Warning:Age-gap, NonCon, Vincent is more effeminate
Vincent Charbonneau had never imagined that life could get darker than it had already been. At fourteen, he had felt the weight of the world suffocating him, its heavy hands gripping his throat every day he woke up. The bruises that peppered his arms, the insults that still rang in his ears, the slurs that echoed through the halls of that damned school- they all haunted him. But it had been the laughter that broke him, the laughter of that boy as he mocked Vincent’s weakness, his femininity, and his sexuality.
The day Vincent snapped wasn’t premeditated. It wasn’t something he’d planned. It just… happened. He was in art class, staring blankly at the pile of magazines they were supposed to be cutting from for collages. The boy had approached, his smirk plastered on his face like always, and said something vile, something about how Vincent would never be a “real man.” The words had blurred in Vincent’s ears. All he saw was the boy’s neck, and before he could process what he was doing, the scissors were in his hand and pressed into the soft, pulsing flesh. The warm blood had splattered across Vincent’s face like an explosion of paint, soaking his clothes, his skin.
The boy’s body had crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide with shock as he gurgled on his own blood. Vincent hadn’t felt fear then. Just… relief. An eerie, terrifying kind of peace settled over him as the world erupted into chaos around him.
Now, years later, he sat in the back of a prison transport van, handcuffed and shackled, the cold metal biting into his wrists. He was being transferred from juvenile detention to an adult facility. He was seventeen, and despite how much time had passed, the memory of that day still played in his mind like a broken record. Everyone in juvie knew his story. They whispered about him, about the quiet boy who had stabbed his bully to death. Some admired him for it, others feared him. But in the adult prison, Vincent knew it would be different. Here, he wasn’t just the troubled kid who had snapped-he was another body in a sea of violent men. Some of these people had committed crimes far worse than murder.
The fear gnawed at him, sinking its claws deep into his chest. He tried to maintain his usual stoic demeanor, but his hands trembled slightly as the van rattled down the road. He wondered if the other prisoners would target him, if they’d sense his fear and tear him apart like wolves descending on a wounded deer. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t some hardened criminal who killed for fun. He had killed for survival. He had killed because there was no other choice.
The facility loomed ahead like a grotesque monolith, its grey walls towering over the landscape, casting long shadows in the dying light of the afternoon. Vincent’s stomach twisted as they entered through the massive gates, the sound of them clanking shut behind them felt like the final nail in his coffin.
The guards didn’t say much as they processed him. He could hear the chatter of other inmates down the hall, their voices rough and tinged with malice. Some of them catcalled, others whistled. The guards didn’t care. They never did.
Vincent was led to his cell, the door creaking open as they shoved him inside. The cell was small, barely big enough to fit the rusted metal bed and a toilet. The walls were covered in crude drawings and graffiti, a bleak reminder of the men who had lived there before him.
He sat down on the bed, his heart hammering in his chest. He pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible, his mind racing. He had to survive. Somehow, he had to make it through this.
It wasn’t long before the door to his cell opened again, and a figure stepped inside.
Rody Lamoree.
Rody was older, probably in his early thirties. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a rugged, almost intimidating kind of attractiveness. His thick auburn hair was messily styled, and there was a mischievous glint in his green eyes. At first glance, Rody looked like he didn’t belong in a place like this. His smile was warm, almost kind, the kind of smile that could put anyone at ease. But Vincent had learned a long time ago that you couldn’t trust first impressions.
“You’re the new kid, huh?” Rody’s voice was smooth, friendly. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, studying Vincent with curious eyes.
Vincent didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what to make of him yet. He knew better than to let his guard down around strangers.
Rody chuckled softly, his smile widening as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m not here to mess with you.” He sat down on the bed across from Vincent, his presence somehow filling the small space. “I’m just… looking out for you.”
“Why?” Vincent’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
Rody shrugged, his gaze softening. “Because I know what it’s like to be new here. It’s tough. You’ve got to watch your back, especially when you’re young like you. The guys in here… they’ll eat you alive if they get the chance.”
