Work Text:
Veritas Ratio is not the kind of man with many things to be ashamed of. He's intelligent, accomplished, and he's made himself a path in life where he actually contributes something to the world. He hasn't committed any crimes or atrocities, has a dedicated purpose, and is actively working toward his own improvement. With that alone, he's doing quite a bit better than ninety percent of the population.
Only two things bring him shame. The first: The fact that even after a lifetime of hard work and dedicated scholarship, Nous still hasn't given him so much as a glance. The second: His relationship with Aventurine of the IPC.
The first is Veritas Ratio's greatest failure in life. The second is, well... The second is something. It shames him because it's tangible proof that his judgment is beginning to fail him. It shames him because it proves that he isn't immune to matters of the flesh. Worse, it shames him because he knows what it might look like to outsiders. The IPC invests far too much in the Intelligentsia Guild's funding for an arrangement like this to look innocent. Not that Veritas would use sex for such a thing, and he's not particularly invested in the way he appears to presumptive idiots, but—
But Aventurine is adept at pushing buttons, and Veritas Ratio isn't quite as strong of a man as he initially thought. This is the second time in a week that he finds himself redressing after a night in Aventurine's bed. The second time in a week. He doesn't know what kind of idiocy must be overcoming him.
"Going so soon, Doctor?" Aventurine asks. Half-nude, leaning back in the sheets. He looks terribly content. There's a line of bite marks along his clavicle. One more, right over the tattoo on his neck, and what was Veritas thinking, leaving so much evidence? Aventurine blinks lazily at him, an arm propped behind his head. His eyelids are drooping already. He always gets so tired after. A blessing, perhaps, because it means he never does anything that might tempt Veritas into staying the night.
"Unlike some of us," Veritas says, buttoning his pants, "I have important business to attend to. I can't afford the luxery of wasting so much of my time on frivolous things such as—"
"Ah," Aventurine stops him, cracking something like a smile. "And yet you spend so much of it on me."
"I..." Veritas handed him that one, he'll admit. He purses his lips. Lapsed judgment. He's been dealing with that particular ailment far more often than he should lately. "Forget it," he says, stooping to find his vest on the ground. "You wouldn't comprehend such a thing anyway."
"No, no," Aventurine protests, "do explain it to me, Doctor. I'm eager to learn."
Veritas ignores him, swiftly doing up his buttons. He's so... Veritas shakes his head and continues, reaching for his sleeve next, sliding it on and securing the wraps around his waist. When he glances up from his belt, Aventurine's eyes are shut, head tipped back. He looks perfectly contented. Veritas wants to touch him, just a bit. Brush his hair back, feel his heartbeat. Just... gently. Gentler than he had been a handful of moments before. A lapse in judgment. Veritas ails. He leaves before Aventurine's eyes can open again.
△
They met... Well. It wasn't particularly special. Veritas Ratio as a representative of the Intelligentsia Guild presenting a particularly important piece of research. Aventurine as a delegate of the IPC's Strategic Investment Department. There had been a conversation in which Veritas had only become slightly frustrated and Aventurine laughed a whole lot, and then funding was granted and signed under a list of a few unexpectedly reasonable conditions, and that was that.
The second time they met, Aventurine put a gun in Veritas' hand and pointed it as his own chest. The cylinder had been empty but for a single bullet, and he'd spun it like a roulette wheel without a care in the world. He'd been smiling, then. Something like, you don't believe me? on his tongue. Veritas doesn't even remember what they had been talking about, but when Aventurine made him pull the trigger thrice, he called life a grand gamble. One he would always win, and for the first time, Veritas felt real fear. His hands had shaken afterward. One freak accident was all it would've taken for—
He'd been angry, after. Rightfully so. They'd started off on an alright foot, but after that second meeting Veritas felt quite a bit differently. There is no trusting someone with so little care for his life. Aventurine unsettles him in a way no one else ever has. And yet... And yet—
Months later, Veritas hadn't even tried to stop Aventurine from pulling him in by the chain at his chest and kissing him hard and biting. That had been his first lapse in judgment. The second came soon after, then the third, fourth, fifth.
Sex creates idiots. Veritas knows this well. He wishes he knew how to stop himself. He doesn't want to stop at all. Aventurine is far too good at pushing his buttons. Making him stupid. Making him care. They meet again in less than a week.
