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It takes about two months after their first acquaintance to get Ratio into bed.
Aventurine hadn’t even really been trying, didn’t see the point in it; obviously the guy was easy on the eyes and surprisingly enjoyable company, but nothing about him spoke to any inclination towards flings. If anything, Ratio had a reputation for being disdainful of social interaction in general, which took Aventurine about five minutes to realize was bullshit. But Aventurine did get the impression that Ratio was the kind of person to have standards so unrealistically precise that nobody would ever be able to meet them. And he didn’t react at all to the low-level flirting Aventurine defaulted to around people the IPC wanted to stay on good terms with. So Aventurine figured anything would be a lost cause, and that was that.
But the low-level flirting isn’t easy to dial back, especially after a drink, especially around a guy Aventurine at least wants to see react to it, so one evening at an IPC fundraiser for some cause or another that the IPC probably doesn’t actually care about, Aventurine sidles up to Ratio and says, “I bet you don’t want to be here any more than I do.”
Ratio’s drink, a flute of champagne from some IPC-associated vineyard, is barely touched. He’s standing by a wall, just close enough to the edge of the crowd that it doesn’t seem like he’s avoiding it but still not quite within conversation range of anyone. He glances over at Aventurine with an expression like he’s spotted something mildly interesting. “While I’m not privy to your own thoughts, the fact that you came over here instead of continuing to do your job indicates a commonality in sentiment,” he says.
Aventurine laughs. “You could’ve just said yes, doc,” he says. He takes another sip of his drink. Annoyingly, the champagne is actually really good.
If Ratio sees that as a slight, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Events such as these have never been my forte, but the Guild is trying to leverage my position as liaison to form a firmer connection with the IPC,” he says. “I’m to put in appearances at a few specific gatherings. This is one of them.”
Aventurine’s been glad-handing all evening, talking up suits and celebrities eager to get in the IPC’s good graces. Ratio’s a breath of fresh air, but it’s hard to turn it off. “You know, if you want to form a connection, I’d be happy to oblige,” he drawls.
Ratio takes a sip of champagne. “I’d be amenable to that,” he says.
Aventurine blinks.
And one thing leads to another.
---
So it’s a thing now.
They get assigned together, they run into each other at official whatevers, more often than not they end up at some nearby hotel room or the IPC lodgings and have a good time. It’s nice. Takes some negotiating, at first, and Aventurine really didn’t expect Ratio to be a cuddler, but it’s nice.
The first time, after, lying in bed sweaty and pleasantly sore, Aventurine says, “I didn’t think this was your style.”
Ratio, just as sweaty, hair mussed and looking generally unkempt in a way Aventurine’s proud of, looks over at him and says, “Then why did you ask?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it. Just teasing you, I guess.”
“Hm.” Aventurine’s too languid to feel much put-off by Ratio’s scrutiny. “Well, you’re attractive, you’re willing, and I’d put in enough time at the fundraiser, so an excuse to leave was welcome.”
“That’s all it takes?” The hotel bed is dangerously comfortable. Aventurine doesn’t want to fall asleep here, so he swallows a yawn and sits up.
“And you’re tolerable company.”
Aventurine gives a lazy smile. “Tolerable? Such a way with words, doc.”
“It’s factual. Would you rather I flatter your ego with praise unjustified by the limits of our acquaintance?”
“Yeah, this is more what I thought it’d be like.”
The third time, the planet they’re on is in the middle of a deadly winter, brought on by a combination of technology gone wrong and people in power deciding that it’s fine for technology to go wrong if it doesn’t affect them personally, and the IPC’s stepping in to forestall the devastation of a people whose factories produce 10% of the known universe’s stardrives. So it’s cold. It’s really, really cold. And it turns out the heating in the IPC-provided living facilities can only do so much. So after the usual affairs, Aventurine doesn’t end up going back to his own room. Two bodies make for a warmer bed, after all.
He’s never had morning sex before. He’s a little curious if there’s any difference.
It turns out to have a pleasant sleepiness to it, like waking up on a day off and drowsing in bed for a little longer, comfortable and warm. And Ratio in the morning is a charming sight; neither an annoying morning person nor incongruously lazy, just mellow and a little quiet. Drinking coffee with him and scrolling through the news on his phone isn’t a bad way to spend an early hour. After the sex, anyway; obviously he wouldn’t bother with this without that.
The fifth time, Aventurine’s maybe had a bad day, and they don’t end up doing much. Which is nice, until it isn’t. Aventurine leaves early. He doesn’t answer Ratio’s messages for a while after that.
---
It’s not like Ratio’s the only person Aventurine sleeps with. Not even the only person he sleeps with multiple times, not even the only person he finds enjoyable to spend time with. The prime minister of Ingeni-VI is a perfectly reasonable woman who’s only a little reluctant to sign over partial ownership of mineral rights and afterwards asks him about his job like she’s genuinely curious. There’s a diplomat from Planet Screwllum who’s fascinated by the human body but in a surprisingly respectful way. There’s people who maybe aren’t that great, honestly, but have tastes Aventurine doesn’t mind indulging.
