“Pleeaase,” Nick whined, following Monroe around the kitchen.
“For the twenty-fifth time, Nick; I am not going paintballing with you and your friends,” was Monroe’s answer as he opened and closed cupboards.
Nick had been tailing him around the house for two days trying to convince him to go to the paintball arena. He had stood outside the shower curtain this morning whining and negotiating until Monroe threw him out and locked the door.
“If you can give me one good reason why you don’t want to go, then I’ll drop it.”
“Just one?” Nick gave him a look and Monroe groaned, leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “Fine. It’s expensive, it’s painful, it’s over-rated and to be honest, I’m not up to getting hammered by small balls filled with paint.”
It took restraint for Nick to pass over the ‘small balls’ remark with a straight face, and instead he leaned into Monroe’s crossed arms, flashing his best puppy-dog eyes. His arms looped around the taller mans neck and he toyed the sensitive spot just below Monroe’s hairline.
“I’m paying. It’s only painful if you get hit close up and that’s against the rules anyway. You don’t know if it’s over-rated or not, you’ve never even been paintballing; and I promise to make it up to you big time if you make yourself feel up to it.”
Monroe groaned. Nick’s fingers were massaging his sweet spot and he couldn’t stop himself closing his eyes. He really did not want to kit himself out with helmets and goggles to be tortured by professional cops in an extreme sport setting.
He sighed, wrapping his arms around Nicks waist and looking down at him. “Fine. I’ll go paintballing with you.”
“YES!” Nick hissed, jabbing the air. He leaned in for a kiss; their lips were soft and warm against each other and Monroe’s beard tickled his nose.
“You look good in combat gear,” Nick whispered, following Hank, Wu, Reggie and Lee down the corridor.
Monroe grunted. The tag on his jacket scratched the back of his neck and the leather boots made his heels ache. He would have been happy running around in jeans, but Nick insisted they wear proper gear.
“I’m already warm,” he complained, tugging his t-shirt. “And I’m not comfortable having to wear a safety cup hundreds of other males have used.”
“Trust me; as soon as those paintballs come your way, heat will be the least of your worries. And if you’re that worried about reusable cock cups, we’ll get you an STD test later. ”
“Thanks for the reassurance,” he grumbled.
The paintballing arena was set in a large warehouse. There were a multitude of wooden bunkers, shields and shelters littered around the pitch and on either end were the team flags. Monroe immediately identified a safe place to conceal himself if he got bored.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the games,” Wu announced. “On your left you’ve got the pitch, on your right,” and he pointed to Monroe, “You’ve got a virgin. Initiate him well.” Monroe grimaced. “The aim of the game – capture the opponents flag. Six hits and you’re out. There’s a 30 second pause as soon as you cross the threshold; use it wisely to find a good spot. After that, it’s a free for all.”
“Monroe, Hank and Lee, you’re the red team. Nick, Reggie and I are the blue team. Prepare to be splattered.”
Ten minutes in and Monroe had lightened up to the point of giddy enjoyment. He’d found a decent spot in the middle and took shots as the blue team crossed into his territory. It made sense to him why Nick enjoyed paintball, it really was a Blutbad sport. He could crouch, sneak and claim territory; what more did he need? He had also hit Nick with a paintball in the ass without him realising who it was. The clock buzzed when Hank claimed the blue teams flag, and there was a 5 minute free for all where Monroe sustained a few paintballs to the chest.
“Good game, right?” Monroe chirped, nudging Nick playfully and making him flinch.
Nick grunted, easing himself into the car and letting Monroe steer them home. His legs ached from the boots, he was sweaty and uncomfortable and someone had hit him in the ass with a paintball.
“We should do that again! I can’t believe I wasn’t going to come.”
“Help a guy out?” Nick groaned, pulling himself from the car. Monroe tucked his arm around Nick, supporting him into the house.
“Shower?” he suggested.
Nick agreed and allowed himself to be hauled up the stairs and into the bathroom. The warm water soothed his muscles and washed away the paint that leaked into his gear. He moaned when he touched his ass.
“Bastards,” he mumbled, rubbing it tenderly.
“You say something?”
“Monroe, I’m in bits, man,” he whined. “I got shot in the ass. Have a look. Is it bad?”
“Not at all,” he lied, smirking when Nick couldn’t see him. He kissed Nick’s shoulder, smoothing his wet hair back. “Want me to help?”
