The mirror arrived five days after Juliette left. At first Nick thought it was something she ordered, but the package was in his name. There was no return address. It came in a thick wooden crate, about as tall as a mini-fridge and as thick as a dictionary. He had to rummage in the garage for a crowbar to open it. The front panel came off with a loud pop. Nick pushed it aside and stared in confusion at the ornate mirror inside. His reflection stared back at him.

The glass was pristine, as if it had just been polished rather than sitting in a box for who knew how long. There was a black metal frame curling around the mirror in an ornate twist of loops and swirls and at the very center of the bottom edge was a small circular flat of metal with a red and yellow symbol carved into the metal. Nick had to lay on the floor to get a good look at it. There were two red lions on top of each other, a strange collection of red and yellow leaves, and what looked like a helmet on top of a shield. He'd never seen anything like it.

He thought about returning the mirror. It was obviously delivered to him by mistake. He certainly hadn't ordered anything like it. He sat with his back to the couch and stared at it in its crate. The mirror was tall enough to catch his whole reflection and part of the bare walls behind him – walls that still had the nails in them from where Juliette's pictures had hung. He had no idea where to send the mirror back to.

Maybe there was a note. Nick pulled the mirror from the crate. It was surprisingly light, for all the metal on it. Maybe it was fake. Loose straw poured out from behind the mirror. It wouldn't have been his first choice in packing material, but it had kept the mirror safe. There was no note, no inscription, nothing. He had no way to return it. He could sell it but that seemed a waste. Maybe whoever it was meant for would come looking for it. He could hold on to it until then.

It was a rather large mirror. He couldn't just leave it in his living room. He'd have to put it somewhere. The blank walls seemed almost inviting, like they wanted it there. He cleaned up the box, put it out by the trash, and wandered around the first floor. There were a lot of empty nails, but only one that seemed right.

Nick hung the mirror in the hallway, directly opposite the doorway into the living room and the TV. It seemed to fit perfectly, as if it had been built for that spot. He took a step back to admire his work. A strange thought crossed his mind, a snippet from an old nursery rhyme.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

Black smoke swirled across the surface, there and gone in a flash, and in its place stood Juliette.

"Shit!" Nick whirled, ready to face teasing from Juliette but she wasn't there. He frowned. His body tensed as he turned a full circle. He was alone in the house, and yet when he turned back to the mirror Juliette was there.

As he looked closer he realized what he was seeing wasn't a reflection of his apartment, but rather a different house, or at least part of one. It was like looking at her through a window. He could only see part of the scene, just her, a strangely familiar couch, and a wrinkled hand on Juliette's knee, comforting her. Nick took a step closer. He knew that house. That was Juliette's mother's house. That was where she'd gone when she'd left.

"The fairest one is not who you seek."

The voice came out of nowhere. Nick reached for his gun but he'd left it on the table. He turned, ready to face the intruder, but once more there was no one there.

"The heart of a Grimm is full of conflict. Yours is no different."

Nick turned slowly, eyes scanning the house as he tried to find the source of the noise. The mirror had shifted back to a reflection of the room. Nick's image was framed perfectly.

"Do you desire the charming prince?" Nick froze as the mirror blacked again, this time revealing an image of Captain Renard hunched over his desk, working on paperwork. "Or perhaps the fearsome beast?" The mirror swirled again. Monroe was sitting at a bar, alone, but laughing at something out of sight.

Nick dropped to his knees and ran his fingers over the metal frame. He searched every inch of it, ignoring the faint laughter the came from the mirror. There was no mistaking it. That voice was coming from the mirror and he was determined to find out how. He tapped the glass. He twisted the mirror this way and that. He poked and prodded every inch of it but he couldn't find anything. The metal was solid. There were no electronics, nothing that would hide a power source or a camera or wifi receiver.

He was stumped.

The mirror swirled black, showing him the name of a bar – one of Monroe's favorites – and an empty bar stool. "Why not have a drink?" He was fairly certain that the mirror was mocking him.

"Fuck it." He grabbed his coat and his keys and locked his gun in the drawer. The last thing he needed was to be hearing voices and carrying a loaded weapon.

He went out for a drink.


"Fuck, you're heavy." The front door banged against the wall a little too hard. "Sorry, Juliette," Monroe called into the dark house.

"'snotere," Nick slurred. His arm was slung over Monroe's shoulder, more for support than balance since the latter seemed to have abandoned Nick entirely.

