blood & devotion | part two
description: you thought the evening would be harmless—a simple date, a glass of wine. but rudy has a way of leaving an impression, and the night takes an unexpected turn. passion and secrets intertwine, drawing you deeper into rudy's world. unknown to you, darkness lies beneath the surface, and you are left with more questions than answers.
chapter cw: brian moser x f!reader, brian as rudy, drinking, nsfw content, drinking, manipulation, implied violence, canon type violence, mature themes.
part one | part two | part three
please do not steal or copy my work in any way. copyright © icetruckprincess 2025. all rights reserved.
you stood before the mirror, adjusting your hair for the third time. your hands were trembling, but it wasn't nerves— it was the anticipation. after days of second-guessing whether this whole date was really a good idea, rudy kept resurfacing your thoughts. brief as your time with him had been, rudy had left a mark that you couldn't shake.
so there you were, swiping on lipstick with careful hands, whispering to yourself that it was just a harmless evening. a glass of wine, nothing dangerous, nothing serious. but deep down you knew it was a lie.
the restaurant rudy chose was dimly it, intimate. the kind of place where people told secrets and fell too quickly into each other’s arms. shadows danced along the wall, stretching tall. jazz murmured from hidden speakers, wrapping around your shoulders like silk.
rudy looked breathtaking under the low lights, his green eyes always catching you with that same intensity that left you breathless at the hospital. he wore a crimson button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms again, revealing his strong wrists and careful hands. he smelled of cedar and musk—warm and dark.
you sipped a dark red wine that tasted like velvet and listened to him talk, his voice low, “well i studied in paris for bit. studied prosthetics, and then ended up here in miami after.”
you blinked, caught off guard, “paris, wow. i’ve never been.”
he smiled, “ it wasn’t just school” he started, mouth tugging into a quiet smile. “i needed distance. there’s peace in being somewhere no one knows your name.”
the way he said it made your skin prickle. distance from what? it was too early to pry, but it didn't mean that you weren't curious.
“or where you came from?” you asked softly.
the space between you two seemed to narrow in the silence, as it always did. the jass hummed low, like a heartbeat underneath the table. his eyes caught yours again, searching, and then dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting back.
“prosthehics... it’s oddly intimate work, “ he murmured, directed to you.
your gaze drifted to his hand as he circled the rim of his glass with a fingertip, slow and deliberate. it was impossible not to watch.
"the mechanics of movement are beautiful,” he continued voice softer now, laced with awe. “tendons, joints,—the architecture of it all. we’re built so precisely, and yet… it’s only when something is missing that we understand the elegance.”
the way he said missing, like it was both a tragedy and a fascination pulled at your heart unexpectedly. tony flashed in your mind—his absence.
and rudy, almost as if he sensed it, reached for your hand.
his palm was warm as it closed over yours, slow and gentle. his thumb began to trace over your skin, like he was smoothing out the ache in you.
you parted your lips gently, startled by the tenderness of the gesture.
“im sorry,” he said, voice low and remorseful. “i shouldnt have, i know—"
“no.” you interrupted quickly, the words tumbling out. you didn’t want to lose the chance where he seemed to be opening up to you. “please keep going.”
he hesitated, his thumb stilling over your hand. you leaned in just slightly, eyes pleading, “i want to hear more. about you.”
his expression shifted—just for a second. a flicker of surprise, or softness. then something darker and deeper passed into a twitch of a smile.
“the body tells a story,” he said, holding your gaze. “sometimes more in it’s absence than in its presence."
your breath caught. you felt pinned in place, not by fear, but by something else. you couldn’t look away, “you make it sound almost… intimate.”
he titled his head, amused, eyes bright. “it is. you spend hours with a single limb. you start to know it in ways it's owner never did. the slope of it. the weight. the things it once could do. it's like learning someone by what they've left behind.”
you stared at him, eyes wide. still holding his gaze, still in his spell.
hushed you replied, “you talk about it like it’s art.”
he smiled wistfully, “sometimes it is.”
his thumb swept over your hands again, just once, before he slowly let it go. you almost reached after him, fingers twitching, but you stopped yourself.
you looked away and breathed out the air you forgotten you were holding. you took another sip from your glass, your lips tremebling slightly.
his eyes didn’t leave you. he was waiting for your reaction. so you obliged.
“youre not what i expected,” you said the words barely louder than the music.
“no?” he asked, lips tugging.
