Chapter Text
“Ugh…”
The grimace was only visible for a split second – and then it was back.
That infuriatingly cheeky smirk of his.
It baffled Ratio, that Aventurine could still smile like that, even in his current… state.
His hair was tousled, his lips were soiled, and his wrists were bruised. The young businessman had been left sprawled within the Dreampool of the hotel room, nude body protected only by a few colorful bubbles.
“Ah, Ratio–”
Aventurine broke off with a cough. The young man’s voice, usually so sweet and frivolous, had been reduced to a breathy rasp. It didn’t show on his face, but he seemed a little self-conscious – he lifted a hand to his neck and touched the golden choker clasped tightly around his throat. Slim chains, like leashes, dangled from his jewelled collar, and the black ink of his serial number glowed in vicious contrast to his pale skin.
“… A little help?”
Aventurine tilted his head and flashed him a grin. His bravado was so painfully forced that Ratio felt his fists clench.
He hadn’t thought it possible – that he could clench them any tighter – but apparently he was wrong. He could feel the tension sizzling over his biceps as he walked forward.
Did he say walked? He meant stomped.
Crossing the room in three powerful strides, Ratio reached his hand towards Aventurine – and grabbed him by the chain.
Aventurine’s eyes widened, his beautiful irises glinting with vivid yet unreadable emotion. In that moment, as Ratio gazed down into the depths of that mesmerizing stare, all traces of his original intentions vanished.
Aventurine’s pretty face was marred with crusty residue, his soft blond waves tousled haphazardly around his flushed cheeks. His vibrant eyes, usually so sharp and shrewd, were glazed over with lingering delirium. The carpet around them was splattered with bubbles and stains, a testament to the chaos that had unfolded in the hours preceding his arrival. Ratio could imagine it in terrible detail – Aventurine’s pale body crushed between the sweaty torsos of his benefactors, their vulgar groans distorted by the smacking of flesh and the splashing of fluid. A true night of ‘revelry’, indeed… one that had reduced the IPC’s star stratagem to the equivalent of a wasted doll.
Aventurine stared up at him, at he who was now holding the leash, and Ratio couldn’t read what it was within his gaze.
Excitement? Trepidation?
Both? Or neither?
Or did it depend?
On whether Ratio proceeded with a clear conscience…
…or gave in to the insanity that always seemed to brew between them.