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Title: Run
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Roddy/Monroe
Summary: It wasn't the proper thing for a Reinigen to fantasize about a Blutbad,
Word Count: 859
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
It was a dream he had. A dream dream, the kind you had when you fell asleep, not the ones you turned over in your head while awake wishing they would come true. Well, that’s what he told himself. It wasn’t the proper thing for a Reinigen to have fantasies like this. One was trained to fear certain things until it became so engraved in your instincts that when they appeared in front of you, grinning with lascivious teeth, the only urge your body got was to flee. At least, that’s the only urge you should experience.
In Roddy’s dreams, he always wore red. In that clearing leading to a forest so thick a medieval wolf pack could have gorged themselves in it for months, Roddy stood waiting for the wolf to come, waiting for it to smell Roddy’s fear rising from his pores in a concentrated rush of pheromones and sweat. Darkness coiled around him, allayed only by a thin sliver of moon shining in a wicked grin overhead. Coldness seeped into his flesh in this never ending autumn night, chilling him through the tight, long sleeved shirt and jeans he wore. The thin cotton on his torso couldn’t have been redder if it were in the hands of a bullfighter, only the bull did not care about the color, only the motion that color moved to. This animal Roddy faced, though, was enthralled by both.
The wolf emerged from the trees, its sleek, grey body almost as long as Roddy himself. It stood at the edge of the clearing, raising its head to sniff, its eyes fixed on the prey standing so docile only a few yards away. Despite the cold, Roddy raised his sleeves, bunching them at his elbows, letting the wolf see the tender flesh of his forearms. The wolf growled, a soft rumble that reverberated in the air and made Roddy’s bones quiver. Roddy curled his bare toes into the grass, a burning breath fleeing his lungs and he took a step back. The wolf took the same step forward. Roddy turned his body halfway, his eyes still on the wolf, which stopped, its hackles raised, ears swept slightly back in aggressive excitement, muzzle raised as it bared its teeth, but it was waiting for Roddy to make the move, to give himself up in the chase.
Roddy ran. A second later, the wolf started running behind him, its steps slow for its kind, measured, drawing out the chase while Roddy’s muscles ached as his feet slapped against the hard ground, panting, fear curled so tightly into his spine that if you touched it, he might have snapped. The wolf lopped behind him, grinning, the chase already won even with the distance that remained between them, for Roddy could never outrun it.
Nor did he have any wish to.
He ran into a puddle, water splashing up to his face, getting into his mouth, and he heard the wolf laugh as he slipped on a patch of mud, falling flat on his face.
It grabbed him then, fierce hands turning him over onto his back, for the wolf was none other than Monroe, who smirked at him with his wolf face while his now human body bore down on Roddy, trapping him against the ground. His lungs bursting, Roddy fumbled with his zipper, pushing down his jeans in eager surrender, but Monroe soon took over for him, yanking jeans and boxers off Roddy’s legs, leaving his lower body bare to the claws Monroe dragged up Roddy’s thighs in slow, sharp trails that only just kept from piercing skin.
Roddy gladly spread his legs apart to let Monroe climb between them and pull them up with his arms as one hand reached inside Roddy’s red red shirt and squeezed his chest right above his heart, the heat of that hand soaking into his flesh, holding him still, claws pressing, but never cutting, not for a moment, and Roddy kissed Monroe’s shoulder, licking his clavicle in submission. Monroe entered him in one unrelenting thrust, making Roddy cry out, his head falling back against the soil, a blade of grass scratching his left cheek. He clutched Monroe’s back, hitching his hips up to meet Monroe, but Monroe didn’t need any help, his pace hard and merciless, and Roddy’s body hummed with the ecstasy of it, his erection pressing against Monroe’s stomach, starved for more touch than Monroe’s torso rubbing against it, but Roddy would not complain, grateful for this much. His nails dug into Monroe’s shoulders, face pressed against Monroe’s neck, thirsting for every thrust that drove straight into the core of him.
Monroe came with a growl that made Roddy’s whole body tremble. Without untangling them, Monroe reached between them and stroked Roddy to completion. Roddy moaned into Monroe’s neck, his head falling limp as every sensation he had experienced that night flooded his being.
Then he woke up. In an empty bed in an empty room, he woke up. And he yearned for nothing more than to put on the red shirt in his closet, go to Monroe’s house and see if he would run.
