Disclaimer: I don't own "Grimm" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I recently got into "Grimm" and fell in love with the Nick x Monroe pairing. This was mostly inspired by the pilot episode, 1x07, 1x08 so it is loosely based in the early-mid-season one in terms of setting.

Warnings: animal traits, scenting, sexual content, mild language, flirting, just guys being dudes, drama, romance, first time, rimming, frottage.

(Missing) Omphalos

They were a couple beers in. Feeling pleasantly heavy and more comfortable by the second as Monroe's over-stuffed couch slowly swallowed him alive, when he decided to give his thoughts a voice. Wanting to ask about something that'd been on his mind more than once since the day they'd met. It'd never been important enough to make a big deal out of. But it was something that had him curious all the same.

"I have to ask," he started. Realizing it had gotten lost with everything that'd happened at the beginning. Especially considering it'd only fit into his theory at that time. That someone or something had been kidnapping girls. Monroe had woged when they'd rode past him and that'd been enough for him. He remembered being so convinced Monroe was their guy – that they were going to find Robin stuffed in some closet or locked in the basement, hopefully still alive. Connecting the dots between a monster's face and a monstrous act. Not knowing that the truth was no where near that black and white.

He hadn't thought of Monroe as a monster for a long time.

If he ever had.

It was hard to believe that was almost a year ago. A year since his entire life had been turned upside down. Since he'd had to relearn what was normal and what wasn't.

Juliette hadn't been able to cope with all the changes. She didn't have to know about the Grimm stuff to know that things were different. He could see it on her face every time he had to streak out of the house half-way through dinner or bail on another date. Every time he told her he was heading out to sort through his Aunt's trailer when the truth was he was up to his elbows in research. She'd always been patient, knowing what she was getting into dating a cop. But he knew this was different. Juliette knew it too. He didn't know what she thought was going on, but he knew it was probably going to end them, sooner or later.

They were still trying, her probably more than him. But in the end, when she asked him with forced gentleness if he wouldn't mind staying in the guest room while they worked on their relationship, he was left with the uncomfortable realization that he wasn't as sad as he knew he should have been. He still didn't really know how to cope with that. But nights like this, with Monroe, sure seemed to help.

"Of course you do," Monroe slung back, humor dancing in the back of his eyes as he took another swig of beer. Neck in danger of disappearing into the collar of one of his usual sweaters.

Smart ass.

"The day we met...why did you shift that when those girls biked past?" he finished. Tongue darting out to snag a droplet of beer that'd been skating around the rim of the bottle. A little bit tongue-tied when he realized that this - Monroe's place or maybe just Monroe himself – seemed more comfortable than his own house these days.

Monroe just raised a brow at him. Expression still playful as he lowered his beer in mid-swig.

"Funny. I remember it as the day you almost arrested me."

"Monroe," he replied, mock-serious. Idly wondering what the hell they were doing as Monroe grinned at him. Shit-eating and unrepentant. His expression definitely doing something for him as a curl of pleasant tension gradually unfurled in his lower belly.

"What? I like a little continuality to my history. So sue me," Monroe hummed. Looking stupidly domestic and content as his socks curled into the carpet below his favourite chair. The one he always sat in when they hung out in the living room.

There was a pause before the Blutbad continued. Frowning slightly.

"You know, I forgot about that till now. There was a lot going on. Actually, it's kinda a buzzkill. One of them- I think it was the one with the pink helmet- she's sick. Was sick. Cancer. It isn't curable. Her parents probably don't even know, well- they might now. It was nasty, actually. It smelled like rotten earth and oil- really noxious. It wasn't right. I'd never smelled death like that before, all wrapped up in a steady pulse and cherry pop-tarts or whatever she'd been eating- it got my hackles up. Then it was just you."

He was right, it was a buzzkill.

But he wasn't ready to let it ruin the night.

"You can smell all that?" he asked, still surprised by it. Still able to marvel. Thoughts ticking back to the Holly case and how Monroe had followed her scent.

Monroe had been able to connect with Holly Clark on a level he would've never been able to. Coaxing her out of her wesen form by being wesen. Somehow. Gaining her trust despite the shouting match that'd gone on before they'd found the hunting blind. Monroe had explained it later as being an animal thing. Fixing him with a look that clearly showed the blutbad thought he had a couple of screws loose when he pointed out later that Monroe had had no problem going into her territory, but not the blutbad from the first time they'd met.

