Grimm: Please, Sir
Rating: R for violence
Word Count: 1,949
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: A little less conversation, a little more action this time. Then more conversation. Also, I’m playing fast and loose with blutbad physiology here, fair warning. It's so weird to write for a... well, a living canon again, where every week you get new information and you can be totally off base with stuff. But here's some good news- I think I finally know what I'm doing with this story! Yay!
Summary: From the grimm_kink prompt- "Eddie isn't sure how it happened, but somewhere along the way his wolf had started viewing Nick as alpha and he loves/hates how much that means to him."
Nossir
“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Monroe says. The other blutbad’s beady eyes cut from Nick to him. He’s a big one, this Gordon Pinchuk, at least Hap-sized, and he’s been half-transformed since they first saw him- snout extended, ears pointed, and eyes burning. His mounds of muscle are all on display since his only clothing is a pair of loose cotton trousers. He paces slowly from side to side like a guard dog for the ramshackle garage behind him.
“What’re you doing standing in front of a Grimm?” he asks, quite reasonably.
“You think that’s what’s important right now?” Monroe retorts, “Did you think you could just carry on poaching people off the street and selling them to the highest bidder? It doesn’t work like that now, people notice things, it’s called the internet. I can’t say how much better off we’d be without morons like you running around and I said DON’T LOOK AT HIM!”
His wolf’s out now, red in the corners of his eyes, scents of the forest around them pouring in through his elongated nasal passages. Pinchuk’s eyes come back to him, but now they carry a nasty, curious gleam. This is going from bad to worse and Monroe can’t think of a single peaceful way to stop it. He has to follow his instincts, for whatever good they are.
“Monroe...” Nick starts from behind him.
And Monroe can’t not glance back, and Pinchuk seizes the opportunity, barreling down on him like a tidal wave with claws. Monroe dodges but comes up quick to sink his own claws into Pinchuk’s shoulders and drag him away from Nick.
Pinchuk lurches but regains his balance. He’s grinning now, or maybe just baring his fangs- either way it’s an awful sight as blood drips down his chest. He comes at Monroe again, this time clamping his arms around his torso and almost yanking him off his feet. “What’s this?” he rumbles in Monroe’s ear, “First time I’ve ever seen a blutbad lap dog. He get you your own collar yet?”
Anger rolls through Monroe, giving him the strength to knock away Pinchuk’s arms. He can see fur rippling out over Pinchuk’s body, his ears crawling up his skull, his snout lengthening. He’s going full wolf, as Monroe knew and dreaded he would. A spark of panic drives him to attack, do his best to sink his fangs into Pinchuk’s throat, but it’s too late. He gets a mouthful of fur and a sardonic chuckle as Pinchuk goes down on all fours on top of him.
“Monroe!” Nick cries. Monroe looks to see the Grimm’s gun drawn and raised. He doesn’t have time to tell him he’d need more bullets than he has to take Pinchuk down like this- Nick’s drawn the other blutbad’s attention again, and in a split second all of Monroe’s fear and anger and the monumental need to protect his alpha tears down all the walls around his wolf. His bones shift, stretching and contorting, dark fur sprouts thick, his hands and feet melt into huge paws. All of this is severely hindered by his clothes- layers of the stuff twisting and stretching in ways they were never meant to. He growls in frustration and discomfort, but manages to snap his jaws shut on Pinchuk’s back leg just before he can spring at Nick.
Pinchuk yelps and cranes back and Monroe uses his momentum to flip them both over. It’s a real brawl now, like he hasn’t had in years. They swipe and bite at each other, but blutbad fur is practically armor in hurried grappling, and Monroe finds the clothes provide extra protection even as they hinder movement. He gets a good slash to the side of Pinchuk’s face when his teeth get caught on a jacket pocket, but Pinchuk frees himself and manages to slip his lower jaw inside the neck of Monroe’s jacket and shirt. With a powerful yank, Monroe’s flying up and over to crash hard on the ground, dazed and vision swimming. He tries to stand but one paw lands on his head while the other rips down his back, shredding clothes and flesh like paper. He roars in pain and feels thick blood drench fur and fabric.
