apocryphals | → don't my looks just say "hey, I'm a winner at the game"

→ don't my looks just say "hey, I'm a winner at the game"

student + teacher au

characters:

ratio & aventurine

aventurine meets and fucks a handsome stranger at a bar the night before his last year in undergrad. only to find out the next day that the man is doctor vertias ratio, his advanced economics professor and a man who's impossible to please as a student. that's never stopped aventurine before, and he sets out on a mission to become ratio's personal headache and secret boyfriend.

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Something of the sort. ( He's not certain if he wants to impress the other man, but Aventurine does want to interest him, and he thinks -- for a man who likes strategy, who's willing to lead him away from the crowd and the bar they'd both been in for a little hands on demonstration... he thinks interest is the way to go. ) There's nothing quite like the thrill of chance, the rush after a win, and the empty, yawning void after it all leaves you.

( While the man's steps are long, his pace fast, Aventurine keeps pace easily enough. It allows him to get a better look at him in the light from the streetlamps; his face is fine, more than fine. He really wasn't far off the mark at thinking it looked like it was carved from marble. The sharp cheekbones, the curve of his nose. But all of that pales in the face of his eyes. Which, Aventurine knows, is ironic considering his own, but this man's deep reds and warm yellow...

There's no part of this man that is unattractive, and Aventurine would be a fool to let him escape before he can enjoy an evening with him. )

Though I've been known to enjoy something that takes a bit of planning. But if the payoff requires a bit of luck -- that's when I truly enjoy myself. ( So maybe he is a gambler. ) What about yourself? What does a man like you find so engaging bout strategy?

The logic, of course.

[ As if there's any other answer to it. He folds his arms as they walk, tossing his hair out of his eyes. ]

Finding the patterns and fitting the pieces together. Calculating the optimal route to find your way to the finish line, as it were. For example, [ he says, opening the door to the bar, ] pool. The rules of the game are simple; you try to hit all of your balls into the pockets before your opponent while doing your best to avoid the one marked with the number 8. The simplest way to do this is to calculate your angles along with the force behind your shot.

[ The bar itself is dimly lit, with soft acid jazz playing in the background. The lighting is hazy due to the smoke wafting through the air, the clove mixed with tobacco scent lingering. It's furnished with dark wood and plush fabric seating — this is a place you come to to drink whiskey and read a book, not hook up with a one night stand. In summation, it's Ratio's preferred bar most nights, and the bartender, a scruffy man by the name of Gallagher, nods at him as he enters. ]

Too soft, and you won't hit your target. Too hard, and you risk offsetting the angle and hitting the 8 ball. You must be precise.

( Aventurine knows he should be listening to the other man talk. And he is! He really, truly is. But his voice is just smooth enough, low enough, that it's easy to let it wash over him and carry him off into half formed daydreams of having that voice whisper filthy things into his ear that make it so easy to lose sight of the process of getting there for the reward. He comes back to himself in time to enter the bar with a nod to Ratio before almost stopping in his tracks.

It's-- not what he expected, but perhaps what he should have if he'd stopped thinking with his dick for five seconds. There's something warm and intimate about this particular joint, the fact that the bartender recognizes his companion only adding to it. Aventurine likes it, being allowed to see this small sliver of the man he desperately wants to fuck and hadn't thought much beyond that fact. The least he can do in return is pay attention to whatever lesson he'd be on the receiving end of. )

Classy joint you got here. ( He says with a low, impressed whistle. But the smile soon returns to his face as he lets the man lead him to a pool table. ) How about this, then? We'll have a friendly little wager while you teach me -- no stakes, nothing on the line. ( None that the dark haired man is aware of, at any rate. ) Just a test of your logic against my luck as a learner and a beginner while I see what those hands of yours can do.

( Aventurine pops his hip against the table, hands on his hips and inviting smile. The other man may be right in that strategy and skill is behind the best plays, the ability to win, but that's only because he hasn't met Aventurine. However the balls fall, it'll be sure to be in his favor. )

[ It’s lucky for Gallagher that’s he’s, more or less, used to this. The bar is a classy hole in the wall, generally frequented only by regulars; it’s not even the first time Ratio has brought a date though it is the first time his date has looked like they were enjoying themself.

And Ratio is, too, though it might not be so obvious. His gaze drops to the man’s hip on the table, back up his body to his face, his eyebrow raising with it. A wager? He’s never been a betting man, and isn’t necessarily interested in starting now, but his curiosity has a hold of him. He lingers for just a moment before walking over to the wall and grabbing the cues and rack from the shelf, handing one of the cues over. ]

A wager without stakes? That’s hardly a wager. What do you propose?

( Taking the cue from the other man, Aventurine simply offers him a smile. )

Just what I've been angling for this whole time. If I win, I get a kiss from the handsome stranger who's offering to teach me pool. ( And not, surprisingly, offering to have him up against the wall of the last bar they were at. Which is excellent restraint on his part, Aventurine thinks, and adjusts his expectations from the dark haired man accordingly. ) If you win-- well, you can have anything you want from me. Anything.

( Including getting him to leave the older man alone. But Aventurine would hedge his bets that's not on the table for this evening, and he always gets what he wants. He just needs to know if whatever he has to offer is worth Aventurine losing or not. )

[ He raises an eyebrow at that — surely, Ratio thinks, he doesn't mean anything, but as his gaze sweeps across the other man's body, Ratio mentally shakes his head. No, the other man clearly means anything, and it takes restraint to keep himself from frowning. He won't deny that he's attracted to the blonde. Ratio isn't a man who indulges in lying, even to himself. But they've only just met. What if Ratio was some man of lesser moral standing? Or worse, some kind of murderer? There's a lack of self preservation here that Ratio finds unhealthy, but it's not his place to say. Or judge. ]

'Anything' is a vague term to use, gambler, but I'll take your bet. Though I do find it odd that you are willing to place a bet on a game you do not know how to play.

