Warning: Age gap, cheating, shorter Vincent, soft Vincent
The warm evening air of Paris brushed against Rody’s skin as he stood on the balcony of Manon’s apartment. Inside, the hum of conversation continued without him, Manon laughing with her friends, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.
Rody took a deep drag of his cigarette, trying to steady his thoughts, but it wasn’t working. His mind was filled with one person, and it wasn’t his girlfriend.
Vincent.
He hadn’t meant to start thinking about him this way. Vincent was the last person Rody should be focused on, yet the younger man had slipped into his head so easily, so naturally, it felt inevitable. And the worst part? Rody couldn’t stop himself.
Vincent had this quiet presence, the kind that lingered long after he left the room. His dark, messy hair, pale skin, and those unnerving black eyes—Rody had never seen eyes so deep, so impossible to read. Every time he looked into them, it was like falling into a void.
A void he wanted to sink deeper into.
Rody leaned forward, elbows on the railing, his gaze locked on Vincent through the glass door. He stood in the kitchen, quietly making himself a drink, completely unaware of the way Rody’s gaze lingered on him. Vincent was small, slender, and delicate in a way that should’ve made Rody feel protective. But it didn’t.
Instead, it made him want to do something he’d never dare admit out loud.
He wanted to pin Vincent down, feel his weight beneath him, those soft lips parting as he breathed his name. He imagined the way Vincent would writhe, surprised at first, maybe even a little defiant, but eventually giving in—black eyes wide with a mix of fear and desire.
Rody cursed under his breath and dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot. He had no business thinking this way. Not about Vincent. Not when he was dating Manon. She was good to him, better than he probably deserved, and the last thing he should be doing was lusting after her little brother.
But he couldn’t help it. Every time Vincent was near, Rody felt like his entire world shifted. His eyes would follow the younger man without permission, his heart would race when he caught a glimpse of that pale skin, and worst of all—he wanted Vincent in ways that went far beyond simple attraction. He wanted to break through that quiet exterior, to see what lay underneath.
What would Vincent’s voice sound like if he moaned Rody’s name?
The door slid open behind him, and Rody froze.
“Didn’t expect to find you out here,” Vincent’s quiet voice broke the silence. It was smooth, calm, as if he hadn’t just walked into Rody’s most dangerous thoughts.
Rody didn’t turn around right away, forcing himself to take a steady breath. “Needed some air,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice casual.
Vincent stepped closer, his presence so unassuming yet impossible to ignore. He was like a shadow—always there, just at the edges of Rody’s awareness, ready to creep into the forefront of his mind when he least expected it.
When Rody finally looked at him, Vincent was leaning casually against the railing, his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, black eyes focused on the city below. He was wearing a loose sweater, the sleeves just a little too long, his slight frame dwarfed by the fabric. He looked comfortable, relaxed—but there was always something just beneath the surface with Vincent. Something Rody couldn’t quite place, but wanted to uncover.
“Not much for crowds either, huh?” Rody said, more to fill the silence than anything.
Vincent gave a faint shrug. “Not really.”
