Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jason collapsed onto the bed, sweat sheen chest heaving, trying to get his breath back. Pythagoras moaned, though it wasn’t in pain, and slid down next to his lover. Jason smirked, turning to face Pythagoras. Though it was dark, and only a few meager torchers in the street threw golden light through the open window above the bed, Jason could see the outline of Pyth’s curly, now a bit more ruffled, hair, and the light in his lovers blue eyes that brought a lump to his throat. On impulse he shifted closer, bringing their lips together. Pythagoras sighed contentedly against Jason’s lips, bringing his hand up to toy with Jason’s dark locks. Jason smiled again in spite of himself, pulling the mathematician closer, interlocking their legs together and lapsing into a comfortable silence.

Pythagoras did not know how long they had been lying on the bed, it could have been hours for all he knew. He was comforted by the steady heart beat and slowing rise and fall of Jason’s chest, lulled into a hazy, relaxed state. As Jason’s hand slowed from rubbing Pyth’s back, the genius could tell his partner was lapsing into a deep sleep, as he usually did after a night such as this. Not that Pythagoras minded. These quiet nights allowed him to think, equations and logic mixing into his thoughts of lust and love.

He sat up, letting Jason’s arm slid from around his waist. He watched Jason as the torch light flicked, creating an almost unreal glow on his darker skin. The paler man smiled lightly, ghosting his fingers along the defined features of his lover. It’s not that he is jealous of Jason’s handsome physique; admiration is far from envy. The fortune he had, to sleep with a man this beautiful, is truly a gift from the most gracious of the Gods.

His fingers carefully mapped the other man’s lips and jaw, in a fit of immaturity, poking is nose, earning a sniff from the sleeping man. After retreating for a moment so as not to wake him, Pythagoras shifted closer again, letting his fingers card through the dark curls, and travel lower to trace the tendons in his neck, leading to the smooth defined lines of his collar bone.
The mathematician paused, his breath catching in his throat, as his hand traced the same pattern over and over again in the hollow of his lover’s throat. He brought his other hand up from where it rested on the pillow, and as if reading brail, ran his hands across Jason’s torso, neck and face. Pyth’s breath began quickening as shapes and numbers flashed in front of his eyes.
Slowly and cautiously, so as not to wake the other, Pythagoras leans over to his side table where, among other things, he keeps a stylus and paper. Or did keep paper. With a few choice words about the legality of the papers birth right, he began unwinding himself from Jason’s strong, persuasive hold around his waist. But for only so long can a genius on a mission battle tangled sheets and grasping hands, and finally gave up in a ‘humf’ of annoyance and defeat.

Suddenly, an object, well really two, caught his eye on the bedside table. He once again leant over Jason and grabbed the brush and ink well, with yesterdays’ ink still mixed in it. He dipped the slender brush into the black ink, and carefully began tracing the lines of Jason’s neck; or, to be more precise, the triangle Pythagoras saw on his lover’s anatomy. With the brush in hand, the space between his collar bones and shoulder became obtuse triangles, the hollows of his neck were covered in sticky black ink, tracing the lines of thought Pythagoras was inspired to take. He began hurriedly writing letters and numbers down the hero’s arms, squares appearing on his wrists, rectangles and octagons divided into small triangles covered his hips and stomach. Pythagoras worked his way up and down his lovers body, worshiping it as a canvas on which he poured out his thoughts as they came, a stream of consciousness in the form of flowing smooth numbers and harsh jagged lines. He read down his left arm, than to his right, careful not to smudge his work, or get the ink on his bed sheets.

He worked through the night, carefully tracing the muscle and bones of the hero, etching equations on the smooth path of skin, using his fingers to map out the shapes of his lovers body in a way he had never imagined before.

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As light began to stain the city’s skyline, Jason awoke to Pythagoras’s mumbling. He slowly opened his eyes to find his bed mate sound asleep on the pillow next to him, clutching an ink well and brush. Jason smiled, knowing Pyth had been up to something, and more likely than not, it had to do with triangles. He began to reach over to pry the tools from the genius’ hands when he stopped short.

