[ It is presumptuous, but Ratio is not entirely against the notion of a repeat performance. He is not the kind of man to give into vices, not the kind of man to fall into lust and desire - he is no mere mortal, not the sort of person to be victim to idle fancies, but there is something alluring and wonderful about Aventurine that he cannot possibly wrap his mind around, something that draws the two of them together like magnets.
The fingers in his hair feel good, drawing him all the closer, and Ratio sinks into the kiss as if he was born for it, made for it, excited pulses of delight flooding his body. It's natural, biological instinct, he's aware of that, all the parts of the human body recognisable to his inner mind, but that ought not to be his focus. What should matter is what is happening because of those impulses; leaning into the kiss, he groans softly.
It is perfect.
One arm wraps around Aventurine's waist, drawing him close, squeezing at his body as he kisses him back, filled with all the restrained passion that has built inside of him, the desperation for more that he can't fight. ]
( Aventurine knows he should feel guilty about pushing a good man, a moral man, into this — lips against lips with the promise of skin against skin. In his attempts to claw something kind for himself he’s just drug the good doctor down to his level, to put his career in jeopardy. But with Ratio kissing him just so, with passion and desire, Aventurine can’t help but feel anything but. The negative emotions will come later, he’s sure, but for now his world centers in around the warmth of the other man, the sound he makes that has Aventurine pushing back for more so that he can swallow every last bit of Ratio the other man allows to escape him.
It isn’t like he’s unmoved, and the small sounds of want that fall from his own lips are as honest as the confession Ratio wrung from him. Half aborted, embarrassing little gasps and moans, growing louder when Ratio pulls him closer. Aventurine wraps his arms around the older man’s shoulders and neck, pulling himself as flush as he can. This… this is worth it, this is worth everything.
The thought emboldens him, and he crawls into Ratio’s lap as best as the other man’s chair will let him — only pulling back as far as it takes to take one gulp of air, then another. )
How do you want me, Professor?
( Because he can feel that he’s half hard and aching, he has been since the kiss against the man’s bust. And oh, how he wants nothing more than to be spread over that desk. )
[ Breaking his rationality is one thing, but Ratio is also a man who understands himself. He would not be doing this if he did not already desire Aventurine, if he did not want this on some level. He would be able to hold himself back if it was simple, idle attraction, but he is a man who reflects on his own wants and desires more than he ought, and you do not get to the level of mastery and education that he has without those kinds of developments.
The soft sound that the other man makes is enough to anchor him, to draw him closer, to make him wrap himself and hold him. He leans into the kiss and deepens it, permits the flicker of a tongue and the search for something more, and when he pauses to breathe he knows his cheeks are flushed, a violent red against his pale skin. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The fingers in his hair feel good, drawing him all the closer, and Ratio sinks into the kiss as if he was born for it, made for it, excited pulses of delight flooding his body. It's natural, biological instinct, he's aware of that, all the parts of the human body recognisable to his inner mind, but that ought not to be his focus. What should matter is what is happening because of those impulses; leaning into the kiss, he groans softly.
It is perfect.
One arm wraps around Aventurine's waist, drawing him close, squeezing at his body as he kisses him back, filled with all the restrained passion that has built inside of him, the desperation for more that he can't fight. ]
no subject
It isn’t like he’s unmoved, and the small sounds of want that fall from his own lips are as honest as the confession Ratio wrung from him. Half aborted, embarrassing little gasps and moans, growing louder when Ratio pulls him closer. Aventurine wraps his arms around the older man’s shoulders and neck, pulling himself as flush as he can. This… this is worth it, this is worth everything.
The thought emboldens him, and he crawls into Ratio’s lap as best as the other man’s chair will let him — only pulling back as far as it takes to take one gulp of air, then another. )
How do you want me, Professor?
( Because he can feel that he’s half hard and aching, he has been since the kiss against the man’s bust. And oh, how he wants nothing more than to be spread over that desk. )
no subject
The soft sound that the other man makes is enough to anchor him, to draw him closer, to make him wrap himself and hold him. He leans into the kiss and deepens it, permits the flicker of a tongue and the search for something more, and when he pauses to breathe he knows his cheeks are flushed, a violent red against his pale skin. ]
I thought you were the one with the grand ideas?
[ Which is to say he isn't certain. ]