“not at all. i thought you’d be…simpler. someone who talks fast and leaves faster.” you said it with a light laugh, but you meant it. no one ever lingerd like this. looked like this. not at you.
no one connected to you like this. the way he described his job so poetically mimicked the way you felt about drawing.
he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “i guess i disappoint.”
you smirked, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks. “not yet.”
the night stretched on—rich and dangerously. conversation flowed but always with the undercurrent of something unspoken. he listened to you attentively, as if memorizing every detail you shared. his eyes kept returning to your hands when you gestured or to the line of your legs in the candlelight.
but your instincts—the ones that whispered this was all too perfect, were drowned out now, soothed under the weight of wine and the gravity of him. the way he made you feel seen.
your laugh came easier the more he spoke. your posture softened, you heart beat faster, and it was not just because of the wine.
and so when he asked to take you home, you didn’t hesitate. you said yes.
the ride to your apartment was blur. the air between you both had grown thick with tension, heat and desire. he even walked you to your apartment door. streetlights hummed above you two. a breeze teased your hair across your cheeks.
“thank you," you said as you stopped in front of the door. “i didn't expect to enjoy tonight this much.”
“i did,” he murmured, stepping closer. “from the moment i saw you in the hospital, i knew.”
before you could ask what he meant, his mouth found yours. your back hit the wall gently, as he covered your head so it wouldn't hit the door.
you broke away first, feeling a whirlwind, but whispered, “come inside.”
your apartment felt different with him in it like the air had shifted. you turned on a lamp by the couch, casting everything in a soft amber light. it wasn’t loud, but quiet, the hum of the city outside was your only witness.
you turned to him, heart in your throat, and found him watching you, like something he couldn’t believe was real.
rudy stepped in close, and you didn’t move away.
he tilted his head, asking for permission without even saying a word. you nodded almost eagerly, jolting when you felt his hand find it’s way to your back.
“you sure?” he asked, voice careful.
“yes” you whispered. no hesitation. just want.
he exhaled, something like surrender. he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to stop him. but you didn’t. you met him halfway.
his mouth was warm and precise. not greedy, nor urgent. he kissed you as if he was trying to understand you—his lips brushing yours softly as first, then deeper. his hands went to your hips, sliding around you with the same devotion he spoke about with prosthetics. as if you were something he needed to know by touch alone.
you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. you felt his chest against yours, his breath hitching when your lips parted from him. for only a second, as he pulled you back.
his tongue moved with slow control, deliberate like everything else about him. he tasted of wine and something else you couldn't be bothered to think of.
“you’re beautiful,” he said into your neck, his voice so close it sent shivers through your spine.
his hands moved under your shirt, exploring you gently, reverently. you helped him remove it, and he paused to take you in.
his fingers traced over the lined of your ribcage, then over your collarbone, as if mapping you. his eyes were fixed on your body like it was a canvas he studied from afar and now finally had the permission to touch.
you undressed each other slowly, carefully. no rush. no shame. the slow reveal of his skin underneath felt like unwrapping something dangerous and rare. his lean lines of his torso with taut muscle under his tan skin.
but what caught your eye and what stopped your hands as it reached for him, was the tattoo on his upper arm. you couldn't stop looking, it wrapped his arm like a secret that whispered deeper things.
it was simple at first glance: dark ink curling together, wrapping around muscle like it belonged there. but looking closer you saw it was hounds, chasing one another, bound together. you should’ve asked about it, but he kissed you hard before you could even.
when your back hit the bed, you let out a breathless laugh. he followed you down, eyes drinking you in as if you were something holy.
but he didn't rush, he didn't even kiss your lips again. he moved lower.
his lips moved down your neck, to your collarbone, then your chest. he took his time, tracing the curves of your body with his hands and kisses. his mouth was warm, his breath hot. when he reached your stomach, he turned to look up at you.
“you have no idea,” he whispered, his voice like silk, “how perfect you are.”
he kissed the inside of your thigh and you gasped, hips tilting upward on instinct. but he held you down steady, controlled as his hands splayed against your skin as if to ground himself in the feel of you.
and then his mouth was on you.
you cried out, back arching as his tongue moved with deliberate devastating precision. it wasn't just pleasure, it was worship. he licked you up and down, pausing to kiss between each motion, not to tease but to devour you.
“rudy—” you whimpered, hand tangled in his dark curls.
he looked up at you, his pupils wide, lips glistening, and a crooked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“let me make you fall apart in my hands,” he murmured, voice low and tender, "let me take control.”
he returend to your clit with relentess attention, refeusing to stop even as your hips jerked and thighs trembled against his shoulder. you came with a broken cry, shuddering underneath him, your chest rising and falling like a storm had passed through you.
he kissed his way back up your belly, ribs, the swell of your breasts. he left a faint trail of breath and drool across your skin.
