Warning: Gore, Kidnapping, Blood, Innocent Vincent, Forced Therianism (I had to google that shit. Don't google it before reading this if you don't want a spoiler)
Rody first noticed Vincent at a tiny, dimly lit bookstore that smelled of old paper and coffee grounds. He was perched in a quiet corner, leafing through some thick art book with this shy, focused look on his face. Rody lingered in the shadows for a while, watching him. There was something fragile and almost otherworldly about Vincent: the way he fidgeted, his uncertain smile, the faint blush on his cheeks when he looked up and caught Rody’s eye.
It was too easy. Rody sidled up to him, making some casual comment about the book, and within minutes, Vincent was stumbling over his words, looking at him with wide eyes and an expression that screamed pure, naive interest. By the time they left, Vincent had given Rody his number, and Rody was already planning his next move.
The next few dates were a game of gentle nudges and quiet encouragement. Coffee, museums, late-night conversations over dinners Vincent insisted on paying for, as if that would make him a little less vulnerable. He was painfully innocent, really—blushing every time Rody brushed his hand, looking down whenever Rody teased him about his bashful smile.
After a while, it almost felt like Rody was training him. Vincent started to lean into Rody’s touches, stammering less and laughing more, showing bits of a soft, sweet personality that Rody was beginning to find… endearing. In a different life, Rody might have left things there, letting Vincent be another face in his memory. But this wasn’t a different life, and he had needs to fill.
Finally, after a handful of casual dates, he invited Vincent back to his apartment. Vincent had been startled at first, eyes wide as he stuttered out something about how he hadn’t really done this before, but Rody reassured him with a slow, confident smile.
“It’s just a movie, Vincent,” he said smoothly. “I make a mean hot cocoa. You’ll love it.”
Vincent had only nodded, cheeks flushed, and followed him inside.
---
Vincent was practically glowing when he sat beside Rody on the couch, nervously sipping his cocoa and stealing glances at Rody between scenes. Rody kept his arm around Vincent, pulling him close every now and then, feeling Vincent relax, his shoulders dropping as he melted into the warmth of Rody’s side. The movie droned on, and before long, Vincent’s eyelids began to droop. Rody waited, watching as Vincent’s breathing evened out, his head falling onto Rody’s shoulder. Then, with a patient smile, he got to work.
---
When Vincent woke up, something was wrong. His head felt fuzzy, his limbs heavy, and as he blinked through the darkness, he realized he couldn’t move. Panic shot through him as he tried to pull his hands free, but they wouldn’t budge. He was bound tightly, ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles. His breath hitched, and he twisted, eyes darting around in desperation.
A voice—Rody’s voice—brought him back to reality. “Shh, don’t struggle, Vince. You’re safe… just stay calm.”
Safe? His mind raced, trying to make sense of the word. Safe? How was this safe? Rody’s face was calm, a strange smile on his lips as he crouched beside Vincent, fingers tracing gentle patterns on his arm. And then, behind him, Vincent noticed a woman, arms crossed, scowling at them both.
The woman sighed, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Rody, really? This is the best you could find? He’s scrawny. Barely a meal between his bones.”
Rody shot her a glare, his grip on Vincent’s arm tightening. “Leave him alone, Manon. I… I wasn’t planning on letting him go.”
“Obviously,” Manon muttered, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward, studying Vincent with a look that made his skin crawl. “But this? He’s hardly going to keep you fed for a week. And you couldn’t even leave him untouched?”
