the grunts are looking at him with suspicion again, muttering that he and Ratio are probably plotting something together. Topaz doesn’t even let Aventurine bat for the next two innings. She places him on the outfield again, with strict instructions not to even look at Ratio. (He ignores her, of course.)

The distance between them is only making the tension simmer hotter. Aventurine fumbles any ball that comes his way, too focused on glimpses of Ratio. Ratio fouls for the first time when he’s up to bat, and his pitches are getting sloppier and sloppier. He’s not looking at Aventurine, but his mind is clearly not on baseball anymore.

When the sixth inning ends, they meet in the middle of the diamond. Aventurine is a lot dirtier now, covered in grass stains. He’s sweating hard enough that his hair is limp and damp. Ratio isn’t fairing much better. They push their bodies together, heedless of the dirt, all but rubbing on each other like cats now. Ratio’s knuckles press firmly on Aventurine’s sweaty chest when he hands the bat over, hand curled around it unnecessarily. Direct contact. Aventurine shudders. So does Ratio.

Aventurine reaches up. He places his hand higher than Ratio’s on the bat. Ratio’s other hand comes up, landing higher still. They carry on, until Ratio’s hand lands atop the bat and Aventurine’s hand lands atop his. Ratio’s eyes narrow. A flash of heat. Then he steps back, leaving Aventurine holding the bat. They go their separate ways.

“Aventurine,” Topaz says sweetly when he gets back. “Could you stop…. Doing whatever you’re doing with Doctor Ratio, before the IPC loses yet another baseball game to a group of nerds?”

Aventurine pretends to think about it for a moment. Then he beams at her. “No.”

Seventh Inning.

Jade finally starts paying attention to the game again when they come back for the next inning. That means Topaz is distracted enough that Aventurine can creep his way up to third batsman and face Ratio again.

They lock eyes immediately. Aventurine winks and sticks out his ass. Ratio narrows his eyes and tosses his hair out of his face, showing Aventurine the long line of his neck. They’re both openly ogling. It’s indecent. Aventurine doesn’t care. This foreplay is starting to drag.

Ratio sends him his fiercest pitch. A whirl of arms. Aventurine shivers from the feel of the ball rushing past him. Aeons, the sheer strength in Ratio’s arms… Aventurine licks his lips, staring Ratio down. The pitching going on is secondary. All their focus is on each other. A second strike, and Aventurine watches the way Ratio elegantly catches himself at the end of the pitch, staying on his feet through sheer core strength.

Aventurine is called out while his gaze is trained on Ratio’s thighs, daydreaming of having them locked around his head. He leaves the field with another wink thrown in Ratio’s direction. He feels amber eyes trained on the back of his head the whole walk back to the dugout.

Topaz is up to bat after him, but she leaves Numby in to squawk at Aventurine indignantly for breaking her No Ratio restrictions. Jade is waiting for him too, fanning herself with one of Topaz’s paper sheets. “Here.” She hands him a cherry popsicle, one from the stands. Aventurine doesn’t thank her. To acknowledge a debt with Jade is a dangerous thing.

“It’s a shame,” she sighs. “This game does mean a lot to Topaz, and you’d think a game with a Diamond in it would be easy for the IPC to win.” Aventurine doesn’t roll his eyes. At least, not visually. He licks at the popsicle kittenishly, testing it before sliding it into his mouth with a pleased hum. It’s sweet, almost too much so, but the ice cuts sharply through the sugary taste.

“Oh well.” Jade stretches her neck. There’s a cheer from the field. Ratio is playing so badly now that he doesn’t even get one strike on Topaz, and she takes off running. “I’ve accomplished my goals for the day. What about you, Aventurine?”

“No ma’am,” Aventurine says around a mouthful of popsicle. He doesn’t elaborate, and Jade doesn’t ask him to. If she wants to know she will. Maybe she’s already peered into Aventurine’s mind and seen half-naked visions of Ratio spread out on homebase. It would serve her right, but Aventurine finds himself oddly annoyed. Ratio wouldn’t want her to see any of his depraved thoughts about him. He occupies himself with the popsicle, shoving as much of it into his mouth as he can.