Nick nodded, moving over to let him in. “You got a few nasty ones.”
Monroe fingered his chest and rolled his eyes. “I know it was you, Nick. I heard you laughing.” He worked his fingers across his boyfriend’s back, loosening the knots in circular motions. Nick’s moans made him shiver and he could feel his cock rising against Nick’s ass.
“Feels good,” Nick whispered and leaned back. Monroe’s large hands always worked the tension away.
Monroe worked his hands around Nick’s waist, his fingers trailing from his chest, down his hairline and wrapped around Nick’s hard cock. Nick turned his head to kiss him, their tongues sliding together in passion.
Monroe bent him over, nipping at his shoulders and kissing down his spine. He ran a finger around the rim of Nick’s entrance, toying with him until he heard the Grimm whine loudly. He slid a finger in, working it slowly before adding a second and then a third. He bit into Nick’s shoulder, sucking gently; his cock tingled and he could feel the frustration burn within him. He needed Nick now.
“Monroe,” Nick whined, pushing against him. “Don’t tease. Please.”
Monroe obliged, lining himself up and pushing into Nick slowly. He eased himself out, slowly stretching his partner before quickening his pace. Nick’s groans urged him on and he struggled to maintain an even rhythem.
“Hands on the wall!” he growled when Nick reached down to pump his own cock.
He slid the palm of his hand over Nick’s cock, squeezing gently and running his thumb around the sensitive tip. He could feel the pre-cum amongst the water and pumped harder; each time he hit Nick’s sweet spot, he’d pump his cock again.
“Monroe… I’m – ffuuuuck,” Nick whimpered, his knees shaking with each wave of ecstasy.
Monroe grabbed Nick’s hips, pulling them up and beat himself roughly into his partner. He could feel the tension build in his loins, his balls tightened and he threw his head back, groaning as he released his seed deep within Nick. He leaned over Nick, resting his head against his shoulder and breathing deep.
“That was nice,” Nick smiled, leaning around to kiss him.
Monroe grunted in response, closing his eyes and enjoying the last of the sensations. “I shot you in the ass,” he confessed.
“That’s the worse sex pun you’ve ever come up with.”
Monroe smirked. “No really – that bruise, it was me. I shot you in the ass.”
There was a picture on the mantelpiece nestled between two ticking clocks and framed in beautifully polished mahogany. Monroe smiled each time he passed it and often ran a finger along the border as he delved into the memory.
He found her brewing tea; she wore one of his lounging cardigans that hung loosely around her hips, and her hair fell in soft ringlets across her shoulders. He cradled her from behind.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hands sitting comfortably on her hips. She leaned into his chest, resting the back of her head against his broad shoulders.
“I shape up alright,” she smiled over the rim of her cup.
“More than alright,” he told her, kissing the sensitive skin below her ear. She closed her eyes, pushing herself further into his hold. “Rosalee, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I mean that.”
He took the cup from her hands, placing it down and turned her body to face his. He took her chin between thumb and finger; her eyes were soft and warming and he left her hands lightly massage his forearms.
“I never thought I deserved somebody like you,” he began, brushing a curl behind her ear. “You’re everything I lusted when I was younger. You’re everything I made impossible for my younger self to hold onto. There’s times when I question-”
She held a finger to his lips, shushing him and her hands found his face. “If I’m as precious as you say, Monroe, then you deserve one hundred of me.” Her fingers trailed his jaw line, relaxing him enough to close his eyes as she lulled him into a soothing state. “Moving to Portland was a big deal for me after Freddy died. I didn’t know whether I’d be able to hold myself together enough not to fall into the past.”
She could see his eyes flicker beneath his lids and she knew he understood her. There had been a dark time in her past when every waking moment was consumed with getting her next hit of opiates. It wasn’t often that she revisited those memories- only when Monroe was around. She needed his arms to keep her from falling
“Then you came along in all your glory into the Spice Shop and you consumed my every waking moment. I found you on my mind even during the simplest of activities.”
Monroe’s eyes opened a crack. He leaned forward, his lips meeting hers softly at first; she tasted of chocolate and cream. Her lips were soft and plump against his own and her hands against his neck felt warm and smooth.
She was the epitome of his life; she was the very reason he woke each morning with a smile; she was the reason he walked with a spring in his step and she was his everything.
