The night was heavy with the scent of rain. The dense fog wrapped itself around the village like a suffocating veil, obscuring the stars and cloaking every shadow in an impenetrable blackness. Somewhere within that abyss, Vincent moved swiftly, the heels of his polished boots sinking into the mud, his breath visible in the chill air. His fine, velvet cloak caught on low-hanging branches, but he tore it free without care. There was only one thing on his mind-Rody.
He should have never fallen for him. The son of a powerful duke, with responsibilities, prestige, and a legacy to uphold, had no business sneaking out to a peasant's cottage, risking everything for fleeting moments of love and warmth. But Vincent couldn't help it. He was drawn to Rody like a moth to flame, and each visit made it harder to leave, harder to return to the cold, gilded world of nobility where eyes were always watching.
Tonight was no different. Despite the warnings from his father-subtle at first, then increasingly threatening-Vincent couldn't stay away. His love for Rody burned too brightly, consuming every rational thought until nothing mattered but the feel of Rody's hands, the comfort of his embrace, the way their bodies fit together as if made for each other.
Vincent's heart pounded as he reached the small, weather-beaten cottage nestled at the edge of the forest. The door creaked open before he could knock, and there stood Rody, silhouetted in the dim light of a flickering candle. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his auburn hair tousled from sleep, green eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"Vincent," Rody whispered, his voice laced with concern. "You shouldn't be here tonight. The Duke's men have been in the village all day. They're looking for something-"
"I know," Vincent cut him off, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "But I couldn't stay away."
Rody's face softened, though a flicker of worry remained in his eyes. "You're risking too much."
"I would risk everything for you," Vincent murmured, reaching out to trace his fingers along Rody's jaw. His touch was delicate, reverent, as though Rody were something fragile and precious, something to be worshipped. "I can't- I *won't* stop coming to you."
Rody sighed deeply, pulling Vincent into his arms without another word. They stood like that for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with the unspoken dangers they both knew were closing in. Vincent's head rested against Rody's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his tunic. In these moments, Vincent felt safe, as if the world outside no longer existed.
"Let's not waste time talking about what might happen," Vincent said softly, his voice muffled against Rody's skin. "I just want to be with you."
Rody held him tighter, and for a while, they did nothing but cling to each other in the small, quiet space of the cottage. Outside, the wind howled, battering the shutters as rain began to fall in heavy sheets. Inside, the heat between them grew, building from the slow, languid kisses Vincent pressed to Rody's neck to the desperate pull of hands tugging at clothes, the soft gasps and murmurs as their bodies sought out the familiar rhythm they had fallen into so many times before.
It was always like this-frantic and urgent, as if each night could be their last, because, deep down, they both knew it might be. The Duke's wrath was a storm looming on the horizon, and no matter how much Vincent tried to outrun it, he knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up with them.
Afterward, as they lay tangled together beneath a threadbare blanket, Vincent pressed his face into the crook of Rody's neck, his breath still ragged. "I hate this," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I hate that I can't just... be with you. That we have to hide like criminals."