They'd been halfway through dinner at a quiet hole in the wall when Monroe had just rolled his eyes and gestured into dead space with his fork. Almost flinging a bean sprout clear across the room as he jabbed at the air with a satisfied glint.

"Because I claimed it," Monroe told him. Like he was particularly dense.

"What? How? Why?" he asked, pushing his plate to the side as he rubbed at his face. Frustrated by all the shit he didn't know.

"That whole roaring thing? She scampered. She yielded her territory to me. Sure, she ran, but she didn't trust me at that point. Her instincts told her to yield and she did. It's an alpha male thing. Hell, a beta could have probably claimed it and she would have done the same thing. I was just the first blutbad she'd ever come across. The first male blutbad to boot."

"So, what? She had to yield? Because your male or an alpha? Or both?" he questioned, unsuccessfully trying to make sense of things as Monroe stole the last piece of tofu off his plate without asking.

"No. She could have answered the challenge," Monroe returned sagely. "It wouldn't have ended well, but it was within her right to do so. She kinda told me to stay away, just not in so many words."

He ignored the hidden lead in favor of returning to safer ground. Remembering how serious Monroe had been when he told him to shoot her if she went for his throat.

"It still brings us back to why you were fine claiming her territory, but barely wanting to get within a quarter mile of-"

Monroe snorted.

"Because she's a pup. It's different when we're fully grown. And yeah, it's sexist, I know, but its different when they're female too. Sometimes stumbling into a female blutbadden's territory can mean other things. Again, when they're fully grown. She wasn't. It was basically the equivalent of a toy poodle trying to take on a pit bull."

"A toy poodle with sharp teeth," he pointed out with a half-smile. Pushing his half-finished dinner over to where Monroe could easily reach. Shaking his head and swallowing the laugh that threatened to rise when the man made a pleased sound and laid siege to his pile of quinoa.

Monroe nodded between bites.

"If things had gone south, she could have killed us both. She had the advantage. She knew the territory. She was feral. She had no reason to think she wasn't fighting for her life. You're- well, you. And I'm out of shape as far as taking on another blutbad goes. There's a reason we try to stay out of each others business. Still, it was a rush, honestly. Primal. I've done some stuff in my day but never anything like that. Then again, I've never been stupid enough to challenge another blutbad over territory before."

He considered it slowly. Turning the facets over in his head.

"So, you came along and gave her...context for her instincts?" he inferred, feeling like he had a better understanding of it now. "You showed her the structure or social order she needed for the rest to fall into place?"

"Pretty much," Monroe answered. Actually looking uncomfortable for a minute before he looked away and scraped the last of the food from his plate. "Her instincts were what had kept her alive. But being alone she only had half the picture. When I answered her challenge and claimed her territory I showed her that I was the stronger blutbad. I was dominant. Capable. More than that. I wasn't telling her to leave. I was telling her it was okay to yield because I would protect her now."

He took a sip of his wine as the waiter came by and cleared their plates.

"And you aren't comfortable with that?" he asked when the woman had gone. Eying the way Monroe had made a fist with his free hand. Staring at the wood-nicked table like it had all the answers.

"No, I am. Well, okay, not really. It's complicated. We don't really do that kind of stuff unless it's family and she has none. Her adopted mother isn't even a wesen. It's a big responsibility."

"But you accepted it," he pointed out. Knowing it was understating things. He might not have been a blutbad, but he recognized the look on Monroe's face when Holly had hugged him. Like when he'd found Robin in that trap-door basement, only ten times as powerful. "Do you regret it?"

The blutbad's eyes flashed.

"She's mine," Monroe rasped, voice dark like gravel on a dirt road as his eyes flashed red. Barely giving him time to react before the man shook himself - eyes returning to normal with a blink. Looking more like he'd startled himself than anything. "...Sorry."

"Don't be," he assured. "You made a connection. I get it."

But Monroe shook his head. Like he didn't get it. Like he couldn't.

"It's more than that. I would kill for her. Like she killed for me. She's part of-"

"Your pack?" he offered. Watching him from the droop of his lids. Coaxed low with the glow of the restaurant's amber lights and the warm buzz of alcohol.