Vincent’s heart raced faster. He didn’t want to be scared of Rody, not when he was the only one showing him any kindness. But something about the way Rody spoke sent a chill down his spine, a subtle warning buried beneath his words.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Rody said after a moment, his voice lowering. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Vincent hesitated. He didn’t know why Rody had taken an interest in him, but he wasn’t in a position to refuse help. Not here. Not when he was surrounded by people who would tear him apart the second they sensed weakness.
“Thank you,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling despite himself.
Rody’s smile widened, and for a moment, Vincent almost believed he could trust him. Almost.
—
Days passed, and true to his word, Rody stayed close. He introduced Vincent to the dynamics of the prison, explaining who to avoid, who to make deals with, and who could be trusted-though Rody’s definition of “trust” was flexible. He always seemed to be around, watching over Vincent with a careful, almost protective eye.
Vincent found himself growing more comfortable around Rody. Despite his initial apprehension, there was something calming about the way Rody carried himself. He was strong, confident, and he didn’t seem afraid of anything. It was easy to believe that as long as Rody was around, Vincent would be safe.
But there were moments, quiet moments when Vincent caught a glimpse of something darker lurking beneath Rody’s charming exterior. A flash in his eyes, a tightness in his smile, as if he was holding back something dangerous. For some reason everyone including the guards seemed to fear Rody.
Vincent tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to think too hard about who Rody really was, about why he was in this place. It was easier to accept the kindness without question, to pretend that Rody was just a good man in a bad situation.
But one night, everything changed.
Vincent had been lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling when he heard a noise. It was soft at first, a quiet shuffle of feet. He sat up, his heart racing, and saw Rody standing in the doorway.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Rody said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Vincent nodded, his throat tight. He had grown used to Rody’s late-night visits. He wondered why the guards never seemed to object to anything Rody did. Sometimes they would talk for hours, Rody sharing stories about the outside world, about the things he used to do before he ended up here.
But tonight, Rody seemed different. There was a darkness in his eyes, a tension in the way he moved. He stepped closer, sitting on the edge of Vincent’s bed, his gaze locked onto Vincent’s face.
“You know,” Rody began, his voice softer than usual, almost tender, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
Vincent swallowed hard, his palms sweaty. “Why?”
Rody’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Because you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone I cared about a lot.”
Vincent didn’t know what to say. He could feel the air in the room growing heavier, the tension between them tightening like a noose.
“You’re special, Vincent,” Rody whispered, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from Vincent’s face. “I want to protect you. I want to keep you safe.”
Vincent’s breath hitched in his throat. Something about the way Rody said those words sent a shiver down his spine.
But then Rody’s hand moved lower, his fingers brushing against Vincent’s throat, lingering there for a moment too long.
Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to move, to pull away, but he was frozen, trapped in Rody’s gaze.
“I don’t want you to ever be afraid of me,” Rody said softly, his fingers tightening just slightly. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Vincent nodded, his voice stuck in his throat. He didn’t trust Rody. Not anymore. Not when he could feel the weight of his hand, the darkness behind his smile.
But he didn’t have a choice.
Because in this place, Rody was all he had.
The room felt suffocating, the air thick with something Vincent couldn’t name. It was the way Rody’s hand lingered on his throat, the way his green eyes pierced into Vincent’s with a depth that felt too intimate, too predatory. It was the realization that the man who had been his protector, his one sliver of safety in this hellish place, wasn’t the man Vincent thought he was. Or maybe, he had never truly been that man at all.
“Good,” Rody murmured, his thumb brushing the pulse in Vincent’s neck, his touch unsettlingly gentle. “You don’t need to be afraid. Not of me. I’ll take care of you.”
Vincent forced a shaky smile, his body screaming at him to move, to put distance between them. But he stayed still, his mind racing. In the silence that stretched between them, he began to piece things together. The way Rody always seemed to be watching him, how his protectiveness felt more like possession with each passing day. There had been whispers about Rody-other prisoners muttering under their breath when he passed by, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and disgust. But no one had ever dared to say it outright. And Vincent hadn’t dared to ask.
Now, he understood why.
Rody’s hand slipped away from Vincent’s neck, but the weight of his presence remained, looming over him like a shadow. “You know, I’ve been in this place for a long time,” Rody said, his tone conversational, almost too casual. “I’ve seen a lot of guys come and go. Some of them-” he paused, his lips curling into a slow, unsettling smile, “-some of them didn’t last long.”