"What?" Monroe tried not to inhale too much as he dragged Nick into the house. Nick reeked of alcohol and wood and a tantalizing mix of pheromones that seemed designed to make Monroe lose control. It was hard enough keeping himself in check with Nick plastered against him, he really didn't have the brain cells left to figure out drunken slur.

"She's not here," Nick said, over-enunciating each word.

That explained why it looked like Nick's house had been robbed. There were things missing. A lot of things missing, more than should be gone if Juliette had just gone out of town for a few days. No, this was moved out kind of missing.

"Oh." Monroe dropped Nick onto the couch. Nick fell face first, leaving his ass hanging out over the edge of the couch. Monroe stared at it for a moment. It was a rather nice ass. He'd even go so far as to say it was a fuckable ass and the way Nick was bent over the couch made the lower half of Monroe's body twist and coil in ways that were going to end very poorly for both of them if Nick didn't move. Unfortunately Nick did not seem inclined to move, which meant Monroe had to do the dirty work once more.

He grabbed Nick under the arms and hauled him up the couch, twisting Nick's body in a way that a more sober man would have complained about but drunk Nick didn't seem to have any problem with it. He mumbled something incoherent as Monroe settled him face up on the couch. Monroe ignored him. Just as he stared to pull away, Nick's arms came up, catching Monroe around the neck and pulling him back down towards Nick's mouth.

There was only a vague hint of lucidity in Nick's gaze. "You're not a very fearsome beast," he said.

Monroe frowned. He felt like he'd jumped into the middle of book eight of a twelve book series. "That's because you're drunk."

Nick shook his head.

"Oh, you're very drunk." Monroe tried to pull away. Nick's arms held him tight. He was pretty strong for a drunk man. If he wanted, Monroe could break the hold. He didn't really want to. This close, it was like he was wrapped in Nick's scent. It made him want to devour Nick.

"Yes," Nick agreed, "and no. I'm not afraid of you."

Monroe frowned. Drunken existentialism was the worst to deal with when sober. He was starting to wish he hadn't stopped at two beers. "You should be."

Nick's arms tightened, forcing Monroe's face closer. He could feel Nick's breath on his face. He had an up-close view of Nick's lips and a very embarrassing erection tenting his pants. "Make me," Nick whispered.

There was only so much temptation he could take. Monroe growled and captured Nick's lips. No more teasing. No more taunting. His tongue invaded Nick's eager mouth. Their kiss tasted like victory. He was only vaguely aware of climbing on top of Nick on the couch. His hips ground down hard against Nick's and the wolf inside of him howled as he felt an answering erection rubbing against his own.

Nick was pliant and eager beneath him, making breathy little moans of encouragement into Monroe's mouth. Nick's legs wrapped around Monroe's hips, bringing their bodies tighter together. Monroe could feel his face shifting but Nick didn't stop. His tongue caught on Monroe's suddenly pointed teeth, but that didn't stop him. He thrust his tongue deeper, filling Monroe's mouth with the taste of Nick's blood. It was delicious and perfect and very, very wrong. Monroe pulled away with a howl. His clawed hands dug into the armrest of the couch, ripping the fabric.

"No," Nick moaned. He reached up to pull Monroe back but that only made Monroe pull further away.

"I'm sorry," Monroe said, but he wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or Nick. His groin ached as he pulled away. He wanted nothing more than to roll Nick over and take him there on the couch, which was exactly why he didn't.

Nick flailed on the couch, but his inebriation made it hard for him to get up fast enough to stop Monroe from reaching the door. He locked the door on his way out. It shut behind him with a resounding sound of finality. He hated himself and his integrity, and tried to tell himself it was better this way.


Nick woke with the worst hangover of his life. He groaned and rolled over, reaching for his phone but the bed was shorter than he expected, mostly because it wasn't a bed at all. He woke up a second time on the floor and hated his life immensely. Coffee did little to help his hangover, but a shower did, and by the time he was showered and shaved and ready for work, he felt almost like a human being again.

His memories of the previous night were vague. He remembered the box and the bar and Monroe, but little in between, at least until he came downstairs and stared at the large mirror hanging in his hallway. His reflection looked like hell, and he didn't feel much better.

Black smoke swirled across the mirror. Nick jumped backwards and nearly fell over the couch. He steadied himself and blushed as hazy memories of hands and tongues and a furry face hit him. He had a feeling he'd screwed up immensely.

"Apologies are in order, but first you should get coffee. Buy a large with two creams and a double shot of espresso."