But after three months of casual affairs after work hours, Aventurine realizes he’s never slept with any one person that many times, and also that he looks forward to assignments with Ratio, and also that sometimes being around Ratio makes everything a little less, you know, and he doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just doesn’t think about it.
---
But everything is, you know, so. You know.
---
Nearly a year, now.
They’re on a jungle planet, some backwater in a system barely touched by the IPC, and talks haven’t gone very well. The locals are interested in the idea of getting funding and advanced medical technology to research a disease that’s periodically ravaged the planet every century or so--a disease that has been confirmed to only be transmissible to people who have spent their whole lives drinking the local water, so no worries that the ambassadors might catch it--but there are also religious leaders who think that the disease is part of a cycle granted by their god to ensure humanity will never overrun nature. And those people have a lot of political influence. And they don’t like that the IPC’s offer of aid is conditional on exclusive rights to the pharmacological usage of a species of flower that they view as holy. So yeah, talks haven’t gone very well.
It all hits a little close to home. Aventurine feels itchy, unsettled. He’s looking forward to getting this done and leaving. A fun evening with Ratio where he doesn’t have to think about any of that is just what he needs.
Ratio’s there to take a look at some local hospitals and also participate in the negotiations as a voice of You Should Trust Medical Science And This Is Why, In Excruciating Detail. His secondary job, as far as Aventurine’s concerned, is Aventurine’s personal stress relief. Aventurine hasn’t mentioned this. He doesn’t want to deal with whatever kind of lecture would ensue if he did.
So they’re in bed, in an air-conditioned room safe from the jungle’s heat. Even backwaters have income disparity; the hotel’s a much nicer place than the villages they’ve been touring. This doesn’t actually improve Aventurine’s mood. He remembers what it’s like to live in a place like those, and any planet that does have the resources to provide a decent life for its populace but chooses not to in favor of benefitting the few leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Best to chase it out with Ratio’s tongue.
Ratio’s pressing him into the mattress, a hot, firm weight better than any blanket, their groins grinding together while they explore each other’s mouths. A path much treaded, but Aventurine doesn’t mind a repeat visit. He digs his fingers into Ratio’s back. He’ll probably leave scratches tonight. Ratio always insists on applying antiseptic to those afterwards, which is horribly endearing, and thus another thing Aventurine doesn’t like thinking about.
Aventurine grinds upwards against Ratio, the friction resonating through his body like a live wire. The itchy feeling hasn’t gone away. His mind keeps wandering back to the village they visited this morning: a mere scattering of houses, really, quiet but for the buzz of mosquitos. Someone asked if the IPC could help purify the village’s water source, a river that once ran clear but was now murky with chemical runoff. He said yes, of course, but he also said that the IPC would only do that if a deal was made for the flowers.
The villagers didn’t look happy about that. Aventurine didn’t enjoy saying it. Water, again. Another suffering people on another suffering planet, and for all he knows this time the IPC’s “assistance” will result in another round of genocide, and then he’ll just go back to work and file a report about it and attend a board meeting about the next suffering planet and try not to stare too longingly at the windows on a hundred-story building--
Oh, there’s an idea. Something to get all these thoughts out of his head much more efficiently.
He pulls back from Ratio. Ratio opens his eyes to look down at him, questioning.
“I want to try something,” Aventurine says. His heart beats a little faster. It’s reckless; he has no idea how Ratio will react. But it might pay off. It might work.
Ratio tilts his head. “What did you have in mind?” he asks.
“Probably easier if I show you,” Aventurine says.
He wraps his fingers around the back of Ratio’s hand. Pulls it up from where it was on the mattress; Ratio doesn’t resist, perhaps curious where Aventurine is going with this. He moves it past his chest, past his collarbone, landing it softly on his neck. Palm lightly pressed against his throat, fingers in position to wrap around it.
It’s a thrill, just doing that. Rolling the dice on Ratio’s reaction. Will he understand, will he need clarification, maybe he’ll just wrap his fingers tighter immediately--
Ratio pulls his hand back, face changing from curiosity to something like horror. “Absolutely not,” he snaps.
“What, it’s not that bad,” Aventurine says. “People do it all the time.”
The instant rejection stings. Ratio won’t even consider it? But maybe he can wear him down.
“It may be widely known, but that does not mean it is widely practiced,” Ratio says. He sits back on his legs, arms crossed, blanket pooling around him. His eyes radiate cold.
“Among the crowd you run with, maybe,” Aventurine says. “The Intelligentsia Guild’s too busy trying to solve the problems of the universe to have a good time.” Although given how often Ratio’s slept with him, the Guild clearly isn’t that strict, but.