△
Aventurine smiles too much. Veritas has always thought so. He smiles and laughs and gives everyone exactly what they want to see. He's honest but never fully, and it's difficult to learn anything about him that he doesn't already permit you to know. He does things quickly and roughly, straight to the point. He's good at pressing buttons and getting what he wants. He drinks and he smokes and he gambles. He's a good liar and a bad one at once. Veritas sees through him like glass and like mud.
Today, Aventurine sends a picture. He does this sometimes. Never anything scandalous, because his position is far too important to risk over such a thing as that, but... Pictures. Images. Deliberately mussed blond hair. Two-toned eyes staring over the rim of pink tinted glasses. That smile, the permanent, ingenuine one he keeps plastered on, with the hint of his tongue between his teeth. It's hardly vulgar. Barely even suggestive. Veritas looks at this picture of his face for far too long, and then he closes out of it and wonders what would compel him to look, instead of just looking. Just glancing and typing back some witty reply. Aventurine does such strange things to him.
Comb your hair, it's unbefitting, Veritas sends, and then returns to his book. His phone buzzes moments later. He forces himself to finish the page he's on before he picks it up. When he first met Aventurine, he could easily finish an entire chapter between texts. Right now, the imprint of that picture is still lingering behind his eyelids.
You know I love it when you're mean, Doctor, but your insults lack flavor these days, Aventurine has sent. After that, I'm seeing you Saturday, correct?
Veritas wonders what would happen if he said no. If he stopped all of this. If he stopped seeing Aventurine entirely, aside from business matters. Aventurine isn't the type that would chase after him like some lost animal. Aventurine is used to being left behind.
We discussed this already, Veritas sends instead of no. He returns to his book. A crooked smile. The hint of a tongue between teeth. His phone buzzes. Three more paragraphs. Patient, he reads through them. Turns the page, slips his bookmark in place. Checks his phone.
I always double check on meetings, Doctor, it's good practice. I'm sure you know how forgetful people can be.
Veritas reads it twice. I do not forget about important meetings, he types out, and then he deletes it, because that implies that this, whatever this is, is important to him. I do not forget, he decides on, and this time when his phone buzzes, he doesn't look at it at all.
△
Saturday comes. Aventurine bites too much. He goads Veritas into pulling his hair and pushing him around. He asks for nothing afterward. He never asks for anything afterward. Veritas has always found that odd. He gets dressed. Aventurine lays there with his eyes shut and a mess still painted all over him. His golden hair is mussed and tangled. Lips bitten red. There's still a blotch of mottled green over the tattoo on his throat. Veritas looks at him for far too long. One of his eyes cracks open.
"What is it, Doctor?" he asks, arms reaching behind him as he stretches out with a satisfied sound. His back arches just a bit, bare skin sliding against silk sheets. Veritas can practically taste his cologne. "See something you like?"
Buttons. Perhaps he has a hand tangled in Veritas' very hard wiring. Veritas considers him. His eyes. The way something behind them seems a bit wary. The longer he's made to wait the more that smile slips off his face. Aventurine doesn't suit a sober expression. It doesn't suit him. Veritas sighs, shaking his head. He slips into the ensuite bathroom and finds a washcloth, wetting it.
When his gaze flicks up to the mirror, he looks disheveled even to his own eyes. He hadn't dressed fully, just replaced his vest and trousers. There's a bite mark right at the center of his exposed chest. A twinge of irritation. He frowns at himself, wringing out the cloth.
Aventurine has sat up when Veritas returns. He's facing the opposite direction, gold hair curling around his nape. His shoulders are kind of narrow, Veritas realizes this now. Fine-boned like a bird in a cage. There are fingerprint bruises pressed into his waist. Veritas wants to—
"Back so soon?" Aventurine asks. He's not looking at Veritas, but his posture changes, head lifting, back straightening. Putting on a new mask from a pile at his feet. Veritas has never been good at picking through them. He's struck with the thought that he doesn't know if he's ever once seen the real Aventurine. Or maybe this is him. Maybe all the masks are real because that's what he's made of himself.
"It has come to my attention that if I leave you alone you're just as likely to let this filth dry onto you as you are to clean it off," Veritas says, coming around the bed. Aventurine looks up at him when he's close enough, eyebrows lifting just slightly. Maddening. Veritas has already bitten his lips red.
"Pardon?"
"This." Veritas scowls, gesturing at the liquid mess on Aventurine's belly, uncleaned within the space of the seven minutes since they finished; which, really, how can he stand it? Veritas grabs his shoulder and angles him into a more cooperative position. Aventurine laughs—he laughs until the touch of the washcloth makes him go quiet, and then he stills so wholly that Veritas gets nervous.