"I don't have a pack," Monroe told him. Less convincing than he could have been. Considering the circumstances.

"Try telling her that," he hummed. Aware that Monroe's eyes still had a tint of red to them. Remembering how Holly had spent the entire ride to her mother's house staring out the back window. Like she was willing Monroe to just appear out of the shadows and help her tackle what came next.

The silent question of – 'what about me? Am I part of your pack?' - remained that way. Unvoiced but still heavy. Not sure why he didn't want to say it. Not yet anyway.

"She wants to see you," he said softly instead. Remembering the questions that remained mostly unasked when Mrs. Clark left a message for him the other day. Wondering about a man her daughter wanted to see. Someone no one at the station seemed to know anything about.
"She already has," Monroe answered. Holding up one hand to stall any questions before he finished his glass of wine. "Last week. She waited until her mom was asleep. We can move pretty fast when we want to. I had her back before dawn. She just wanted to see me, nothing serious. I think the transition is messing with her head a bit. She hasn't had to hide what she is so, there's that. She asked me about a couple of blutbad things. I had to stop her from pissing on my fence, actually. The little brat."

He couldn't help the laugh that'd burbled out at that. Nearly choking on the last of his wine as Monroe grinned at him openly. Not sure if the blutbad was pulling his leg and absolutely not caring either way. Realizing in a slow, molten wave of every good feeling, that he hadn't laughed so hard in months.

He was brought back to the present when he realized Monroe was talking again. Nose twitching as the man eyed him speculatively. Like he could tell he'd been somewhere else.

"-it's a gift and a curse my friend. That ogre stuff? I think it burned my nose hairs right off. I kept smelling that for days. It was nasty. Honestly, I shouldn't have taken a whiff of it in the first place, but it was kind of automatic. New thing, gotta smell it. Ugh- instincts suck sometimes."

He blinked. Mentally rewinding to before his tangent as something just occurred to him.

"Wait, me?" he interrupted, leaning forward slightly as his gaze flicked towards the window that looked out at the park. "You smelled me? From across the road?"

Monroe rolled his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, you. And believe me, you were pretty potent that day, my friend. Anger is a really acrid smell. It stings in the nostrils - spikes adrenaline, sweat glands, it's very bitter. Always gets our hackles up."

"Could you tell I was a Grimm?" he asked curiously. Remembering how Monroe had turned and run back inside when he yelled out.

"No. Not until you pinned me against the stairs and I saw your eyes," Monroe informed him, eying him like he was mocking holding a grudge- only it was mixed in with some other more serious feelings that deserved just as much air time. "You were lucky I doubled my Pilates that morning, man. I was just trying to not to wolf out. Which, by the way, is hard to do when you're being tackled by a cop and manhandled around. And that's on top of that cop being a god damned Grimm. I legitimately thought it was all over until I realized Hank was half a dozen steps behind you and smelling like- well, he wasn't convinced, just saying."

"I did apologize," he pointed out, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a smirk. "With dinner. Twice."

Monroe snorted.

"It's a good thing it was me and not some other blutbad," the man replied seriously. "I let you pin me down. I let it happen. I can't think of any other blutbad that would willing offer their throat to a Grimm. It wasn't until you showed up later that I realized you had no idea what the hell you were doing."

Despite the turn of the conversation, his smile more or less stayed where it was. Remembering showing up on Monroe's porch nearly every forty-eight hours after that night. Needing the blutbad's help as his unofficial trial by fire in everything wesen left him struggling to keep up. Forced to listen to a near constant reel of mild complaining as Monroe muttered about babysitting adolescent Grimms and not being his personal grimm-o-pedia.

"So, just how good is your sense of smell anyway?" he asked lightly.

"Uh, not to toot my own horn, but pretty damn good," Monroe returned confidently, getting out of his chair with a groan and padding towards the kitchen to get them another round.

"Prove it," he challenged, lazy and warm in all the right ways. Honestly just enjoying the moment as Monroe looked down at him with open curiosity - like, what are you up to, Nick? - before handing him his beer.

In all honesty, he couldn't have answered him if he'd tried. He just knew he didn't want this moment to end. Wanting to prolong it for as long as possible even though they were on their fourth beer and it was well passed midnight. Juliette had texted twice. He'd told her he was working late. The lie was important. Something he knew he was going to have to face sooner or later. But not tonight.

