Dead Plate Oneshots To Taste You In Every Way

Rody had always adored Vincent. There was something magnetic about him—his quiet confidence, the way his dark eyes seemed to burn with unspoken intensity, and his poised presence in every situation. But what lingered in Rody’s mind the most was Vincent’s scent, that signature lemon cologne that seemed to envelop him like an aura. From the moment Vincent walked into a room, Rody could feel it. Tart, fresh, intoxicating.

When Vincent had asked him out, Rody’s heart had nearly leaped out of his chest. It had been a dream he never thought would become reality. Vincent was the kind of person that seemed untouchable, distant, as if his success had elevated him beyond the grasp of ordinary people like Rody. Yet, there they were, together, sharing the kind of intimacy Rody had only fantasized about.

Their dates had been tender, affectionate, and almost surreal. Rody would lean in closer than necessary, just to catch that intoxicating scent of lemon, and each time, he’d breathe it in deeply, like it was the only thing grounding him to reality. When they kissed for the first time, Rody’s world slowed. Vincent’s lips were soft, his taste faint, almost elusive, but it sparked something inside him—a dark curiosity.

The thought had come to him then, in that fleeting moment. *I wonder what the rest of him tastes like.*

It wasn’t a normal thought, Rody knew that much. It wasn’t the kind of question people had about their lovers, but once it lodged itself in his mind, it never left. It grew with each passing day, gnawing at him in the quiet moments when they were together. Every time Rody kissed Vincent, every time his lips brushed against that pale skin, the question would return, stronger and more insistent.

They had been together for weeks when the moment finally came. It was late, the night cold and heavy with the scent of rain. Rody had Vincent in his arms, their bodies tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy with the weight of desire. Vincent’s pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light, his breaths shallow and quick as he lay beneath Rody, completely vulnerable. The sight of him like that, with his head tilted back, lips parted, and eyes half-lidded, stirred something primal deep inside Rody.

His fingers traced the outline of Vincent’s collarbone, then moved lower, gliding over his chest. Rody’s mouth followed, kissing, tasting—each touch a little bolder, more possessive. Vincent let out a soft sigh, his hand weakly gripping Rody’s arm as though urging him to continue. But that wasn’t enough anymore. The urge that had been festering inside Rody was too powerful now, too overwhelming.

He wanted more. He needed more.

Without thinking, Rody lowered his mouth to Vincent’s shoulder. His heart pounded violently in his chest as he inhaled deeply, that familiar citrus scent filling his nostrils. His lips pressed to Vincent’s skin, his teeth grazing just slightly, and then—he bit.

The skin gave way under his teeth, and the taste that followed was unlike anything Rody had imagined. It was coppery, warm, with a saltiness that mixed strangely with the sweetness of Vincent’s cologne. It was divine. His head swam with a heady rush, his senses overwhelmed by the taste of Vincent—his lover, his obsession.

Vincent gasped sharply, tensing beneath him. “Rody… what are you—?”

But Rody couldn’t stop. His eyes darkened as he looked down at Vincent, who lay staring up at him with confusion and the beginnings of fear. Blood welled from the bite, a small crimson line that ran down Vincent’s shoulder, staining the pale sheets beneath them. Rody licked his lips, savoring the taste that lingered there. He wanted more.

His hands moved to pin Vincent down, holding him still as he dipped his head lower. This time, he didn’t just bite—he tore into Vincent’s skin with ferocity. A deeper wound, more blood, more of that intoxicating taste flooding his senses. Vincent cried out, struggling weakly beneath him, but Rody was far stronger.

It was madness. The taste of Vincent—his blood, his flesh—was everything Rody had imagined and more. It filled the emptiness inside him in a way nothing else ever could. He had kissed Vincent countless times, but this—this was what he had been craving all along.

“Rody, stop!” Vincent’s voice was frantic now, his body trembling under Rody’s weight. But Rody didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His mind was lost to the hunger, the need to consume, to take Vincent in entirely. Every bite, every tear of flesh felt like a revelation, a deeper connection than he had ever thought possible.

He moved down Vincent’s chest, his mouth leaving trails of bloodied skin in its wake. Each bite sent shudders through Vincent’s body—pain and shock mingling with something else. Vincent’s breath hitched, his eyes wide and glassy, tears streaking down his pale cheeks. But his protests had grown weaker, his body too overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion to resist anymore.

Rody’s teeth sank into Vincent’s side, his mouth filling with the warmth of blood once more. He moaned low in his throat, his hand gripping Vincent’s thigh possessively, feeling the trembling muscle beneath his palm. Vincent was everything—his taste, his scent, the way his body responded beneath Rody’s touch. He was perfect.