Another lapse in judgment. He could have tossed the cloth at Aventurine and been on his way; what is he doing? Aventurine is looking at him, suddenly devoid of expression. It's too late to take it back without making a fool of himself, so Veritas simply clears his throat and continues his work, quick, methodical.
"Nice of you, Doctor," Aventurine says. Off balance, slightly, like Veritas is.
"Common courtesy," Veritas says gruffly. A quieter, huffed laugh. Aventurine shakes with it. Veritas— Veritas feels decidedly nothing. He finishes up and leaves the cloth for Aventurine to do what he will with it and straightens up. "I do hope you'll take a proper bath once you've composed yourself."
Aventurine blinks at him, and the off balance expression is swiftly swept beneath something like humor and incredulity. "Do you doubt my hygiene?" Aventurine asks. "You think I what, don't bathe, and yet you sleep with me anyway?" He's laughing again, and this is the laugh Veritas is familiar with. The loud one, the... he's unsure whether it's genuine or not, but it's the laugh Aventurine always laughs when he thinks something is funny. "Should I take offense or be flattered?"
"That isn't—" Veritas makes a frustrated sound and stands, finding the rest of his clothes and pulling them on swiftly. "I'll be on my way," he says, embarrassed and shamed and feeling, distinctly, like an idiot.
"Yeah, yeah," Aventurine calls after him, voice smiling. "See you, Veritas."
Veritas. Veritas Ratio has never once given Aventurine permission to call him by his first name, but he does it now and then. Not often. Not frequently. Every single time it still catches him completely off guard. So much of Aventurine catches him off guard. It's becoming a problem.
△
Aventurine doesn't get drunk. Veritas has noticed this upon careful observation. He frequents bars and casinos and he drinks, but he never gets drunk. Instead, he wobbles in his feet and laughs and slurs his speech and pretends. That way no one realizes they're being duped. That way he can take advantage of the drunk but the drunk can't take advantage of him.
When asked, he'll deny this fact. When pressured, he'll say it's because betting is best done sober. Veritas suspects it's less of that and more of the fact that Aventurine is not a trusting person.
They're not supposed to meet today. There have no business or other arrangements. Aventurine has not attempted to seduce him via text or send him questionable images. Veritas has not had to pretend not to want him. They haven't spoken in three days. Veritas didn't know he would be at this bar.
Aventurine talks and laughs with three other men, all taller and bigger than he is. All drunk. Aventurine is not. Aventurine is pretending. Veritas does not go talk to him. Instead, he takes a seat not far but not close and orders a drink. His sips it slowly. Aventurine's laugh rings out.
It's strange, seeing people when you don't expect to. Veritas is not the center of Aventurine's attention tonight, and he will not be. Perhaps this will be an opportunity for observation. A chance to understand enough to gain the upper hand. Perhaps if he knows enough, Aventurine won't be able to put him off balance.
"You're not subtle," the girl next to him says. She is small, perhaps half his height, with long brown pigtails and magenta eyes. There is a mask in her hair and a pair of moles on her cheeks, and she speaks like she's mocking him. "And really, you have terrible taste."
"Excuse me?"
She smiles, sharp teeth on display. With the way she laughs, and the mask in her hair, Veritas understands. "This is funny," she says, "the wannabe genius and the IPC's little Sigonian peacock. Tell me, do you make him beg on his knees for you? Does he—"
"Have you no shame?" Veritas grits, grip tight on his drink. Barely thirty-seven words into the conversation and he is angry. The girl cocks her head and blinks innocently at him.
"Me?" she asks. "What about you?"
Veritas takes a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes as he tries to calm himself so he won't make a scene. But by the time he opens them again, the girl is gone and in her place is a slightly afraid looking man. Veritas loosens his grip on his drink. "Apologies," he says to the man, who nods awkwardly and returns to his business.
It's difficult to relax after that. He takes a sip of his drink and waits for the burn of it to calm. He can't hear Aventurine's laughter anymore. When he looks in that direction, he sees the three men he'd been drinking with, but not Aventurine himself. Someone slides onto the bar stool next to his. Someone with blond hair and frivolous clothing and two-toned eyes hidden behind tinted glasses.
"Looking for me, Doctor?" Aventurine asks, grinning. He smells like alcohol and smoke and that cologne he uses. Even Aventurine's smell is frivolous. Veritas has always thought so.
"You flatter yourself," Veritas says. Pauses. "I didn't know you would be here."
