Chapter Text
Ratio had objected to the mask on practical, aesthetic, and philosophical grounds.
The practical objection was that it limited peripheral vision by approximately eight degrees on the left side, which was unacceptable in a crowded ballroom full of diplomats, IPC representatives, Guild patrons, and at least two people Ratio had already identified as professional liars based solely on their posture. The aesthetic objection was that the mask was ugly, though Aventurine had insisted the black and gold design was “flattering” which was less a compliment than an admission of criminal taste. The philosophical objection was that a masquerade was already a breeding ground for intellectual laziness without requiring the attendees to make metaphor literal.
Aventurine had listened to all of this with great apparent interest while adjusting the clasp at the back of Ratio’s head.
Then he ignored everything and smiled, “You look handsome.”
Ratio had stopped speaking.
Only for a few seconds. Possibly less.
Aventurine, unfortunately, had noticed.
Now, forty-eight minutes into the event, Ratio was standing near one of the ballroom’s marble columns with a glass of untouched wine in one hand and a headache developing in precise, measurable increments behind his left eye. The ballroom itself was offensive in every possible direction. Gold chandeliers reflected across polished floors. Silk banners fell from the upper balconies in carefully arranged waves. The windows had been thrown open to the night garden beyond, allowing a faint breeze to move through the room and carry with it the smell of rain, perfume, and expensive flowers bred into decorative uselessness. The music was too loud, the smell too much and unfortunately his headgear too recognizable, so he had to settle for some discreet earplugs and glaring hard enough so people wouldn't come close enough to talk to him.
Everyone was masked. Everyone was pretending this made them mysterious rather than simply slightly more irritating to identify. Half the attendees seemed to believe a mask was permission to behave like a worse version of themselves, while the other half behaved exactly as usual and trusted the mask to add intrigue where personality had failed.
Aventurine, naturally, looked as if he had been designed for the room.
He moved through the crowd in white and deep green, gold and colorful jewels catching the light across his whole body with every turn. His mask was asymmetrical, edged like a stylized bird’s wing and set with a line of colorful green and teal stones that glittered when he tilted his head. It should have been excessive. It was excessive. The problem was that excess became coherent on him, as if the rest of the ballroom had been overdressed merely because it lacked the conviction to become him.
Ratio found this deeply irritating.
Aventurine had already collected three rumors, two invitations, and one cipher from a woman in violet silk who had spent the entire exchange trying to decide whether she wanted to threaten him or marry him. He had done this while appearing to do nothing more consequential than drink champagne and laugh at the correct intervals.
Ratio disliked espionage conducted through charm. Not because it was ineffective, but because-
“You’re glaring.”
Ratio did not turn. “I am observing.”
Aventurine appeared beside him as if conjured by bad habits and worse perfume. “At that intensity, Doctor, observation becomes a public health concern.”
“You are blocking my view.”
“Tragic. Of what?”
“The man beside the east archway.”
Aventurine did not look directly. Good. He was annoying, not stupid. “How gauche.”
“He is wearing our contact’s mask. He forgot the silver earrings.”
“Perhaps he found them unflattering.”
“His height has also increased by almost four centimeters. And his left hand is now dominant.”
Aventurine hummed softly. “So either our contact has a fondness for costume changes and orthopedic miracles, or someone switched places with him.”
“Your talent for stating the obvious remains intact.”
“I do maintain myself beautifully.”
Ratio finally looked at him.
Aventurine smiled.
It was, unfortunately, a very good smile. Glittering, and angled toward Ratio alone as if the entire ballroom had been arranged merely to provide him personally with flattering background lighting. The green hues on his mask made the pink in his eyes stand out even more, which Ratio thought was improbable considering how magnetizing they were, even under colored lenses, and there seemed to be some traces of actual glitter around them and - Ratio looked away.
“You were meant to confirm whether the woman in violet possessed the second cipher,” Ratio said instead of any of that.
“I did.”
“And?”
“She does.”
“You could have led with that.”
“And miss the chance to be appreciated for my beauty first?”
“I did not appreciate it.”
“You looked.”
