Dead Plate Oneshots Your Wife Doesn’t Need To Know

Warning: Slightly sexual content

The sound of a bell echoed through the corridors of the university, marking the end of another day. Rody Lamoree, a French literature professor in his mid-thirties, leaned back in his chair, watching as the last few students filtered out of his classroom. His fingers absently brushed through his auburn hair, which had grown slightly unruly as the day wore on. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing tanned forearms, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Rody rarely looked the part of a strict teacher, but his reputation for wit and charm made up for his more relaxed demeanor.

“Merci, monsieur,” a soft voice said, breaking him from his thoughts.

Rody’s eyes flicked toward the door. Vincent Charbonneau stood by the threshold, lingering. At eighteen, Vincent was young, but he carried himself with a confidence that felt beyond his years. His black hair was neatly combed, his pale skin contrasting sharply against his dark clothing. He wasn’t like the other students. Vincent’s gaze always seemed sharper, more focused—especially when it landed on Rody. And lately, it had been landing on him a lot more.

“You’re welcome, Vincent. Need something?” Rody asked, keeping his tone professional, though he couldn’t ignore the way his skin prickled under Vincent’s intense stare.

Vincent stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The soft click of the lock sent a shiver down Rody’s spine. He straightened up in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I wanted to ask about the Baudelaire essay,” Vincent began, though there was a languidness to his words that suggested the essay wasn’t his primary concern. He took a step closer, his fingers brushing over the edge of a nearby desk as if he were walking into a space more intimate than a classroom.

Rody’s brow furrowed slightly. “Baudelaire? You turned that in two weeks ago, Vincent. You got an A. It was excellent work.”

Vincent’s lips curved into a small smile, and he tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Yes, I know. But I wanted to know what *you* thought of it, personally. I find your opinion… insightful.”

Rody shifted uncomfortably in his chair. There was something about Vincent’s tone that felt heavy, almost deliberate. “It was one of the best in the class,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light, professional. “You have a real talent for understanding nuance in the text.”

Vincent didn’t break eye contact, the air in the room thickening as he moved closer to Rody’s desk. His fingers grazed the wooden surface as he spoke, his voice dropping slightly. “I’ve always liked the way you explain things, monsieur.”

Rody swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. This wasn’t the first time Vincent had lingered after class, but something felt different today. There was an intensity in the air, a tension that was hard to ignore. Vincent wasn’t just a student asking for help—there was something more, something far more dangerous.

“You have a way with words,” Vincent continued, now standing directly in front of Rody’s desk. His eyes were locked onto Rody’s, and for a brief moment, Rody could feel the steady pulse in his neck quicken.

“Thank you,” Rody replied, his voice more clipped than he intended. He glanced at the door, half-expecting it to burst open and end the strange, heated moment, but no one came. They were alone.

Too alone.

Vincent leaned against the desk, his posture casual, but the energy between them was anything but. “It must be difficult for you, being so brilliant and surrounded by so many students who don’t… understand you.” His voice was soft, seductive even, and Rody felt his stomach twist.

“Vincent,” Rody started, his voice low, warning, “you’re a student. This isn’t appropriate.”

Vincent’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, it widened slightly, as if he enjoyed the challenge. “I’m an adult, monsieur. I know what I want.”

Rody opened his mouth to protest, but Vincent moved before he could speak. He bent down, bringing his face dangerously close to Rody’s, his breath warm against Rody’s skin. Rody could smell faint traces of cologne—something sharp and citrusy—and underneath it, something distinctly *Vincent*.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Vincent whispered, his voice a mere breath against Rody’s ear. “The way you look at me when you think no one’s watching.”

Rody’s hands clenched into fists beneath the desk, his mind racing. He should stop this. He *had* to stop this. Vincent was his student, and Rody was married—a fact he reminded himself of daily. But right now, with Vincent so close, his logical mind was losing the battle against the heat that coursed through him.

“You’re making this into something it’s not,” Rody said, though even he could hear the lack of conviction in his words.

Vincent chuckled softly, his fingers brushing lightly over Rody’s wrist, a ghost of a touch that sent sparks of electricity up his arm. “I see the way you react around me, monsieur,” Vincent whispered. “The way your breath catches when I’m near, the way you linger just a second too long when we talk.”

Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last. He should push Vincent away, tell him to leave—but he didn’t. Instead, he found himself frozen, trapped between desire and reason.

“I want you,” Vincent breathed, his lips so close to Rody’s that he could almost feel the words on his skin.

Rody’s defenses were crumbling. Every rational thought screamed at him to stop this before it went any further, but the heat of Vincent’s body, the magnetic pull between them, was overpowering. Vincent was beautiful in a way that was impossible to ignore—dark, intense, and dangerous.

And for a moment, Rody let himself imagine what it would be like to give in.

Vincent’s lips brushed against his, soft, tentative, and Rody felt his resolve shatter completely. Before he could stop himself, he kissed Vincent back, his hand reaching up to tangle in the younger man’s hair. The kiss deepened quickly, all the tension that had built up between them finally finding release.

