Not Going Anywhere (Grimm)

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Pudding (Grimm)

Rating: T
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Words: 790
Tags/Warnings: Brief sexual innuendo
*inspired by my headcanon that Mornoe loves pudding.
**I don't own Grimm
-----

Monroe had made a too-fancy dinner, bought expensive wine, and even lit candles – that was the first time he fed Nick. Nick was the one to suggest dinner. Monroe had been excited that he’d get to spend some non-grimm time with his friend. He was wrong – Nick brought up geiers and asked about human organs. Of course, Monroe got way too in depth and started talking about testicles and wesen-enhancement of the sexual nature. Even before that, Monroe had chided him for not knowing what his favorite color was. What an ass, he thought. Dinner ended with them finishing the wine and Nick going home. Monroe was left in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, wondering why he couldn’t just be normal.

The second time Monroe fed Nick, they were eating croissants and drinking coffee in the park. Of course Nick had to mention the irony of them going for a walk in an off-leash dog park. Monroe growled, totally not amused – he let it go, though. Nick got a call from Hank, informing him of a new lead, and Monroe snuck the last croissant from the bag. Nick actually did apologize for having to leave. Monroe was left in the park, sitting alone on the bench with his coffee.

Monroe made Nick with a homemade pizza for his birthday – that’s the third time Monroe fed Nick. Nick was genuinely surprised, he never really celebrated his birthday. Monroe had also gotten him a gift – a few sketch books, those fancy art pencils, and some other miscellaneous art supplies to help add his own touch to the grimm books. They demolished the entire pizza, a six pack of Guinness, and a good portion of the chocolate cake Monroe also made. For the first time in too-many years, Nick had had a perfect birthday.

The next time Monroe fed Nick, it was Chinese take-out after burying a few reapers. It was a celebratory dinner of sorts for them. They’d sent the heads of two reapers back to their HQ. By now they had become really close, and Monroe didn’t even mind when Nick reached over and stole some veggie lo mein right form his container. Monroe just tossed a fortune cookie at his friend, hitting him in the cheek. Nick furrowed his brow, but unwrapped and ate the treat. He read his fortune: expect a surprise from someone you love.

The fifth time Monroe fed Nick, it was Christmas dinner. Monroe hadn’t had a family dinner in years – since he’d reformed. With Aunt Marie gone, Nick didn’t have anyone to have a holiday dinner with. Monroe invited him over, and he gladly accepted. They didn’t have a traditional Christmas ham, instead they had vegan salmon. Nick actually didn’t mind – Monroe was a great cook and dinner was delicious. They even exchanged gifts. Nick bought Monroe a new watch and a few books he had his eye on. Monroe, of course, bought Nick more art supplies. Nick had taken to painting lately even sold a few – one to Monroe who hung his over the fire place. They ended the night with eggnog and cookies.

There was one time when Nick tried to feed Monroe. It was a disaster to say the least. Monroe was knocking on the door about the same time Nick was running for the mop. He ran passed the door, opened it, and kept running. Nick had tried to make ravioli, but the pot boiled over. He was so worried about cleaning up the water that he hadn’t noticed the burn on his hand. Monroe helped him clean-up and even bandaged his hand. By the time they returned to the kitchen, Nick decided to give up on dinner and they ordered a pizza. Nick was upset, all he wanted was to treat his friend to a nice dinner, and he’d messed it up. As they were eating the pizza, Nick jumped off the sofa, remembering one part of dinner he hadn’t messed up – the pie. He comes back into the living room, pie in one hand, plates, forks, and a knife in the other.

“I forgot – I made pudding pie!”

“I love pudding!” Monroe’s eyes were as big as his face. He wouldn’t admit it, but you could bribe him to do anything with pudding.

As Nick was walking to the sofa, he tripped over the area rug. He fell onto the sofa and dropped the pie in his lap. Way to go, real smooth, he thought. He tossed the plates and silverware onto the coffee table and sighed.

Monroe reached over, and scooped up some of the pudding from Nick’s lap with his finger. Nick just stared at him as he sucked his finger clean.

“I told you I loved pudding.”

Whiskey and a Private Show (Grimm)

Rating: M
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Words: 1937
Tags: A/U, Sexual Content
*Inspired by two friends from tumblr
**I don't own Grimm
-----

 I rode down the path deep into the woods that sat on the edge of town. I saw the little shack I was searching for and hopped off my horse. I looped Maggie’s reins around a slender tree next to the deputy’s horse, Sugar. I approached the house cautiously; word was there were a few skalengecks inside brewing moonshine. When I got to the door I poked my head in; deputy already had them cuffed and ready to go. I holstered my weapon and walked inside.

