Dead Plate Oneshots Evening Outfit

Y’all get an extra oneshot today cuz I’m bored and sick in bed

Rody opened the door, immediately shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day. He was tired, but that familiar excitement tugged at him as he thought about who was waiting for him.

The apartment was warm, bathed in the soft glow of dim lights, and Vincent was sprawled comfortably on the couch, wearing his typical “evening outfit”: an oversized black shirt that just barely covered his hips. His pale legs stretched out over the coffee table, lean and bare against the leather upholstery. Seeing him in this, Rody’s exhaustion evaporated, replaced with an eager energy.

Vincent’s dark eyes flicked up from the book he was reading, giving Rody a faint, knowing smile. “You’re home late.”

Rody grinned back. “Saved the best part of my day for last,” he replied, letting his gaze linger on Vincent’s thighs—perfectly accessible, bare, and practically calling out to him. He walked over, already unbuttoning the top few buttons of his own shirt, and let himself sink down onto the couch, pressing close to Vincent’s side.

“Miss me?” Vincent’s tone was dry, but he allowed Rody to scoot closer, one hand instinctively coming to rest on Rody’s arm.

“More than you’d believe,” Rody murmured, his voice low and warm. He reached out, fingers dancing over the soft skin of Vincent’s thigh, tracing small circles that made Vincent’s muscles twitch ever so slightly. There was a casual intimacy to their routine, but it was these quiet moments—where Rody could touch and feel Vincent’s skin under his hands—that made Rody happiest.

Vincent leaned back, closing his book, his expression neutral but eyes keen. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Rody chuckled, shifting closer until he was leaning fully into Vincent’s side, one arm draped over Vincent’s thigh. “Can you blame me?” He squeezed Vincent’s thigh lightly, his hand exploring as if for the first time, tracing up toward Vincent’s hip before slipping back down again. “You make it way too easy, sitting here like this.”

Vincent made a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “I thought you had your fill this morning.”

“Oh, please,” Rody said with a smirk, leaning over to press a kiss just above Vincent’s knee. “I’ll never get my fill.” His hand moved slowly, savoring every inch of Vincent’s skin, fingers sliding in a familiar, comforting rhythm up and down his thigh.

Vincent rolled his eyes, but his hand moved to rest on the back of Rody’s head, fingers running through Rody’s auburn hair. “So needy,” he muttered, though there was a softness to his voice, a warmth that only emerged when they were alone.

Rody glanced up, meeting Vincent’s eyes with a grin. “Yeah? You gonna do something about it?” He pressed another kiss higher on Vincent’s thigh, his hand sliding up in tandem, resting just shy of where Vincent’s oversized shirt ended. Vincent’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but Rody caught it—he knew Vincent’s reactions all too well by now.

Vincent shifted, as if to get more comfortable, though Rody was sure it was just an excuse to press himself closer. “You’re a menace,” Vincent murmured, his fingers threading deeper into Rody’s hair, holding him close.

Rody smiled against Vincent’s skin, pressing another soft kiss to his inner thigh, his fingers tracing aimless patterns. “You make it way too easy for me,” he murmured, his voice soft, affectionate, laced with that edge of teasing that he knew would get a reaction from Vincent.

Vincent’s gaze softened, a rare vulnerability showing as he allowed himself to relax, letting Rody take his time. “Lucky for you,” Vincent replied, his tone low, affectionate in its own way.

Rody felt Vincent’s hand tighten slightly in his hair, and he looked up, catching that faint blush that crossed Vincent’s face. It was a small thing, almost unnoticeable, but Rody noticed, and it made him smile.

“C’mere,” Vincent said, his voice almost a whisper, tugging gently on Rody’s hair until he shifted up, lying across Vincent’s lap, his head resting comfortably on Vincent’s thigh.

Rody closed his eyes, a contented hum escaping him as he snuggled into Vincent’s warmth. He felt Vincent’s hand rest on his back, rubbing gentle circles, and he sighed, completely at ease.

For a moment, they just stayed like that, with Vincent’s hand tracing soothing patterns along Rody’s back, and Rody’s hand resting lightly on Vincent’s thigh, feeling the steady rhythm of Vincent’s breathing. This quiet, easy affection was something Rody had come to cherish deeply.

“Stay like this?” Rody murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vincent’s fingers paused for a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. “You’re insatiable,” he replied softly, but there was no annoyance, no reluctance—just that familiar warmth, that quiet affection that Vincent reserved just for him.

Rody chuckled, nestling closer. “Guess I am. But only for you.”

Vincent’s fingers tightened slightly, almost like a hug, and for the first time all day, Rody felt at peace.

The quiet stretched comfortably between them, the kind of silence Rody had learned to savor. He could feel Vincent’s fingers combing slowly through his hair, tender but just a little rough—a sensation he found deeply soothing. Rody traced lazy patterns on Vincent’s thigh, his touch reverent, as if he could never quite get enough of the feel of Vincent’s skin beneath his fingers.

“Ever thought about how lucky you are?” Vincent’s voice was a gentle rumble, breaking the silence. His tone held a teasing edge, and Rody could practically feel the faint smirk on his lips.

“Lucky?” Rody asked, looking up with a playful, incredulous expression. “Oh yeah, I’m lucky alright. Got a boyfriend who refuses to wear pants at home,” he said, grinning as his hand slid up to emphasize the point, fingers brushing the hem of Vincent’s oversized shirt.

Vincent raised an eyebrow, lips quirking up at the corner. “You’re the one who encouraged it,” he replied. His fingers paused, just resting in Rody’s hair, and his dark eyes softened as they met Rody’s. “Something about ‘easier access.’”

Rody laughed, shifting to press his face into Vincent’s thigh as his shoulders shook with amusement. “Not denying it,” he murmured, voice muffled. “Just don’t see you complaining, either.”

Vincent’s hand returned to its slow, gentle strokes through Rody’s hair, his touch somehow grounding and exhilarating all at once. “I suppose not,” he admitted quietly, his voice so soft that Rody almost didn’t catch it. “I like… this.”

Something about the way he said it, so sincere and unguarded, made Rody’s chest swell with warmth. Rody turned his head, resting his cheek against Vincent’s leg as he gazed up, his expression softening. “I do too.” His fingers resumed their gentle exploration, drifting from Vincent’s thigh to his hip, pressing just enough to feel the firmness of Vincent’s lean muscles beneath his hand.

Vincent sighed, his fingers still tangled in Rody’s hair, and his other hand drifted to rest on Rody’s shoulder, a comforting weight. They stayed like that for a long time, listening to each other breathe, wrapped up in their own little world.

Rody finally broke the silence, his voice a quiet murmur. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this… comfortable with someone.” It was a quiet confession, one he’d never voiced before, even to himself. “It’s like… I can just be here. And it’s enough.”

Vincent’s hand stilled in Rody’s hair, and his gaze softened, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s how it should be,” he replied, his tone gentle but resolute. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Rody closed his eyes, letting those words settle over him like a warm blanket. It wasn’t something Vincent said often, but when he did, it was a promise. And for Rody, that promise meant everything.