Aventurine chuckles. "I wasn't going to accuse you of stalking," he says, leaning against the counter, propping himself on an elbow. Terrible manners. Bad judgment. His face is a bit flushed and his demeanor is sloppy. He looks drunk, but he's not. He's just an excellent pretender. "I was just going to point out what a lovely, unexpected coincidence this is, seeing you here."
Veritas says nothing, just takes another sip of his drink.
"I thought you didn't like alcohol," Aventurine says, "clouds the mind and whatnot."
Veritas grunts. He looks at Aventurine's easy smile. It frustrates him. "I spoke with a girl a moment ago," he says. "She had nothing but terrible things to say about you."
"Ah." Aventurine's smile doesn't even falter. "You know me, Doctor."
"Doesn't this bother you?" How can it not? Is Aventurine really so used to being belittled and humiliated that he simply doesn't care anymore? Veritas has received his fair share of criticism throughout his academic work, but never has anyone— Just out of the blue—
"Well," Aventurine says, twisting one of his rings around his fingers. Still smiling. He's always smiling. "What did she call me? A slut? A cheater? A doomed Sigonian thrall, maybe?"
Sharp. Pointed. Veritas' stomach stirs. "Aventurine."
"Whatever it is, I'm sure I've heard it before. Maybe if she came up with something clever I'll get a good laugh out of it. Tell me, Doctor."
Tell me. Veritas is so irrationally angry. Why does he care? Why does it matter at all? "You don't care," he says, incredulous, frustrated.
"What good would it do me to care when people say mean things about me behind my back?" Aventurine asks. He leans further into his elbow on the counter. "Ah... Don't tell me, Doctor. Are you worried for my dignity?"
"Not that you have any of that anyway," Veritas says under his breath. Aventurine pretends to gasp.
"Now you're the one saying mean things. I'm going to cry, Doctor. I really am, look, I—"
"Aventurine." He's started tipping his glasses down so Veritas can see his eyes, suddenly startled when Veritas grips his arm.
"I'm drunk," Aventurine says, whatever honest thing that was in his face shuttering in favor of another one of those fake smiles. "My sincerest apologies if I'm making a nuisance of myself."
"You can stop pretending," Veritas says.
"What?" It's noisy here. Perhaps Aventurine doesn't hear him. Perhaps he's still acting out a role. His wrist is thin in Veritas' grip.
"You can stop pretending," Veritas repeats, firmer this time. Aventurine blinks. He looks at Veritas' hand, and then at his eyes.
"Fine," he says, "you got me. I'm only a bit tipsy."
"Aventurine."
"Why so serious? I've told you before; I don't gamble well wasted and nobody trusts me sober." Aventurine's smile falters the longer Veritas stares at him. His gaze dips again, nervously eyeing Veritas' hand, which isn't gripping hard at all. "You'll have to forgive me if I've upset you, Doctor, but I have no idea what it is that I've done wrong." He pulls his hand back. Veritas tightens his grip and then remembers himself, letting go. Aventurine's gaze shifts around the room. Veritas can see him swallow.
"You've done nothing," Veritas says. He wonders if Aventurine, in this moment, is afraid of him. "I will take my leave."
"Wait." This time, it's Aventurine that grabs him, slender fingers curling around his wrist before he can even stand fully. Veritas turns. Looks at him. A moment passes, and then he sits back down. Aventurine lets go of him and appears to struggle for something to say. Veritas hasn't witnessed him struggle for words often. "You never finished your drink."
"No," Veritas says, "I suppose I didn't."
This is strange. Interactions with Aventurine are often strange, but this is different. The crowd at the bar is loud around them and Veritas just knows that masked fool must be watching from somewhere, but... Aventurine has indirectly asked him to stay, and Aventurine so rarely asks for things like this.
Veritas wonders if this is the part when Aventurine pretends to seduce and he pretends to resist. This happens almost always when they go out together. Veritas can't remember the last time they met and didn't have sex after.
But tonight, Aventurine doesn't start their usual game of pretend. He doesn't play up the drunkenness or the touching. Doesn't hide innuendo in his words or goad Veritas into reacting for him. He just... sits. Acts like some scared, skittish animal. It's out of character for him. Veritas has never seen him like this.
"You're acting strangely," he comments.
Aventurine's lips press into a tight line. "Nonsense, Doctor," he says, and that's off too. He smiles when Veritas frowns at him. "You never did tell me what you're doing at a place like this."