"Easy," Monroe said confidently, inhaling throatily and cocking his head. "You smell like Thai food, lunch is my bet. Hank has a new cologne. I hate it by the way, maybe try to work that into a conversation if I'm going to be saving your asses on a regular basis. Then, there's the usual. Gun oil. Fabric softener. Sugar. You need to stop lying to me when you come to my house for coffee. Anyone with a nose can tell you have a sweet tooth."

That warm coil was back in his lower belly when Monroe turned his attention fully on him. Beer lax in his hand as he scented the air. Eyes slowly darkening, pupils expanding and rimming red like he'd caught a scent he wanted to experience to the fullest.

Jesus.

He shifted. Barely able to quell the desire to rub his thighs together or maybe even adjust himself as his cock firmed traitorously in his jeans. Caught off guard at how much this was affecting him. Hyper-aware that it was far too late to back off and change the subject as Monroe abandoned his beer on the side table.

Was he really almost getting off on this?

It wasn't the kind of arousal he was used to. It was a slow building tingling that lit up the nerves on the back of neck. Like a rising chorus of silent sounds that might even be able to gentle him to sleep if he let it. It was intimacy on a level that went beyond anything he could remember experiencing with his clothes still on.

He shivered as Monroe spread his legs wide, bracing against the chair like he wanted to get up and move closer. Something that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the focus Monroe was giving him. Only him.

What the hell was he doing?

"You showered before you came here. Not at home, but at work. Which is- well, none of my business- but damn, there's a lot of testosterone in that locker room. And mildew. Just saying."

He watched with baited interest as Monroe finally gave into temptation and slowly got to his feet. Closing the distance slowly as he inhaled with exaggerated whuffs of air. Taking him in without a hint of embarrassment as he circled around the back of the couch. Making the short hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like Monroe had dipped in close to scent him where he couldn't see.

He squirmed in place. A darker part of him almost animally self-satisfied when Monroe growled at the interruption. Rumbling pointedly, like he wanted him to stay still, until he leaned back and just let him. Smirking softly as the soft brush of Monroe's nose tickled through the hair on the back of his head. Ruffling it boldly as pleasure shot down his nerve endings and-

His eyes jerked open. Unaware of when they'd drifted closed. Suddenly wondering if Monroe could smell that too. How just the sight of him these days made him feel almost thick with a slow building sort of want. Something that warmed him from the inside out. Catching him by surprise, but only in that gentle way he knows from experience is from not listening to that little voice in the back of his head. The one that teased the rhythm to a familiar song, even if the words were completely different this time around.

Monroe cleared his throat.

Pointed.

Embarrassed.

"What?" he asked quietly, telling himself he was ready for anything. Even the bombshell. Almost wanting Monroe to call him on it so that the hard part would be over and he could figure out where they stood in the debris of yet another potential mistake. "What else?"

It wasn't fair to Monroe, he knew that. But it was the kind of emotional labor he'd never figured out how to handle.

"Nick, I-"

Monroe was in front of him again, eyes blood-red. Sticking around even as the blutbad canted his head like he usually did to shake off a shift. Making a deep chuffing sound in the back of his throat as his chest heaved. Looking at him like he knew the answer, but didn't know what he wanted to hear.

The moment was heavy. Weighing down like lead on the soul as Monroe's tongue peeked out, tracing the rough of his lower lip. Staring down at him like he was waiting on the same thing he was. Someone to save them from themselves before they changed everything.

"And- uh- Juliette is in season?"

The name was like getting hit in the face with a bucket of cold water.

The words permeated slower.

He blinked.

"What?"

Monroe shifted awkwardly. Retreating to his bottle of beer as he took a long draught and wiped his lips free of foam. Looking a whole lot like he felt. Like he wanted to be a million miles away from this conversation, preferably yesterday.

Juliette.

Jesus Christ.

"Um, she's fertile. In her cycle, I mean. You asked what else I smelled and well, there was that."

"Oh," he murmured intelligently. Beer dangling dangerously loose in his hands. " I- wow. Uh-"

A floor board creaked as Monroe took an exaggerated step backwards. Expression caught somewhere between mortification and an odd sort of restless energy that made him want to sneak a look below the belt. Only Monroe didn't seem willing to stay still long enough to even finish a sentence.