                “Deputy Griffin.” I nodded.

                “Sheriff Burkhardt.”

                “What do we have here?”

                “Couple guys brewin’ some moonshine.”

                I shook my head at the two men. “Thought you two would know better – that’s three strikes. Let’s take ‘em in, Deputy.”

                We rode back into town to the sheriff’s station and locked away our two outlaws. We decided to let them sit there while we figured out what we’d do with them. Hank and I walked down to the saloon to grab a couple ales. There was a cute little blonde – who Hank eyed-up every time we came in – working the counter.

                “Hey there, Deputy Griffin.” She smiled at him.

                “I told you Miss Adalind, you can call me Hank.”

                She blushed and fetched us both an ale. There was something about her that hit a nerve, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I drank my ale and focused on the music coming from the other side of the saloon. There was a man playing the cello – he was there most nights. I don’t know much about music, but I reckon he’s pretty good. He was also a handyman around town. Name was…Monroe. He’d come in a time or two to fix the cell doors. Someone sat down next to me – it was the town vet.

                “Hey there, Sheriff Burkhardt.”

                “Hello, Miss Juliette. You mind comin’ by tomorrow afternoon and takin’ a look at Maggie’s back hoof? Think she stepped on something today.”

                “Not a problem.” She smiled.

                Word was she fancied me a bit. She was nice enough and beautiful, too, but she just didn’t do it for me. My attention went back to the cello player. He looked up and smiled at me. I felt my cheeks heat up. I cleared my throat and excused myself – said I was calling it an early night.

                I strolled down to my house and welcomed the silence. It was a small place – no need for anything bigger. I kicked off my boots and hung my hat on a hook. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and let them rest in a heap on the floor of the bedroom. I pulled on some cotton pants and an undershirt. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and settled in for the night. I was half asleep when there was a knock on the door.

                “Good evening, Sheriff. Hope you don’t mind me stoppin’ by.”

                It was the cello player from the saloon.

                “Um, no, not at all…Mr. Monroe, was it?”

                “Just Monroe, sir.”

                “Sir was my father, please call me Nick.” I extended a hand to him; he gave it a firm shake. “Drink?”

                “Thank you.”

                I handed him a glass of whiskey and poured myself another. I invited him to sit down. We were a bit close on the small sofa. I didn’t mind, though. I could smell him – musk, wood, smoke, and just a hint of cinnamon. I finally got a closer look at him, too. He had this ruggedly handsome thing going on. Bright chocolate-colored eyes looked back at me. I wondered what his beard would feel like against my skin. Stop – the sheriff can be fancying the handyman.

                “If you, uh, don’t mind me asking, Monroe, why’d you come over here? Don’t you have a wife to get home to?”

                “No, sir…uh, Nick. I just…wanted to know how those cell doors are holdin’ up.”

                “They’re holdin’ up just fine. Think our roof might need some fixin,’ though.”

                He nodded. “I can come by day after tomorrow.”

                “Great. Are you playin’ tomorrow night?”

                “Sure am.”

                “Can I ask you something?”

                “Course.”

                “Saloon pay you well?”

                “Enough to keep some food on the table.”

                “Good.”

                “Night, sheriff.”

                I watched him walk out the door. That was weird…but not unwelcome. I made a note to talk to the saloon owner – Mr. Renard – about giving Monroe a little raise. He was much too good to be getting paid enough.

I crawled into my big empty bed and laid there thinking about how nice it’d be to share the space with someone…perhaps a tall, flannel-clad, cello-playing handyman. Yeah, that’d be real nice. Someone to keep warm with on those cold December nights that were coming up. Someone to come home to. Monroe crept his way into my dreams all night long.

XXX

                I got to the saloon early – wanted to make sure I got a nice seat to watch Monroe play from. He was chatting some guy; I could just make out what they were saying.

                “Why’s he wear so much red?”

                “I don’t know, Hap. Maybe he likes it.”

                “Well, I heard his clothes are stained with the blood of the outlaws he’s killed.”

                I had to stifle a laugh. Oh lordy, that friend of his wasn’t too bright. Good guy though – never had him in the station. I turned my head just enough to see them. A petite brunette walked up to them.

                “Hey there, Butch, Sundance.” She nodded to them.

                Monroe frowned, but the other man – Hap – smiled.

                “Hello, Miss Rosalee.”

                She smiled at Hap and walked over near where I was sitting. I turned my attention to my ale.