"I don't see how that's your business." Aventurine laughs a little, and it creates this illusion of softness in his face. Strange, that he's kind of beautiful. Stranger still, that Veritas can know him as much as he does and still find him that way. Faulty judgment, as always. Aventurine makes him stupid.
Sometimes he wonders if Aventurine is genuinely bad for him after all. His reputation, perhaps, but Veritas has stopped caring so much about that. His judgment, surely, but Veritas' academics have never suffered because of Aventurine. He only makes idiotic choices when Aventurine is right there in front of him. His dignity, then. His pride. That's what's in jeopardy. He's been making up far too many excuses.
"Well," Aventurine says, "I saw you here. Of course it's my business."
"Why?"
"Would you believe me if I said I cared?"
Veritas looks at him, has never stopped looking at him. His eyes, his smiling, lying mouth. No, he thinks, because he can't imagine a world where genuine care exists between them. Whatever this is is physical and greedy, selfishness being met in kind. Aventurine cares about him the way he cares about his investments. At least, he's always thought so.
"No," Veritas says aloud, reaching for his drink. Two sips left. The melting ice in the glass has watered it down.
"No?" Aventurine repeats, cocking his head to one side. "Do I not do a good enough job showing you how much I care about you, Doctor?"
And there it is. The suggestive hint to his voice. One of his hands lands on Veritas' knee. Attempted seduction, a mask put swiftly back in place. Whatever he'd been a moment before, strange as it was, that was honest. This isn't. This never really is.
"Enough," Veritas says, making a face.
Aventurine's hand lifts off his knee. "You're no fun, Doctor."
"I'm not interested in your little game of play pretend," Veritas says, downing the last sip of his drink. The burn spreads on his tongue. Aventurine looks at him for a long moment, his face going smooth, contemplative. Thinking. Aventurine is not stupid, no matter how often Veritas tells him he is. He's quite clever, actually. Even without a formal education, he's still one of the brightest people Veritas knows.
"My game of play pretend?" Aventurine asks, propping his chin on the heel of his hand. He raises an eyebrow, just slightly. "Doctor, haven't you been pretending too?"
△
The third time they met, Veritas will admit to having been afraid. Afraid of Aventurine. Afraid of the kind of person it took to gamble with his own life like it meant nothing. And then he watched a group of businessmen belittle Aventurine for his race and his two-toned eyes and that strange tattoo on his neck and he'd done some research. Asked a few of the right questions to the right people.
Disdain turned into respect. Aventurine made the best of a bad hand. Veritas isn't fond of all of his methods, but Veritas has not lived a difficult life and it's not his place to pass judgment. And Aventurine is not a bad person, even if he's done bad things. Aventurine is... A peculiar case.
Veritas doesn't pity him. He recognizes hardship and perseverance and he meets it with respect, simple as that. The fourth time they meet, Aventurine is still quite obnoxious, so Veritas still treats him that way. At some point, it becomes habit. Aventurine pushes. Veritas pushes back, but he's never... mean, exactly. The first time they sleep together, Aventurine tells him it's because you're a bitch, but at least you treat me like I'm human. He said that in passing. A laugh between bruises. Veritas has never really stopped thinking about it.
△
They head back to Aventurine's place at the end of the night, as expected. Veritas has stopped telling himself he'll cut Aventurine off. He understands his own condition, and he's given up on trying to uproot it. Instead, he's taken to wondering if uprooting it is necessary at all.
Aventurine laughs as they kiss. He says something about how terrible Veritas is at resisting him, and his hands are greedy and overeager but they aren't cruel. He has yet to give Veritas a reason not to trust him, as odd as that is to admit, and at times a lack of evidence is as good as evidence in and of itself. Veritas notes this down and files it away for later.
The sex they have is quick and rough as it always is. When it's over, Aventurine rolls off him and catches his breath. There's sweat on his skin. His bangs have uncovered his forehead and he looks... boyish. Veritas commits him to memory in the space it takes the regain enough strength in his shaky legs to attempt standing. Not long. Only a handful of seconds before the discomfort of a slick lower half wins out.
A warm hand circles his wrist. "Wait," Aventurine says, stretched over to grab him. His grip is loose, lazy. "Relax. Give me a minute."
"Why?" Veritas asks, even as he lets himself be pulled back down.
"Just..." Aventurine curls an arm under his head, looking at him. Side by side, just laying here, it's entirely too intimate. Maybe Aventurine feels that too, because he sits up. "It's my turn," he says, mask back on, smiling. He keeps giving Veritas these tiny slivers of whatever must be underneath, and then he hides them away before any sense can be made of them.