Rody finally pulled back, his lips and chin smeared with blood, panting heavily. He looked down at Vincent, who lay motionless now, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The once pristine sheets were soaked with blood, the metallic scent filling the room and mingling with the lemon cologne. Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, his body thrumming with the high of it all.

Vincent’s dark eyes met his, wide and terrified, but there was something else there too—something that sent a shiver of satisfaction through Rody.

“Rody…” Vincent’s voice was barely a whisper, cracked and weak. “Why…?”

Rody leaned down, pressing a blood-stained kiss to Vincent’s trembling lips. He tasted everything now. Everything he had ever wanted.

“I couldn’t resist,” Rody whispered against Vincent’s mouth, his voice hoarse with desire. “You taste too good.”

Vincent’s eyes fluttered closed, his body shuddering as he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Rody stared down at him, his own chest heaving, his body trembling with the rush of it all. He had tasted Vincent—truly tasted him. And now, there was no going back. He wanted more. He needed more.

With a dark smile curling at the corners of his bloodied lips, Rody leaned down again, his teeth grazing Vincent’s throat.

The night was far from over.

Rody hovered over Vincent’s limp body, breath catching as his mind spun with exhilaration and a dark hunger he had never imagined. The thrill of feeling Vincent’s fragile skin break beneath his teeth had awakened something feral within him—a ravenous desire that refused to be satiated by mere kisses or touches. His heart pounded in his ears, but the rhythm wasn’t one of guilt or shame. It was excitement. Pure, raw excitement.

He traced Vincent’s throat with his fingertips, smearing the blood that had pooled at his collarbone. The contrast of red against pale skin mesmerized Rody. How fragile Vincent was, even though he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable. Here, beneath Rody, he was powerless. The vulnerability made Rody’s pulse quicken.

A low groan escaped Vincent’s lips, and his eyelids fluttered, half-conscious, his breath ragged and shallow. For a moment, Rody hesitated. There was a fleeting sliver of recognition in Vincent’s gaze, a flicker of fear—and something that looked like trust. He had trusted Rody.

But then, that scent—faintly lemon, faintly blood—overpowered Rody’s thoughts. His mind slipped back into the haze, drawn irresistibly to the scent, the taste. It was as if every fiber of his being craved more, urging him to indulge deeper, to sink his teeth further into Vincent’s flesh.

He kissed the base of Vincent’s throat, lingering over his pulse point. It fluttered weakly beneath his lips, that fragile beat a reminder of how much life Vincent still had left in him. Rody’s tongue flicked over his skin, tasting the salt of sweat and blood. He bit again—harder this time, deeper. The copper tang filled his mouth, spilling over his lips as Vincent’s body jerked under him.

Vincent gasped in pain, his back arching instinctively, but he had no strength left to push Rody away. His fingers weakly clutched at the sheets, his voice little more than a whisper, barely discernible between his breathless sobs.

“Rody… please…” The words were fragile, strained, but the effort of speaking seemed to drain the last of Vincent’s strength.

Rody paused, his bloodstained lips hovering just above Vincent’s throat. He gazed down at his lover, his breath ragged, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered in his chest. Guilt? Shame? He wasn’t sure. But the sight of Vincent like this—helpless, pleading—it thrilled him. It twisted the hunger inside him into something more dangerous, more intoxicating.

*“You’ll be fine, Vincent.”* His voice was soft, almost soothing, though the words carried a dark undercurrent. Rody stroked a hand down Vincent’s side, his fingers tracing the bloodied bite marks he’d already left behind. Each mark, each bruise, felt like a trophy—evidence of how far Vincent had let him go. *“I love you… I love you so much.”*

Vincent’s eyes fluttered open again, glassy with pain and exhaustion. His lips parted, but no words came out, just a shallow, wheezing breath. He stared up at Rody, his body trembling as the blood continued to seep from the open wounds on his shoulder and neck.

Rody kissed him again, gently this time, tasting the fear, the pain that lingered in Vincent’s breath. The metallic sweetness of blood still coated his mouth, making the kiss feel deeper, more intimate. He wanted to savor every bit of this—every second, every bite, every drop of blood.

And so he did.

Rody moved slowly now, deliberate in his cruelty, his desire. He pressed his lips to Vincent’s skin, his mouth hovering over each bite, savoring the warmth that radiated from beneath the surface. His teeth grazed over the taut flesh of Vincent’s chest, sinking in again, this time with a slow, deliberate pressure that drew out a long, broken moan from Vincent’s lips.

Vincent’s body jerked reflexively, but he was too weak to resist. His breathing grew more erratic, his chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid gasps as Rody moved down his torso.

