The soft glow of the bedside lamp was the only light illuminating Rody’s room, casting warm shadows across the floor and walls. Rody lay half-clothed, his head resting on Vincent’s thigh, fingers tracing aimless patterns along his boyfriend’s smooth, pale skin. This had become his favorite spot over the months they’d been together, a place of strange intimacy where Vincent’s veins pulsed under his lips, a reminder of warmth and life. But it was more than that—he couldn’t deny that some part of him was thrilled by Vincent’s thighs, by the idea of leaving his mark, even if just in small bites and kisses.
Vincent’s fingers absentmindedly threaded through Rody’s disheveled auburn hair, an almost soothing motion that often had Rody drifting into a lazy daze. But tonight, something simmered in him, an insatiable itch he couldn’t quite ignore. He nuzzled Vincent’s leg, his lips brushing over the faint freckles scattered across his thigh before leaving a gentle, teasing nip.
“Always with the teeth,” Vincent murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His voice was soft, uncharacteristically relaxed, something that only happened in moments like these—moments when the rest of the world melted away, leaving just the two of them.
Rody grinned up at him, barely a flicker of apology in his eyes. “Can’t help it,” he whispered. “Something about you…you just taste so good.”
Vincent chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, though his tone was anything but displeased. Rody felt the warmth of Vincent’s hand press lightly against the back of his head, almost encouraging. “But do as you like.”
That was all Rody needed to hear. His mouth closed around Vincent’s skin again, his teeth grazing a little harder this time, just enough to leave a faint mark that would fade by morning. Each press of his lips, each little scrape of his teeth, seemed to kindle something deeper within him. The feeling was primal and unnervingly intense. He wanted more—not just to taste Vincent, but to somehow claim him, in a way he could hardly understand.
In one breathless moment, his mouth moved lower, fingers gripping Vincent’s thigh a little tighter. He bit down, firmer than usual, and suddenly there was a faint coppery taste on his tongue.
Rody froze.
Vincent shifted, letting out a soft hiss of surprise. “Hey,” he said, his tone not exactly harsh but tinged with mild surprise. “Careful, yeah?”
Rody swallowed, his throat dry, as he pulled back to inspect the faint indent his teeth had left, a tiny bead of blood forming where his bite had broken the skin. His heart raced, a strange thrill mixing with the heat that flushed through him. The taste of Vincent’s blood lingered, sharper than he expected, filling his senses with something primal and overwhelming.
For a long moment, he could only stare, transfixed by that small, red dot. He felt his mouth water, an urge to lean down and taste more, to sink his teeth in deeper and—
He shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the thought. *What the hell is wrong with me?*
“Sorry, babe,” he muttered, forcing a smile to cover his unease. “Got carried away.”
Vincent just chuckled softly, clearly unconcerned, reaching out to brush a thumb over Rody’s cheek. “You’re something else,” he said fondly. “Just try not to take chunks out of me, alright?â€
Rody laughed, though it felt hollow. “Got it. No chunks,” he joked, his voice light but his mind still whirling with the strange, intoxicating sensation of Vincent’s blood on his tongue.
They settled back into their familiar comfort, Vincent’s hand lazily stroking Rody’s hair again, but Rody found it hard to relax. He kept replaying that brief moment in his mind, each detail sharper than it should have been: the way his teeth had broken Vincent’s skin, the metallic taste that had lingered. And beneath it all, that sudden, unbidden urge to keep going.
As the days passed, Rody thought the feeling would fade. But it didn’t. Every time he saw Vincent, every time they curled up together or shared a soft kiss, that same urge prickled under his skin. It was disturbing, and he had no idea how to bring it up without sounding like a lunatic.
One night, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Vincent casually draped his leg across Rody’s lap. Rody’s fingers trailed down instinctively, tracing over the spot where he’d left that faint bite mark days before, now a barely visible bruise. His mind drifted, his hand lingering, and once again, he felt that fierce, undeniable urge.
