Warning: Sexual content,slightly feminine Vincent
Y'all need something nice cuz the next few ones after this one are kinda bad.
The room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the streetlamps filtering through half-drawn blinds. Rody had never been one for much in the way of ambiance, but there was something about this setting—this rare, quiet moment with Vincent—that made the whole night feel electric.
Rody leaned back on his elbows, propped up on the bed, his shirt discarded on the floor and his chest exposed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The man sitting between his legs, Vincent Charbonneau, looked almost too composed for what was about to happen—hair still perfectly styled, cheeks flushed a faint pink, though whether from embarrassment or anticipation, Rody couldn't quite tell.
But it was those glasses—those damn glasses—perched perfectly on the bridge of Vincent's nose that Rody couldn't stop thinking about. There was something deliciously erotic about the way they framed his sharp features, how they caught the low light when Vincent shifted his head just right, and especially how they were starting to fog up as Vincent's breathing grew heavier.
Rody's hand found its way to Vincent’s face, fingers brushing over the smooth skin of his jawline, tilting his chin up just a little so their eyes could meet. Vincent’s dark eyes were hazy behind the fogging lenses, pupils blown wide, his lips parted slightly as he exhaled. Rody grinned, his thumb brushing over Vincent’s bottom lip, enjoying the way it quivered under his touch.
"You always look so good like this," Rody muttered, his voice low and rough, fingers tracing down from Vincent's lips to the collar of his shirt. "With those glasses on... can't get enough of it."
Vincent's breath hitched, and his gaze darted away for a moment, clearly flustered by the compliment. But Rody knew better. Vincent was never one to back down from a challenge, not even in a moment like this.
“Is that what you like?" Vincent's voice was soft, but there was a sharpness to it, an edge of self-assurance creeping back in. "Me in glasses?"
Rody chuckled softly, his fingers slipping under the collar of Vincent's shirt, slowly working the buttons loose one by one. "Among other things."
He watched with a hungry gaze as more of Vincent's pale skin was revealed, the shirt sliding off his shoulders and landing somewhere near the bed. Vincent's body was leaner than Rody’s, softer in some ways, but Rody loved every inch of it—the dips, the curves, the way Vincent’s chest rose and fell with every labored breath.
Vincent's face was turning a deeper shade of red, and Rody couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at being the cause of it. He loved seeing Vincent like this—flushed, glasses barely hanging on, so utterly disheveled compared to his usual composed, sharp self. It made something inside him snap.
In one fluid motion, Rody reached forward, pulling Vincent closer until their bodies were flush together, skin against skin. Vincent gasped softly at the sudden contact, his hands instinctively reaching for Rody’s shoulders, gripping tightly as their lips met in a heated kiss.
Rody groaned into the kiss, loving the way Vincent melted into him, pliant and eager. He could feel the slight tremble in Vincent's hands as they moved, fingers digging into Rody's arms, pulling him closer, desperate for more.
"You love it too, don't you?" Rody murmured against Vincent's lips, his voice rough and teasing. "Love being under me, all flushed and needy."
Vincent's only response was a shaky exhale, his hips shifting ever so slightly against Rody’s. The friction between them sent a jolt of heat through Rody’s body, and he couldn't help the groan that escaped him as he pressed harder, grinding against Vincent, drawing another gasp from him.