“You taste so good,” Rody murmured, his voice low and breathless, almost reverent. His hands traced the contours of Vincent’s ribs, feeling the faint tremor of his pulse beneath his fingers. “I never imagined it would be like this…”

Vincent’s body was slick with sweat and blood now, trembling beneath Rody’s hands. His eyes had closed again, his consciousness slipping away as the pain and exhaustion took hold. But Rody didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He bit down again, this time on Vincent’s side, his teeth tearing into the tender skin just above his hip. Vincent’s body twitched, but there was no cry of pain this time, only the soft, broken sound of his breath as it rasped from his throat. The taste of his blood flooded Rody’s senses again, and he let out a low moan of pleasure, his hands gripping Vincent’s thighs as he sank his teeth deeper.

The room was thick with the scent of blood now, mingling with the lingering traces of lemon and sweat. The sheets beneath them were soaked through, stained dark with crimson, and Rody’s own body was smeared with Vincent’s blood, his skin slick and shining in the dim light.

Rody lifted his head, staring down at Vincent, his chest heaving with exertion, his lips and chin smeared with blood. Vincent was barely moving now, his breaths shallow and uneven, his body limp and unresponsive. The once vibrant, sharp-eyed man who had captivated Rody so completely was now reduced to this—a broken, bleeding figure beneath him, utterly at his mercy.

But even as Rody gazed down at him, the hunger still gnawed at him, demanding more. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Rody leaned down once more, his lips hovering over Vincent’s throat. His teeth grazed the delicate skin, tasting the salt of sweat, the faint lingering traces of blood. He could feel the weak flutter of Vincent’s pulse beneath his mouth, so fragile, so close to stopping.

And then, with a soft, almost tender motion, Rody bit down.

This time, he didn’t stop.

The moment Rody’s teeth sank into Vincent’s throat, the world around him blurred into nothing but sensation. His jaw clenched, sinking deeper, and he felt the sharp resistance of muscle and sinew before it gave way. The blood spilled hot and fast, flooding his mouth, filling his throat with a sickly-sweet tang that sent shivers through his body. He groaned against Vincent’s skin, unable to control the surge of pleasure that overtook him.

Vincent’s body convulsed beneath him, a final, involuntary spasm as his life ebbed away. His hands, which had once weakly gripped the sheets in protest, fell limp at his sides. The faint flutter of his pulse, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest—all of it ceased. There was only the stillness, the silence broken by Rody’s labored breathing and the slow drip of blood pooling onto the bed.

For a brief moment, Rody froze, the realization of what he had done flickering at the edges of his consciousness. He lifted his head, staring down at Vincent’s lifeless form, his own breath hitching in his throat. Vincent’s skin was pallid, blood still seeping from the brutal wounds Rody had inflicted, his body impossibly still.

Rody wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing it across his face. He tried to tell himself that it was love—this insatiable need, this violent hunger that had driven him to this moment. But as he stared down at Vincent’s lifeless body, he couldn’t shake the gnawing, sickening realization that love had nothing to do with it.

It had been something else entirely. Something darker, more twisted, buried deep inside him. He had loved Vincent, yes—but he had wanted more than love. He had wanted to consume him, to possess him in a way that went beyond mere desire. And now, staring at Vincent’s bloodied corpse, he had taken that possession to its most final and terrible conclusion.

For a long moment, Rody couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His hands shook, his chest tightening with the remnants of exhilaration still warring with a creeping sense of dread.

What had he done?

But as the silence stretched on, that dread began to fade, swallowed by the echo of his own hunger, now dulled but not gone. He couldn’t regret it. Not fully. The taste of Vincent’s blood still lingered on his tongue, intoxicating and primal, and part of him—most of him—wanted more. He could feel the addiction settling deep in his bones.

He leaned back, his body shaking as the adrenaline finally began to ebb. He wiped his mouth again, staring down at his bloodstained hands, his heart pounding in his chest. Vincent’s stillness was unnerving now, the finality of his death sinking in. There was no going back.

But Rody didn’t want to go back. This was what he had wanted all along, wasn’t it? This dark, all-consuming need to take Vincent entirely, to make him his in every possible way. He had tasted Vincent, devoured him in ways no one else ever could. In his mind, that made Vincent a part of him—forever.

He climbed off the bed, standing on unsteady legs as he took in the scene before him. Blood soaked the sheets, pooled on the floor, and Vincent lay motionless in the center of it all, his face peaceful in death. Rody’s gaze lingered on him, a mixture of reverence and satisfaction swirling in his chest.

With a deep breath, Rody stepped back, his mind already working to rationalize what he had done. Vincent had been his. His to love, his to taste, his to devour. No one else would ever come close to understanding that connection. No one else would ever have Vincent the way Rody did.

As he moved toward the door, leaving behind the carnage, Rody couldn’t help but smile—a twisted, satisfied smile that tugged at the corners of his bloodstained lips. He had tasted perfection, and now, nothing else would ever compare.

He had taken all of Vincent, and he would never be the same again.