Dead Plate Oneshots Cheap Rent

Warning:slight sexual content.

My finals are almost over so I’m just finishing up all my drafts lol

Rody stared at his phone, brows furrowing as he read the listing over and over. It felt too good to be real: a spacious apartment in a decent part of town, and the rent was dirt cheap. With the way things were going for him—low on cash, job to job—this seemed like his only option.

Still, there was a small, uneasy knot in his stomach. Cheap rent like this came with a catch. He just didn’t know what it was yet.

His new housemate, Vincent, didn’t say much when they met. He didn’t really need to. The guy was a looker, with sharp features, black hair meticulously styled, and a cold, calculating stare that made Rody feel like he was being evaluated with each step he took into the apartment.

“I take it you’re interested?” Vincent had said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, watching Rody survey the space. His voice was smooth but carried an edge, something unsettling lurking underneath.

Rody, standing in the spotless kitchen, had nodded. “Yeah, uh… the place is great.” He glanced at the shining counters, taking in the sterile atmosphere. “Rent’s cheap, though. Almost too cheap.”

Vincent smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Consider it an opportunity.” He pushed off the doorway, coming closer. “I don’t get many offers for housemates. People seem to… shy away.”

Rody didn’t miss the glint in Vincent’s eyes, like he knew more than he was letting on. But still, the apartment was perfect. The rent was unbelievably affordable. And honestly, Vincent was hot as hell, unsettling or not.

What was the worst that could happen?

—

The first few days were smooth. Too smooth. Vincent wasn’t around much during the day. He’d leave for work early, a chef coat slung over his shoulder, and wouldn’t return until late at night. Rody figured that was a plus. Less awkward small talk with the unnerving guy he lived with.

But then… there were the nights.

The metallic scent that hung in the air when Vincent returned. The sounds from the kitchen late at night—knives slicing through something solid, the occasional clatter of metal pots, but never the sound of a stove or oven. And then, there was the way Vincent watched him.

It wasn’t like the friendly or flirty gazes Rody was used to from others. Vincent’s stares were… predatory. Intense. Sometimes, Rody would catch him just watching, those black eyes focused solely on him, and it felt like the room itself would shrink under that gaze.

And then, just like that, Vincent would turn away, cold as ever, going back to whatever mysterious dish he was preparing.

The tension was growing thick between them. Something unspoken but palpable.

One night, as Rody sat at the kitchen table, Vincent slid a plate in front of him. The meal looked… extravagant. It always did. Vincent was a master chef, that much was clear. The presentation was beautiful, but Rody couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The meat was always tender, rich, but the flavor—just a bit too unique.

“Try it,” Vincent said, sitting down across from him, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Rody’s every move. There was something predatory about the way he said it, like he was testing Rody’s limits.

Rody hesitated, glancing up. “You never told me where you get your meat.”

Vincent’s smile widened, and there it was again—that darkness behind his eyes. “I have my sources.”

Rody swallowed hard, his gaze dropping back to the plate. “Right.”

But he didn’t push. Because deep down, he was already starting to piece it together. Cheap rent, the eerie apartment, Vincent’s unnerving presence. His gut told him to run, but his body stayed glued to the chair, curious despite everything. And damn, Vincent was still so ridiculously attractive, in a way that made Rody’s pulse race for reasons he didn’t want to examine.

—

The more time they spent together, the more the atmosphere shifted. The tension between them wasn’t just unsettling now—it was electric. And Rody could tell Vincent knew it too. The way his eyes would linger a little longer, the way his fingers would brush Rody’s arm when they passed each other in the hallway.

Vincent was impossible to figure out. One moment, he was cold, detached, and the next, there was a heat behind his gaze that left Rody feeling exposed, vulnerable.

One late evening, after dinner, they ended up sitting side by side on the couch. The air was thick with unspoken words. Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, every nerve alight with the awareness of how close Vincent was. Too close. But not close enough.

“You don’t ask many questions,” Vincent said, his voice low, almost amused. His fingers ghosted over the back of the couch, too near Rody’s shoulder. “Most people would have left by now.”

“I’m not most people,” Rody shot back, though the quip felt weak. His throat was tight, his skin tingling with the proximity of Vincent’s hand, hovering just an inch from his skin.

Vincent’s smile was slow, dark, and Rody felt his pulse jump. “No, you’re not.”

The room was suffocating with the weight of whatever was hanging between them. Rody felt like he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. But then Vincent leaned in, closing the distance, his breath warm against Rody’s neck.

