Title: Louis XIII
Author: Slashydutchie
Rating: PG
Pairing: Monroe/Renard
Genre: Humor/Romance
Summary: Monroe and Renard being ridiculously domestic.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making money
A/N: I'm taking Renard's power here from The Observer in Fringe, because I always watch the two in succession and somehow in my mind it seems to fit with the way he pauses before making decisions.
A/N2: Originally written for grimm_kink on dreamwidth
"Come on! Please?"
Renard smiled and shook his head at the Blutbad currently snuggled against his side, attempting to convince him with by now overused puppy eyes. He had grown quite immune indeed. "No, you're just going to have to wait until the commercials are over."
They'd been spending the night in a ridiculously comfortable and -dare he think it- normal fashion. Cuddled up on the couch, watching what seemed to be an endless marathon of game shows that Monroe recorded and saved just for nights like this. Torturous? Certainly. But every relationship had its 'give and take'-scenarios and to theirs, this was just one of those. Renard supposed it could be much worse. Although he had to suffer through quiz after quiz full of questions that he knew the answer to -to every single one of them-, at least he got to spend the time with an arm around Monroe, casually rubbing his belly in the way Renard knew he liked.
Getting Monroe's left leg to twitch was like a sport to him by this point, even if it meant the other man would disentangle himself and walk off for a few seconds with some excuse or another for the treacherous limb's movement whenever he caught on.
"Just tell me the answer! I know I'm right anyway!" the Blutbad nagged, only amusing Renard further.
They both knew that if Monroe was really that desperate for the answer, he could have fast-forwarded through the commercial break, but that wasn't the point. Getting the police captain -usually the king of poker face- to give in to things was after all his personal little sport on nights like this.
"It's Louis XIII, right?" he insisted, severely testing the other man's supposed immunity to puppy eyes, when Renard suddenly stilled, cocking his head slightly, then glancing at the door.
The pause only lasted a few seconds, not enough for most people to notice, but Monroe knew what to look for whenever Renard did his thing. It was a bit unnerving to see someone looking at past, present and future all at the same time... especially knowing that it wasn't just that. Renard could see all possible pasts, presents and futures. He'd tried to explain it once, but to someone who loved clocks as much as Monroe did it was both heart- and headbreaking.
"Nick's coming."
Monroe didn't need to ask whether he was sure and didn't bother to protest when the other man got up, though he did give him one of his patented 'Are you kidding me?' looks when Renard headed straight for the closet. "You're gonna hide in there?"
"Yes. He won't look in here and I won't make a noise that will make him suspect anything."
The Blutbad didn't even get a chance to argue. There was a knocking at his door and by the time he'd registered it the door to the closet had already been closed. Grumbling, Monroe went to open the front door and sure enough, there was Nick.
"What sucks the sap out of trees and pokes holes in people?"
Seriously, couldn't that man even try a normal greeting for once? Especially when dropping in this late on quiz and cuddle night? It didn't matter that the Grimm didn't know that last part... it was still unfair and for once, Monroe had had enough.
"Louis XIII," he replied before slamming the door in Nick's perplexed face.
"So I'll... come back tomorrow? Right, tomorrow," came the Grimm's muffled voice, followed by the sound of footsteps heading away from the door.
Another set of footsteps, however, approached Monroe. "The odds of you doing that were very slim," Renard informed him.
"Yeah, well... I just didn't want to deal with it on our night. You gonna tell me to call him back?" After all, whatever Nick wanted to know could be important. Monroe certainly didn't want to be responsible for holes in people. Less moist trees he could deal with.
The other man cocked his head, then shook it. "Nobody will die if you call him tomorrow morning instead of giving him the information right now."
He didn't particularly enjoy his detective and Grimm being left in the dark for longer than necessary, but the happy grin on Monroe's face as the Blutbad hopped back onto the sofa was worth it.
"Mark, who was the king of France in Alexandre Dumas' novel The Three Musketeers?"came a female voice from the television as Renard sat back down.
"I'm going to have to go with D, Louis XIII, Claire."
"That's correct!"
Monroe nudged his lover. "Told you."