Vincent swallowed, his mouth dry. “Why not?”
Rody shrugged, leaning back slightly, his eyes still fixed on Vincent. “People get sloppy. They make mistakes. They trust the wrong people.”
A chill crept down Vincent’s spine. He knew what Rody was implying. The quiet menace in his words was unmistakable. “But you… you’re different, right?” Vincent asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He hated how weak he sounded, how desperate he was to maintain whatever fragile peace existed between them.
Rody’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “I’m different, Vincent. That’s why I’m still here.” He leaned forward again, his hand finding its way to Vincent’s shoulder this time, squeezing just enough to make Vincent flinch. “And that’s why I’ll keep you safe. As long as you’re smart.”
Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest, his skin crawling under Rody’s touch. He wanted to pull away, to run, but where would he go? This was prison. There were no safe places here. And Rody had made it clear that he held all the power.
“Yeah,” Vincent mumbled, forcing himself to meet Rody’s gaze. “I’ll be smart.”
Rody’s grip loosened, and he sat back, satisfied. “Good boy.” He patted Vincent’s shoulder, the way one might reward a dog. “You and me, we’re gonna be just fine.”
Vincent nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest. There was no escape from this. Not from Rody, not from the unspoken truth that lurked beneath their interactions. The monster was already inside the room, and Vincent had willingly let him in.
—
The days blurred together after that, a constant haze of unease and fear. Rody stayed close, his presence a constant reminder that Vincent wasn’t free, even within the confines of his own mind. He continued to be sweet, attentive in ways that made Vincent’s skin crawl. There were moments when Rody would flash that charming smile of his, making Vincent almost believe that maybe, just maybe, things were okay.
But then there were the other moments-the way Rody’s gaze lingered too long when Vincent wasn’t looking, the subtle dominance in his voice whenever he gave orders, always framed as suggestions. He never forced Vincent to do anything. Not directly. But Vincent knew better than to refuse.
It wasn’t long before the darkness in Rody started to bleed through the cracks. It was subtle at first-the way his temper would flare over small things, his smile twisting into something colder, sharper. One night, during one of their late-night conversations, Rody spoke in a tone so low, so chilling, that it felt like a threat wrapped in affection.
“I don’t like it when people try to hurt what’s mine,” Rody said, his voice soft but laced with something dangerous. His hand had been resting on Vincent’s thigh, fingers slowly tightening. “You’re mine, Vincent. I hope you understand that.”
Vincent forced a nod, his pulse racing beneath his skin. “I understand.”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but what choice did he have? Rody had made it clear that the walls of this prison weren’t the only things keeping Vincent trapped.
—
One day, a fight broke out in the yard. Vincent had been sitting alone, minding his own business, when two inmates started arguing. It escalated quickly, fists flying, blood spilling onto the cracked concrete. The guards didn’t intervene right away-they never did. It wasn’t until one of the men was on the ground, gasping for breath, that the guards stepped in, dragging both men away.
Vincent tried to keep his head down, not wanting to get involved. But as he stood to leave, he felt a sharp tug on his arm.
It was one of the other inmates, a tall, stocky man with a cruel smile. “Hey, pretty boy,” the man sneered, his grip tightening painfully on Vincent’s arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Vincent’s heart leapt into his throat, panic surging through him. He tried to pull away, but the man held fast, his fingers digging into Vincent’s skin.
“Let go of me,” Vincent said, his voice trembling.
The man laughed, his breath hot and foul against Vincent’s face. “I don’t think so. You’re too pretty to be walking around here alone.”
Before Vincent could react, another figure appeared-Rody.
The look in Rody’s eyes was deadly. He didn’t say a word as he approached, his expression cold and terrifyingly calm. Without hesitation, he grabbed the man by the back of his neck and slammed his face into the wall. The crack of bone echoed through the yard, followed by the sickening thud of the man’s body hitting the ground.
Rody crouched down next to the unconscious man, his voice low and menacing. “Touch him again, and I’ll make sure you never walk out of here.”
Vincent stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never seen Rody like this-so violent, so unhinged. The way he moved, the way he spoke-it was like a switch had flipped inside him, revealing the true monster beneath the mask of kindness.