He tried to resist it, tried to focus on the movie, but his thoughts spun relentlessly. The feel of Vincent’s skin under his fingers, the memory of his taste—it was all too much.
Finally, Vincent noticed his distraction, turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing.
Rody swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against Vincent’s thigh. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want Vincent to think he was some kind of freak, but the words slipped out before he could stop himself.
“I…I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Vincent tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Thinking about what?”
Rody took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on his boyfriend’s thigh as he struggled to find the right words. “About…that bite. About how you tasted. I don’t know what it is, but I just—†He stopped, a flush of shame heating his cheeks. “I keep wanting more.”
Vincent’s eyes softened, a strange look of understanding crossing his face. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand over Rody’s. “Rody,” he said quietly, his voice calm and steady. “If that’s what you want…I trust you.”
Rody’s heart pounded, his breath catching at Vincent’s words. The simple, quiet acceptance in Vincent’s voice only fueled the fire inside him.
Rody felt a tremor run through him at Vincent’s words, a quiet mix of reassurance and permission. It was like Vincent could see right through him, could sense that strange hunger he’d been battling. And in the way Vincent looked at him, calm and unwavering, Rody felt his fears start to unravel.
Slowly, he nodded, his hand instinctively tightening on Vincent’s thigh, feeling the warmth of his flesh. A part of him still felt uncertain, a flicker of doubt lingering, but the other part—the deeper, more primal urge that had gnawed at him—was stronger now, overpowering his hesitation.
Rody shifted, slipping his arm beneath Vincent’s knee to pull him closer, easing his boyfriend down against the couch. Vincent’s eyes met his, glinting with something almost daring, inviting, and Rody swallowed, leaning down to press his lips softly against the spot on Vincent’s thigh where he’d bitten him before. He trailed slow kisses over Vincent’s skin, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat pulse against his mouth.
Vincent’s breathing deepened, and Rody could sense his anticipation. His lips parted, and he bit down again, a little harder than before. Vincent tensed, his fingers digging into Rody’s shoulder, but he made no move to pull away. Rody could taste his skin, could feel the warmth of him, and as he lingered there, that urge crept up again, stronger this time, more insistent. He wanted Vincent in ways that defied words or reason.
His teeth pressed harder, and suddenly he tasted it again—that faint, metallic tang of blood. It bloomed over his tongue, sharp and heady, and Rody felt his head spin as he swallowed, tasting Vincent in a way he never had before. His senses flared, every nerve alive with the thrill, and he couldn’t help himself; he leaned back down, closing his lips over the mark he’d left, licking away the faint trace of blood.
Vincent’s breath hitched, but he stayed relaxed, allowing Rody to indulge. “Is that what you wanted?” he murmured, his voice soft but steady, as if he could sense the turmoil brewing within Rody.
Rody hesitated, his lips lingering against Vincent’s skin, his breath warm and shallow. He wanted to say yes, but he knew it was more than that. He wanted everything Vincent had to give—the trust, the closeness, the taste of his blood that seemed to linger, even when he pulled back.
“Yeah,” Rody whispered, his voice rough and thick. “But…I don’t think I can stop.”
Vincent met his gaze, a hint of amusement softening his expression, mixed with genuine affection. “Then don’t.”
The simple invitation was enough to send a shiver through Rody. His hands moved up, grazing over Vincent’s thigh, his fingers pressing into his flesh as he leaned down again. This time, he took his time, letting his teeth sink in slowly, savoring each sensation, each pulse that thumped under his mouth. It felt almost like a connection deeper than words, a raw, unspoken bond that only they could share.
And as he bit down, feeling Vincent’s pulse jump against his lips, Rody felt something shift within him, a realization settling into his bones: this strange hunger, this desire—it was too much.
He tasted Vincent’s blood again, savoring it with a tenderness he couldn’t quite explain, and in that moment, he felt whole, connected to Vincent in a way he hadn’t thought possible. It wasn’t about possession, or control, or fear. It was just them, together, closer than flesh, bound by something raw and unwavering.
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