“I have eyes.”
“Many do. Few use them with such devotion.”
Ratio’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “You are intolerable.”
“And yet here you are, tolerating.”
“With great difficulty.”
“I truly treasure the effort.”
A dance began at the center of the ballroom, all strings and measured elegance, the sort of music that made people believe stepping in circles became meaningful if done with sufficient tediousness. The first couples moved onto the floor. Silk shifted. Jewels caught the light. Masks turned, bowed, smiled. It was all very theatrical and almost entirely devoid of substance.
Aventurine extended a hand.
Ratio looked at it.
Then at him.
“No.”
“You haven’t even heard the proposal.”
“I inferred it.”
“Dangerous habit.” Aventurine’s smile widened. “Dance with me.”
“No.”
“Operationally.”
“Still no.”
“Our masked friend has positioned himself near the west edge of the dance floor. If we circle twice, you can observe the exchange at the archway without staring like you’re trying to vivisect him from across the room.”
“I can observe perfectly well from here.”
“You are standing beside a column pretending not to have a personality.”
“I am succeeding.”
“You are attracting attention.”
“That is your area of expertise.”
“Exactly. So while I gather all the attention...”
Ratio sighed. “That argument was almost competent. You frequently do. It is distracting and tactically unsound.”
“Doctor,” Aventurine said, his hand still offered between them, “was that your way of saying I’m distracting?”
“No.”
“Your mask hides less than you think.”
Ratio looked from Aventurine’s hand to the dance floor.
The practical answer was that Aventurine was correct. The man in blue had chosen a position that made direct observation awkward, and the dance floor offered better access without requiring them to cross the room with obvious intent. The secondary answer was that refusing would draw more attention now that Aventurine had been standing with his hand extended for several seconds. The tertiary answer was irrelevant and therefore not worth examining.
Ratio set his wine glass down.
Aventurine’s smile became unbearable.
“Do not look pleased.”
“I would never.”
Ratio took his hand.
Aventurine’s fingers closed around his with theatrical delicacy and entirely unnecessary warmth. He led Ratio toward the dance floor as if this were a victory rather than a tactical adjustment. Several people turned to watch them. Of course they did. Aventurine drew attention the way expensive fabric drew hands: by being exactly bright enough to make restraint seem like a personal failing.
“You know,” Aventurine said as they took position, “for a man who claims to detest masquerades, you do seem to understand formal dance posture.”
Ratio placed one hand at Aventurine’s waist with as much clinical neutrality as the situation allowed. “I understand many useless systems.”
“How lucky for me.”
“Do not mistake knowledge for enthusiasm.”
“Hmm, I don't know doctor, I've seen you enthusiastic one too many times to mistake it for anything else”
The music gathered them into motion.
Aventurine followed beautifully for approximately four seconds, then led without appearing to. The shift was subtle enough that most partners would have mistaken it for grace. Aventurine changed the angle of his wrist, adjusted the pressure at Ratio’s shoulder, and redirected them into the outer turn with the smooth confidence of a man who did not believe roles should be fixed when they could be negotiated.
Ratio let him do it.
Only because it improved their line of sight.
Obviously.
“Careful,” Aventurine murmured. “I will think you trust me.”
“People think many unsupported things.”
“But do you?”
“Trust you?”
“Mm.”
Ratio looked over Aventurine’s shoulder toward the west archway. The man in blue had received a folded card from a server carrying a tray of red wine. The exchange was nearly invisible, hidden beneath the turn of the dance and a burst of laughter from a nearby group. Nearly.
“Yes,” Ratio said.
Aventurine’s step faltered.
Ratio looked at him.
Aventurine recovered at once, but the smile that followed was sharper than before. “Careful, Doctor. I was only flirting.”
“I was answering.”
“That’s much worse.”
“Ask less dangerous questions then.”
“With you? Never.”
Ratio guided them through another turn, if only to demonstrate that he could. Aventurine allowed it, eyes bright behind the jeweled edge of his mask.