All across his hand and arm were the unmistakable scribbles of his one and only Pythagoras. He looked down in in equal amusement and horror to see, across his body, were lines, equations and shapes written in scrawling ink. “Dear god” he muttered to himself, pushing himself out of the rickety bed, “I’m a walking doodle.”

He glanced down at the other man, seeds of annoyance planted in his head. Of course, he couldn’t be mad, he had no right to be. But really, ink? All over? If this didn’t come off with-
Jason stopped dead as he looked up at the mirror. Across his sternum, clear and bold, was the most blessed equation he had ever seen.

“A squared, plus b squared, equals c squared.” Jason beamed, his eyes becoming misty and throat tight. Pythagoras had done it. He had made history right then, he had written it right over Jason’s heart. The young hero looked closer at his arms. He found the creation of hypotenuse wrapped around his left wrist, and the equations for six or seven different triangles all down his right bicep. He carefully traced the equilaterals on his hips and acutes on his neck, as he fought back tears of pride, happiness, and basic relief of no more long nights of Pythagoras refusing to sleep or eat in interest solving another damned equation that Jason already knew the answer to.

“It was your own damned fault you know.” Jason turned to see Pythagoras watching him from the bed where he sat, cross legged and wrapped in the sheets. “You wouldn’t let me get up to get my stylus and parchment. I had to get creative.” Jason walked to where his partner sat and, grabbing the others hands, placed a kiss right in the middle of his forehead.
“My genius” he chuckled as Pythagoras began to blush. “My very own amazing, wonderful, stupid, insane, annoying, beautiful, no breath taking, genius.” He pushed Pythagoras back onto the bed, melding his lips to the younger mans in a kiss that was in no way chaste.

“So you’re not mad that I wrote all over you?” Pythagoras asked in between kisses over his jaw, cheeks and lips.
J
ason slowed, purposefully kissing the corner of those brilliant blue eyes. “Not. At. All.” He emphasized each word with a caress. “Honestly, this is possibly the best thing I have witnessed, no, that I have actually been a part of…” Jason broke down into giggles, resting his forehead against Pythagoras’s shoulder. “Pyth, this damned equation is going to be one of the most amazing and horridly boring things to ever happen. Like, ever. And it’s written on my, ah shit what’s this called?” He tapped his sternum, which Pythagoras promptly named before gaining a look of confusion.

“Do you really believe that?” Pyth asked, tracing said equation. “Honestly, could something of mine truly be that important?”

Jason smiled softly, and took Pyths trembling hand in his on. “Do you really believe I would have told you if I didn’t trust it with all my heart?” Pythagoras blushed and shook his head in agreement. Jason grinned, and with a shout of joy, jumped up from the bed.

“Come on, stop moping Pythy, you have just created the mostly hated equation to every young mind everywhere.” He pulled the mathematician to his feet and kissed his hands which were no longer trembling from nerves and lack of sleep. “Three things: First, you will write every single word down of a piece of paper. Second, you will write it all down all over again. You will not lose this alright?” Pythagoras was giggling now at Jason’s own excitement, as his lover began to dance around the room in confusing but exhilarating joy.

“And third?” Pythagoras panted, still regaining his breath.

“And third” He stopped, “you will help me wash this damn ink off.” Jason stepped forward, placing his hands on his partner’s hip bones and pulling him closer.

“With pleasure” Pythagoras whispered, drawing Jason in for another long slow kiss. “Now come on!” He pulled away, walking out into the main room. “I need my stylus, fresh ink, parchment, my ruler, my angle frames…” Jason smiled, listening to Pythagoras’s usually mumble of planning and thought process.

“My genius.” Jason laughed under his breath as he felt his heart clench with sheer love, and admiration for the man in front of him. “My beautiful, wonderful Pythagoras.”