Guess who's on her period and high on pain meds
Warning: Sexual content. Be warned it might be really bad because it's my first time writing smut.
Rody had always known Vincent was attractive. It was the kind of thought that would flash across his mind at the most random times, like when they first started dating and he’d catch Vincent staring at him across the dinner table with those dark eyes, or the way Vincent would occasionally brush a hand through his neat black hair, leaving it disheveled in a way that made Rody’s heart race.
But lately, *everything* Vincent did seemed to drive him wild.
Rody didn’t know what had changed. Maybe it was the comfort of living together—being able to see Vincent in ways he never had before, watching him exist in their shared space in a casual, unguarded manner. Maybe it was just that the closer they got, the more irresistible Vincent became to him. Or maybe, he was just losing his mind. Because no matter how mundane the action, Rody found himself constantly overwhelmed with desire. The way Vincent moved, the way he spoke, the way his fingers tapped idly against the kitchen counter—every little thing sent Rody spiraling.
It was a normal weekday morning, early enough that the golden sunlight spilled gently through the windows of their small, modern apartment, casting soft shadows across the wooden floor. Rody sat at the kitchen table, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes were locked on Vincent as he stood by the stove, absentmindedly sipping his coffee.
Vincent was wearing one of Rody’s old t-shirts, a soft grey thing that hung loosely on him, the collar stretched wide enough to expose the delicate curve of his collarbone. His black hair, usually so neatly combed, was still messy from sleep, tousled in a way that made Rody want to reach out and tangle his fingers in it. He leaned against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, completely unaware of the way he was driving Rody insane with the simple act of standing there.
Rody’s eyes traced the lines of Vincent’s body, the way the t-shirt clung to his waist, the way it rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin above his hips. God, how could Vincent look so good doing absolutely nothing?
The steam from the coffee curled lazily around Vincent’s fingers as he took another slow sip, his lips parting ever so slightly, and Rody felt heat pool low in his stomach at the sight. He stared at those lips, soft and slightly flushed from the warmth of the mug, and his mind wandered to how they’d felt against his own the night before, the way Vincent would make the softest sounds when Rody kissed him just right. It made his pulse quicken, the memory vivid and raw.
Vincent lowered the mug, licking his lips absently, and Rody nearly groaned aloud. *Why is he so oblivious?*
Vincent’s voice broke through Rody’s reverie, low and calm as ever. “You want coffee?” he asked, his tone casual, like he wasn’t setting Rody on fire with every little movement.
Rody cleared his throat, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Vincent turned back to the counter, reaching for a second mug. As he moved, the hem of the shirt shifted higher, and Rody caught another glimpse of his skin, the small dip of his lower back where it met the waistband of his sweatpants. The sight alone made his breath hitch. He shifted in his chair, feeling the tightness of his jeans against his thighs. It was too much. All of it. Vincent didn’t even know what he was doing to him, and that made it worse.
Rody watched, transfixed, as Vincent poured the coffee, his long fingers delicate and precise in their movements. He had always loved Vincent’s hands—strong, graceful, and always cool to the touch—but lately, he found himself obsessing over them. The way they moved, the way they gripped the counter when they kissed, the way they’d ghost over his skin during moments of intimacy.