The problem with dancing, Ratio decided, was proximity. Observation changed at close range. A person’s expression became harder to dismiss when one could feel the timing of their breath. Aventurine’s hand rested at his shoulder, fingers curved lightly but securely against the black fabric of Ratio’s jacket. His rings were cool through the cloth when the angle shifted. His scent, beneath the flowers and champagne and polished wood of the ballroom, was faintly metallic, warm, and expensive in a way that belonged to no brand Ratio could name.
The man in blue moved again.
Ratio forced his attention back to the work.
“He is leaving through the garden doors,” he said.
“I know.”
“The server?”
“Looking at the doors. He's probably following.”
“You saw?”
“I have eyes too, Doctor.”
“And fewer scruples regarding how you use them.”
Aventurine’s smile flashed. “You say the sweetest things when we dance.”
“We are not dancing. We are repositioning with musical accompaniment.”
“That is the saddest thing anyone has ever said to me during a waltz.”
“You invited me despite knowing my character.”
“One of my worse habits, for sure.”
The waltz turned them toward the windows. The garden beyond was dark and wet from recent rain, lanterns glowing along the stone path like captured stars. For a moment, the ballroom noise softened behind the music, and the two of them passed through a spill of cool night air that slipped across the floor from the open doors.
Aventurine’s expression changed in the breeze.
Only slightly.
The smile remained, but something beneath it eased, or perhaps tired. It was gone so quickly Ratio might have dismissed it had he not been close enough to feel the shift of Aventurine’s breathing against his hand.
“You dislike this, don't you?” Ratio said.
Aventurine’s brows lifted. “Dancing?”
“Being looked at.”
The smile returned fully. Too fully. Still glittering, still distracting, but slightly different than before, even if only observable from this close a distance to it for people as observant as Ratio.
“My dear Doctor, being looked at is half my profession.” Aventurine's voice was smooth and sweet like honey
“I did not ask whether you are skilled at it.”
Aventurine laughed under his breath. “You do know how to keep a man on his toes.”
“You are doing that yourself. Your shoes are very impractical.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“Those qualities frequently coexist in expensively designed objects.”
Aventurine leaned closer by a fraction, close enough that the jewels at the edge of his mask caught the gold of Ratio’s. “Do you think I’m expensively designed?”
Ratio’s gaze dropped to his mouth and felt his face get warmer.
A mistake.
Aventurine noticed.
Of course he noticed. Noticing was practically his primary vice.
Ratio returned his attention to Aventurine’s eyes. “I think you are designed to make people ask the wrong questions.”
“And what question are you asking?”
“Why you asked me to dance when you could have obtained the same line of sight with any of the twelve people who approached you tonight.”
Ratio felt a faint, private satisfaction at Aventurine's change in expression. Not victory, exactly. Victory implied a game, and this was not one, regardless of Aventurine’s apparent determination to pretend otherwise.
The music carried them another step.
"Were you counting, doctor?"
"Of course I was." Ratio scoffed
Aventurine looked past him toward the chandeliers. “Perhaps I enjoy your company.”
“Unsupported.”
“Cruel.”
“Insufficiently supported.”
“You wound me.”
“You overstate your injuries.”
Aventurine’s eyes returned to him. “Perhaps I like how irritated you become when you’re trying not to enjoy yourself.”
“I am not enjoying myself.”
“Your hand says otherwise.”
Ratio became aware, with immediate irritation, that his hand at Aventurine’s waist had settled more tightly than the situation required.
He loosened his grip.
Aventurine’s smile widened.
“Insufferable,” Ratio said.
“Barely supported.”
“Extensively supported.”
“Then cite your sources.”
Ratio stepped into the next turn and pulled Aventurine with him a fraction more sharply than necessary. Aventurine followed without missing a beat, laughter tucked low in his throat.
“There,” Aventurine said. “That was almost passion.”
“That was correction.”
“You’re very passionate about correction.”
“You are frequently in need of it.”
“And you’re always so generous.”
The dance brought them near the garden doors. The man in blue had vanished outside. Ratio caught a glimpse of movement beneath the lanterns - a dark sleeve, a pale mask, the server’s red tray now abandoned on a stone bench.