"Shit." Nick stared at the mirror as it showed the coffee shop by the precinct. He was going to be late if he didn't leave soon.

He hesitated in front of the mirror. The image of the coffee shop disappeared. He'd have to consult Aunt Marie's books but he didn't have time to do that right now. The mirror was just going to have to wait.

On his way to work, he stopped at the coffee shop and picked up four cups of coffee – one for him and Hank and Wu and the mysterious fourth cup with two creams and a double shot of espresso.


No one he knew took their coffee with two creams and a double shot of espresso, or at least no one on his floor. Well, almost no one. There was one place he hadn't checked, but he was kind of dreading even asking because he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Captain Renard was at his desk when Nick knocked. He looked up from his paperwork – just how much paperwork did the captain have? – as Nick stuck his head in.

"You don't happen to take your coffee with two creams and a double shot of espresso?"

Renard's brow knit in an almost frown. "How'd you know?"

He had the sudden urge to drive home and smash the mirror. Nick moved further inside the Captain's office. He shut the door behind him and held out the cup of coffee. "Lucky guess," he lied. "The barista got my order wrong. Do you want it?"

Renard set down his pen and turned his attention fully on Nick. "Sure." Nick wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or if that was the faint hint of a smile on the Captain's face as he handed over the coffee.

He'd never noticed before how intimidating the Captain's presence could be. Usually it wasn't focused on him, or at least not this intently. It was thrilling, in a strange sort of way. He blushed and gestured towards the door. "I'll just..." He flailed ineffectually as words failed him.

Renard's smile grew and he saluted with his cup. "Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem." Nick fled as subtly as possible, which really wasn't that subtle at all.

If Hank noticed the faint blush that stuck to Nick's face for the rest of the day, he didn't comment on it.


Nick slammed his door shut and stalked over to his mirror. His keys rattled in his hand as he pointed at the mirror. "You are an ass."

A faint chuckle echoed through the hall. Black smoke swirled. Monroe sat on his couch with his head tipped back. His face looked slightly pained and Nick almost thought he was hurt but then he noticed Monroe's hand and his open pants. "He wants you." Monroe's lips parted and Nick thought he heard his name, faint like a sigh. The mirror changed, showing him Renard at his desk. He had the coffee cup from earlier in his hands, and he kept turning it, like he was looking for something. "So does he. Which will you chose?"

Nick groaned. He didn't want to think about this right now. He didn't want to think about it at all. "I don't want to choose." It wasn't really much of a choice – his boss or a blutbad. His relationship with Juliette had just ended. He really didn't need to start chasing dick right away.

But he wanted to. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to them – both of them – and that was a problem in and of itself. How was he supposed to choose?

"That, itself, is a choice."

Nick glared at the mirror and then immediately felt stupid for doing that. "You're not being helpful."

He was talking to a mirror. He'd officially gone off the deep end. If this was what being single did to him, maybe he should be knocking on someone's door.

The mirror swirled and this time Nick saw his own living room. Renard was sitting on the couch, his pants open, face flush. Nick's mouth was on Renard's cock and judging by the noises that suddenly filled the room, he was enjoying himself, moaning around the dick in his mouth and over it all there was a loud grunting. Monroe. Monroe was bent over Nick, fucking him like his life depended on it.

Nick was hard in seconds. His mouth hung open a little as he stared. That hadn't happened. He would have definitely remembered that. He could almost feel Renard's hand tight in his hair and Monroe thrusting into him. It made him breathless just watching.

"That's not real."

"But it could be."

That thought terrified Nick. It shouldn't be possible. It couldn't be and yet as he stood there watching them move together, perfect, like they'd practiced, it seemed like it could make sense, if he tried.

"Enough."

The picture faded away. Nick breathed deeply, in and out, calming his raging libido. He needed to talk to someone, one of them, either one, and he needed to do it now. His keys bit into his clenched fist. He turned and marched out the door.


Monroe was slow to answer the door. When he finally did, he was a bit red-faced and breathless and he kept his lower half hidden behind the door. Nick wondered how recent the image the mirror had showed him was.

"We need to talk," Nick said, like his own raging hard on wasn't trying to resurface.

"Now's not a good time." That confirmed Nick's suspicion on timing.

He shoved his way in the door, ignoring Monroe's entirely un-blutbad squeak of protest. "Now's the best time." He glanced down at the obvious tent in Monroe's sweatpants.

"Dude, I can explain."

