Dead Plate Oneshots Between The Sheets

—

Rody Lamoree had always been a creature of habit. His routine was simple: work the early shift at the local café, catch a few beers with friends, and end the night sprawled across his bed in their shared apartment with his roommate, Vincent Charbonneau. It had been like this for months—longer than Rody cared to admit. He never planned for it to become so complicated.

Vincent was… well, *Vincent*. Quiet, brooding, and annoyingly good-looking. He was the kind of guy that turned heads without trying. Thin-framed glasses, tousled black hair, pale skin that made him look like he belonged in some 1960s art film rather than working as a line cook at the restaurant down the street. The first time they slept together was more of an accident than anything else. They’d both come home drunk after a party, and one thing led to another. It felt right at the time—both of them lonely, desperate for a warm body next to theirs.

But it didn’t stop there. Once became twice. Twice became three times a week. Before long, it wasn’t uncommon for Rody to slip into Vincent’s bed after his shift or to wake up in Vincent’s arms, his head nestled into the crook of his neck. It had become a part of his routine, something he almost relied on to sleep at night.

Until Manon.

She was new at the café, her first day being a few weeks ago, but she and Rody hit it off immediately. She was beautiful, with blonde curls that framed her face and soft, hazel eyes that had an earnestness to them. She laughed at his dumb jokes, her voice light and lilting, and for the first time in a long time, Rody felt something real—a connection that went beyond just physical needs.

So he did what any guy in his position would do. He asked her out.

It wasn’t like he was in a *relationship* with Vincent. They were roommates who occasionally fucked. That’s all it was. That’s all it had *ever* been. Right?

—

The first date with Manon was perfect. They went to a small bistro downtown, her choice. They shared a bottle of wine, laughed over dinner, and ended the night with a soft kiss under the glow of the streetlight outside her apartment. Rody could feel the tension that had been building up between them ease away, replaced by a warm buzz in his chest. She was sweet, funny, and grounded. Exactly what Rody thought he needed.

But that night, when he got back to the apartment, it felt *empty*. The lights were off, the air cool and still. Vincent wasn’t home, and the silence in their shared space was deafening.

Rody showered, trying to shake the feeling creeping up his spine, but even the warm water couldn’t wash away the knot in his stomach. He climbed into bed—his *own* bed—and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, his fingers twitching with a need that had nothing to do with sleep.

He missed him.

The realization hit Rody like a truck. He missed the way Vincent fit perfectly against him, the way his cold hands always sought warmth against his skin, the quiet rhythm of his breathing as they drifted off to sleep. He missed *having him there*. The sex was one thing, but it was more than that now—it was the comfort, the closeness, the quiet understanding they shared.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way Vincent’s dark eyes always seemed to linger on him during breakfast, the way his hand would occasionally brush against Rody’s thigh when they sat too close on the couch. The way other guys at the restaurant flirted with Vincent made Rody’s blood boil, their eyes lingering too long on his lean frame, their smiles too wide.

It wasn’t like Rody had *any* right to feel jealous. Vincent was single, after all. They weren’t dating. And yet, the thought of Vincent with someone else—anyone else—made Rody want to punch a wall. He hated the way his stomach twisted every time he saw Vincent laughing with someone else, the way his jaw clenched when another guy’s hand lingered on Vincent’s back for a moment too long.

The next few weeks were a blur. Rody spent more time with Manon—dates, nights out, stolen kisses in the alleyway behind the café. She made him laugh, made him feel wanted, and yet… it wasn’t enough. He found himself pulling away, his thoughts always drifting back to Vincent, back to the way he felt in his arms. He hated it. Hated how much Vincent had crawled under his skin, how much he still wanted him.

—

It all came to a head one Saturday night.

Rody had been out with Manon, their date running later than usual. By the time he got home, the apartment was dark, save for the dim light spilling out from under Vincent’s door. Rody hesitated for a moment, hand resting on the doorknob to his own room, before turning and walking down the hall.

He knocked softly.

“Yeah?” Vincent’s voice came from inside, muffled but unmistakable.

Rody pushed the door open, his heart pounding in his chest. Vincent was sitting on his bed, legs crossed, a book open in his lap. He looked up when Rody stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

“Can I…?” Rody didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to. Vincent just nodded, sliding over to make room.

Rody climbed into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the silence thick between them. Then, without thinking, Rody reached out, his hand resting on Vincent’s thigh. He could feel the tension in Vincent’s body, the way his muscles stiffened under his touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“I… I miss this,” Rody admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vincent didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted closer, his head resting on Rody’s shoulder, his breath warm against Rody’s neck.

“I thought you were happy with Manon,” Vincent said quietly.

“I am,” Rody replied, though the words felt hollow. “It’s just… I miss you, too.”

Vincent’s fingers curled into Rody’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Then why are you with her?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Rody didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made sense. He liked Manon—he really did. But with Vincent, it was different. It was raw and messy and real.

“I don’t know,” Rody admitted, his voice breaking. “I just—fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Vincent didn’t say anything, but his hand moved to the back of Rody’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed, but this time was different. This time, it felt like all the walls Rody had built up around himself were crumbling down, piece by piece. He kissed Vincent like he was drowning, like he needed him to breathe.

They fell back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets, and for the first time in weeks, Rody felt whole again. He felt *right*. Vincent’s touch was familiar, grounding, and the weight of his body beneath him sent a surge of desire through Rody that he couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t just sex. It had never been just sex. Rody realized that now, his fingers trailing down Vincent’s spine, drawing a shiver from him. There was something deeper here, something Rody had been too afraid to admit to himself.

They spent the night together, as they had so many times before, but this time it felt like something had shifted. When Rody woke up in the morning, Vincent was still there, his arm draped over Rody’s chest, his breathing slow and steady.

Rody stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. He couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep pretending that what he had with Manon was enough. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

—

Later that day, Rody broke things off with Manon. It was hard—harder than he expected—but she deserved better. She deserved someone who could give her all of themselves, not just a piece. And Rody? Rody couldn’t give her what she needed, not when his heart was somewhere else, with someone else.

When he got back to the apartment, Vincent was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in hand. He looked up when Rody walked in, his expression cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I broke up with her,” Rody said, his voice steady.

Vincent didn’t respond right away, but Rody could see the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little. “Why?”

Rody took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “Because I want you.”

Vincent stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes searching Rody’s face for any sign of doubt. When he didn’t find any, he stood up, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides. His hands cupped Rody’s face, pulling him into a kiss that was soft, tender, and *real*.

For the first time in a long time, Rody felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Between the sheets, with Vincent in his arms.

—

**End.**