"TMI?" Monroe babbled, making a face. Putting his hands up in mock surrender before he grabbed their empties and beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Muttering about an early morning and almost being out of beer anyway. "Say no more! That was a bit much, wasn't it? Yep. I'm gonna just go to the kitchen and do something that isn't this. Okay? Okay."

He took the out and went home not long after that. Cheeks still burning. Unable to look at Juliette as she slept peaceful. One hand splayed out across the sheets, like even now she was reaching for him, finding all the places he used to occupy with her empty.

He slept on the couch and told her a lie the next morning.

The end wasn't long coming after that. And if he showed up with a duffle bag and the salt-crusts of angry tears still drying on his cheeks because he honesty didn't want to be anywhere else- well, Monroe didn't call him on it. He just let him in and crowded him up the stairs and into his guest room. Looking at him lingeringly, like he wanted to say something, before he shook his head and closed the door. Letting him mourn for what he thought would be the rest of his life as Juliette's angry words echoed in his ears.

She wanted him to talk to her. To just tell her what was happening. What had changed. Looking at him from across the room with pleading eyes. Telling him they could work through this, but he had to meet her half way. She wanted to make this work, but the truth was that'd only made it harder. Because all he could really think, deep down in the core of himself, was that she'd never made him feel an inch of what Monroe had on that couch without even touching him.

And that was important somehow.

He just didn't know how to face it yet.

Four months after that Monroe slammed him up against a wall and suffocated a hungry sound into the dip of his shoulder blade. Babbling something about him being the world's biggest cock-tease - walking around smelling like that before the blutbad did something with his claws and his jeans were suddenly puddling around his ankles.

And wow- that was-

He barely got out a strangled note before Monroe picked him up and dropped him on the couch. Manhandling him around until his skin ached and he found himself almost riding the armrest of the sofa. Definitely feeling all that strength Monroe kept in reserve as the man yanked his head back by his hair, just so he could drag his teeth down the curve of his chin.

The building rumble of Monroe's growls filled the intervening space. Making him shiver as the part of him that vaguely remembered what it was like to be prey sent frissons of conflicting signals from his hind-brain. But it wasn't enough to make him stop. Not even close. Because up until that point he'd only been half-aware he was moving. Whimpering and desperate in a way he'd never been anywhere close to before as his cock leaked pre-cum into the stitching of Monroe's couch.

Monroe swore into his lips when he surged up as best he could to demand a kiss. In danger of getting lost in the dips of the cushions as Monroe took the opportunity to squash him flat. Pressing him down with the weight of his body until all the friction he could get around his cock was shallow little hitches.

He didn't know what to do with himself when Monroe's hands spread his cheeks. Knowing exactly what was about to happen seconds before it did as he bit into his fist to try and stifle the sound the same moment Monroe's tongue swiped across his pucker.

And he didn't- he'd never- but Monroe was making these sounds into the heat of him like-

He lost time because it was just that good. Riding the waves as they came until suddenly he was gasping- fracturing Monroe's name on his tongue before he came messily and loud. Humping the couch he'd sat in that night with one palm spread against the cushions like an anchor before Monroe growled and hitched back- fumbling with his zipper until he was draped back over him. Pressing his cock between his cheeks and pushing slick inside as his cock drooled cum between the cracks of the cushions.

He made a sound that was all vowels and wordless pleads when Monroe gripped him by the neck and sunk his teeth. Breaking skin in the best way as he froze there. Some instinct keeping him still so that all he could do was just take it. Present for every second as Monroe exhaled. Surging up and whispering his name like everything was finally as it should be. Both their worlds narrowing down to where Monroe's hips were hitching in. Working his cock as deep as it would go as he gasped wetly into the fabric that tasted like Monroe. Feeling like he'd found God the same moment Monroe found a rhythm like a heartbeat.

He was tempted to ask what he smelled like now as Monroe smothered a bitten off howl into the small of his back. Resting his head there – sweaty and heavy as the man's balls thumped against his.

As if he didn't already know.

He'd smelled like Monroe's for so long, the truth was he never wanted to smell like anyone else.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. This story is now complete.

Reference:

- Omphalos: 'the central point.' Also known in Greek Antiquity as a stone in the temple of Apollo at Delphi, thought to mark the center of the earth. Therefore, the title loosely means: "(Missing) the point."