Dead Plate Oneshots Le Soleil De Plomb

The door to *Le Soleil De Plomb* clicked shut behind Rody as he stepped into the dimly lit office. It was the kind of place that whispered secrets and breathed menace. A thick haze of cigarette smoke clung to the ceiling, and the sharp, metallic scent of power lingered in the air. Rody ran a hand through his auburn hair, his jaw set with the weight of his deception. Every movement, every word, every breath he took in this place was carefully curated. It had to be.

He’d spent months clawing his way into the heart of the Charbonneau family’s organization, slowly earning the trust of Vincent’s father, Étienne Charbonneau, a notorious kingpin in France’s underground. His mission was clear: expose the human trafficking ring that Étienne had built over decades and bring him down. The kind of case that would ruin Étienne, shake the underground world, and cement Rody’s career. But it was a dangerous game, and Rody had learned early on that no one got close to Étienne unless they could offer something more than loyalty.

That’s where Vincent came in. Vincent Charbonneau was his way in.

Rody had met him several months ago, during one of those high-society parties his father held, where criminals dressed in tuxedos pretended to be respectable. Rody, operating under his alias, had been keeping an eye on the party, watching for anything that could lead to incriminating evidence. But then, Vincent had appeared, striking in his tailored suit, dark eyes catching the light just right, with a kind of softness that made Rody pause. He was different from his father. There was something vulnerable about him, something untouched by the blood on the family’s hands.

That vulnerability had been Rody’s opportunity.

He played the long game. At first, he made himself known—just enough to catch Vincent’s eye, to let him wonder who Rody was, why someone so rugged, so rough around the edges, was mingling with criminals in suits. Rody could feel Vincent’s eyes on him from across the room that night, curiosity twisting in the air between them. That’s all it took. Rody had planted the seed, and now, months later, Vincent was in love with him. Hopelessly, pathetically in love.

Rody knew it was wrong. But this was a game, and Vincent was his pawn.

—

Vincent sat by Rody’s side in the dim glow of the small apartment they shared—*Vincent’s* apartment, though Rody had been spending more time there than anywhere else. He liked the control it gave him. Vincent, his quiet demeanor hiding a storm of emotions, watched Rody with those soft, dark eyes. He was always watching, always waiting for Rody’s attention, for a scrap of affection. It made him so easy to manipulate.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Vincent murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain tapping against the window. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, something he did when he was nervous.

Rody smiled, soft but distant, the kind of smile that would keep Vincent guessing. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About us,” Rody said, leaning forward, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. He reached out and tucked a strand of Vincent’s dark hair behind his ear, letting his fingers linger just long enough to make Vincent’s breath hitch.

Vincent flushed under the touch, eyes flickering with uncertainty, but also with desire. “You don’t… talk about us much.”

Rody knew. He didn’t need to. Vincent was always hungry for validation, for confirmation that whatever was growing between them was real. It was a hunger Rody fed in small, careful doses—enough to keep Vincent addicted, never enough to satisfy him.

“I don’t need to,” Rody whispered, moving closer, his hand sliding down to Vincent’s cheek. “You know how I feel.”

Vincent closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, his lips parting as if he was on the verge of saying something important, something that would expose the depths of his need. But Rody didn’t let him. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him. Hard.

Vincent melted into the kiss, his body responding immediately, a low, breathless sound escaping his throat as Rody’s lips claimed his. It was always like this—Vincent so desperate, so eager to please, and Rody playing his part with ruthless precision. The kiss deepened, Rody’s hand sliding down Vincent’s neck, feeling the pulse quicken beneath his fingers.

Vincent’s hands clutched at Rody’s shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, always more. But Rody controlled the pace, the intensity, the distance. He pulled back just as Vincent was losing himself, just enough to leave him wanting.

Vincent’s eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed, his lips red and swollen. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words spilling out in a broken confession.

Rody felt the sharp sting of guilt, but he buried it. This was part of the plan. He had to keep Vincent close, keep him compliant, so he could dig deeper into the Charbonneau empire. He kissed him again, softer this time, a silent acknowledgment of Vincent’s confession, but no words to match it.

Instead, he shifted, pushing Vincent back onto the bed, straddling him, letting his weight settle in Vincent’s lap. The way Vincent’s hands gripped his waist, the way he trembled under Rody’s control—it was almost too easy. Rody kissed him again, his mouth trailing down Vincent’s neck, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Rody murmured against Vincent’s skin, knowing full well that silence would drive him deeper into obsession. “Just trust me.”

Vincent nodded, his breath shaky, his body yielding completely as Rody undressed him, piece by piece. The anticipation in Vincent’s eyes was electric, like he was falling deeper into the illusion Rody had carefully constructed.