Rody turned to Vincent, his expression softening instantly, as if nothing had happened. “You okay?”
Vincent nodded, his mouth dry. “Yeah… I’m fine.”
Rody smiled, reaching out to gently brush a hand through Vincent’s hair. “Good. Let’s get you out of here.”
As they walked back to their cell, Vincent couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just crossed a line, that whatever fragile bond had existed between him and Rody had morphed into something far more dangerous. Rody wasn’t just his protector anymore.
He was his captor.
—
The darkness inside Rody grew more visible with each passing day. The sweetness, the charm, it was all still there-but now Vincent could see the cracks in the facade. He could see the monster lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to reveal itself.
Rody’s touches lingered longer now, his gaze darker, more possessive. He no longer tried to hide the way he looked at Vincent, the way his hand would sometimes brush over Vincent’s back, his shoulder, his neck, fingers grazing the pulse beneath his skin.
And Vincent… Vincent felt trapped. Rody was his only shield in this place, the only person keeping him safe. But that safety came at a price. Every day, Vincent felt himself sinking deeper into Rody’s control, into the twisted web Rody had spun around him.
The sweet words, the soft touches-they were all part of the same game. And Vincent knew that eventually, the game would end.
—
The nights grew longer, the darkness in their now shared cell (Vincent wanted to question why Rody was transferred to his cell but never found the courage to) palpable. Vincent found it harder to sleep, his mind constantly on edge. Every sound-the creak of the bed, the rustling of sheets, Rody’s soft breathing beside him-felt like a warning. He was never truly alone, not even in his own thoughts. Rody had become a constant presence, both physically and mentally, looming over him like a shadow he could never escape.
One night, Vincent woke to find Rody sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at him. His green eyes glinted in the dim light, and the look on his face sent a shiver down Vincent’s spine. There was something different about the way Rody looked at him now-something darker, more primal. The mask of sweetness was gone, replaced by a hunger that Vincent didn’t know how to handle.
“Vincent,” Rody said softly, his voice almost tender. “You’re so quiet lately.”
Vincent sat up slowly, his body tense. “I’m just… tired,” he lied, though they both knew the truth. It wasn’t fatigue that kept him silent-it was fear.
Rody’s hand moved to Vincent’s thigh, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it felt anything but. “You don’t have to be scared of me, you know. I’ve taken care of you, haven’t I?”
Vincent swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah… you have.”
Rody’s smile was soft, almost affectionate. But Vincent knew better now. He could see the cracks, the way Rody’s possessiveness had bled into something far more dangerous. “Good,” Rody murmured, his hand sliding further up Vincent’s leg. “I’m glad you know that.”
Vincent tried to pull away, but Rody’s grip tightened, just enough to remind him who was in control. The air between them felt thick, suffocating, and Vincent’s heart raced in his chest.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Rody whispered, his lips close to Vincent’s ear. “I never wanted to hurt you. But you need to understand something, Vincent.” His hand moved to Vincent’s neck, his fingers pressing gently against his throat, a subtle threat beneath the tenderness. “You’re mine. I’ll protect you from anyone who tries to touch you, hurt you… But that means you belong to me now.”
Vincent’s breath hitched, panic flaring in his chest. He had known this was coming, had felt the shift in Rody’s behavior for weeks. But hearing the words out loud-hearing Rody claim him like that-it made the fear settle deep in his bones.
“I… I understand,” Vincent whispered, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.
Rody’s grip loosened, his hand slipping away from Vincent’s neck, though the tension remained in the air. “Good,” Rody said softly, his voice almost soothing. “I knew you would.”
For the next few minutes, they sat in silence, Rody watching him with that same predatory gaze. Vincent could feel the weight of Rody’s attention, the way his eyes followed his every move, like a hunter studying its prey.
Eventually, Rody stood, his towering presence casting a long shadow over Vincent. “Get some sleep,” he said, his voice gentle once again. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
Vincent nodded, his body rigid as Rody moved back to his own bed. The room felt too small, the walls closing in around him, trapping him in this nightmare.
—
The next day, Vincent tried to avoid Rody as much as possible, but it was impossible in the confined space of the prison. Rody’s possessiveness had only grown, and it was clear to everyone around them. The other inmates kept their distance, whispering behind Vincent’s back, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and fear.