There’s a swell of noise from the field, and shrieks from Ratio’s fan club. Aventurine frowns, standing up to get a better look. Ratio is sprawled out, flat on the ground between homebase and the mound, having clearly tripped over. He pushes himself to his feet quickly, but the guild still swarm him.

“Are you sick, Doctor?” Someone asks.

“I thought so,” another guild member muses. “He’s not exactly been playing his best.”

Ratio sneers at the man, trying to reclaim the dignity he’s tripped over. “I’m fine, I was just…” His gaze flicks over to Aventurine, to the popsicle in his hand. “Distracted.”

“You’re flushed,” says another doctor, frowning. “It could be heat exhaustion.”

Aventurine leans on the guard rail at the front of the dugout. He purposefully licks a long line up the side of the popsicle, smirking.

Ratio looks absolutely devastated. He turns away abruptly. “Yes. Heat exhaustion. Of course. If you’ll excuse me, I will administer treatment.” He drops his mitt and marches away, leaving the guild scrambling to fill his spot. They argue back and forth, nobody wanting to step up to the mound and pitch.

Excitement spreads through Team IPC. With no Ratio, they might actually be able to catch up on points. Aventurine stands around for a few minutes, then tosses his half-finished popsicle into a bin. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he says to Jade, and leaves without waiting for a response. His palms are sweating.

There’s no need for him to sneak around. He tries not to think about why he’s taking the long route around to the Home changing rooms, instead of just boldly walking across the field. (It’s because of Ratio. Because Ratio will get all flustered about his reputation and Aventurine wants to save him that humiliation. He hates himself for being so soft on him.) The long walk only makes him more antsy.

His skin is itching by the time he gets to the changing rooms, anticipation crawling along it. He shoulders the door open, barging in. Ratio has already started stripping. His shirts and safety gear lay on the bench beside him, where he’s hunched over. Aventurine’s brain fizzles to a stop at the sight of Ratio’s broad back, glistening with sweat.

Ratio looks up. He doesn’t seem surprised to see him. There’s hunger in his eyes, a kind of want that Aventurine has never seen in him before.

They should talk. That’s the Ratio thing to do. Talk about their mutually acknowledged attraction, talk about whether they should do this, weigh up the pros and cons. They should at least find somewhere with a locked door. Ratio would probably like them to at least say hello, acknowledge something.

There is no talking.

Aventurine doesn’t know who moves first, doesn’t even know how Ratio got to his feet. All he knows is that they meet in the middle of the changing room, furiously crashing their mouths together, clutching and clawing at each other. Ratio lifts him up just to get closer. Aventurine licks across his teeth and wraps his legs around his middle. He moans into Ratio’s mouth when he’s pressed against a locker. The metal digs into his back, so he blindly pulls off his gloves and digs his nails into Ratio’s back, clawing at him to drag him closer, closer, closer.

It's sweltering between them, the heat of their bodies colliding. The kiss is wet and messy, tongues everywhere and drool shared between them like water. They pant wetly against each other’s cheeks, brief snatches of clarity before someone nips at someone else’s lips again. Aventurine digs his cleats into the back of Ratio’s ass, and Ratio groans into his mouth like he’s gutting him. They crush together, an uncoordinated mess of neediness.

They stink of sweat, of grass and mud and baseball leather. Aventurine jams his nose clumsily against Ratio’s neck, inhaling deeply as he kisses his way up, nibbling on the shell of Ratio’s ear. There’s the barest hint of florals, of the civilised man Ratio usually is. Now the doctor licks over whatever skin he can reach, like a dumb dog.

“We shouldn’t,” Ratio groans into his neck.

“We’re way past shouldn’t,” Aventurine grits out. He ducks his head to lick sweat from Ratio’s clavicle, moaning at the salty taste.

“The door doesn’t lock.”

“Don’t care.” He nips at Ratio’s plush chest.

“We have to work togeth-”

“Ratio,” Aventurine gasps. “If I don’t get my hands on your thighs I’m going to die.”