“i—i want you. please rudy” you whispered.
he hovered above you in the quiet of the bedroom, the city lights casting a soft glow on him— striping his body in shade and gold. your eyes followed the trail of hair that led from his navel downward, and when he let his briefs fall to the floor, you gasped softly.
he was… beautiful. thick and long, resting heavy against his lower stomach, his desire was visible, unashamed. but there was nothing crude about it.
this was the man who touched you like you were art. who spoke of bodied the way poets spoke of marble. who kissed you like each one was a promise.
and now he was offering himself to you. not demanding, simply waiting. watching your face for an answer.
your thighs parted on instinct, your breath hitched.
and that’s all he needed to hear.
when he entered you, it wasn't with force—it was with care. deep and patient. like he was savoring the moment. a groan caught in his throat and your body stretched around him, full and filled.
he pressed his forehead against yours and in return you wrapped your legs around his waist. every movement was slow and measured. every thrust was like a secret shared in fragments.
“you feel like..” he stared, but couldn’t finish as he moaned.
you kissed him, not needing the words. you felt it too.
there was something electric in the way he looked at you while his cock pushed into you, like he coudln't understand what he was doing, only that he needed it. his hand slid over your cheek, your shoulder, your hip—tracing you again.
he murmured your name unto your skin, like a confession.
his pace quickened and became rougher. he lifted your legs to his shoulders. it hurt a little, but the kind that burned hot, that made you want it more.
“don't stop,” you whispered, “please.”
he continued his pace and he lowered himself down to kiss you like he needed it you breathe. you felt yourself almost coming undone for a second time, wanting it more than ever.
your reached for his hand, and guided it towards your throat. his eyes widened, only for a second, as he understood completely. his fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently and possessively as he pushed deeper, never breaking rhythm.
your eyes fluttered shut.
“no,” he groaned out, voice laced with command, “look at me.”
you opened your eyes immediately and there he was, watching you like you were prey he had chosen. and yet, you didn't feel afraid. you felt like his.
you cried out, begging for more and he obliged.
rudy was in control completely of you, and yet he felt something underneath. your eyes continued to lock with his, and he saw something he hadn’t expected: care. it disarmed him.
you didn’t even know who he was, or what he had done, but looked at him as if he were whole. like he was something worth touching.
your hands reached up, gently touching his jaw, “rudy, please” you whispered on the edge.
and when you came, it was breaking and real—your body shaking under his, as you dug your nails in his back. which only encouraged him to move faster, aching for a release of his own. he followed after, with a low groan into your neck.
but he didn't let go of you. he stayed there, skin to skin, his breath hot on your throat.
you fell asleep like that. wrapped in his arms, your head ending up on his chest. the beat of his heart echoing under your ear like a note to a song.
he lay still, watching you in the hush of the early hours, the city still humming outside the window.
your skin was still warm, breath still soft against his chest. the tension you carried during the night had vanished, melted into the sheets. you were fast asleep. brian stared at the ceiling, jaw tight.
his heart was still beating too fast, but not from exertion, something else. you trusted him. you had looked at him like he was real, like he could be good. gazed at him with your eyes saying he deserved to be touched.
he turned his head slightly, just enough to look at your face in the half light. your lashes lay dark against your cheek, your lips parted. still flushed from earlier, you looked soft, unprotected.
it was perfect. he could kill you right now. it was so easy. you were already his, and you had given yourself.
his fingers hovered above your throat. this was the plan. he always had a plan, and it always ended the same way. he could squeeze the air out of your neck just like he did before, but with more force, watch you struggle to breathe, losing the light out of your eyes. he reached for it, his fingers grazing your neck—but then stopped.
your hand shifted in your sleep, reaching for him instinctively. his hand didn’t move.
his heart stuttered. his chest twisted in a way that didn't make sense- burning and wrong. it was a feeling brian didn't have a word for. but it felt nostalgic and distant.
your breath was steady. the same breath that had gasped his name hours earlier, the same breath that trusted him with the closeness no one else had earned.
he clenched his jaw, trying to avoid whatever this was. he inhaled sharply through his nose and peeled himself away from you. careful not to wake you.
he stood at the edge of your bed, watching you, as he dressed in silence.
he moved towards to couch, sitting in the dark, hands trembling. he had never hesitated before. never once. his eyes lingered on your form under the covers once more, your arm stretched out from where it had reached for him in sleep.
he couldn't kill you, not tonight.
you were too close to knowing him. too close to making him feel like he could be known. and that was dangerous for you. for him.
so he left without a sign. no note, no message. no fingerprint or strand of hair for you to remember him by. he closed the door behind him with the sound of a whisper, and slipped out of your apartment like a shadow.
he would kill from afar, he decided. let the obsession fade. cut the attachment surgically, let it rot like a limb.
but just not tonight. not after the way you looked at him. not after the way you held him.
and not with that indescribable feeling still in his chest—warm and terrible.
a/n: i hope you guys like this one hehe.. im so awkward when it comes to writing intimate scenes lol. also i think this will be more than three parts mehhehe. enjoyyyy!