[ There's a small cube of blue chalk on the edge of the table, and Ratio picks it up, tossing it to the other man with precision. He doesn't even bother to look if it'll be caught — it will, because he calculated the precise angle and force needed for it to do so. It's time to start the lesson. ]

That is chalk, [ he says, as he starts grabbing the balls from the compartment under the table, placing them into the triangle shaped rack, sorting them according to their numbers. ] Rub a bit of it on the tip of the cue to keep the cueball from slipping when you hit it. We will play a simple game of eight ball, because the rules are simple. You will take the solid colors, and I will take the stripes. The goal is to put all of your solid colors excluding the black eight ball into the pockets at the sides and corners of the table before I can put my striped ones in. Once all of your balls have been removed from play, then you will attempt to pocket the eight ball. Whomever pockets the eight ball first, after their respective balls have been removed from play, wins.

[ He lifts the triangle, and hangs it on it's hook. ]

Do you understand?

( Then Aventurine would rely on his luck to save him from the worst of it. And if his luck finally failed him, well. So be it. He doesn't shy away from the man's searching look -- only raising a brow as he doesn't say what he might want from Aventurine. Difficult, but he can work with that, and his amusement at the dark haired man's comment about betting just has him huff a laugh. )

What can I say -- I like challenging odds.

( And he likes a confident man. Tossing that chalk without looking so that it falls easily into his hand is impressive, and Aventurine can't help but find himself drawn more and more to him. He's clearly smart -- no man holds themselves like he does without being so -- but not in a way he's come to feel like the majority of his professors behave. As if they know everything, and care little for anything aside from their own research. It's sexy. Sure, he can just say that about anyone who looks as attractive as this man does, but Aventurine really means it.

If he was the sort of man who thought about long-term relationships (and he was, once, but his ex had quickly burned through all that remained of his good will, so nothing so serious for him ever again) it'd be easy to think of getting to know him better. Maybe he still could, if he played his cards right. Just not that better. )

Anyone tell you that you should take up teaching? ( He says with a grin and a sway of his hips as he chalks up his cue. ) How about a final hands on demonstration before we get going? I'll need all the help I can get if I'm going to win.

[ Ratio freezes for a moment, glancing at the other man out of the corner of his eye, but he's not immediately recognizable as a student, and Ratio relaxes just a bit, though he chastises himself for letting his guard down. But he can't find it in him to consider this a mistake, either; the other man may be a few years younger but he seems intelligent enough, and is certainly intriguing enough that Ratio can't look away. And there's that lack of self preservation as well...

No matter. Should anything happen, it will be one time and Ratio will never see him again. There is no need to concern himself further.

His gaze sweeps up and down his form as he considers the request, and then he lifts an arm in a shrug, directing him towards the table. ]

Very well. Show me how you'd hold the cue first.

( That's certainly a reaction, but Aventurine only files it away for later -- maybe he is one, and he's struck a nerve. He can hardly imagine this man teaching grade schoolers, or even high schoolers. He seems to have a low tolerance for bullshit, and from what he recalls of other people's stories of those experience, it's just full of those sorts of things.

But any thought about that is quick to flee Aventurine's mind the moment that he shrugs. Jackpot. His grin grows bigger as he moves -- bending over the table at just the right position and just the right angle to show off one of his best assets. As it were. He keeps his arms at an incorrect angle as well, an invitation for the other man to correct his errors.

It's not wrong of him, Aventurine thinks, to want to feel his hands on him. That's the whole point. )

Like so?

[ There's no doubt in his mind that the man is doing this on purpose. It's almost comical how wrong he's standing, and Ratio for a moment considers not entertaining it, but...

It's like there's a magnet inside of him pulling him towards the blonde, forgoing personal space to adjust his hips and his arms, pressing chest to back, his mouth dangerously close to his ear. ]

Like so, [ he says, his voice pitched lower, meant only for his temporary student to hear. ] The angles are what's important.

Bend yourself incorrectly, [ he continues, placing his hands over Aventurine's, guiding his arms and hips with his own, ] and you run the risk of failure.

( It wouldn't be one of the oldest tricks in the book if it didn't work, now would it? Aventurine preens a little when he feels the other man's hands on him -- he knows he's small and slight, but even accounting for that, the man's hands feel hot and large against his waist. Almost enough for Aventurine to wish he'd worn something that revealed more skin.

He'd accounted for what it would feel like pressed up against the other man's chest, hip to hip. Enough that he moves back slightly, eyes thrown over his shoulder to acknowledge that yes, he knows what he's doing.

What he doesn't expect is for the way that the man's voice would sound against his ear, low and deep, almost enough to make Aventurine vibrate with it. Fuck. Even he can't suppress the shiver that runs through him as he lets the older man manhandle him. And hell, he doesn't want to.

Following the man's instructions and directions is easy enough, for all the want that's beginning to settle low in his gut, the man doesn't make it difficult to understand. )

Low and straight, ( He does chuckle at that, because there isn't anything straight about them this evening, ) so you can have a better view of your shot, I assume.

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→ don't my looks just say "hey, I'm a winner at the game"

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