But no one dared say anything. No one was stupid enough to challenge Rody.
Vincent spent most of the day in the library, trying to distract himself, but it was hard to focus. His mind kept drifting back to the conversation from the night before, to the way Rody had looked at him, the way he had touched him. He felt trapped, suffocated by the knowledge that there was no escape from this.
As the day wore on, Vincent began to realize just how deeply Rody’s control over him had sunk. It wasn’t just physical-it was mental, emotional. Rody had wormed his way into every aspect of Vincent’s life, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And worst of all, part of Vincent craved the attention. Craved the sense of safety, twisted as it was.
That night, when Vincent returned to their cell, Rody was waiting for him, sitting on his bed with that same soft smile on his face.
“Long day?” Rody asked, his voice casual, as if they were just two friends catching up.
Vincent nodded, feeling the weight of Rody’s gaze on him. “Yeah.”
Rody patted the spot next to him on the bed, and Vincent hesitated for only a second before sitting down. He had learned by now that resistance only made things worse.
Rody’s hand found its way to Vincent’s back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. “You seem tense.”
“I’m fine,” Vincent muttered, though he knew Rody didn’t believe him.
Rody hummed, leaning closer until Vincent could feel the warmth of his breath on his skin. “You’re not fine,” he said softly, his hand sliding down to rest on Vincent’s thigh. “But that’s okay. You don’t have to be. Not with me.”
Vincent’s stomach twisted, the familiar sense of dread settling in his chest. He could feel the monster lurking just beneath the surface of Rody’s affection, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And Vincent knew, deep down, that moment was coming soon.
—
The breaking point came a week later.
It had been a normal day, or as normal as life in prison could be. Vincent had gone through the motions, doing his best to stay out of trouble, to keep his head down. But trouble found him anyway.
He was in the showers, rinsing off after a long day, when one of the other inmates cornered him. The man was tall, muscular, his eyes dark with malice.
“You think you’re special, don’t you?” the man sneered, stepping closer until Vincent’s back was pressed against the cold tile wall. “Just because you’ve got Rody watching your back.”
Vincent’s heart raced, panic clawing at his throat. He knew better than to talk back, to provoke the man further. But before he could say anything, the man grabbed him by the throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off his air.
“You’re nothing,” the man growled, his face inches from Vincent’s. “And when Rody’s not around, you’re just another piece of meat.”
Vincent struggled to breathe, his vision darkening at the edges. He tried to push the man off, but he was too weak, too panicked to fight back.
Just as he thought he was about to pass out, the man’s grip loosened, and he was thrown to the ground with a sickening thud. Vincent gasped for air, collapsing against the wall as he watched Rody tower over the man, his face a mask of cold fury.
Without a word, Rody knelt down, grabbing the man by the hair and slamming his head into the tile. Once, twice, three times, until blood splattered across the floor.
Vincent could only watch in horror as Rody continued his assault, his fists pounding into the man’s face with a brutal, unrelenting force. The sound of bones cracking, flesh tearing-it was sickening, but Vincent couldn’t look away.
When it was over, Rody stood, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. He turned to Vincent, his eyes wild, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, gentle.
“I told you I’d protect you,” Rody said, extending a hand to help Vincent up.
Vincent stared at him, his body trembling. There was no doubt now. The monster wasn’t hiding anymore.
It was right in front of him.
Rody’s bloodied hand remained extended, his green eyes locking onto Vincent’s trembling form. There was a dangerous mix of affection and possessiveness in his gaze, one that made Vincent’s stomach churn with dread. He hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to run, to get away from this nightmare. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere that Rody couldn’t follow.
“You’re safe now,” Rody said, his voice soft, coaxing. His tone was the same one he’d used when they first met, gentle and caring, as if he hadn’t just beaten a man to death in front of Vincent. “Come on, Vincent. Let’s get you back to our cell.”
Vincent’s legs felt weak as he slowly reached out and took Rody’s hand, his skin cold against Rody’s warm, blood-streaked fingers. The moment they made contact, Rody pulled him up with ease, his strength evident even in such a simple gesture. Vincent felt small next to him, fragile. Vulnerable.
