Warning: contains sexual content
The kitchen had finally gone still.
All that remained was the hum of the overhead lights and the faint clatter of distant dishwashers. Rody stood at the doorway to Vincent’s office, watching his boss with a predatory calm. Vincent was hunched over his desk, clad in his ever-present white chef’s coat, scribbling notes with that same icy focus that never faltered. He didn’t even glance up when Rody entered.
Vincent Charbonneau-the infamous chef, the one everyone feared and respected-kept his expression cold, his gaze down, even as Rody drew closer. But Rody knew better. Over the weeks, he had learned the tiny tells, the slight stiffening of Vincent’s shoulders whenever he was nearby. The way his hand gripped his pen just a little too tight when they were alone.
Vincent was always so composed. Always in control. Always this untouchable presence that kept everyone-Rody included-at arm’s length. Except… Rody had seen the cracks. The small moments where that perfect, frosty exterior faltered. And God, how he loved riping those cracks open.
“Working late again?” Rody asked, his voice low, as he sauntered into the room.
Vincent didn’t respond at first, his dark eyes still glued to the paperwork. “Always something to finish.”
Rody’s lips curved into a smirk. “Is that right?”
He stepped closer, moving behind Vincent’s chair, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off the other man’s body. He knew Vincent felt him there, the chef’s muscles tensing subtly beneath his crisp uniform. The office was small-too small for the tension that filled the space between them now. Rody could practically taste the restraint, the way Vincent tried so hard to pretend he wasn’t affected by Rody’s proximity.
But Rody wasn’t interested in playing it safe.
He leaned down, placing a hand on the back of Vincent’s chair, his other hand coming to rest on Vincent’s shoulder. He felt the sharp intake of breath, the way Vincent’s body froze beneath his touch. But still, Vincent didn’t move. He didn’t protest.
“You’re tense,” Rody murmured, his lips hovering just above Vincent’s ear. “You should let me help you relax.”
Vincent’s pen stilled on the paper, his fingers curling tighter around it. For a moment, he didn’t speak, but Rody could feel the battle going on inside him. He could practically hear Vincent telling himself to stay composed, to keep control.
“This isn’t… appropriate, we’re at work,” Vincent finally muttered, his voice strained, though he didn’t pull away.
Rody chuckled darkly. “Since when have you ever cared about it being ‘appropriate’?”
Vincent’s silence was answer enough. His hand loosened around the pen, letting it drop onto the desk, his head tilting slightly as if in surrender. And that was all the invitation Rody needed.
Without hesitation, Rody moved his hand from Vincent’s shoulder, letting it trail down his back slowly, feeling the stiff fabric of the chef’s coat beneath his fingers. He reached around to Vincent’s chest, slipping his hand underneath the crisp white uniform, feeling the warm skin beneath. Vincent was lean, and that contrast made Rody’s pulse race. The idea of having someone like *Vincent*, so cold and untouchable, crumbling under his touch was intoxicating.
“Rody…” Vincent’s voice was low now, but the usual authority was missing. He sounded breathless, vulnerable in an intoxicating way. Rody had become addicted to the sounds ever since they first slept together.
“Shh,” Rody whispered, pressing his lips to the back of Vincent’s neck, just above the stiff collar of his chef’s coat. Vincent jerked at the contact, a soft, involuntary sound escaping his throat. Rody smiled against his skin. “You always make the most beautiful sounds.”
Vincent’s breath hitched, and Rody could feel the tension in his body slowly unraveling, the last remnants of his control slipping away. With deliberate slowness, Rody’s hands moved lower, sliding over Vincent’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat under his palm. He pressed closer, letting his lips trail down the back of Vincent’s neck, savoring the slight tremble he could feel beneath him.
“Do you know how much I love this?” Rody whispered, his voice thick with desire. “Seeing you like this. *Falling apart*.”
Vincent let out a soft, frustrated noise, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as if trying to anchor himself. But Rody wasn’t going to let him stay in control. Not tonight.
With a swift motion, Rody undid the buttons of Vincent’s chef’s coat, pushing the stiff fabric aside just enough to expose the pale skin beneath. He wasted no time, pressing his lips to Vincent’s neck, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin there, feeling Vincent shudder beneath him.
“Fuck,” Vincent breathed, his voice barely a whisper now. His hands twitched on the desk, his body tensing and relaxing in quick succession, like he was trying so hard not to give in completely.
But Rody was patient. He knew Vincent was close. He could feel the way the man’s body reacted to every touch, every breath, every brush of lips on skin.
“You don’t have to hold back,” Rody murmured, his hand sliding lower, trailing down Vincent’s abdomen, feeling the slight tremor in his body. He reached the waistband of Vincent’s pants, fingers teasing the edge, not moving any further yet. “I want you to let go.”
Vincent’s breath came faster, his chest heaving under the weight of his own restraint. He swallowed hard, his head dipping forward, and Rody could tell he was fighting-fighting the inevitable.
But Rody wasn’t interested in watching Vincent *fight*.
With a deft motion, Rody unbuttoned Vincent’s pants, sliding them down just enough to give him access. His hand moved lower, his fingers brushing against the growing hardness there, and Vincent’s reaction was immediate-a sharp gasp, his hips jerking forward into Rody’s hand.
“Rody…” Vincent’s voice cracked, his hands gripping the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. It was the first time Rody had ever heard his name said like that-*needy*, almost desperate-and it sent a thrill through him like nothing else.
“Do you want me to stop?” Rody asked, his voice a low growl against Vincent’s neck as his hand moved over the bulge in his pants, teasing him with just enough pressure to make him squirm.
Vincent’s only response was a soft, broken moan, his body trembling as he fought to stay upright. Rody smiled against his skin, loving every second of it.
“I didn’t think so,” Rody murmured, his hand finally slipping beneath the fabric to wrap around Vincent’s length. The heat of it, the way Vincent’s entire body shuddered at the contact, was enough to make Rody’s blood burn.
Vincent let out a ragged breath, his hips jerking involuntarily into Rody’s hand, his fingers digging into the wood of the desk. He was losing it. Completely unraveling.
And Rody loved every second of it.
“Look at you,” Rody whispered, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, feeling Vincent’s pulse quicken under his touch. “The great Vincent Charbonneau. Reduced to this. Just for me to savour”
Vincent groaned, his head falling forward as his body rocked in time with Rody’s movements. His control was slipping further and further, and Rody could feel the tension building inside him, like a taut wire about to snap.
“Let go, Vincent,” Rody whispered, his voice dark and commanding. “I want to see you fall apart.”
And with a final, broken moan, Vincent did.
His body tensed, shuddering violently as he came undone in Rody’s hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his head falling back against Rody’s shoulder. Rody held him through it, his grip firm, savoring every second as Vincent finally, *finally*, let go.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their labored breathing, Vincent’s body still trembling slightly in the aftermath. Rody pressed a soft kiss to the back of Vincent’s neck, feeling the chef’s pulse gradually slow beneath his skin.
“Good boy,” Rody murmured, a satisfied smile curling on his lips.
Vincent said nothing, still too lost in the haze of release to respond. But Rody didn’t need him to say anything. He knew exactly what he had done. He had shattered Vincent’s icy control, stripped away the cold, emotionless mask he always wore. And there was nothing more satisfying than that.
Nothing in the world.
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