Aventurine’s hand shifted against his shoulder. They reached the edge of the floor as the music began its final phrase. Aventurine did not release him immediately. That was unnecessary. They were no longer in the center of the dance. Several couples were already separating. The line of sight had been achieved. The operation required motion, not lingering.
Still, Aventurine’s hand remained at his shoulder.
Ratio looked down at it.
Aventurine did not move.
“Are you waiting for applause?” Ratio asked.
“From you? Always.”
“You will die unfulfilled.”
“Likely.”
Ratio’s eyes narrowed. “Aventurine.”
“Hm?”
“Do not become morbid. Please.”
For one second, Aventurine stared at him.
Then he laughed.
Not the ballroom laugh. Not the bright, practiced sound that could turn suspicion into charm and charm into leverage. This one broke through more quietly, surprised and unwillingly genuine. It changed his face beneath the mask in a way the mask could not hide.
Ratio found himself watching too closely.
Aventurine’s laughter faded. The smile remained, softer now, which was far more dangerous.
“You know,” Aventurine said, “if you keep making me laugh in public, people will start drawing conclusions.”
“They already have.”
“About us?”
“About you. Mostly incorrect.”
“And about us?”
Ratio looked toward the garden doors. “We do not have time to correct public ignorance.”
Aventurine’s hand slipped from his shoulder at last.
“Later, then?”
Ratio should have said no. The mission remained active. The man in blue was outside, likely passing the cipher to a second courier. The ambassador’s people had already demonstrated willingness to forge, bribe, and improvise. Time was relevant. Focus was necessary.
Aventurine stood half a step away, jeweled mask bright under the chandeliers, mouth curved like he already knew every answer Ratio would refuse to give. Ratio sighed and turned toward the open doors.
“Later,” he said.
Aventurine fell into step beside him. They slipped out into the garden while the ballroom applauded the end of the dance behind them, masks turning, chandeliers burning, music softening into the next piece. The stone path was glistering, still wet from the light spring rain a few hours before. Lanterns swayed lightly in the night air.
Aventurine walked close enough that their sleeves brushed.
Ratio did not move away.
“Doctor,” Aventurine said softly.
“No.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I know enough.”
“I was going to say you dance beautifully.”
“I do many things adequately.”
“Beautifully,” Aventurine repeated.
Ratio stopped beneath the shadow of the garden archway and looked at him. Aventurine’s expression was bright with provocation, but not only that. Never only that. The mask made his eyes look more luminous, his smile more deliberate, his face both hidden and revealed in ways Ratio did not care to examine while actively engaged in an operation.
“You are attempting to distract me,” Ratio said.
“Yes.”
“From the mission?”
“No.”
The answer came too easily.
Ratio’s hand caught Aventurine’s before he could think better of it.
Aventurine went still, eyes flicking down to the contact and back up again. The garden was darker than the ballroom, lantern-light caught in drops of rain along the hedge. The music inside blurred into something distant and lush.
“Then from what?” Ratio asked.
Aventurine’s pulse beat once beneath his fingers.
“From the fact that you enjoyed dancing with me,” Aventurine said.
Ratio released his hand.
Aventurine’s smile turned triumphant.
“Move,” Ratio said.
Aventurine stepped around him, laughing softly as they continued down the rain-slick path. Behind them, the masquerade carried on in gold and music and beautiful lies. The garden path narrowed after the first lantern arch, forcing them closer to the hedges and farther from the ballroom’s gold spill of light. Rain still clung to the leaves. It slicked the stone beneath their shoes and softened the edges of the music drifting from inside, turning the waltz into something distant and almost dreamlike.
Aventurine walked just ahead of him, which Ratio considered unnecessary and probably deliberate. His white coat caught the low lantern light whenever he moved, green and gold flickering at the edges of his mask, jewelry bright against the darkness. He looked less like someone pursuing a courier with a stolen cipher and more like someone who had decided the entire garden existed for his personal entrance.
That, too, was probably deliberate.
“The man in blue turned left,” Ratio said.
“I saw.”
“You were looking at the fountain.”