His full wolf form abandons him, leaving behind a gasping man getting colder by the second. Pinchuk sniffs disdainfully and bats him aside, sending him rolling several feet. He can only watch Pinchuk shift back to a bipedal form and stroll up to Nick, who still holds his gun trained on Pinchuk’s heart.
“What’re you gonna do, cop?” Pinchuk spits. He holds out his arms, “I don’t have a weapon. Grimms may be monsters but you’ve got rules. And guess what? Today they’re gonna get you killed.”
Bless the bad guy monologue, Monroe thinks as he summons everything he has to stand and launch himself at Pinchuk’s back.
Pinchuk manages to twist so he hits the ground facing up, and he’s sniggering through the blood welling from his wounds. “The pet’s alive! You’re sick, man, you’re diseased! Call yourself a blutbad- just wait ‘til my brothers hear about th-”
The wolf returns, clamps his jaws around Pinchuk’s throat- sink, twist, tear. Blood spurts hot and fragrant and Pinchuk looks surprised before he goes slack. The wolf contemplates his kill for a moment, chewing and swallowing the hunk of meat in his mouth. The scent of blood is thick, but he detects his alpha close by. He climbs off the kill, careful because he knows he’s injured, and pads to him.
There’s fear smell on his alpha, so he presses against him to show that the job’s done, threat eliminated. His alpha’s hands rise to hold either side of his head, cradling it, which is nice, even if said hands are tiny and soft. It’s cold here and the wolf wants to lie down. Rest for a minute. Sleep it off.
But his alpha keeps holding his head up, shaking him awake. “Hey, hey, don’t sleep. I need... Get up. Now.”
So he does. But it hurts, and he’s tired. He whines but his alpha’s not interested.
“We’re going to the car. You’re getting in the backseat.”
So they do, though it’s torture squeezing into the tiny space and some part of him doesn’t like smearing blood all over.
“Stay there, don’t go to sleep,” his alpha says, “I’ll be right back.”
And he walks away, talking to someone else, which sucks. But eventually he returns, and they drive somewhere else. Oh, home, he knows those smells. He frees himself from the car and limps inside once his alpha has fetched the keys from the clothes twisted around his body. He doesn’t stop until he can climb up on his bed and flop down on his stomach, heave a tired sigh. His alpha slowly climbs in next to him, leaning back against the headboard. The wolf blinks up at him sleepily.
“Yeah, this isn’t weird at all.”
Things go dark for a while.
***
He wakes to the sound of a quiet voice outside the door. He trains his right ear to listen, “... not happy either, but... Yeah, I guess somebody likes me... Just one night. I’ll see you in the morning... Yeah, I promise... Love you too, bye.” Nick steps back inside, and actually jumps, “Hey! Ah, you’re awake. And a wolf. A really big wolf.”
It takes an effort, because it hurts, and there will always be a part of him that doesn’t want to, but Monroe sheds his beast form and packs it away again, deep inside. “You know,” he remarks, “Of all the dangers in the common household, I’m the least of your worries.”
Nick cracks a smile that’s probably more relieved than he thinks it is, and moves to perch on the edge of the bed. “Should I take you to the hospital? You seemed to stop bleeding once we got here, though it was kinda hard to tell, with the fur and all.” He frowns, “Do they have some special hospital where... people like you can go?”
“It’d be convenient, but I haven’t heard of one. Anyway, you can calm down. It’ll heal- it already is. But... it would really help to get these clothes off.” Any bit of fabric that isn’t glued to him with blood is warped and ripped and wrinkled and massively uncomfortable in general.
“Oh, sure, of course.”
Nick has to fetch a pair of scissors and a bowl of warm water to make any headway, and Monroe knows he should be annoyed to lose a shirt that was perfectly good when he put it on this morning, but honestly... he doesn’t feel like it. Instead he feels... relaxed. He finds a smile creeping onto his face without effort. “That was some fight, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’re not gonna see that too often, a couple of full grown blutbaden havin’ it out like that. He was big, wasn’t he? Did you see that guy?”
“I did.”
He rolls his shoulders, the gashes barely sting. “I took care of it, though. No problem.”