Ratio laughs so hard he shakes with it. “No you won’t,” he murmurs, but his protests fall silent. They kiss again, just as fiercely.

Ratio drops him to tug the rest of his gear off. Aventurine worships those pecs that have been bouncing around, taunting him from meters away. He peppers them with kisses and licks his way to a nipple. Ratio drops, clutching at the lockers to stay standing as Aventurine draws a hard, sensitive bud into his mouth and toys with it. He sucks. His tongue flicks, curls, until he can play Ratio like a string instrument, until Ratio sings under his tongue like a pretty bird, chest heaving.

“Still think we shouldn’t?” Aventurine asks, releasing him with a pop. The only reply he receives, as he thumbs over the other nipple, is a babble of unintelligible noise. “Oh you’re sensitive here, huh?” Aventurine coos, his plans abruptly changing.

Ratio pushes his hands away shakily. “Enough.”

Aventurine pouts. “But you were enjoying it so much, Doctor.”

Ratio is bright red. He shakes his head. “Do you have…” That massive brain of his struggles for the word. “… Condom?” He finally manages.

“I’m clean, if you can find lube,” Aventurine offers, preparing himself to be shut down, and to bitterly content himself with the memories of just this. Ratio will come to his senses once they stop, and this chance, this hot summer mania, will never come again.

“That’s not why I’m asking.” Ratio looks away from him. For a second he’s oddly vulnerable. He folds his arms across his front, closing off. But then he immediately masks it with an arrogant toss of his head. “However diminished the risk may be, given your renowned ability for beating the odds… I would prefer not to conceive a child in a changing room.”

It takes a second for Aventurine to catch up. But when it clicks, he shakes his head with a chuckle. “I’m in my baseball uniform, Doctor. What sort of man do you take me for?” He reaches around, grabbing two palmfuls of Ratio’s ass. Fuck, it barely fits in his hands. Ratio jumps, but it makes him relax again. Those folded arms drop to his sides. “I have a better idea. Not quite fourth base, but third will do. Trousers down? For me?”

“You’re fully dressed,” Ratio protests. So Aventurine fights with his own pants, kicking them down to his ankles. He frees himself from his underwear and the protective cup with a relieved sigh, tossing the cup aside.

Ratio stares at his erection, his mouth watering, and Aventurine would like nothing more but he has plans. He bats Ratio’s wandering hands away. “Pants,” he insists.

“Bossy little thing,” Ratio mutters. It sends electricity arcing down Aventurine’s spine. He fists his cock, torn between stroking it lazily and squeezing down on the pleasure.

“Ratio I’m serious if you don’t get those off soon I’ll-”

The pants come down, everything in one go, and it’s Aventurine’s turn to stare. Ratio is completely naked, bar stockings, while Aventurine at least has his shirt to hide behind. Looking at Ratio’s beautiful, golden, toned body, he can only think of the scars he carries, and be thankful he still has clothing to hide them in front of this… statue of a man. A trail of purple hair draws his eyes to his crotch. For a second, Aventurine genuinely considers rooting through lockers for a condom, just so he can safely sink inside of him. “Can I…?” Aventurine makes a crude gesture with his finger. Ratio must be as far gone as him, because he just grabs Aventurine’s hand and slides it between his legs and- Oh.

Ratio is wet. For him. Because of him. His thighs are already damp with it. Aventurine strokes his fingers along slick folds, just a tease. “Was it hard?” He asks. “Playing baseball like this?”

“Uncomfortable,” Ratio grits out. His hips move, chasing the slight sensation of Aventurine’s fingers. “Sticky.”

“It hurt for me too.” Aventurine doesn’t know why he admits this, why he steps closer as he slips one finger into Ratio’s dripping folds, why he watches with rapt attention as Ratio’s mouth falls open on a silent gasp. “Cup was digging into me.” He pauses, curving his finger, digging out more juices. “It still hurts.” His cock aches as he feels Ratio squeezing around his finger.

“So…” Somehow, even with a finger shoved inside of him, Ratio manages to look down at Aventurine with a sneer. “Do something about it!”