“I have many talents.”
“You have one tolerable talent and several dangerous habits.”
Aventurine glanced back at him, smiling. “Only one?”
“I am being generous.”
“Mm. I do love when you indulge me.”
Ratio was opening his mouth to correct that when Aventurine’s expression shifted. Not much. Barely enough to register if one did not know him.
Ratio knew him.
Aventurine reached back without looking and caught the front of Ratio’s jacket, pulling him off the path and into the shadowed alcove beside the fountain.
Ratio heard the footsteps before he had time to complain.
They were close. Too close. Two sets, coming from the opposite path beyond the hedges, slow and searching beneath the music. A hand-lamp flickered through the leaves. Voices murmured just low enough to hide intention under etiquette.
Aventurine did not bother explaining.
He had already turned, one hand still twisted in Ratio’s lapel, the other settling lightly at the side of his neck with a familiarity that was far too practiced to be entirely tactical. His smile flashed in the dark, bright and wicked beneath the jeweled edge of his mask.
Ratio barely had time to think, 'Oh.'
Then Aventurine kissed him.
It was an obvious solution. Vulgar, almost, in its simplicity, theatrical in execution, and irritatingly effective. A masked couple pressed into the shadows of a garden alcove was not suspicious at a masquerade. It was scenery. It was expected. It was so offensively clichéd that no competent observer would waste more than a glance on it unless they had no imagination and very poor social instincts.
Aventurine, unfortunately, had both imagination and excellent social instincts.
He angled them neatly into the dimness, pulling Ratio close enough that anyone passing would see only the line of two bodies half-hidden behind the fountain spray. One hand remained twisted in Ratio’s lapel. The other rested lightly against the side of his neck, fingertips warm just beneath the edge of his mask.
His mouth was warm too.
That was the first thought Ratio managed, uselessly. The second was that Aventurine was smiling against him.
Of course he was.
Even with footsteps approaching through the garden and a hand-lamp throwing fractured light between the leaves, Aventurine kissed him with that same infuriating awareness he brought to every wager- confident in the odds, attentive to every change in pressure, already prepared to turn the smallest reaction to his advantage. The kiss was convincing without becoming careless. Close without surrendering control. Aventurine tilted his head not so much for the angle of the kiss, just enough to hide Ratio’s face from the path and drew him in with exactly the degree of urgency required to suggest that neither of them had noticed anything beyond the alcove.
For half a second, Ratio was too startled to respond.
The footsteps slowed and Aventurine’s fingers tightened in his collar.
The gamble was not whether the cover would work. It would. Aventurine had chosen the angle too well, the position too neatly. The real gamble was whether Ratio would remain irritated enough to tolerate being used as a prop, or whether he would remember, inconveniently, that this was not the first time Aventurine had kissed him like a dare and that tolerating it had never been his strongest response.
Ratio could have remained still. It would have been sufficient. A hand at Aventurine’s side, perhaps, a slight adjustment toward him. Nothing that could not be excused afterward as operational necessity.
Instead, he decided he objected to the quality of the performance.
His hand closed around Aventurine’s waist.
Ratio kissed him back.
Properly.
The distinction was immediate.
Aventurine had initiated the kiss like laying down a winning card- cleanly, elegantly, already certain of the outcome. Ratio answered by throwing the game. He pulled Aventurine flush against him, felt the brief interruption in his breathing, and deepened the kiss before Aventurine could recover enough to turn surprise back into performance.
A small sound escaped him.
Quiet. Barely more than breath. Entirely involuntary.
Ratio felt a sharp, private satisfaction.
If Aventurine insisted on making their cover convincing, Ratio saw no reason to leave the execution to him alone. He turned them half a step deeper into the alcove, away from the spill of the hand-lamp, and pressed Aventurine back against the cool marble lip of the fountain with enough precision to make the movement look careless.
Aventurine yielded the step without resistance. His hips met the marble. The hand at Ratio’s neck slipped higher, fingers brushing the hair beneath the clasp of his mask before settling there.
The hand in his collar went still.