“Are you scared of me?” Vincent murmured, the words sending a shiver down Rody’s spine.

Rody turned his head, their lips nearly brushing. “Should I be?”

Vincent’s eyes flashed with something dark, and before Rody could process what was happening, their mouths crashed together. The kiss was fierce, hungry—like Vincent had been holding himself back for far too long, and now there was no going back. Rody groaned, pulling Vincent closer, feeling the tremble in Vincent’s body as the kiss deepened.

Vincent’s lips moved against Rody’s with a mixture of hunger and hesitance, as though he were torn between consuming and savoring every second. The kiss deepened, a quiet desperation in the way Vincent’s fingers curled into the fabric of Rody’s shirt, holding on tightly. For a moment, Rody almost forgot the strange, disturbing undercurrent of their situation, focused entirely on the taste of Vincent’s mouth and the soft sounds escaping his throat.

It wasn’t just lust—there was something else there, a tension that had been building from the very first time Rody had set foot in this too-quiet, too-perfect apartment. And now, finally, it had snapped.

Rody pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his hand still gripping Vincent’s shoulder. Vincent looked at him, those dark eyes wide, pupils blown with a mix of surprise and something deeper—something dangerous.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?” Rody’s voice came out rougher than he expected, thick with need, but also with the realization of just how far this had gone. He didn’t know if it was curiosity, lust, or a combination of both that had led them here, but it didn’t matter now.

Vincent swallowed hard, his tongue darting out briefly to wet his lips before he answered. “You have no idea.”

Rody grinned at that—sharp, almost feral. He knew Vincent was more than he let on, but seeing the composed chef unraveling like this was intoxicating. He pressed Vincent back against the couch, his larger body covering Vincent’s slighter frame, enjoying the way Vincent’s breath hitched as he settled between his legs.

The tension between them had shifted again, growing more intimate, more heated. Every touch, every glance felt like it was crackling with something electric, something they had both been avoiding for far too long. And now, there was no going back.

Rody leaned in again, this time slower, savoring the way Vincent’s body responded to him. The kisses were deeper now, more intentional, as Rody’s hands slid under Vincent’s shirt, feeling the heat of his skin and the soft tremble beneath his fingertips. Vincent gasped into his mouth, arching into the touch, and Rody’s grip tightened, feeling his own control slipping.

The clothes came off in a blur of heat and need, neither of them bothering with the slow, methodical undressing that might have come in other circumstances. Here, it was messy and rushed, desperate to feel more of each other, to close the gap that had been growing between them.

Vincent was beneath him now, flushed and panting, his dark hair a mess on the couch cushions, his pale skin glowing in the dim light of the apartment. There was something fragile about the way he looked, but Rody knew better. Beneath that surface, Vincent was just as dangerous, just as predatory as Rody had imagined—and it only made him want him more.

“Are you sure about this?” Vincent’s voice was breathless, but the question hung heavy in the air.

Rody met his gaze, the tension between them nearly unbearable. “I should be asking you that.” His hands were still roaming over Vincent’s body, feeling every twitch, every shift beneath him. “Because once I start, I’m not stopping.”

Vincent’s breath hitched again, and then his lips curved into a smile—a dangerous, daring smile. “Then don’t.”

That was all Rody needed to hear. With a growl, he leaned down, his lips crashing against Vincent’s again, but this time there was no hesitance, no restraint. His hands moved lower, finding Vincent’s hips, fingers digging in as he pulled him closer.

The rest of the night was a blur of heat and need, a culmination of all the tension that had been building between them. Vincent was vocal, the soft moans and gasps escaping him only spurring Rody on, making him want to take even more, to push them both to the brink.

By the time they were done, both of them were spent, bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding. Rody lay back on the couch, pulling Vincent against his chest. For a moment, everything was quiet, the only sound their ragged breathing as they tried to catch their breath.

Vincent’s head rested on Rody’s chest, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable—almost soft, in a way Rody hadn’t expected.

“Cheap rent isn’t the only perk of living here, huh?” Rody muttered, still trying to catch his breath. There was a teasing edge to his voice, but there was also something heavier there—something real, buried beneath all the layers of tension and lust.

Vincent chuckled softly, the sound almost bitter. “You have no idea.”

Rody’s fingers combed through Vincent’s hair, something settling between them now—something comfortable, but still charged. The tension wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, turned into something deeper, something more dangerous.

And despite everything, Rody couldn’t help but feel a thrill run down his spine.

Living with a cannibal was one thing. Living with a cannibal who he couldn’t get enough of?

That was another entirely.

—