And as Rody moved with him, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling in the darkened room, Rody’s mind was miles away. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered lie brought him closer to the truth he needed—the truth that would destroy Vincent’s world. He was playing a dangerous game, but he had no choice. He couldn’t afford to care about the collateral damage.

—

Afterward, Vincent lay tangled in the sheets, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Rody’s chest. He looked up, his face softened by the intimacy, and whispered, “Do you ever think about what happens when all of this… ends?”

Rody’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

“My father,” Vincent said, his voice almost childlike. “What he does… I know it’s wrong. I don’t know everything, but I’m not stupid.”

Rody’s blood went cold. This was dangerous territory. Vincent couldn’t start asking questions, couldn’t start doubting the life he had lived in ignorance. Rody needed him compliant, not curious.

He turned to face Vincent, cupping his face in his hands, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’re not your father, Vincent. You’re better than him.”

Vincent’s eyes filled with emotion, tears brimming at the edges. “But what if I’m not? What if—”

Rody silenced him with a kiss, firm and commanding. “You are,” he whispered against Vincent’s lips, his voice low and authoritative. “You are better. And when the time comes, you’ll do the right thing. I’ll make sure of it.”

Vincent nodded, his body relaxing under Rody’s touch, his doubts slipping away as quickly as they had surfaced. He trusted Rody. Completely. And that trust would be his downfall.

—

The following weeks were a blur of stolen moments and calculated moves. Rody gathered information during the day, slipping into meetings and eavesdropping on conversations, his cop instincts sharp and relentless. By night, he returned to Vincent, offering comfort, love, and lies in equal measure.

Vincent had become his tool, his key to the entire operation. He didn’t know much about his father’s business, but Rody used him to piece together the gaps in his investigation. A slip of a name here, a meeting location there—Vincent gave him everything he needed without even realizing it.

And the closer they became, the more Vincent let his guard down.

One night, as they lay in bed, Vincent resting his head on Rody’s chest, he whispered, “There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow. I overheard my father talking about it.”

Rody’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “What kind of shipment?”

Vincent hesitated. “I’m not sure. But… my father seemed on edge about it. He told his men to be discreet.”

Rody felt the surge of adrenaline. This was it. This was the break he needed.

“Do you trust me?” Rody asked, brushing a hand through Vincent’s hair.

“Of course,” Vincent whispered, his voice fragile, like he was terrified of losing Rody.

Rody smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Vincent’s head. “Then don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

—

The night of the shipment, Rody was ready. He had already tipped off his superiors, and the raid was set. Vincent was oblivious, asleep in the apartment, his trust in Rody complete.

As the police stormed the warehouse, arresting Étienne Charbonneau and his men, Rody stood in the shadows, watching it all unfold. The operation was flawless. Étienne Charbonneau was dragged out in handcuffs, his empire crumbling beneath the weight of Rody’s carefully gathered evidence. Years of human suffering were finally coming to an end.

But as Rody stood there, watching the scene from a distance, something gnawed at him—a dark, sick feeling he couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t victory he felt. Not relief. It was something hollow.

He had won. He had played the long game, manipulated Vincent, and now, the Charbonneau name was about to be forever tarnished. But as the warehouse lights flickered in the distance, as Étienne was loaded into the back of a police van, Rody knew there was one more confrontation he couldn’t avoid.

—

Rody returned to Vincent’s apartment as dawn broke, his mind a fog of exhaustion and guilt. He’d rehearsed the lies in his head, planned exactly how he’d frame this—the truth he needed Vincent to hear, the parts he’d leave out. But stepping into the dimly lit space, he felt the weight of what he’d done crash down on him harder than before.

Vincent was waiting for him, sitting on the couch, his eyes wide and glassy. He must have heard the news, must have known by now what had happened. His hands were trembling slightly, clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“Rody…” Vincent’s voice was weak, barely a whisper.

Rody knew there was no turning back. “Vincent,” he began, keeping his voice as soft as he could manage, trying to keep control. “I’m sorry—”

“You lied to me,” Vincent cut him off, his voice growing stronger. His gaze was sharp, full of the kind of pain that comes from betrayal. “I… I trusted you.”

The words twisted like a knife in Rody’s gut. But he couldn’t show it. He had to stay in control.

“I did what I had to do, Vincent,” Rody said, stepping closer, his tone careful, measured. “Your father—he’s been involved in things you can’t even begin to understand. I needed to stop him.”

Vincent’s face crumpled. “You used me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. Cold, hard, undeniable. “You never loved me. You were just using me.”

Rody swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to keep Vincent calm, had to make him believe that some part of it had been real—because without that sliver of hope, Vincent would break.

“I never wanted it to be like this,” Rody said, moving closer, reaching out to cup Vincent’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you. But you need to understand—this was bigger than us.”