It was wrong. Rody knew that, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Vincent pressed closer, his body warm and solid against Rody’s. His hands roamed over Rody’s chest, exploring, claiming. Rody’s breath hitched as Vincent’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them with practiced ease.

“Vincent…” Rody breathed, trying to regain some semblance of control, but Vincent silenced him with another kiss, more insistent this time, more demanding.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Vincent whispered against Rody’s lips, his voice thick with desire. “About you. About this.”

Rody’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but his body betrayed him. He wanted this—he wanted Vincent.

With a sudden burst of strength, Rody pulled Vincent closer, deepening the kiss. The rest of the world melted away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a moment that shouldn’t exist, but did.

They stumbled back against the desk, papers scattering to the floor as Rody pressed Vincent down, his hands now roaming over the younger man’s body. Vincent let out a soft, breathy moan, his hands pulling Rody closer, as if he couldn’t get enough.

This was wrong. So wrong. But the taste of Vincent, the feel of him beneath Rody’s hands, was intoxicating. For a moment, Rody let himself forget about his responsibilities, his marriage, his position of power.

In that moment, there was only Vincent.

And for the first time in a long time, Rody allowed himself to indulge in something purely for himself.

The room felt impossibly small, the air heavy and thick with tension that had long since built up between them. Rody’s rational mind was barely holding on, slipping with each heated touch of Vincent’s lips. He shouldn’t be doing this, he *knew* that. Vincent was his student—he was young, just barely eighteen—and Rody had a wife waiting for him at home. But here, with Vincent’s hands tangling in his hair, his body arching beneath his touch, those thoughts were drowned out by a deep, overwhelming desire.

Vincent’s fingers slid over Rody’s chest, the fabric of his shirt parting as each button was undone. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment, as if savoring *him*. Rody’s breath came in shallow gasps, his heart racing as Vincent’s hands explored his exposed skin.

“Vincent…” Rody’s voice was thick with need, but there was still a thread of hesitation woven through it, a reminder of the lines they were crossing. “We shouldn’t…”

Vincent silenced him with another kiss, his lips soft but insistent, coaxing Rody deeper into the moment. His hands slid down Rody’s chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his shirt. “You want this,” Vincent whispered, his breath hot against Rody’s skin. “I can feel it.”

Rody’s resolve was crumbling faster than he could rebuild it. Every touch, every whispered word, pushed him closer to the edge. He wanted to stop, to pull away, to end this before it went any further—but Vincent was relentless, his desire palpable, his need infectious.

Vincent’s lips traveled down Rody’s neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Rody groaned softly, his hands gripping Vincent’s hips, pulling him closer. He was losing control, and Vincent seemed to know it, seemed to revel in it.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Vincent murmured against Rody’s skin, his voice low and seductive. “Ever since I first saw you.”

Rody’s breath hitched, his grip tightening on Vincent’s waist. “You don’t understand…” he began, but the words died on his lips as Vincent’s hands slid lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.

“I understand perfectly,” Vincent replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers toyed with the button of Rody’s pants, his eyes locking onto Rody’s, dark and intense. “You’ve wanted this just as much as I have.”

Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, the rational part of his mind screaming at him to stop, to push Vincent away. But the heat between them was intoxicating, and he was drowning in it. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word pulled him deeper into Vincent’s orbit, until there was no escaping.

With a shuddering breath, Rody gave in.

He leaned down, capturing Vincent’s lips in a fierce, hungry kiss, all hesitation gone. Vincent responded eagerly, his body arching up to meet Rody’s, his hands pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, became more frantic, as the tension between them finally snapped.

Rody’s hands roamed over Vincent’s body, exploring the planes of his chest, the curve of his hips. Vincent moaned softly into the kiss, his fingers working quickly to undo Rody’s belt, pushing it aside with a deftness that spoke of experience far beyond his years.

“Vincent…” Rody groaned, his voice rough with desire. His hands gripped Vincent’s hips, pulling him closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. The feel of Vincent beneath him, warm and eager, was driving him wild, pushing him to the brink of control.

Vincent smirked up at him, his eyes dark with lust. “I knew you’d give in,” he whispered, his voice a teasing purr. “You can’t resist me.”

Rody’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he stared down at Vincent, the full weight of what they were doing crashing over him. This was wrong, so very wrong. But in this moment, with Vincent beneath him, all those thoughts seemed so far away.

Vincent reached up, his fingers tracing Rody’s jaw, his touch light and teasing. “Don’t think,” he murmured, his voice soft, seductive. “Just feel.”

Rody hesitated for only a second before he kissed Vincent again, harder this time, all his pent-up frustration and desire pouring into that kiss. Vincent responded eagerly, his hands gripping Rody’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

The rest of the world melted away. There was only the two of them now, locked in a forbidden embrace, lost in the heat of the moment. It didn’t matter that this was wrong, that they were crossing lines that could never be uncrossed. In this moment, nothing else mattered.