They walked in silence back to their cell, Rody’s arm wrapped protectively around Vincent’s shoulders. But it didn’t feel like protection anymore. It felt like a cage, one that was closing in tighter with every step.
Once inside the cell, the door clanged shut behind them, the sound echoing in the tight space. Vincent swallowed hard, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to keep himself safe. But how could he, when the person he feared was the same one who had claimed to protect him?
Rody turned to face him, and for a moment, his expression softened. His hand reached out to brush a lock of hair away from Vincent’s face, his touch gentle but unnervingly intimate. “You were scared, weren’t you?” Rody asked, his voice low. “You thought he was going to hurt you.”
Vincent nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He wanted to back away, to put as much distance between them as possible, but the room was too small. There was nowhere to go.
“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” Rody continued, stepping closer. “I took care of him. No one’s ever going to touch you again. I promise.”
But Vincent *was* scared. More than he’d ever been. His heart pounded in his chest, every fiber of his being screaming at him to run, to fight, to do something-anything-but he was frozen in place, trapped under the weight of Rody’s gaze.
Rody’s hand slid down from Vincent’s hair, trailing along his neck before resting on his shoulder. The touch was possessive, claiming, and it made Vincent’s skin crawl. “You belong to me now,” Rody whispered, his breath hot against Vincent’s ear. “I’ve kept you safe, haven’t I? Now it’s time for you to do something for me.”
Vincent’s stomach dropped, dread coiling in his chest like a viper ready to strike. He shook his head, backing up until he hit the wall, but Rody followed, his body pressing against Vincent’s, trapping him in place.
“Rody, don’t…” Vincent’s voice was shaky, barely more than a whisper, but Rody didn’t listen.
Rody’s hand gripped Vincent’s chin, tilting his face up so their eyes met. There was something unhinged in Rody’s gaze, something dark and dangerous that made Vincent’s blood run cold. “Shh,” Rody murmured, his thumb brushing over Vincent’s lower lip. “I’ve been patient with you, Vincent. So patient. But I need you to show me that you understand. That you’re mine.”
Vincent tried to push Rody away, panic flaring in his chest, but Rody was too strong. His grip tightened, his body pressing harder against Vincent’s until there was no space left between them. Vincent could feel Rody’s breath on his skin, hot and ragged, and the sensation made his stomach churn.
“Please,” Vincent whispered, his voice cracking. “Rody, don’t do this.”
But Rody’s expression hardened, the sweetness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “You owe me, Vincent,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ve protected you, kept you safe. Now it’s time for you to pay me back.”
Before Vincent could react, Rody’s hand was on him, pulling him roughly against his chest. His lips crashed against Vincent’s in a violent kiss, all teeth and hunger. Vincent’s mind went blank, his body instinctively trying to pull away, but Rody held him in place, his grip bruising.
Vincent’s heart raced in his chest, fear and disgust warring within him as Rody’s hands roamed over his body, possessive and demanding. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and Vincent could barely breathe as Rody forced himself closer, his hands fumbling with Vincent’s clothes.
“Stop,” Vincent gasped, struggling against Rody’s hold, but it was useless. Rody’s strength was overwhelming, and the more Vincent resisted, the more forceful Rody became.
Rody’s hand found its way to Vincent’s throat, squeezing just hard enough to make Vincent’s vision blur. “You’re mine, Vincent,” Rody growled, his lips brushing against Vincent’s ear. “And you’re going to learn what that means.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Vincent’s eyes, his mind screaming in protest, but his body was too weak to fight. He could feel Rody’s weight pressing down on him, his breath hot against his skin, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Vincent’s world narrowed to the sound of Rody’s breathing, the feel of his hands, and the crushing realization that he was truly trapped. Trapped in this cell. Trapped with Rody.
And no one was coming to save him.
—
The nights blurred together after that. Every evening became a repetition of Rody’s twisted affection, his touch possessive and suffocating, his words a constant reminder that Vincent belonged to him now. Vincent had stopped trying to resist. There was no point. Rody was stronger, more determined, and every time Vincent tried to fight back, it only made things worse.
Vincent had once thought that prison couldn’t be any worse than what he’d already endured. He’d been wrong.
Rody had become the nightmare he couldn’t wake up from, a monster hiding behind a mask of tenderness. And no matter how much Vincent wished for it to end, there was no escape.