Vincent flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His eyes searched Rody’s face, desperate for something to cling to, some kind of explanation that would make it all make sense.

“Tell me it wasn’t all a lie,” Vincent whispered, his voice breaking, tears welling up in his eyes. “Tell me… some part of it was real.”

Rody hesitated, the words stuck in his throat. He could see the cracks forming in Vincent’s resolve, the way his body trembled under the weight of betrayal. He could end it here—tell him the truth, let Vincent break entirely. Or he could keep lying, keep feeding Vincent the poison he had been giving him all along.

Rody knew what he had to do.

“It wasn’t all a lie,” Rody whispered, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped down Vincent’s cheek. “I care about you. I care about you more than I wanted to admit.”

It wasn’t real. But it needed to be, for Vincent’s sake.

Vincent stared at him, his expression a mixture of heartbreak and disbelief. “Then why?” he choked out, his voice raw. “Why did you do this to me?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Rody lied smoothly, his hands still cradling Vincent’s face. “If I didn’t stop your father, more people would have gotten hurt. I didn’t want to use you, but… you were the only one I could trust. The only one who mattered.”

The words felt like ash in Rody’s mouth, but they had the desired effect. Vincent’s shoulders sagged, his body collapsing into Rody’s as the sobs began. Rody held him, letting Vincent break against his chest, his own heart pounding in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent whispered between sobs. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know any of this.”

Rody wrapped his arms around Vincent, pulling him close, burying his face in Vincent’s hair. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You couldn’t have known.”

Vincent clung to him, his hands gripping the back of Rody’s shirt, desperate for any kind of comfort. “I love you,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling, and the words felt like a blade driving deeper into Rody’s chest.

Rody squeezed his eyes shut. He had to keep the lie alive. “I love you too,” he whispered back, his voice barely audible. “I always have.”

It was a lie that would haunt him forever.

—

In the days that followed, Vincent spiraled into a quiet, broken shell of the person he once was. He didn’t leave the apartment, didn’t talk much, didn’t question Rody’s absences anymore. The fallout from the raid had destroyed everything he knew. His father was gone, the empire dismantled, and Vincent was left to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.

Rody, still playing his role, visited him often. He stayed the nights, held him when the nightmares came, kissed him when Vincent begged for some semblance of normalcy. But there was a distance now, a coldness that Rody couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. The guilt had eaten away at him, hollowed him out, but he couldn’t stop.

Vincent was broken, and it was Rody who had broken him.

—

Months passed, and the case was officially closed. Étienne Charbonneau was sentenced to life in prison, and the Charbonneau empire was nothing more than a memory. Rody had done his job. But as he stood outside Vincent’s apartment door, his hand hovering over the handle, he realized he had lost more than he had won.

He pushed the door open and found Vincent sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the television, the glow casting shadows across his face. He didn’t look up when Rody entered, didn’t acknowledge him.

“Vincent,” Rody said softly, stepping closer.

Vincent didn’t respond.

Rody sighed, sitting beside him on the couch. He reached for Vincent’s hand, but Vincent pulled away, his movements slow, deliberate.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Vincent said, his voice hollow. “I can’t keep pretending.”

Rody felt his chest tighten. “Pretending what?”

“That this is real,” Vincent whispered, finally looking at him, his eyes empty, void of the love that had once shone so brightly. “That we’re real.”

Rody swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Vincent, I—”

“Don’t,” Vincent interrupted, his voice sharp. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He had destroyed Vincent. He had manipulated, used, and broken him. And now, there was nothing left.

“I loved you,” Vincent whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. “I loved you, and you used me.”

Rody felt the sting of those words deep in his soul. He had justified his actions for so long, telling himself it was for the greater good, that it was necessary. But standing here, looking at the broken man in front of him, he realized that no amount of justification could undo the damage he had done.

“I’m sorry,” Rody said, his voice shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Vincent stood, his movements slow, his eyes never leaving Rody’s. “You should go.”

Rody wanted to argue, to fight for something—anything—but he knew it was pointless. He had destroyed the one thing he could never rebuild.

With a heavy heart, Rody turned and left, the door closing softly behind him. The weight of his lies pressed down on him, suffocating him as he walked away from the one person he had never meant to hurt.

And for the first time in his life, Rody realized that winning didn’t feel like victory at all.

The door shut with a soft click, the finality of it echoing in Rody’s ears as he stood outside Vincent’s apartment, his chest tight with the unbearable weight of what he had done. It felt like the world was closing in on him, the walls of his carefully constructed life crumbling around him. For months, he had played the part, weaving lies into the fabric of their relationship, using Vincent as a means to an end. And now, the threads had all unraveled, leaving only devastation in their wake.

