Rody kinda wanted to cry. You know that feeling when you wanna cry, but you also don't but also can't because your eyes are too dry and drained of tears but you still feel happyish or like boosted with dopamine but you still feel so frustrated and wanna fucking cry?
Yeah, yeah that about sums up Rody's feelings in this moment.
And hot. He felt so very, overwhelmingly hot.
It was wrong what he was doing- he knew that. But Vince was just so /hot/ and there was an aura about him that was just so enticing, like something was pulling Rody in with a force he could not fight.
The entire experience was less an event he could recall and more of a flash-bang montage of half-fogged clips that played over in his head. It was blurry and it was a rush of heat and lust and whatever the fuck else was going on.
The lights were dim, the office was warm, the bistro was empty other than them. Vince's hands had been so soft and welcoming and Rody's slowly forming crush had been too strong against his voice of reason.
The one that was still non-stop screaming at him /'YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND WHO YOU LOVE YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!'/. But... Technically Manon had broke it off with him. Technically he could pine over or kiss or... Do /other/ stuff with anyone he wanted! It wouldn't be disloyal! Manon could do the exact same thing!
Vince shoved him harder against the wall.
It was movements like that that brought him back to his senses now and then, or ones that he'd remember later on.
Shit, what was happening again? It all felt so disorientating. Like he was reaalllyy drunk. Or high.
All he can remember is hot hungry lips against hot hungry lips, tongues dancing against each other and teeth clanging; rough, sweaty hands shoving large, sweaty hands, a wall against his back, cold and plastered in cheapy paper; there was a hot tongue down his neck and a hasty hand down that piece of cloth, some slick substances and rough movements back and forth; loud noises from both parties- the kind that would make him die from embarrassment on the spot if he ever heard them again in a sober situation.
And it's all just snapshots of second long clips that he can barely put together, but can recognise enough to be ashamed about.
The night is crisp; it's cold and frost-kissed and the fog is so bloody thick you could cut it with a knife. Dim lamp posts try their best to provide some weak semblance of light in the cloudy, moonlightless night, but the thick coatings of ice on almost every possible surface easily bock out most of their efforts. The sky is nothing but depressing clouds, that cover any dot of magical beauty that the stars or shining moon may have been able to provide.
The stars... God, the stars. They were so unbelievable. Like magic. Like, how did such things even exist? It feels like they should be something you imagine in a fantasy novella, something that only exists in fiction. They look too unreal. They look like balls of shimmering hope.
And now that not a single one is visible from the empty Paris streets that Rody finds himself shivering on, it begins to feel as though he has no luck left at all.
But he could pray- he had to. Pray for himself, pray for Manon.
"Rody, I'm sorry. But it's for you; you need to learn to love yourself"
"Wait- Manon wait, please-"
"D-diiiinnng click!"
"Come to my office, Rody. We need to talk."
"Yes, chef!"
*door open and shuts*
"What was it, che- nghmhpphp!!?"
YOU ARE READING
Tongue And Teeth
FanfictionRody finds himself on his knees in the chilling cold after spending hours trying to get his girlfriend to answer his calls. He's utterly defeated, at his worst point in life ever. No Manon, no money-and he's just quit his job. Nothing can ever fix h...