Not from Rody.
Not from the darkness that had swallowed him whole.
Vincent’s days became a suffocating blur of fear, submission, and the overwhelming presence of Rody. Each night, Rody would return to their cell, his gaze fixated on Vincent as though he were a possession, something to be claimed, controlled, and consumed. The duality in Rody’s behavior was maddening. By day, he would wear the mask of gentleness, offering soft reassurances and murmuring sweet, affectionate words. But by night, the monster emerged-violent, possessive, and utterly remorseless.
Vincent had long since lost track of time. The walls of the prison were oppressive, closing in on him, suffocating him beneath the weight of his helplessness. His world had shrunk to the cold concrete of his cell, the shadows that moved in the dim light, and Rody’s touch-always Rody’s touch. It lingered on his skin long after Rody had left him, a reminder of his control, of his ownership over Vincent.
Some nights, Vincent would lie awake long after Rody had fallen asleep, his body trembling, tears silently slipping from his eyes. He knew it was useless to resist, to fight back. The one time he had tried-truly tried-Rody had snapped. Vincent could still feel the bruises on his wrists, the soreness in his throat from where Rody had choked him, his fingers digging into Vincent’s flesh with terrifying strength.
“You’re mine, Vincent,” Rody had whispered in the darkness, his voice a chilling contrast to the fury that had gripped him moments before. “Don’t ever forget that.”
And Vincent hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t.
The small kindnesses that Rody offered him during the day were nothing more than cruel reminders of the control Rody held over him. A gentle touch here, a soft kiss there, as though Rody could erase the horrors of the night by pretending to care. But Vincent knew better now. He knew that the man standing in front of him wasn’t capable of love-not in any way that mattered. Rody’s affection was twisted, perverse. It was about dominance, about power, about making sure Vincent knew that he was trapped with no escape.
Vincent’s body had grown weak, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of the abuse. His mind often drifted back to the boy he had been-the boy who had fought back against his bully, the boy who had once believed that standing up for himself would bring freedom. But that boy was gone, buried beneath layers of trauma and pain.
Rody’s presence filled the cell as he returned from another shift in the prison kitchen. He smiled when he saw Vincent, that sickly sweet smile that never reached his eyes. It made Vincent’s skin crawl, his stomach turning with dread as Rody approached.
“You look tired, Vin,” Rody said, his voice gentle as he sat beside him on the small cot. His fingers reached out to brush a strand of hair from Vincent’s face. “Are you feeling okay?”
Vincent nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Any wrong word, any hint of defiance, and Rody would change. The sweetness would fade, and the violence would return. He had learned that lesson too many times to count.
Rody’s hand trailed down Vincent’s arm, his touch light but threatening. “You’ve been so good for me,” he murmured, leaning in closer until his breath ghosted over Vincent’s skin. “You know that, right? I’m proud of you.”
Vincent swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain still, to play along with Rody’s twisted game. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Rody smiled again, satisfied with the response. “That’s my boy.” His hand moved to cup Vincent’s face, tilting his head up so their eyes met. “I’ll always take care of you, Vin. You’re mine, and I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
Vincent’s heart raced, panic clawing at his chest, but he knew better than to resist. He stayed perfectly still as Rody leaned in to press a possessive kiss to his lips, the gesture laced with an unsettling mixture of tenderness and threat.
Rody pulled away, his fingers tracing Vincent’s jawline as if admiring his work. “You’re so beautiful when you listen to me,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous lullaby. “You’re perfect.”
Vincent’s body trembled, but he forced himself to remain passive, to accept the twisted affection Rody offered. There was no point in fighting. There was no escape. Rody had made sure of that.
As the days turned into weeks, Vincent’s hope began to fade, replaced by a numbness that spread through his entire being. He had stopped crying at night, stopped praying for release, for some miracle that would save him. There was nothing left to hope for. Rody had taken everything from him-his freedom, his body, his soul.
Vincent had become a hollow shell, his only purpose now to survive. To endure. But even that was becoming too much. Every night, when Rody’s hands found their way to his skin, when his lips pressed against Vincent’s with a hunger that made Vincent’s stomach turn, a part of him died a little more.
He belonged to Rody, whether wanted to or not.
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