Vincent’s words haunted him: *I loved you, and you used me.* Rody had thought he was prepared for this outcome. He had told himself it was just part of the job, that the ends justified the means. But the reality of seeing Vincent broken—of seeing the man who had loved him so purely, so innocently, reduced to an empty shell—was more than he could bear.

His feet carried him down the hall, but his mind was miles away. Every step felt heavier than the last, each breath more difficult to take. He had won. The case was closed, the mission complete. Étienne Charbonneau was behind bars, his empire in ruins. Rody had done exactly what he was sent to do. But at what cost?

He reached the street, the cold air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. The city buzzed with life around him—cars passing by, people going about their day—yet it all felt distant, like he was watching the world from behind a pane of glass. None of it seemed real anymore. The only real thing had been Vincent.

And now, he had lost him.

—

Weeks passed, each day blurring into the next. Rody returned to his work, tried to push the memories of Vincent out of his mind, but it was impossible. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget the way Vincent had looked at him that last day—those eyes filled with so much pain and betrayal. Rody had broken him in ways that could never be repaired, and the guilt gnawed at him relentlessly.

He tried to drown it in work, taking on new cases, throwing himself into the job. But it was never enough. Every case he took on, every criminal he brought down, felt hollow. The adrenaline that used to fuel him, the sense of righteousness that had once driven him, was gone. Nothing mattered anymore. Not without Vincent.

Late at night, when the world was quiet and dark, Rody found himself thinking about what might have been. If things had been different—if he hadn’t been undercover, if he hadn’t been forced to lie—would he have fallen for Vincent in the same way? Could they have had something real, something good?

He hated himself for even entertaining the thought. The reality was, he *had* used Vincent. He had manipulated him, twisted his love into something he could exploit. And now, he was paying the price.

—

One night, months after he had walked out of Vincent’s life, Rody found himself standing outside the apartment again. He didn’t know why he was there. His feet had carried him here of their own accord, some part of him still drawn to Vincent, still unable to let go. The lights in the window were dim, barely visible through the curtains. He wondered if Vincent was even home.

For a long time, Rody just stood there, staring up at the window, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t deserve to be here. He didn’t deserve to see Vincent again, to ask for forgiveness he had no right to. But he couldn’t walk away, not this time.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Rody moved towards the door, his hand hesitating on the knob. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and knocked softly.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. His heart sank, a cold realization settling over him. Maybe Vincent wasn’t home. Maybe he had moved on—left this place behind, left *him* behind.

But then, the door creaked open.

Vincent stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his face gaunt and pale. He had lost weight, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced, his once-vibrant energy now dulled to something quiet and distant. He didn’t say anything, just stared at Rody as if seeing a ghost.

Rody opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? *I’m sorry* wasn’t enough. It never would be.

“Why are you here?” Vincent’s voice was cold, flat, devoid of the warmth it once held.

“I…” Rody faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know.”

Vincent laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh Rody remembered. It was bitter, sharp, laced with pain. “You don’t know,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “After everything you did, after everything you put me through, you *don’t know* why you’re here?”

Rody’s chest tightened, guilt clawing at him from the inside. “I didn’t mean for it to end like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you, Vincent.”

“But you did,” Vincent snapped, stepping forward, his hands shaking. “You ruined my life, Rody. You lied to me, used me, and then you just… left.”

Rody swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn’t deny it. Everything Vincent said was true. He had done all of that and more.

“I thought…” Rody started, but he didn’t know how to finish. What had he thought? That he could fix this? That he could somehow make amends for the unforgivable?

Vincent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he didn’t let them fall. “You don’t get to just come back,” he said, his voice breaking. “You don’t get to show up here and expect everything to be okay. It’s *not* okay. I’m not okay.”

Rody took a step forward, reaching out for Vincent, but Vincent recoiled, his expression twisted in pain. “Don’t,” Vincent whispered. “Just… don’t.”

Rody’s hand fell to his side, his heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. He had thought he could come here, apologize, maybe even find a way to fix things. But now, standing here in front of Vincent, he realized how foolish that had been.

There was no fixing this.

“I’m sorry,” Rody whispered, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears.

Vincent shook his head, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Sorry isn’t enough. It never will be.”

Rody knew that. Deep down, he had known that from the moment he had left Vincent’s apartment all those months ago. But now, faced with the reality of what he had done, the truth hit him harder than he had expected.

Vincent stared at him for a long moment, his eyes full of sadness, anger, and something else Rody couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want to see you again,” Vincent said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rody felt the finality of those words, the weight of them settling over him like a stone. There was nothing left to say. He had lost Vincent, and there was no coming back from that.

Without another word, Rody turned and walked away, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in his ears.

And as he disappeared into the night, he realized that some things could never be undone. Some wounds never healed.

And this one would haunt him for the rest of his life.