The hands cleaning his wounds still, “No problem- Monroe, you’re lucky you don’t have spinal damage right now! Do all blutbaden have scalpels at the ends of their fingers or was he special? Look, I’m... I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you to the garage, but when I found out a blutbad was involved, I...”
“You came to me. Of course you did.” Monroe rolls over and sits up, and pulls off his pants. He feels a distinct aversion to clothing at the moment. He smiles to himself, through most of his teens he was naked more often than not. It just felt better.
“Well, uh, I guess I’m glad you’re not freaking out,” Nick says as he stands up next to the bed.
Monroe turns his gaze to him. He really isn’t very big, this Grimm, his alpha. And he looks a bit worn out.
“I mean... you killed Pinchuk.”
“Yeah,” Monroe stands up too, faces Nick, “He shouldn’t have threatened you.”
Nick’s eyes go cold and angry, “I don’t need you killing people for me.”
“You do when they’re about to kill you,” Monroe counters, another smile tugging at his lips. For once he finds it amusing how Nick still doesn’t get it. He’s such a foolish human, a completely hopeless Grimm, and he’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for Monroe. He takes a short sniff of the air, just a small hit of Nick, it’s like half a shot of liquor. But there’s something off... “Why do you still smell scared?”
Nick’s eyes dart to the door as he swallows. Monroe notices distantly that there’s not a lot of space between the two of them, or between Nick and the wall behind him. “Well, you have blood in your beard and your eyes are red. That’s a little disconcerting.”
“You don’t have to be scared of anything. Not when I’m around.” It’s a promise. Monroe’s eyes drop to Nick’s mouth. He knows what he smells like, but now he wonders what he tastes like.
“Okay!” Nick announces, and takes a quick step to his left, putting a good three feet between them. Monroe lets out a soft growl. “Uh, right, uh, I think- I think you need some more rest. It’s been a tough day. For both of us. So I’ll see you later. I’ll swing by tomorrow, promise. Okay? Okay.”
And then he bolts, like a startled rabbit. Monroe stares after him. Hears the front door open and close. He wonders if he has anything stronger than wine in the house.
Thank You, Sir
Word Count: 1,949
Disclaimer: Recognize anything? Then it ain't mine.
A/N: A little less conversation, a little more action this time. Then more conversation. Also, I’m playing fast and loose with blutbad physiology here, fair warning. It's so weird to write for a... well, a living canon again, where every week you get new information and you can be totally off base with stuff. But here's some good news- I think I finally know what I'm doing with this story! Yay!
Summary: From the grimm_kink prompt- "Eddie isn't sure how it happened, but somewhere along the way his wolf had started viewing Nick as alpha and he loves/hates how much that means to him."
Nossir
“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Monroe says. The other blutbad’s beady eyes cut from Nick to him. He’s a big one, this Gordon Pinchuk, at least Hap-sized, and he’s been half-transformed since they first saw him- snout extended, ears pointed, and eyes burning. His mounds of muscle are all on display since his only clothing is a pair of loose cotton trousers. He paces slowly from side to side like a guard dog for the ramshackle garage behind him.
“What’re you doing standing in front of a Grimm?” he asks, quite reasonably.
“You think that’s what’s important right now?” Monroe retorts, “Did you think you could just carry on poaching people off the street and selling them to the highest bidder? It doesn’t work like that now, people notice things, it’s called the internet. I can’t say how much better off we’d be without morons like you running around and I said DON’T LOOK AT HIM!”
His wolf’s out now, red in the corners of his eyes, scents of the forest around them pouring in through his elongated nasal passages. Pinchuk’s eyes come back to him, but now they carry a nasty, curious gleam. This is going from bad to worse and Monroe can’t think of a single peaceful way to stop it. He has to follow his instincts, for whatever good they are.
“Monroe...” Nick starts from behind him.
And Monroe can’t not glance back, and Pinchuk seizes the opportunity, barreling down on him like a tidal wave with claws. Monroe dodges but comes up quick to sink his own claws into Pinchuk’s shoulders and drag him away from Nick.