“I am.” Aventurine pulls his hand away, trying not to feel too smug at the desperate twitch of Ratio’s hips. He smears gathered slick all over Ratio’s thighs, adding to the humid mix of sweat and Ratio's own wetness.

“You-! Gambler!” Ratio protests.

“Turn around,” Aventurine urges, pushing on Ratio’s shoulders. “Come on, around. Let me just… your thighs.” He’s murmuring more to himself and his twitching cock than Ratio.

Maybe it’s a sign of trust, or maybe Ratio has decided he’s in too deep now, but either way he does as asked. Aventurine plasters himself to his back. Like this, he can feel Ratio’s heart beating furiously, the way Ratio leans back, melting into him. It’s almost perfect.

Almost.

What is perfect – true bliss, the single greatest thing Aventurine has ever felt in his life – is when he slides his cock between Ratio’s wet thighs.

“Oh,” Ratio breathes, shifting against him. He rolls his hips, gliding the length of Aventurine’s cock along his wet cunt. They both shudder, pressing closer, as if trying to hide from the pleasure in each other’s skin.

“Tighten up your legs,” Aventurine instructs. He thrusts minutely, helplessly, back and forth. “Just a little. It’s- it’s almost there.” Just on the edge. Pure pleasure, just out of reach. It’s so close he can touch it. He licks his lips. He doesn’t beg, but it’s a near thing. A litany of please, please, please hovers on the edge of his desperate tongue.

Ratio is as good a student as he is a teacher. Aventurine pulls back to thrust through again, and this time the friction is pure ecstasy. Impossibly better, that futile ‘almost’ he was hunting. His cock is cushioned between strong, plush thighs, gliding easily back and forth between them with the aid of Ratio’s wetness. It brushes the very edges of his lips. A tease of even more wet heat. “Fuuuuck.” Aventurine’s head drops forward, pressing to Ratio’s slick back. “You feel so... Your thighs. Squeezing me so good. ”

He fucks his way to an awkward rhythm, clumsily chasing pleasure. Ratio is quiet, but he shifts beneath the hands on his waist, thrumming with unspent energy of his own. He rolls his hips, changing the angle steadily until Aventurine’s cock is pushing through his folds and-

“Ratio,” Aventurine hisses, unable to stop himself. “You said-”

“I-” Ratio stands up straighter again, but he makes a pained noise. “I know but I- I…”

“You what?” Aventurine buries his nose in Ratio’s neck and inhales. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he’s hyperaware of every move Ratio makes. He knows what he’s trying to say. “What do you want, Doctor?”

“I…” Ratio is as proud as him – maybe more so. He does not beg, or throw tantrums, or plead. But one of Aventurine’s hands strokes up over the hard muscles of his abs, tense and tight, and up, up, up to grope his chest again. He squeezes firm muscles, circling the palm of his hand against the tip of an aching nipple. “I-!” Ratio’s chest heaves beneath his hand. Aventurine’s other hand creeps towards his navel. It rests there, a heavy, still weight as the fingers on Ratio’s pecs tweak, roll, toy.

“Say the word,” Aventurine breathes. “Anything you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

He regrets the words immediately. Too honest, too raw. But then Ratio is groaning, reaching for his hand and dragging it to his folds. His nails leave claw marks in Aventurine’s skin. “Here,” he hisses. “Touch me here.”

Aventurine smirks. There’s a moment of almost sadistic pride. The learned Doctor Ratio, falling to pieces in his arms. It’s quickly replaced by a fierce wave of greedy possessiveness; the same one Aventurine gets at a poker table. Take, and take, and take, until it fills up some hole in him. Except this time he feels warm, fond. The thing he’s taking actually fills a space, instead of leaving phantom weight in a gaping hollow.

“Touch me here…?” Aventurine prompts, his fingers stroking over the hair above Ratio’s cunt.

Ratio practically growls at him. But he’s sensible, he won’t let his pride stop him for long. It only takes a few more thrusts of Aventurine’s hips, another squeeze of his chest, for him to exhale heavily. “… Touch me here, please!”