For the first time in his life, Rody let go of all the rules, all the expectations, and just gave in to what he wanted.

And what he wanted was Vincent.

—

Later, when the heat of the moment had passed and the reality of what they had done began to settle in, Rody sat on the edge of his desk, his shirt half undone, his mind racing. Vincent stood beside him, straightening his clothes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“You’ll have to be careful,” Vincent said, his voice light, teasing. “We wouldn’t want anyone to find out, would we?”

Rody didn’t respond, his mind too clouded with guilt and desire. He had crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as Vincent leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips before slipping out of the classroom, Rody knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Rody sat in the empty classroom, the soft click of the door as Vincent left still echoing in the air. His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of what had just happened sank in. He pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to make sense of the chaos swirling in his mind.

*What had he done?*

Vincent’s touch still lingered on his skin, his words reverberating in his ears. Rody had known this was wrong from the beginning. The lines between teacher and student should never have been blurred, and yet, here he was—caught up in something far more complex than he’d ever imagined. It wasn’t just a moment of weakness; it was a realization of a truth he had been avoiding.

But Vincent had a way of making it feel so inevitable.

Rody stood up, running his hand through his tousled hair, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t afford to dwell on this now, not when he had a class to prepare for the next day. He quickly buttoned his shirt, tucked it back in, and straightened the papers on his desk, forcing his mind to focus on anything else—anything that wasn’t Vincent.

The days that followed were strained. Vincent continued to attend his classes as if nothing had happened, but the air between them was thick with tension, charged with the memory of that night. Every glance from Vincent felt like a secret shared, a game that only the two of them were playing. He sat at the back of the class, his eyes always lingering a little too long on Rody, his smirk a little too knowing.

Rody, on the other hand, tried to keep things professional, but it was becoming harder each day. His attention would slip during lessons, his thoughts wandering back to the moments they had shared. Every time he caught Vincent’s gaze, his heart would skip a beat, guilt and desire warring within him.

One evening, after a long day of classes, Rody was gathering his things to leave when he heard the soft knock at the door. He turned to find Vincent standing in the doorway, his usual confident smirk replaced with something more subdued, more thoughtful.

“Can we talk?” Vincent asked, his voice softer than usual.

Rody hesitated, glancing at the clock, then back at Vincent. He knew he should say no, that it was dangerous to let this go any further, but the part of him that had already crossed that line won out. He nodded, motioning for Vincent to come inside.

Vincent stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind him. He moved closer, his presence filling the room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, both of them too aware of the silence.

“Rody,” Vincent began, his voice quieter than usual. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

Rody sighed, leaning against his desk, crossing his arms. “Vincent, this… whatever this is, it has to stop. We can’t keep doing this. It’s wrong.”

Vincent’s eyes darkened, but his expression remained calm. “Is it wrong because of the rules, or because you don’t want it?”

Rody faltered, the question hitting closer to home than he had expected. Of course, it was because of the rules, the ethics, the consequences. But there was also a part of him—one he didn’t want to admit existed—that didn’t want this to stop.

Vincent stepped closer, closing the gap between them, his gaze never leaving Rody’s. “I don’t care about the rules,” he said quietly. “I know what I want. And I think you do too.”

Rody shook his head, his voice strained. “It’s not that simple. You’re my student, Vincent. You’re so young. And I’m… I’m married.”

Vincent’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “I’m not a child, Rody. And I think we both know your marriage isn’t the reason you’re hesitating.”

Rody’s chest tightened at the truth in Vincent’s words. His marriage had been strained for months, a relationship he had been trying to salvage but with little success. His wife had grown distant, and their lives had begun to move in separate directions. But that didn’t make this right. It didn’t justify what had happened between him and Vincent.

“You’re playing with fire, Vincent,” Rody said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vincent reached out, placing a hand on Rody’s arm. “Maybe I am. But sometimes… fire’s the only thing that can make us feel alive.”

Rody’s breath hitched, his resolve crumbling as Vincent’s touch lingered, warm and insistent. He knew he should push him away, tell him to stop, but the pull was too strong. And the more Vincent leaned into him, the harder it became to resist.

Rody took a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Vincent, I can’t…”

But before he could finish, Vincent pulled him into a kiss, soft and searching. It wasn’t like the first time—this one wasn’t about seduction or desire, but something deeper, more intimate. Rody felt his resolve slip away, his heart hammering in his chest as he kissed him back, letting himself fall into the moment once again.

When they finally pulled apart, Rody’s hands trembled at his sides, his mind torn between the weight of his decisions and the undeniable connection he felt to the young man standing before him.

Vincent gave him a small, knowing smile. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said softly. “But I think you already know what you want.”

With that, Vincent turned and walked out of the room, leaving Rody standing there, his heart pounding, the future uncertain, but the path before him clearer than it had been in a long time.

And for the first time in years, Rody wasn’t sure whether he was afraid of what was to come—or if he was ready to embrace it.