Drifting In Shadows, Waiting For The Storm

12.

Monroe studied the naked man with him in bed. They did that a lot, lying together, running hands over the other's skin, and he found he was slowly getting addicted to it: human contact in the form of his Grimm.

It didn't have to be a wild rut every time. The first claim had left him with blackouts as to what had really happened and the very primal part of him only remembered the intense pleasure, the taste of his mate, and the scent of his claim-surrender-challenge-need. Like with Angelina he didn't recall much, but at least he wasn't picking rabbit fur out of his teeth.

Though his teeth had been biting into Nick, drawing that intoxicating blood of his Grimm, and he had left quite a mark. Nick had soothed the momentary horror with a sleepy mumble to 'chill and c'mere', and he had been drawn into a lazy kiss that had scattered all doubts.

No, they didn't have wild sex all the time. Leisurely sex was wonderful and blowjobs were fantastic, and getting Nick off with his mouth and fingers alone was a sight to behold.

Earlier encounters with his own kind had never held such depths and it was only growing. He was afraid and looking forward to it in one. He loved seeing the Grimm undone, panting his name, yelling his climax, hair tousled and skin flushed.

Scars had remained of the terrible injuries. The one on his abdomen was ragged and still prominently visible against the otherwise unblemished skin. Monroe ran explorative finger tips over the mark, drawing a little hitched breath out of the man sharing his bed with him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the scar, letting his tongue bathe it briefly before drawing back and looking into those wide eyes.

The scar was a reminder of his own near-loss. It had been the wake-up call. It had been his last chance. He had seen it in all its stages, from nearly-fresh to healing to now. The smell of blood, dried and flaking, Nick's blood, was still a bright memory.

Nick was silent as he watched him, then wrapped a hand around his neck and drew Monroe into a kiss. Slow, deep, expressing so much without talking.

No words.

It defined their relationship so well. No words needed. He let a hand slide up the naked side, following the gentle curve of the ribs and splaying his fingers across the smooth, well-defined chest. Nick carded his fingers into his hair, caressing him in turn.

Monroe's eyes were on the mark on Nick's shoulder. The bite mark, recent and plain as words to any blutbad who might see it. He nuzzled over the light scar, licking it, pleased with the sign that this man was his.

The Grimm hummed and snuggled into his embrace, relaxed and warm and near-boneless in his arms. So trusting. A trust that wasn't wrong.

"Never took you for such a cuddler," Monroe murmured and ran his fingers through the mussed up hair.

"Not hearing you complain," was the drowsy reply.

"Not complaining."

"Good."

Monroe smiled and pressed a kiss to the exposed neck, watching goose bumps rise.

Too bad it had needed Nick getting shot for him to realize that this was what they had been heading for. Unstoppable, maybe fate.

Nick was dozing off in his embrace and he watched, taken by the sight of the younger man, naked, in his bed, relaxed and alive and at ease.