Pinchuk lurches but regains his balance. He’s grinning now, or maybe just baring his fangs- either way it’s an awful sight as blood drips down his chest. He comes at Monroe again, this time clamping his arms around his torso and almost yanking him off his feet. “What’s this?” he rumbles in Monroe’s ear, “First time I’ve ever seen a blutbad lap dog. He get you your own collar yet?”
Anger rolls through Monroe, giving him the strength to knock away Pinchuk’s arms. He can see fur rippling out over Pinchuk’s body, his ears crawling up his skull, his snout lengthening. He’s going full wolf, as Monroe knew and dreaded he would. A spark of panic drives him to attack, do his best to sink his fangs into Pinchuk’s throat, but it’s too late. He gets a mouthful of fur and a sardonic chuckle as Pinchuk goes down on all fours on top of him.
“Monroe!” Nick cries. Monroe looks to see the Grimm’s gun drawn and raised. He doesn’t have time to tell him he’d need more bullets than he has to take Pinchuk down like this- Nick’s drawn the other blutbad’s attention again, and in a split second all of Monroe’s fear and anger and the monumental need to protect his alpha tears down all the walls around his wolf. His bones shift, stretching and contorting, dark fur sprouts thick, his hands and feet melt into huge paws. All of this is severely hindered by his clothes- layers of the stuff twisting and stretching in ways they were never meant to. He growls in frustration and discomfort, but manages to snap his jaws shut on Pinchuk’s back leg just before he can spring at Nick.
Pinchuk yelps and cranes back and Monroe uses his momentum to flip them both over. It’s a real brawl now, like he hasn’t had in years. They swipe and bite at each other, but blutbad fur is practically armor in hurried grappling, and Monroe finds the clothes provide extra protection even as they hinder movement. He gets a good slash to the side of Pinchuk’s face when his teeth get caught on a jacket pocket, but Pinchuk frees himself and manages to slip his lower jaw inside the neck of Monroe’s jacket and shirt. With a powerful yank, Monroe’s flying up and over to crash hard on the ground, dazed and vision swimming. He tries to stand but one paw lands on his head while the other rips down his back, shredding clothes and flesh like paper. He roars in pain and feels thick blood drench fur and fabric.
His full wolf form abandons him, leaving behind a gasping man getting colder by the second. Pinchuk sniffs disdainfully and bats him aside, sending him rolling several feet. He can only watch Pinchuk shift back to a bipedal form and stroll up to Nick, who still holds his gun trained on Pinchuk’s heart.
“What’re you gonna do, cop?” Pinchuk spits. He holds out his arms, “I don’t have a weapon. Grimms may be monsters but you’ve got rules. And guess what? Today they’re gonna get you killed.”
Bless the bad guy monologue, Monroe thinks as he summons everything he has to stand and launch himself at Pinchuk’s back.
Pinchuk manages to twist so he hits the ground facing up, and he’s sniggering through the blood welling from his wounds. “The pet’s alive! You’re sick, man, you’re diseased! Call yourself a blutbad- just wait ‘til my brothers hear about th-”
The wolf returns, clamps his jaws around Pinchuk’s throat- sink, twist, tear. Blood spurts hot and fragrant and Pinchuk looks surprised before he goes slack. The wolf contemplates his kill for a moment, chewing and swallowing the hunk of meat in his mouth. The scent of blood is thick, but he detects his alpha close by. He climbs off the kill, careful because he knows he’s injured, and pads to him.
There’s fear smell on his alpha, so he presses against him to show that the job’s done, threat eliminated. His alpha’s hands rise to hold either side of his head, cradling it, which is nice, even if said hands are tiny and soft. It’s cold here and the wolf wants to lie down. Rest for a minute. Sleep it off.
But his alpha keeps holding his head up, shaking him awake. “Hey, hey, don’t sleep. I need... Get up. Now.”
So he does. But it hurts, and he’s tired. He whines but his alpha’s not interested.
“We’re going to the car. You’re getting in the backseat.”
So they do, though it’s torture squeezing into the tiny space and some part of him doesn’t like smearing blood all over.
“Stay there, don’t go to sleep,” his alpha says, “I’ll be right back.”