                “Sheriff Burkhardt,” she greeted me.

                “Ma’am.”

                “Rosalee Calvert. In town visiting some old friends.” She nodded to where the two men sat.

                “Nice to meet ya.” I tipped my hat.

                “I saw you eyeing-up Monroe.”

                “What?” I could feel that damned blush heading to my cheeks again.

                “Don’t worry: I won’t tell anyone. You should say something to him, though.” Her voice was soft, quiet.

                “Sheriff can’t be chasing the handyman around.”

                “It’s not a chase if he wants to be caught.” She flashed a smug smile. “Night, Sheriff.”

                I watched her leave the saloon. When I looked back to Monroe, our eyes met and he quickly turned away. I sighed. That woman was friends with him, so she had to be right. But what if she isn’t? Maybe I’ll say something after he they’re through playing for the evening.

XXX

                He was walking down the road when I caught up to him. He was kicking a stone along the way, looking less than thrilled.

                “Hey, Monroe, wait up!”

                He stopped and turned around. I saw why he seemed down – there was a bruise starting to darken around his eye.

                “What happened to you?”

                “Don’t worry about it, Sheriff.”

                I stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away, turned, and started walking. I frowned and followed him.

                “Monroe, seriously. What happened?”

                “There was a fight – a really quick one – behind the saloon.” He kept walking as he talked. “Guy came up, hit me, and that was that.”

                “Why’d he do it?”

                He just shrugged.

                I stepped in front of him and he stopped. “I know what you are.”

                He furrowed his brow. “Um…”

                “You’re a blutbad.”

                He looked at me, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

                “I’m a Grimm.”

                “A sheriff and a Grimm? That legal?”

                I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna kill ya. I like you.”

                “Oh.”

                “You like to come over for a drink?”

                “Uh, sure.”

XXX

                “You want some ice or somethin’ for that eye?”

                “Nah, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

                “You seem real nice, can’t imagine why anyone would wanna hit you.” I poured whiskey into two glasses and handed one to him.

                He shrugged. “Just some fuchsbau that don’t like what I am.”

                “There some fuchsbau-blutbad rivaly I don’t know about? Kinda new to the Grimm thing.”

                “Not exactly.”

                I raised a questioning eye brow but he didn’t go on; I didn’t push it any further. “You play cards?”

                “From time to time.”

                “Wanna play a game of poker?”

                “Stakes?”

                “If I win…I get a private show. If you win…what do you want?”

                “Um…drinks are on you tomorrow night.”

                “Deal.”

XXX

                “Aces beat Jacks.”

                “You win. Let me get my cello.”

                He stood up and stepped towards the door where his cello case sat. I got up and grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

                “That’s not the, uh, kind of private show I wanted.”

                I stood up on my toes – he was a good five or so inches taller – and pressed my lips to his. I pulled away and looked up at him, hoping I didn’t make a mistake.

                “That’s why he hit me.”

                I thought for a second. Oh.

                “Well that’s the first and last time. The sheriff won’t have that petty hoopla in his town.”

                He smiled and then leaned to capture my lips. I fisted my hands in flannel shirt and pulled him closer. Our bodies were pressed together; my arms wrapped around his neck, his worked their way around my waist. I took a step back, pulling him towards the bedroom; he got the idea. I bent a little and picked me up; I wrapped my legs around his waist. We pulled away just long enough to shed our clothes and then we were back on each other. He pushed me back on to the bed. I could see the hunger in his eyes – they flashed red. We wrestled for control; I eventually gave in and let him pin me. He laid between my legs, our hips pressed firmly against each other. His fingers were wrapped around my wrists which laid on either side of my head.

                His lips moved over my jaw and down my neck. He nipped at my collar bones and I couldn’t quite stifle my moans. ­I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. He loosened his grip on my wrists and I moved my hands to his chest, caressing bare skin.

                “So you’re a handyman and a cello player…what else can those hands do?”

                “I’ll show you.”

                He moved his hand down my body and wrapped his fingers around my very hard dick. The touch of his hand made me tremble. He sped up the pace of his strokes and my body writhed under his. He nipped at the sensitive spot right below my jaw and it drove me wild. There was enough coherent thought left in my mind to reach my hand down and return the favor. He moaned, though it was more of a growl. His mouth found mine and our tongues began to dance.

                I moaned his name as I came, my hips bucking up towards him. I kept my hand going as fast as I could, though the strokes became sporadic. He sank his teeth into my shoulder as he came. Oh god, it felt so good. He rolled off of me and I used the corner of the bed sheet to clean off my hand and stomach. I tucked myself to his side and threw an arm over his chest.