A clicking sound and a bright flash startled their embrace. Looking to the kitchen door they saw Nick grinning back, a black camera in one hand and his other perched on the door frame.
“I know I always seem to interrupt your moments,” he defended, “But… everyone deserves their memories, right?”
Monroe smiled at the memory. Nick had left the picture framed with a red bow on top and a ‘thanks for housing me' post-it note.
That moment when Monroe visits his parents in the hotel to say goodbye absolutely destroyed me. I can’t deal with that sweet wolf crying. It’s gut wrenching.
“How do I smell?” Nick asked one evening in the trailer.
He sat crookedly in the chair, half heartedly turning the pages of one of Aunt Marie’s ancient books. Monroe lay opposite him on the old rickety bed, his elbows keeping him perched over a series of loose pages.
“With your nose,” Monroe declared, filing another sheet into a folder marked ‘Henxbeist’.
They had taken it upon themselves to organise and file every piece of information Aunt Marie had left Nick, and from the way their stomachs growled in unison they had long since missed dinner.
Nick tutted, closed the book and leaned into the chair. He’d had enough of reading. “Seriously. What do I smell like?”
His inquisition earned him a sigh from the Blutbad whose entire face was now concealed behind paper. “Armani?” Monroe offered with a shrug.
“You know what I mean.”
Monroe closed his eyes, lowered the papers and massaged his temples roughly. It was getting late, he was hungry and he didn’t feel like playing 20 questions.
“Where are you going with this?” he asked. Nick had never shown much interest in the anatomy of a Blutbad other than what Aunt Marie’s books had told him. Why was he so interested now?
Nick shook his head. “I’m just interested. I read something that my ancestors wrote back in 1806 about some people smelling sweeter or more sour to Blutbad, depending on their relationship. Like, do I smell different than other people? Am I sweet like candy or sour like lemons? Does it even work that way?”
“Something like that. Generally the sweeter a person smells the more attracted we are to them on an … different level,” he explained, pushing himself into a sitting position. “The more sour you smell then the less likely we are to fall for you.”
“Do smells change?” Nick asked, the Grimm within urging him to grab pen and paper and record this precious information his ancestors had never bothered to learn.
Monroe shrugged. “They never have for me. I’ve grown accustomed to smells that have allowed me to be more tolerant of people. Your Aunt Marie for example, smelled strongly of pepper.” He stretched a little and leaned into the pillows, then added with a frown, “I’m allergic to pepper, y’know?”
Nick laughed lightly. “Yeah, Aunt Marie had that way about her.”
“Feisty,” Monroe declared.
They sat in respectful silence for a moment before Monroe cleared his throat and rose with a creaking stretch. “Well then let’s go. I’ve got two veggie steaks defrosting that I’m going to drown in cream sauce,” he said, rubbing his hands and moving to the door. “You’ll love it.”
“You never answered my question though,” Nick said.
Monroe found his eyes closing and his fingers tightening around his jacket. He could feel Nick’s gaze on the back of his head; his eyes burning a hole in his skull. He sniffed softly; it didn’t take much effort to smell Nick, his scent was pronounced and always lingered long after he’d left the scene.
It was a scent that Monroe didn’t need to learn to love; Nick had always smelled sweet. Not sweet like sugar; that was too sweet and Monroe usually fell too hard for those people. Nick smelled sweet like Peppermint Cookies; he smelled fresh, warm and left this tingling presence in the back of Monroe’s throat everytime he walked by.
“Peppermint,” he announced, looking over his shoulder. “You smell like peppermint.”
Nick paused, his eyes fixated on Monroe. Peppermint was sweet, not too sweet but it wasn’t sour either. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had wanted to know how he smelled; it didn’t make sense to need to know but, there was a part of him that desired some sort of confirmation from Monroe. He wasn’t sure either what kind of confirmation he was looking for, but he suddenly felt better knowing he didn’t smell all that bad to the Blutbad. Nick nodded, rose and made for the door. “Peppermints not that bad, right?”
Monroe smirked. “It’s alright,” he said. “You smell worse when you don’t shower though.”
They kept the banter going all the way to the car and back to Monroe’s house. The entire journey, unknownst to Nick, Monroe would allow himself to sniff lightly; the peppermint cookie scent wafting up his nose and lingering in the back of his throat.
Monroe wouldn’t say he loved Nick, nor would he say he fancied him, but there was something different about this Grimm that Monroe was willing to secretly indulge on an emotional level.