So Veritas wonders, and he waits as Aventurine disappears and returns with a wet cloth. He isn't tender, doesn't wipe Veritas down like Veritas had for him, just hands it over, but...
Aventurine doesn't like feeling indebted. Perhaps he is simply making this into another part of their arrangement, this turn-taking. Or perhaps it's just... Veritas shouldn't assume. He only knows so much about Aventurine. Enough to predict some aspects of his behavior, but not always his motives, and rarely whatever he's thinking.
So he simply accepts the washcloth and takes to wiping himself down. Aventurine falls back into bed and shuts his eyes, slow and languid like he always is after. Sometimes he falls into something almost like sleep. Today, Veritas watches his chest rise and fall. The tattoo on his throat marking him as something less than human. But he breathes and he feels and he is human. Veritas wants to touch him gently for once.
Lapse in judgment, perhaps. Veritas ails. One of Aventurine's eyes peeks open when the bed dips as Veritas sits down. His hair curls around his neck. Veritas brushes it aside with his knuckles. Aventurine watches him. Still. Silent. He doesn't move when Veritas thumbs over his tattoo.
"Doctor," he says, and he sounds so... unsettled, perhaps, is the word of it. "What are you doing?"
Veritas sighs, shakes his head, pulls back. He shouldn't have done that. "I'll take my leave now," he says, getting up and searching for his clothes on the floor. Aventurine doesn't stop him. Veritas doesn't wonder what it might be like to stay the night.
△
They don't talk for a while. This is nothing out of the ordinary. Veritas and Aventurine operate on convenience, and their work often puts them farther apart than is convenient. They don't text because they aren't friends. It's always been like this. Veritas should have no trouble with it. It shouldn't bother him at all.
And yet, he can't stop thinking about that night. Aventurine's face when Veritas touched him. Something apprehensive. Afraid, almost, like he thought Veritas might...
It's distracting him. Veritas is scatter-brained and frustrated, and more than a couple of his students suffer for it. This is a problem. Grading papers doesn't help. Neither does lecture prep or the lectures themselves. Veritas' coping mechanism is to drown himself in his work; it always has been. He's unsure what to do when even that fails.
Aventurine's strange, haunted look. The way he freezes when Veritas tries to treat him any way other than roughly. The way he reacts so strangely to gentleness but still—
There's an obvious answer. Veritas could text him first. He doesn't do that often. That's part of their game. Aventurine pretends to seduce, Veritas pretends not to want him. But Veritas is so tired of pretending.
He skips texting altogether and goes straight for the call button. It rings three times, and then Aventurine picks up.
"This is a surprise, Doctor," he says. Veritas can hear a hundred voices around him. The sound of— Is that a slot machine? At three in the afternoon? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Are you gambling at this hour?" Veritas asks, unable to keep the obvious disapproval from his voice. Aventurine laughs as he always does.
"And I'm winning, darling. Can I help you with anything, or did you just miss me?"
Darling. Veritas doesn't like him at all. "I need to speak with you," he says. "It's important."
Aventurine doesn't falter. "Business?" he asks. "I can be there in half a system hour if it's urgent."
"No," Veritas says. "Not business."
A pause. "...Right," Aventurine says, "and it's important, you say?"
△
Aventurine is late, as expected. He always is. Four minutes and twenty-two seconds after their expected meeting time, he raps on the door to Veritas' place. He's dressed the same as usual, in turquoise and that frivolous coat. He steps inside without being invited when the door opens, shutting it and backing himself against it, this coy half-smile on his face, glasses low enough on his nose for Veritas to see his eyes.
"You're late," Veritas tells him.
"When am ever I on time?" He looks like he's expecting to have sex, leaning back, head cocked just a bit, exposing the unmarked side of his throat. Veritas wants to kiss him, but he shouldn't.
"I suppose never," he says. Fingers catch his sleeve, pulling him in. Aventurine's eyebrows lift, a challenge. He wets his lips.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long," he says, pulling a little harder until Veritas is basically caging him against the door. He curls a hand around the back of Veritas' neck, drawing him in until his lips hover right against his ear. "Did I, Doctor?"
Veritas forgets that they're supposed to talk. Aventurine's mouth is warm and pliant beneath his own, and he lets out this moan that's more air than sound, smiling a little like this is exactly what he wanted. It would be. His fingers slide into Veritas' hair, pulling on it just a little. He tastes like alcohol and smoke, and he kisses hot and wet right from the start.