Aventurine kisses Ratio’s shoulders, and then slides his fingers down to toy with his cock.

Ratio jerks under his fingers, moaning gratefully. Those thighs squeeze Aventurine’s cock tighter as he toys with him, gliding two fingers up and down his cock. They both whine, a pathetic noise they try to hide beneath each other. Aventurine thinks for sure his hips are going to buckle as he pushes in and out of that tight wetness. It’s only sheer determination that keeps him upright as the glide between Ratio’s thighs get even smoother with both of their pleasure.

Aventurine spreads Ratio’s lips, freeing a dribble of slick that lands on his hot, throbbing cock. Ratio’s thighs are a mess. Pre-cum and juices intermingle, until Aventurine thinks he’s going to go crazy from how good it feels, how hot and wet his cock is. He thrusts two fingers in and out faster, swiping his thumb over Ratio’s cock. “Close,” he mutters into his shoulder. Hours of working each other up, all leading up to this. It was never going to last long. “You?”

Ratio makes a choking noise. His hips buck against Aventurine’s hand, shallowly fucking himself on his fingers.

“Yeah.” Aventurine grits his teeth. He can’t see what he’s doing properly from this angle, but he can hear the filthy sounds as he fucks his fingers in and out even faster. Wet squelching noises, and Ratio’s quiet but eager moans. He can smell the sex in the air, drowning out the stale, sweaty changing room stench. Leather, florals, old books, sex. He buries his nose in Ratio’s burning skin, inhaling deeply and trying to commit it to memory.

He grinds his thumb against Ratio’s cock, harsh and cruel, and Ratio yelps. One hand flies to his mouth to muffle his noises, the other joins Aventurine’s hand between his legs, a mess of fingers and slick. He shows him how he likes it, where to stroke, to pinch, and Aventurine tries to learn, to focus on anything other than fucking Ratio’s thighs like his life depends on it. Ratio drools on his cock, and Aventurine drools on his shoulder.

“You must be -hngh! – really pent-up,” Aventurine pants. His hand is cramping, but he doesn't care. “You’re so wet Doctor. Did you need this that badly?”

He’s not expecting an answer; the doctor only seems to speak when necessary during sex. But Ratio nods furiously. "Torture," he gasps. "Watching you run around in that - mmmmh - tight uniform. Supple. Sweaty. Dirty. Wanted to-!" He cuts himself off, and Aventurine never gets to hear all his secret fantasies.

But that's okay. He still barrels towards his climax, and if Ratio won't talk, he will. Just... not as eloquent. “Feels – ngh – so good. Hot. Wet. Fuck!” He fucks his hips in and out on autopilot, rolling Ratio’s nipple and cock similarly between his fingers.

“Fuck me,” Ratio pants, like Aventurine is really buried deep inside of him. Aventurine gasps at the curse, but Ratio is so out of it he doesn’t seem to notice the mask of The Dignified, Learned Doctor is crumbling around Aventurine's fingers. He squirms, back arching, mindlessly chasing the pleasure that's corrupting him. “Wanted you to - ngah! Yes! There! - on the grass. Keep… Ohhh, keep fucking me!” Ratio's head tilts forward, almost doubling over as Aventurine's fingers curl to just the right spot.

“Yeah.” Aventurine noses over his skin. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, gonna fuck you. Gonna – ah! – fuck you so hard,” he murmurs deliriously. He doesn’t get to fuck people. Nobody ever wants him to fill that role, and it feels nice enough to take, so he goes along with whatever people want him to trade them. A nice, orderly transaction. But Ratio is asking for it, and Aventurine wants it, and they’re both writhing against each other chaotically. So maybe… maybe another time they can…

The wave inside of him is cresting. Ratio tastes of salt and grass. Aventurine mouths kisses over his neck. “Gonna come,” he breathes, hot air against hot skin. Ratio nods, tightening his thighs further. “Gonna make you even messier,” Aventurine growls, gripping Ratio’s hips with one hand as his vision whites out and he-

He’s never come so hard. It’s a drawn out, almost agonizing thing. Spurts of cum paint Ratio’s drenched thighs, as Aventurine shudders to a stop, buried between them. He has just enough self-control to stroke Ratio harder, crueller, until Ratio’s whole body seizes. His thighs tense around Aventurine’s cock so tightly it almost hurts, and he muffles a cry in his clenched fist. Those thighs shake torturously around Aventurine's sensitive cock.