                We just laid in bed for a while, stealing kisses. I ran my fingers over his chest, drawing small circles and random patterns. It was nice, lying in bed with someone – I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d gotten. Apparently being with the sheriff wasn’t very appealing.

                “Guess I should’ve asked for a private show sooner.”

I Can be What You Need (Grimm)

Rating: M
Pairing: Hank/Juliette
Words: 902
Tags: Cheating, Sexual Content
*For my friend Bri
**I don't own Grimm
-----

He had just gotten in his car when his cell started to ring. The ID read Nick (home).

                “Hey, man, what’s up?”

                “Hey, Hank…it’s Juliette.”

                “Oh, hey. Everything ok?”

                “I just wanted to know if Nick was with you.”

                “He’s not – he left about an hour ago. Didn’t say where he was going, but I figured he was going home. Guess not.”

                “Nope.” She sighed. “You hungry, Hank?”

                “Starving.”

XXX

                She greeted him with a hug, just as she always had. They’d known each other for a while – since she and Nick started dating – and she’d always been fond of him, considered him a friend. He followed her to the table and sat down as she poured two glasses of wine. The table was already set, waiting for a guest that would always be too late.

                “So what’s going on, Jules?” He’d called her that for the last two years – since the first time Nick landed in the hospital. Hank had been there to comfort her that first time and every time since.

                “I’ve eaten dinner alone every night this week.” She stared down at her plate, almost embarrassed.

                “I had no idea.” He shook his head, having a hard time believing his best friend and partner could be like that. Hank had always thought of Nick and Juliette as the perfect couple – a couple that he hoped he could be like through all four failed marriages. He had no idea where Nick could be, what he was doing, or who he was with. It made him angry.

                They finished dinner, chatting about anything that would keep her mind off the situation. She told him about the dog with a broken leg that she set earlier that day and the little boy who hugged her in thanks. She brought them dessert in between talking about cats and football. Juliette had grown up very close to her father, who taught her about the game, and still called him every Sunday night after a game.

                After dessert, Hank helped Juliette with the dishes – he washed, she dried them and put them away. They found their way to the sofa and tuned into a Redskins game. When halftime came around she was curled up next to him, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table – she had a text from Nick. Caught a lead. Not sure when I’ll be home.

                “Nick?”

                “Yeah.” She tossed her phone back on the table and tried not to think about him.

                They stayed on the couch, snuggled together, for the remainder of the game. The 42-14 score in favor of the Redskins curled her lips into a hint of a smile. She turned off the tv and sat up. Their faces were close and getting closer until their lips met. The kiss was needy and desperate with the tiniest hint of desire. She leaned back, pulling him with her, until she lay on the sofa staring up at him. Hands tugged at clothes and soon it was skin-on-skin. Lips met, tongues danced, hands explored new territory. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. She needed to be touched, needed to be close to someone, needed to be loved. And right now, Hank was what she needed.

                “Hank…” She looked up at him in a heavy-lidded gaze. “I need you.”

                He gave her exactly what she needed; he’d been doing it longer than either of them realized – years. Their lips met again, hungry and desperate for intimacy. It wasn’t long before he was thrusting into her, moans and cries of passion filling the room. Her nails scraped down his back; she cried out his name. His thrusts sped up and they were both practically panting. He brushed a piece of hair from her face and kissed her. She cried out, her orgasm hitting her hard and fast. He wasn’t far behind, moaning her name as he came.

                They laid on the sofa together, wrapped in each other’s arms. He kissed her neck and she let out a soft coo. She should probably feel guilty, but she doesn’t. She should feel scared that Nick could walk in any minute and find his girlfriend and best friend, naked on the sofa, tangled together. She didn’t. She did feel bad, a little. It probably was a mistake, but as Hank stroked her cheek, nothing else mattered. She felt whole, sated, loved.

                “This was probably a mistake,” she whispered, moving her body closer to his, curling to fit snuggly against him.

                “Yeah.” His voice was soft. He tangled his hand in her hair and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “I should probably go.”

                She nodded, but neither of them moved. Eventually they shuffled around, pulling clothes back on. She walked him to the door and he stole one last kiss. She peered out the window, watching his taillights disappear down the road. She leaned back against the door as a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

                She wouldn’t tell Nick and neither would Hank. She didn’t know why, but she would stay with Nick. She’d try to make it work. At least until he missed another dinner. Then she’d invite Hank to dinner again. She’d live this lie because it had become her life. But really, they were all living a lie – they just didn’t know it yet.