Veritas grabs him by the waist and presses him into the door, bruising lips under his teeth and flesh under his fingers. Aventurine wraps both arms around his shoulders and bites back, arching into him, shoving them roughly together, and it's— Veritas pulls back, attempting to calm himself. Aventurine looks back at him from so close, a mess of blond hair and red, spit-slick lips. And his eyes, his eyes. Aeons, Veritas has fallen so far.
Careful, conscious of it, he loosens his grip just a bit. Gentler, gentle. He plucks Aventurine's glasses off his face and folds them, tucking them into his jacket pocket while he watches, confused, amused, almost. And then Veritas kisses him again, chastely, cupping his cheek and just— If Aventurine reacts terribly to this, there's no hope for any of the rest of it.
He tries to open up again, expecting something deeper and harsher and more like lust than any kind of actual affection, but Veritas doesn't let him, doesn't respond to the way he bites down on his lower lip, and eventually the fight dies out of him. He resigns, somehow, to this gentle kiss, stiff-bodied, fingers tight in the fabric of Veritas' robes.
His eyes are open, when Veritas looks. And when he pulls back, there's that strange expression again. The one from before, unsettled and apprehensive, like gentleness is something to be afraid of, to run from, to distrust. Veritas pulls back, and it's— frustrating. It's frustrating. Veritas isn't trying to hurt him, but he seems either afraid of that or uncomfortable with this. With Veritas treating him gently. With Veritas wanting him in a way other than carnally.
Aventurine purses his lips. Rubs them together like he's trying to process the lingering feeling. He's staring somewhere over Veritas' shoulder, and then he hesitantly looks at him, meets his eyes. His lips part. Veritas can feel his breath.
"Doctor..." Aventurine trails off. He's back to flicking his gaze around the room, looking for an escape route. "What, um. What is this about?"
Veritas is still cupping his cheek. He stays, just a little longer, thumbing beneath Aventurine's eye. And then he sighs. The frustration drains out of him and he just... steps back. Lets his hands fall away. Aventurine's arms cross around himself.
"Do you dislike it that much?" Veritas wonders. Aventurine always reacts so strangely to gentleness. Veritas thought, perhaps, that he just wasn't used to it, but...
"I just don't understand," Aventurine says. He blinks hard, looks up to meet Veritas' gaze. "You're not making a lot of sense these days, Doctor. Just what are you trying to accomplish?"
"This isn't a game to me the way it is to you."
"You're playing with me," Aventurine says, seeking.
"No."
"What, then?" Aventurine's voice raises. "What, Veritas Ratio?" His expression falters. Frustrated. It's only fair if Veritas has made him feel that way. "You can barely stand me. What do you think you're doing, kissing me like that? Touching me like you—"
Veritas interrupts him, volume climbing, frustrated and so many things all at once. "Am I not allowed to want to treat you gently?"
"No!" Too loud. Aventurine fists a hand in his robes, yanking him forward. Angry. For once, Aventurine is genuinely angry, and unfiltered in it. "No one wants that, No one has ever wanted that! Why would you—"
"I do!" Veritas shouts, slamming his hand into the door beside Aventurine's shoulder. Aventurine goes silent, staring, just staring. Veritas lets out a breath and lets his hand fall, straightening up. "I do," he repeats, calmer. "I have."
Aventurine still only looks at him. Processing, perhaps. Deciding if this is another thing he wants to deflect and hide away from, but Veritas can't let him. Aventurine is afraid and avoidant and he's lived the type of life that makes it difficult to believe in his worth or the fact that he's deserving, that someone might want him, but Veritas does, and Veritas cares entirely too much to let him run right now.
"I think you're brilliant," Veritas says. "You're one of the most sharp-witted people I've met. You're intelligent despite the lack of resources available to you throughout your upbringing. You work hard. Everything you have you built for yourself. I respect that. You've been dealt a bad hand in life and you've made something out of it, and I— You might be frivolous and arrogant and impossible and a hundred other things, but I respect you, Aventurine, and I think you're brilliant, and when you manage to stop hiding behind that facade of yours for longer than half a second I—"
He's jerked forward again. Aventurine fists both hands tight in the front of his robe, gaze fiery, more honest than Veritas has ever seen him. "You what, Doctor?"
"I want to make you believe that someone isn't out to get you," Veritas says. Honest, matching his intensity. He studies Aventurine for the slightest change in expression. "That someone might care about you." Something in his eyes. "That they might want to treat you gently."
"Enough," Aventurine says.
