The freezer was, well, fucking freezing. How Rody had managed to muster up enough energy to even move that flour or saw those bones and shove them into the fan was a mystery to him too. But he had, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. some higher power had been looking over him today, and he had gotten more luck than he ever has in all his pitiful years of being on this Earth.
He cringed as the loudness of the crashing glass rang like nails on a chalkboard through his ears, and tried his best not to get any glass embedded in the plains of his shaking arm, but really any patience he had had previously to stay cautious was all but null after he moment he found himself tied up in rope, laid on the floor of the freezer to, well, freeze.
No, now he was going as fast as he could to get the fuck out of here and back to his small, but much /safer/ apartment. And maybe move to somewhere a bit further away from here too, just to be safe. It wouldn't have to be too big a place. Not like he was going to ever have anyone over anymore, since... Since Manon...
Fuck. No. He could think about Manon later. Right now, he had to continue evading her killer and prevent himself facing the same fate as she had.
He had to live for her; for his beloved Manon.
She wouldn't do the same for him, but... But she still cared. she had cared for him too. Maybe not shown it as much, or ever really talked about it much, but, she still... she still cared. He knew she did.
His fingers finally caught on the handle, and as he was about to twist it to open the door he stopped. Rody looked back at the trashcan. He walked back to it, stooping down. Vincent the /monster/ hadn't moved the locket. It still lay there, glittering like treasure under the humming glow of the freezer lights. Rody lent down a shaking hand, picking up the locket by its think golden chain. The loops ran along his cold-wrinkled skin, ice crystalised along the metal.
A wet drop fell on to the mangled picture of Manon. Its warmth melted off a layer of the frost layered over the image. Rody didn't even realise he had been crying this whole time.
Breathing in deeply, he steadied himself, locket still clasped tightly in his trembling hand. He needed to be brave. For Manon.
He walked briskly back to the freezer door, fiddling again with he lock on the other side before it clicked and the door creaked open. Rody tiptoed through, not making a single sound. The bistro was uncomfortably silent, like it had been a couple days ago when he had first stayed late. He remembered that picture he had found in Vincent's bin. The love letters, too. All signed 'M'.
He can't bare to think what Vincent must have done to seduce and trick his beloved Manon into doing those things.
And the sounds. Those odd...squelchy...sawing...
Oh. Fuck.
Fuck.
/Fuck/.
Rody gagged. All he could taste was bile. Those sounds... Those were...
"Manon-" he could barely squeak out, before he is forced to resume his dry hacking and retching. That had been Vincent, slicing and dicing and sawing his beloved girlfriend into little cuts of /meat/, for him to cook and serve like it was just a slab of spare ribs of some shit.
Diabolical.
Fucking evil.
Rody's fists clenched.
He continued his way around the eerily empty bistro, first trying the (unfortunately, locked) back door, before trying the (also, frustratingly, locked) front entrance. There was no other exit or entry, and the vents would make too much noise for him to even entertain the idea of trying to clambour into them. That, and he was too short to actually, you know, reach them.
There wasn't anywhere to hide, either. Camping out under a table or chair would do nothing; you could see everything under them. The windows were locked tightly shut, no curtains to hide behind, no pillars, no nothing. He was really and truly fucked.
He made his way quietly back to the kitchen, silently praying to any and all higher powers that Vincent /wasn't/ waiting like a lion for its prey in there.
Thankfully, his prayers seemed to be answered as when he slowly made his way in there was no sign of any cannibalistic murderer in sight.
Phew.
All there was was one plate.
A 'dead plate', he remembered Vincent calling it.
Rody walked over to get a look at it. Maybe be could use the plate to bash Vincent's head in, or something.
It was grilled hanger steak.
A door slammed open.
Their eyes met, stuck on each other for a good 10 seconds.
Rody suddenly realised he was not ready to fist this guy up.
He was not ready to stab this dude with his own knives.
He was not ready to get revenge for Manon.
He was ready to buckle his knees, fall to his please and beg Vincent for mercy. Or pity. Or even a painless death?
Vincent's already pale face was drained of the little colour it had had, and his expression was nothing short of horrified.
Oh, but of course, his next meal had scuttled away, of course he'd be annoyed. Can't have your 'fresh meat' running away, now, can you?