“Pleasurable side effects aside, it’s far too dangerous,” Ratio says, like he didn’t hear the barb. “Any reduction of oxygen to the brain risks brain damage, and applying extreme force to the trachea can cause permanent injury, inhibiting your ability to speak or even breathe. No medical doctor would ever condone this.”
Aventurine sits up. “But it’d be safer with a doctor, yeah?” he says. “You’d know when to stop. You’d be much better at telling just how far you can go without it being too risky.”
“No amount is without risk,” Ratio says sharply. He hesitates, then, his expression flickering into something complicated. “Have you done this before?”
“Every once in a while,” Aventurine says. He shrugs one shoulder. “Sometimes clients have particular tastes.”
Ratio looks pained. “Surely if a client attempted to harm you, that would be grounds for at minimum a change in representative, if not an assault charge.”
Aventurine laughs, a little. “C’mon, doc. You may not play the game yourself, but you know how it goes. I let someone important act out a little fantasy they’ve never been able to convince a regular whore to do, they sign over an extra 1%. As long as I walk out in one piece, the IPC doesn’t really care.”
Ratio exhales. “Putting that aside,” he says, in a voice that doesn’t make it sound like he wants to put that aside, “I am not one of those clients, and so I cannot fathom why you would ask for it.”
“You said it yourself,” Aventurine says lightly. “Side effects.”
There’s nothing else quite like it. The dizzy, lightheaded feeling almost feels like pleasure, neurons misfiring as the oxygen deprivation sets in, and it’s impossible to think about anything else, no space for bitter thoughts or unpleasant memories. But even more than that is the sensation of walking on a tightrope, or maybe standing on the edge of a very tall roof. One step, and you’ll fall; but if you don’t take that step, you get to stay on the edge, heart pounding, blood pumping, all the more alive for being so close to death.
And if someone maybe pushes you a little, well. At least you’d go feeling good.
“I would have hoped our normal activities were sufficient for that,” Ratio says. “Unless it hasn’t been satisfactory?”
It has been satisfactory, it’s been a lot more fun than most of his work affairs, and honestly even if it was just okay it would still be good because Aventurine can’t really remember the last time he slept with somebody that wasn’t a work affair or after a night at a bar but he keeps coming back to Ratio, every time. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a relationship, which doesn’t matter that much, not really, because that kind of thing isn’t really an option for him. But it’s--something. At the very least it’s something Aventurine would be unhappy to lose.
Aventurine has no illusions about his lifespan. Someone or something is going to push him off that edge eventually. Or maybe he’ll just step, one day, when everything is too everything or he finds the right way to do it. So it’s nice to imagine the hand on his back belonging to someone who isn’t doing it out of cruelty.
He smirks. “What, worried about your performance? No complaints here.” He leans forward, loops an arm around Ratio’s back. Close enough that if he leaned in a little more it’d be kissing distance. Maybe he should try that. Get Ratio to relax a little. “I just wanted to try something different. Spice it up a little.”
“There are a multitude of safer options than erotic asphyxiation,” Ratio says flatly. “While I lack personal experience with the matter, research would--”
Aventurine laughs, maybe a little harder than he means to. “Aeons, don’t get scientific about it,” he says. “Just go with what feels good. That’s what sex is.”
Ratio gets this look on his face sometimes, when Aventurine talks about stuff. He can see the beginnings of it now. “Aventurine,” he starts.
Nope, not doing that. Aventurine lets go and lies back down. The whole thing’s starting to sour. Maybe he should just shut up and let Ratio fuck him and then go back to his own room, maybe take an early flight out, beg forgiveness from Jade and request not to be assigned to anything that needs a scientific advisor. Block Ratio’s number, just to make it clear. But he can’t stand the idea, and he can’t stand that he can’t stand the idea. “Are you going to do it or not?” he says, his tone aiming for bratty because given Ratio’s general demeanor around people he doesn’t like maybe that’s the tactic to use here. Maybe the good doctor has a particular streak he’s just never shown before. Something, anything.
“Is it so difficult to believe that I have no desire to hurt you?” Ratio says, and Aventurine hates the way he says it.
That’s enough. He’s getting out of here. This is worse than the fifth time. He gets off the bed and starts grabbing his clothes off the carpet.
“I shouldn’t have bothered asking the saintly Dr. Ratio,” he snaps, feeling something ugly boil under his skin. “Too good to deal with the mess of lesser fools, right? If it doesn’t fit with your perfect logical view of the universe, it’s beneath you.”
An unpleasant, roiling lava, pyroclastic flow scorching anything that gets within range. He hates being pitied. He hates even more that he thought Ratio might understand why he wanted this.
“Wait,” Ratio says, getting off the bed. He reaches out to put a hand on Aventurine’s shoulder. Aventurine bats it away and tugs his clothes on.