"That you might matter to them for more than just your body. That—"
"Enough!" Aventurine repeats, shaking him. Veritas catches him by the elbows. He isn't done yet. He needs to take away and kind of deniability, any chance to run from this.
"That someone might—if you gave them the Aeons-damned chance—learn to love you one day!"
Silence. Veritas catches his breath.
And then Aventurine laughs, that horrible fake laugh of his, smiling in a way that doesn't reach his empty eyes, and he leans back, smoothing his hands down Veritas' front to fix the rumpled cloth. "Good one, Doctor," he says. "You're funny, but you don't mean that. You—"
"Aventurine!" Veritas slams him into the door by the shoulders, watching him wince, watching him get angry again, because it seems that roughness is the only thing Aventurine knows how to respond to, how to process, how to believe in. He goes quiet. His eyes flit over Veritas' face, searching, studying.
"You're serious," he says, and the fight slips out of him at once.
"I'm serious," Veritas confirms. Aventurine lets out a shaky breath, knocking his head into the door, and Veritas allows himself to be gentle again.
"I'm not worth all that, Doctor," Aventurine says. "Even if you've somehow convinced yourself you want me now, you'll regret it."
His eyes are tired. Cracks all over his facade. Aventurine has stopped pretending. He is tired and hurt and thinks he's unworthy of love.
Careful, Veritas cups his cheek. He is tired and wary and hesitant, but he doesn't pull away, so Veritas asks, softer than he's ever heard his own voice, "And who are you to decide that for me?"
Aventurine just shakes his head. "You don't know me," he says. "You wouldn't like me much if you did."
Veritas thumbs a line across his cheek. "You're so sure of that," he says. Fond, frustrated. "Why are you so sure of that? Where's your evidence?"
"I..."
"Do you think I'm not capable of deciding these things on my own?" Veritas asks. "We've been collaborating for years, Aventurine. I know you. I might not know everything, but I know enough, and if I've decided I can get past the gambling addiction and the arrogant behavior and sometimes less than moral inclination of your work, surely I can get past the rest of your flaws too."
Another laugh. This time it's tired, so tired. Aventurine leans into his touch. Veritas wonders if he even notices himself doing it. "You really know how to make a guy feel special," Aventurine tries to joke. It falls flat. Veritas tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. Gentle, so gentle. Aventurine still doesn't seem to know what to do with it.
"I've made my case," Veritas tells him.
"What happens if you wake up one day and regret it all?"
"I won't," Veritas says, sure of it.
"But if—"
Veritas interrupts him. "But if that were to happen, I suppose we would talk it out like adults. There's no certainty in anything, so why are you so certain this will fail?"
"Why are you so certain it won't?"
"I'm not," Veritas admits. Because he isn't. Aventurine is the most volatile person he knows. The could go up in flames, or they could balance each other out. "That's not the point. The point isn't whether this is good or bad, failure or successful, it's that we try. That's it. Nothing ever changes when people don't try."
"I suppose you're right, Doctor," Aventurine says. He's open, lost, honest. Veritas doesn't love him yet, but given the choice and the chance—
He takes a breath, tips Aventurine up with a touch beneath his chin. They look at each other. The world does not end. "Would you let me kiss you?" Veritas asks.
"Is that a good idea?"
"You tell me."
Quiet. Aventurine takes a shuddering breath and pulls him in. It's gentle, like the kiss from a moment ago, but this time Aventurine doesn't attempt to make it rough and doesn't freeze up. He is tentative and unsure, but he tries. He kisses back. It feels honest. His hands find Veritas' waist, loosely clinging like he's afraid he isn't allowed, and he reacts softly to this.
"I've made my case," Veritas reaffirms when they part. "This is worth it to me. Make your choice."
"You'll regret it, one day," Aventurine says.
"I won't."
"You will." Aventurine takes half a step closer, hooking his fingers in the fabric around Veritas' waist and dropping his forehead against his collarbone. "You will," he says again. "I just won't stop you, if you think this is the right choice to make."
A breath. Veritas winds his fingers through Aventurine's hair, holding him close in this not-quite embrace. "And what about you?" he says.
"I've been obvious, haven't I?" Aventurine says, but he hasn't, not at all. Veritas has had so much trouble making sense of him. "I'm stupid enough to destroy myself over this a hundred times over. I already have. If you really want me, Veritas, then..."
"I do," Veritas says.
Aventurine tries to laugh. It's too soft, too tired. "Let's take a gamble, then," he says. "Don't make me lose."