"I-"
"..."
Rody felt the biggest droplet of sweat known to man and beyond make its way down his face.
"..."
" ... "
"H-hey, maybe we can- can talk about this..." Rody tried to start sprouting what he knew was utter bullshit. 'Talk this out' his ass. There was no way he was getting out of this shit ali-
Vince moved. Like a fucking cheetah or some shit he came flying across the kitchen at Rody, who did /not/ scream like a wailing banshee.
"-wait, d- DON'T COME ANY CLOSER-"
It was much too late to do anything. Rody had never had fast reaction times or reflexes, so all he could do was stumble back into the metal counter behind him, toppling the stupid steak over into the sink as the predator made his pounce atop his shaking prey.
Rody readied himself for the slice of the knife across his throat, slitting the jugular and gushing with blood; for the gash across his chest, gutting him open like a fish and pulling all the little bits out; for the deep stab into his chest, puncturing his heart and draining him dry of blood as the organ let out its last few pathetic beats.
Nothing came. No slice or stab or gash of pain. No warm flow of sticky, metallic blood. No knife, no gun, no bludgeoning bat.
Nothing.
What did come, however, and which nearly shot Rody's soul out of his body to heaven and all the way back was a warm, definite pair of cool lips slotting against his own trembling ones. They steadied his, pulling them into a rhythm like a little dance of lip on lip. They ran over each other, the intruding pair soft and slow at first.
Rody flinched when he felt an icy cold pair of hands snake their way up his neck and to nestle their way into the back of his tousled hair, but he quickly found the concentrated chill comfortable, almost arousing.
Rody didn't know what was going through his head at a mile a minute when he started kissing /back/, but whatever it was it was mad. Crazy. Delusional, for telling his body /'yes, kiss back to the deranged man who murdered, butchered, and cooked your beloved Manon'/.
But he kissed back and, /fuck/, if it wasn't heaven.
He gasped when he felt the hands in his hair tighten the minute he began moving his own lips against Vincent's. The man took that golden opportunity to shove Rody's face even closer to his, smashing their lips together as the kiss began hastily morphing from soft and seducing to hot and fast.
Rody signed as he felt Vince's cool tongue lick across his closed lips, and he parted them to allow the man entry. It was almost like having an ice cube in your mouth, accept it was slick and set and exploring every cavern of your mouth roughly and with force.
Vince licked and sucked and /bit/, and Rody would be lying if he said it was nothing like how he imagined the man would kiss beacuse, /yes, he has thought about that a lot more than he would care to admit/.
Rody would never admit aloud how much blood shoot instantly to his groin when Vince began /ngawwing and biting/ at his kiss-swollen lips and tongue. His teeth were weirdly sharp and they felt delicious as they sank with no hold-back into the plump flesh of Rody's lips. He could taste the iron that began seeking from where Vince's teeth had been attacking, and wrapped his arms around the man's neck when he heard him audibly gasp and try to pull away.
It was too addicting to let go now; not after he had just gotten his first taste.
Rody opened his lips wider, sinking his own hot tongue into the entrance of Vince's mouth, beginning to map on every inch of it before Vince blocked him with his icy tongue. They not battle for control, spit and saliva slobbering all over.
Vince removed his hands from their tight grip in red hair to shove Rody down the cupboard he was up against and on to the floor, where he clambered down to too, manoeuvring his way on top of Rody's heated lap.
Rody guided him on, embracing the man rather than shoving his away.
Which is what he /knew/ he should be doing; he should be pushing this disgusting thing off of him, out of his mouth; he should be hitting him and beating him and fucking him up so he feels even a sliver of the pain he caused Manon.
But he's not. He's kissing back, and guiding him on to his lap, and /enjoying/ it.
He's enjoying it and he hates that he is but he just cant.get.enough.
He's like a man stuck in the desert, and Vince is the first oasis he's seen in weeks.
He feels so fucking mad at Vincent for just existing, but he can't stop because he fucking /loves/ it; ducking loves the taste of him.
It never felt this way with Manon.
Notes:
*Rody the moment he looks into Vince's eyes*: "it was at this moment that he knew, he. was. fucked."
I'll do a smut chapter 2 if anyone wants
Votes and Comments boost my 3am writing inspo and serotonin <3
Thunk yous