Ratio knew his stillnesses. He had seen the polished ones: the fraction of a second in which Aventurine assessed a threat, concealed a wound, or rearranged himself around an unexpected answer. This was not one of them. There was no calculation in it. It was only the startled pause of someone whose wager had returned something he had wanted but not quite expected to receive.
Then Aventurine laughed into the kiss.
Not loudly. Not enough to ruin it. Just the faint, delighted curve of breath against Ratio’s mouth, the unmistakable pleasure of a gamble paying out better than expected.
Infuriating man.
Ratio kissed the laughter from him.
Aventurine’s amusement softened into something warmer, though he made no attempt to retreat. His grip loosened at Ratio’s collar only to gather the fabric again, drawing him closer despite there being almost no distance left between them. The edge of his mask brushed Ratio’s. Jewels clicked softly against gold. Fountain spray cooled the side of Ratio’s hand while Aventurine’s body remained warm beneath it.
Ratio was aware of the approaching light. He was aware of the voices beyond the hedge, of the path beneath his feet, of the courier disappearing farther into the garden with every second they remained there.
He was also aware of the exact way Aventurine’s mouth parted beneath his.
The latter was becoming disproportionately relevant.
Ratio drew back only far enough to change the angle. Aventurine followed without thinking, chin lifting after him, and that unconscious pursuit nearly destroyed what remained of Ratio’s patience, letting out a breathless little laugh again.
He bit Aventurine’s lower lip.
Aventurine’s fingers tightened again, this time for an entirely different reason. His breath caught between them, sharp enough that Ratio felt it more than heard it.
The hand-lamp passed through the leaves. Gold light slid over the edge of Aventurine’s mask and disappeared again. Someone on the path made a soft, amused sound and said something about finding another route. Their companion laughed beneath their breath. Footsteps retreated, etiquette rescuing them.
Ratio heard all of it.
He could have stopped then.
Their cover had succeeded. The strangers were already moving away, their voices fading behind the fountain and wet hedges. Every practical, tactical justification for the kiss had ended.
Aventurine knew it too.
Ratio felt the realization move through him. The faint loosening of the hand at his neck. The hesitation beneath the confidence. Aventurine did not pull away, but he stopped drawing Ratio closer, leaving the decision suspended between them with unusual stillness. Aventurine’s mouth had lost its amused curve. His eyes were open now, bright behind the jeweled mask, watching Ratio from far too close a distance. There was triumph there, certainly. Aventurine would have manufactured it if necessary. But beneath it sat something quieter and considerably less defended.
Ratio kissed him again.
Not for the people on the path. Not because Aventurine had pulled him there. Not because the mission required convincing scenery.
This kiss was slower. Deliberate enough that Aventurine could not mistake it for momentum. Ratio felt the moment he understood that - the small shiver of tension through his body, the way his fingers eased from Ratio’s collar and flattened against his chest instead, no longer holding him in place and apparently uncertain what to do when Ratio stayed without being held.
Aventurine kissed him back with less polish this time.
That was a better kiss by a wide margin.
The angle was imperfect. His breath had not fully steadied. His mouth moved against Ratio’s without the bright little smile or the careful control of their first contact, and Ratio always vastly preferred Aventurine when he momentarily forgot to perform.
He let the kiss linger until Aventurine’s fingers curled against his jacket again.
Only then did Ratio begin to draw away.
Aventurine followed him by a fraction before catching himself. His breath caught when Ratio did not immediately put any real distance between them. Aventurine stayed where he was, half-seated against the fountain edge, mask slightly crooked from the angle of it. His eyes glittered behind it, bright with surprise and triumph in equal measure.
“Well,” Aventurine said softly. “That escalated.”
Ratio released his waist at once.
Aventurine looked down at the place Ratio’s hand had been, then back up, smile spreading with criminal satisfaction.
“Do not,” Ratio said.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You are about to become unbearable.”
“I was already unbearable."
Ratio straightened his jacket. The lapel had been pulled noticeably out of line. “You compromised the mission.”
Aventurine laughed, the sound quiet beneath the fountain spray. “Doctor, they left.”