“You know I don’t think that,” Ratio says, withdrawing his hand. There’s that fucking expression. “So why are you pretending otherwise?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to try to logic your way through this,” Aventurine says, pulling his jacket on over a shirt half-buttoned. “People are messy, doctor, which you’d know if you ever spoke to anyone who didn’t walk out of an ivory tower or a boardroom.”
There’s a visceral satisfaction in spitting venom. If Ratio refuses to hurt him, even when he’s asking for it, even when he wants it, maybe he can hurt Ratio instead.
“If you truly believed the things you’re saying, why seek out my company at all?” Ratio says, and finally there’s frustration in his voice. “For almost a year we’ve been having these dalliances; why now would you find me intolerable?”
“Think of it as the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Aventurine says. Clothes on, phone in pocket, he’s good to go. He heads for the door.
“Aventurine, please,” Ratio says behind him, and of all the things Aventurine hates that Ratio’s done in the last five minutes he thinks he hates that the most, because it makes him want to stop. But the feeling disappears in an instant when a hand lands on his shoulder. He rips it off and whirls around, eyes ablaze.
“Get your hands off me,” he snarls.
Ratio steps back. He does look hurt, now, genuinely. Good. Maybe if he feels even half as bad as Aventurine does most of the time he’ll get the picture.
“Just because you’ve fucked me a few times doesn’t mean you know me,” Aventurine snaps. “Goodnight, doctor.”
He yanks open the door and slams it behind him.
The sound echoes in the silent hallway. Maybe it woke up some other guests. Aventurine really doesn’t care. He walks back to his own room, wishing it was on a different floor.
Once he’s inside and the door is closed, he falls face-first onto his bed. He lies there for a few seconds before rolling over onto his back.
Less than five minutes, and an evening that had been going pretty well went rotten because Aventurine’s too much of a mess for one single normal human relationship.
It’s not Ratio’s fault. It feels like it’s Ratio’s fault, but alone in a different room and not feeling the weight of pity Aventurine can admit to himself that that was a shitty thing to do. Of course a normal person wouldn’t want to strangle someone during sex. The clients weren’t normal people, and Aventurine’s fucked up for wanting it, and it’s not fair to put any of that on Ratio, who was just looking for a casual fuck, not deal with Aventurine’s bullshit. He should’ve just shut up and let Ratio do what he wanted. He wouldn’t have hated it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s put on a performance.
He stares up at the ceiling. It’s a bland, creamy white, no visible chips or cracks in the paint. The room as a whole is all understated elegance, neutral tones and fine fabrics and freshly-cleaned carpet and muted landscapes in walnut-stained frames. It’s not the most expensive hotel he’s ever been in, but any individual item in it could’ve bought at least a month’s worth of food on Sigonia, maybe more if they rationed it like they usually had to. He has a brief, visceral urge to destroy everything in the room.
But that would look bad for the IPC, wouldn’t it, their ambassador causing property damage for no explainable reason. Aeons. What is he going to do about the job here. Aventurine wants to just fuck off and leave Ratio to do it on his own, but this is one of the IPC’s charity cases, and if Ratio was forced to do the negotiation himself he’d undoubtedly tilt the scales towards the struggling locals instead of maximizing profit. There’s a reason he only gets assigned as a scientific advisor, not an ambassador.
So tomorrow morning Aventurine has to get up and go back to his job and avoid looking Ratio in the eye. Great.
Despite what Aventurine said, Ratio does know him pretty well, or at least as much as Aventurine lets anyone know him, so he’ll know not to try to talk about it tomorrow. The thought doesn’t lessen the sourness in Aventurine’s stomach any. On one hand, it’s convenient, but on the other hand, it’s another form of concern and Ratio’s concern, even unspoken, is insufferable.
The worst of it is, Aventurine knows this fight won’t actually change anything, in the long run. Communication will be awkward for a while, but they don’t see each other every day anyway, or even every month, and by the time their next assignment together rolls around it’ll have cooled down. And when evening comes they’ll end up back in a room together. Because for all the things he hates about Ratio, there’s still that tiny desperate part of him that wants something nice. Some little space where the weight of everything lifts for a bit. Ratio isn’t exactly nice, but those evenings are still…
Aventurine hates that part of himself, too.
He shouldn’t sleep in his clothes. They’ll get wrinkled, and he didn’t bring another jacket. Aventurine gets off the bed and pulls them off, discarding them with a little less care than the expensive fabric requires. A few wrinkles are fine. That accomplished, he falls back into bed and closes his eyes.
In another world, he thinks, Ratio worrying over him would be touching. Relieving. A sign of affection that he could appreciate, a little. In this world, it’s a heavy weight. Oppressive. Unbearable.
Suffocating.
He falls asleep and dreams of hands on his throat that don’t let go.