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Roddy/Monroe
Summary: It wasn't the proper thing for a Reinigen to fantasize about a Blutbad,
Word Count: 859
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
It was a dream he had. A dream dream, the kind you had when you fell asleep, not the ones you turned over in your head while awake wishing they would come true. Well, that’s what he told himself. It wasn’t the proper thing for a Reinigen to have fantasies like this. One was trained to fear certain things until it became so engraved in your instincts that when they appeared in front of you, grinning with lascivious teeth, the only urge your body got was to flee. At least, that’s the only urge you should experience.
In Roddy’s dreams, he always wore red. In that clearing leading to a forest so thick a medieval wolf pack could have gorged themselves in it for months, Roddy stood waiting for the wolf to come, waiting for it to smell Roddy’s fear rising from his pores in a concentrated rush of pheromones and sweat. Darkness coiled around him, allayed only by a thin sliver of moon shining in a wicked grin overhead. Coldness seeped into his flesh in this never ending autumn night, chilling him through the tight, long sleeved shirt and jeans he wore. The thin cotton on his torso couldn’t have been redder if it were in the hands of a bullfighter, only the bull did not care about the color, only the motion that color moved to. This animal Roddy faced, though, was enthralled by both.
The wolf emerged from the trees, its sleek, grey body almost as long as Roddy himself. It stood at the edge of the clearing, raising its head to sniff, its eyes fixed on the prey standing so docile only a few yards away. Despite the cold, Roddy raised his sleeves, bunching them at his elbows, letting the wolf see the tender flesh of his forearms. The wolf growled, a soft rumble that reverberated in the air and made Roddy’s bones quiver. Roddy curled his bare toes into the grass, a burning breath fleeing his lungs and he took a step back. The wolf took the same step forward. Roddy turned his body halfway, his eyes still on the wolf, which stopped, its hackles raised, ears swept slightly back in aggressive excitement, muzzle raised as it bared its teeth, but it was waiting for Roddy to make the move, to give himself up in the chase.
Roddy ran. A second later, the wolf started running behind him, its steps slow for its kind, measured, drawing out the chase while Roddy’s muscles ached as his feet slapped against the hard ground, panting, fear curled so tightly into his spine that if you touched it, he might have snapped. The wolf lopped behind him, grinning, the chase already won even with the distance that remained between them, for Roddy could never outrun it.
Nor did he have any wish to.
He ran into a puddle, water splashing up to his face, getting into his mouth, and he heard the wolf laugh as he slipped on a patch of mud, falling flat on his face.
It grabbed him then, fierce hands turning him over onto his back, for the wolf was none other than Monroe, who smirked at him with his wolf face while his now human body bore down on Roddy, trapping him against the ground. His lungs bursting, Roddy fumbled with his zipper, pushing down his jeans in eager surrender, but Monroe soon took over for him, yanking jeans and boxers off Roddy’s legs, leaving his lower body bare to the claws Monroe dragged up Roddy’s thighs in slow, sharp trails that only just kept from piercing skin.
Roddy gladly spread his legs apart to let Monroe climb between them and pull them up with his arms as one hand reached inside Roddy’s red red shirt and squeezed his chest right above his heart, the heat of that hand soaking into his flesh, holding him still, claws pressing, but never cutting, not for a moment, and Roddy kissed Monroe’s shoulder, licking his clavicle in submission. Monroe entered him in one unrelenting thrust, making Roddy cry out, his head falling back against the soil, a blade of grass scratching his left cheek. He clutched Monroe’s back, hitching his hips up to meet Monroe, but Monroe didn’t need any help, his pace hard and merciless, and Roddy’s body hummed with the ecstasy of it, his erection pressing against Monroe’s stomach, starved for more touch than Monroe’s torso rubbing against it, but Roddy would not complain, grateful for this much. His nails dug into Monroe’s shoulders, face pressed against Monroe’s neck, thirsting for every thrust that drove straight into the core of him.
Monroe came with a growl that made Roddy’s whole body tremble. Without untangling them, Monroe reached between them and stroked Roddy to completion. Roddy moaned into Monroe’s neck, his head falling limp as every sensation he had experienced that night flooded his being.
Then he woke up. In an empty bed in an empty room, he woke up. And he yearned for nothing more than to put on the red shirt in his closet, go to Monroe’s house and see if he would run.
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