“They left because any reasonable person avoids intruding on public indecency.”
“Public indecency? We were in a shadowed alcove.”
“That is not a legal exemption.”
“It is absolutely a social one.”
Ratio adjusted his collar. Aventurine watched his fingers with far too much attention and made no attempt to conceal it.
“You pulled me by the collar,” Ratio said.
“You kissed back.”
“I corrected the execution.”
Aventurine’s eyes glittered. “Very thoroughly, might I add.”
Aventurine pushed himself upright, though he did not step away. The flush at the corner of his mouth was faint but visible beneath the garden lanterns, and the smugness in his expression did not entirely conceal the fact that his breathing had yet to return to normal.
“Your definition of operational cover is very undisciplined.”
“My definition worked.”
“Despite your execution, not because of it.”
Aventurine’s smile widened. “Then I suppose I should be grateful you were there to demonstrate.”
Ratio looked past him toward the path. The man in blue had disappeared from the far terrace, but movement near the garden wall suggested their quarry had not gone far. A pale-gold mask hovered briefly in the lantern light and vanished beyond the hedge.
“We are losing the courier,” Ratio said.
“A tragedy.”
“Focus.”
“Oh, I am focused.” He grabbed Ratio's hand, pressing his thumb on the inside of his palm, starting to walk forward slowly. Ratio stumbled half a step before following.
“On the courier!”
“Among other things.”
“If you attempt that again without tactical necessity-”
“Yes?”
Aventurine looked delighted before Ratio had even finished. Of course he did. Any threat would require defining tactical necessity, and Aventurine treated definitions as invitations to commit further crimes.
Ratio changed approach.
“If you attempt that again-” he said, “-at least ask before you use my mouth.”
Aventurine blinked.
Then he laughed, one hand lifting toward his mouth as though the sound had escaped before he could arrange it into something more elegant.
"You've never raised any objections about me using your mouth before." Aventurine’s mouth curved and Ratio felt his face changing color
"You-"
“And you bit me!” he cut him off before he could finish “A measured and entirely professional response, I’m sure.”
“You were laughing. It corrected the problem. And besides, the whole thing started as your idea.” he said.
Aventurine’s smile shifted. “And the second kiss?”
Music swelled faintly from the ballroom before softening again beneath the whisper of rainwater through the leaves.
“Mine.”
Aventurine’s expression changed.
Ratio was beginning to understand that half of Aventurine’s honest reactions lived in the fraction before he selected a more useful one. Surprise first. Then pleasure. Then the deliberate smile of a man who had won and intended to behave as though he had expected nothing less.
“Good to know,” Aventurine said.
“Do not look so pleased.”
“I gambled.”
“You were reckless.”
“I won.”
“You were lucky.”
Aventurine smiled. “I’m told that happens.”
Ratio turned toward the path, quickening his step. “Move.”
Aventurine fell into step beside him, still smiling to himself. “You know, you could simply admit you enjoyed it.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Because you didn’t?”
“Because rewarding your methods encourages recidivism.”
Aventurine laughed under his breath. “You said recidivism after kissing me against a fountain. I need you to understand how fond I am of you right now.”
Ratio’s next step landed a fraction later than it should have.
“Your timing is abysmal.”
“My timing has been exceptionally successful tonight.”
Ahead, the hedges opened toward the terrace where the courier had vanished. Ratio forced his attention back to the mission with the discipline of a man refusing to be defeated by one gambler and one tactically justified lapse in judgment.
Aventurine’s eyes remained bright beneath his mask, the corner of his mouth still red from being kissed senseless and pretending, with moderate success, that this had been the only planned outcome all along.
Ratio sighed.
“If there is a next time,” he said, “do not pull the collar so hard. It ruins the line of the jacket.”
Aventurine stared at him for a second.
Then he laughed hard enough that he had to catch Ratio’s arm, covering his mouth with the his other hand, trying to keep the sound down. Ratio wanted to pull that hand away and kiss him again. He did no such thing. Instead he looked down at his arm and Aventurine's hand wrapped around it.
Aventurine did not remove it.
Neither did Ratio.