For a few moments, Aventurine’s mind is completely blank. There’s nothing but pleasure, peace, and the warmth of Ratio in his arms. He gets to bask in his orgasm in a way he usually can’t – vulnerable and weak-kneed.

Then the afterglow fades – abrupt and brutal – and Aventurine is just an IPC asset, standing in a changing room with his pants around his ankles and his dick between his valued colleague’s thighs.

He steps away, collapsing onto the bench as his shaky legs finally give out. Ratio staggers around for a few more seconds, throwing his own shirt on the bench so he can sit down, and then collapses beside him too. His shirt is going to be ruined.

The changing room is eerily silent.

Ratio leans on him. Aventurine tenses. Ratio goes stiff too.

Slowly, like he’s removing his foot from a bear trap that has failed to go off, Ratio leans away from him. Aventurine doesn’t look when he feels Ratio’s sharp eyes on him. He doesn’t realise it, but he’s holding his breath, waiting for Ratio to kick him out, to lecture him about what an idiotic idea this was, to bemoan that he’s been seduced by a scheming, Avgin whore. (And wasn’t that Jade’s plan? Isn’t that what Aventurine’s really been doing all day? Just getting used, and using everyone else in turn?)

This is usually the easiest part. Aventurine dresses and gets as far away as quickly as possible. But he’ll have to see Ratio again, inevitably, so he can’t just bolt. Lost without his script, cursing his horny desperation, he waits tensely for Ratio to decide what comes next. Whatever it is, he can work with it.

… Is what he thinks, right up until Ratio takes his hand, squeezes it, and says, “An admirable performance.”

It’s so bizarre, so Ratio, that Aventurine can’t help but laugh, startled out of his defensive curl. “What?!”

“You made quite a mess though,” Ratio hums. “I should deduct points for that.”

“For- What are you doing?” Aventurine laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. Reluctantly, he meets Ratio’s eyes. The warmth he finds there is exactly what he isn’t hoping to see, what terrifies him the most.

Ratio tilts his head. “Is that not appropriate post-coital conversation?” His voice is rough, shaking around the words. It's the only indicator of the man that just fell to the pieces on Aventurine's fingers.

Aventurine sighs. It’s so hard to bolt for the fire exit when Ratio keeps baffling him like this. “That’s… Yeah. Don’t say that when you’ve just fucked someone.”

It’s Ratio’s turn to look away, scouting the room for his exit point. “I’m afraid I don’t have much hands on research in this particular field… perhaps you could educate me further?”

“What?” Maybe this is a dream. The entire day, even.

“Just casual tutoring,” Ratio suggests, the words heavy with meaning. “It would probably be best for our work if we didn’t let things get so… pent up, again. Clearly it hinders our skills.”

Aventurine blinks up at him.

Just something casual. Stress relief, so they don’t get so horny and distracted again. Good for them, good for their work, nothing serious… There’s no way this is really happening, no way straightlaced, ever-serious Veritas Ratio is proposing a friends with benefits deal after some light fingering.

Aventurine squeezes Ratio’s hand, just to feel it, to test his senses. If this is a dream, it’s a very realistic one.

“Just… casual tutoring,” Aventurine repeats, staring at Ratio’s hand in his, feeling the warmth that spreads through his body. It’s dangerous. He shouldn’t risk it. He should keep running, always keep running, never look back.

But just like on the field, as the mess on Ratio’s thighs attests, he can’t help himself when it comes to Ratio.

“Yeah.” Aventurine squeezes Ratio’s hand again. He swallows. It’s just another gamble. “I could do that.”

Ratio smiles, visibly relieved, and something very, very dangerous unfurls in Aventurine's cold and depleted heart.