And he walks away, talking to someone else, which sucks. But eventually he returns, and they drive somewhere else. Oh, home, he knows those smells. He frees himself from the car and limps inside once his alpha has fetched the keys from the clothes twisted around his body. He doesn’t stop until he can climb up on his bed and flop down on his stomach, heave a tired sigh. His alpha slowly climbs in next to him, leaning back against the headboard. The wolf blinks up at him sleepily.
“Yeah, this isn’t weird at all.”
Things go dark for a while.
***
He wakes to the sound of a quiet voice outside the door. He trains his right ear to listen, “... not happy either, but... Yeah, I guess somebody likes me... Just one night. I’ll see you in the morning... Yeah, I promise... Love you too, bye.” Nick steps back inside, and actually jumps, “Hey! Ah, you’re awake. And a wolf. A really big wolf.”
It takes an effort, because it hurts, and there will always be a part of him that doesn’t want to, but Monroe sheds his beast form and packs it away again, deep inside. “You know,” he remarks, “Of all the dangers in the common household, I’m the least of your worries.”
Nick cracks a smile that’s probably more relieved than he thinks it is, and moves to perch on the edge of the bed. “Should I take you to the hospital? You seemed to stop bleeding once we got here, though it was kinda hard to tell, with the fur and all.” He frowns, “Do they have some special hospital where... people like you can go?”
“It’d be convenient, but I haven’t heard of one. Anyway, you can calm down. It’ll heal- it already is. But... it would really help to get these clothes off.” Any bit of fabric that isn’t glued to him with blood is warped and ripped and wrinkled and massively uncomfortable in general.
“Oh, sure, of course.”
Nick has to fetch a pair of scissors and a bowl of warm water to make any headway, and Monroe knows he should be annoyed to lose a shirt that was perfectly good when he put it on this morning, but honestly... he doesn’t feel like it. Instead he feels... relaxed. He finds a smile creeping onto his face without effort. “That was some fight, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’re not gonna see that too often, a couple of full grown blutbaden havin’ it out like that. He was big, wasn’t he? Did you see that guy?”
“I did.”
He rolls his shoulders, the gashes barely sting. “I took care of it, though. No problem.”
The hands cleaning his wounds still, “No problem- Monroe, you’re lucky you don’t have spinal damage right now! Do all blutbaden have scalpels at the ends of their fingers or was he special? Look, I’m... I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you to the garage, but when I found out a blutbad was involved, I...”
“You came to me. Of course you did.” Monroe rolls over and sits up, and pulls off his pants. He feels a distinct aversion to clothing at the moment. He smiles to himself, through most of his teens he was naked more often than not. It just felt better.
“Well, uh, I guess I’m glad you’re not freaking out,” Nick says as he stands up next to the bed.
Monroe turns his gaze to him. He really isn’t very big, this Grimm, his alpha. And he looks a bit worn out.
“I mean... you killed Pinchuk.”
“Yeah,” Monroe stands up too, faces Nick, “He shouldn’t have threatened you.”
Nick’s eyes go cold and angry, “I don’t need you killing people for me.”
“You do when they’re about to kill you,” Monroe counters, another smile tugging at his lips. For once he finds it amusing how Nick still doesn’t get it. He’s such a foolish human, a completely hopeless Grimm, and he’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for Monroe. He takes a short sniff of the air, just a small hit of Nick, it’s like half a shot of liquor. But there’s something off... “Why do you still smell scared?”
Nick’s eyes dart to the door as he swallows. Monroe notices distantly that there’s not a lot of space between the two of them, or between Nick and the wall behind him. “Well, you have blood in your beard and your eyes are red. That’s a little disconcerting.”
“You don’t have to be scared of anything. Not when I’m around.” It’s a promise. Monroe’s eyes drop to Nick’s mouth. He knows what he smells like, but now he wonders what he tastes like.
“Okay!” Nick announces, and takes a quick step to his left, putting a good three feet between them. Monroe lets out a soft growl. “Uh, right, uh, I think- I think you need some more rest. It’s been a tough day. For both of us. So I’ll see you later. I’ll swing by tomorrow, promise. Okay? Okay.”
And then he bolts, like a startled rabbit. Monroe stares after him. Hears the front door open and close. He wonders if he has anything stronger than wine in the house.
Thank You, Sir