He should have planned this out more. There should be words, but words couldn't quite begin to cover everything. Instead he just dropped to his knees, right there by the thankfully closed door. Monroe was too surprised to stop him as he yanked down the front of Monroe's pants and closed his mouth around the hot, waiting flesh.

Monroe was thick and warm in his mouth. It'd been a while, at least a few years, since college, since he'd last had a dick in his mouth. It felt as good as he remembered and he swallowed, forcing Monroe down his throat as far as he could go and then pulling back. The groan that escaped Monroe sounded helpless and a bit needy. Monroe's hands fisted in his hair but he didn't try to stop him. There was hardly a man in the world that was going to say no to having his dick sucked.

He was hard again, but he ignored it for now. There'd be time for that later. Right now he wanted to savor the taste of Monroe on his tongue and the feel of his lips sliding over wet flesh. It was like riding a bicycle. His old tricks came back to him after a few minutes. He worked his hand in to follow his lips. He pulled his mouth all the way off. His hand chased his lips up, then his palm rubbed a circle over Monroe's head. His lips followed his hand down until he only had two fingers around Monroe, and then it was time to go up again.

Monroe didn't last long. He'd had a head start, so Nick didn't really blame him. He tasted precum on his tongue and sucked harder, working his lips until Monroe exploded in his mouth. He swallowed it all down. Monroe's hands tightened in his hair. He was panting, louder than he should be. Nick didn't think much of it – he was distracted by his own erection pressing into the zipper of his jeans – until he looked up and a fuzzy face stared back at him.

"Get out." Monroe's voice came as more of a growl. Claws pressed against Nick's scalp, not quite hard enough to draw blood but close. He could feel Monroe's hands trembling.

"But-"

"Get out!" Monroe accompanied the shout with a violent tug on Nick's hair propelling him towards and through the suddenly open door.

Nick stumbled backwards but managed not to fall on his face. "Monroe, wait." He turned. The door slammed in his face. He could hear the locks engage. Nick banged on the door. "Monroe, come on."

There was no answer.

"Shit." He was beginning to develop a serious case of blue balls.

The door remained firmly shut. With nothing better to do, Nick stormed back to his car and drove to the police station.


He realized by the time he got to the police station that it was a dumb idea to come here. It was late. Renard had probably gone home and there was a good chance that even if he hadn't, he'd just laugh in Nick's face if he even got the courage to mention the situation at all. It was all around dumb.

Since he was already there, he headed up to his desk and pretended to look for something in his drawers. He grabbed a random business card and shoved it in his pocket. At least now he had an excuse why he was here, which meant it was time to leave before anyone noticed.

"Back already?"

A shiver ran down Nick's spine and he turned. Renard leaned against his open door. The lights were on in his office. "Yeah." Nick held up the business card between two fingers. He was immensely glad the squad room was empty. "Forgot something."

"I'm sure it could have waited until morning." There was that strange smile again, almost secretive, like he was in on some big joke that Nick didn't get.

He shrugged in response.

Renard stepped away from the door, into his office. "Join me for a drink."

He could hardly say no. He knew it was a bad idea but he went anyways. Renard shut the door behind him. Nick had the momentary feeling of being trapped, but he stomped down on it. He was being silly.

Renard opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out two shot glasses. He produced a bottle of whiskey from another drawer. "This okay?"

Nick nodded. He felt like his mouth would betray him if he tried to speak. Renard sat behind his desk and gestured for Nick to take one of the chairs opposite. He was glad for a chance to sit, since he could already feel his erection growing.

The paperwork had been cleared off of Renard's desk. Nick must have caught him as he was getting ready to leave. The coffee cup from earlier was nowhere in sight.

Renard poured two shots and slid one across the desk to Nick. He raised his shot in salute. Nick quickly followed and then downed his in one go. The alcohol burned down his throat, wiping away the last traces of Monroe. His shotglass clinked against the desk as he set it down a bit too hard.

"Another?"

He really shouldn't, not after last night. He nodded anyways. The second shot went down smoother than the first.

"Sorry about your fiancé." He wasn't surprised Renard had heard. He was surprised Renard had mentioned it.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's better this way." He almost believed it when he said it. Renard poured him a third shot. It went straight to his head. Both of them, actually.

"So, why are you really here?"

"To see you." The words came out before he could stop them. Nick turned red and started stammering. "I... I mean... what I meant was..."

Renard laughed. Nick had never seen Renard laugh, not the polite chuckle he did but a full on, eyes squeezed shut, belly laugh. It shocked him out of his embarrassment spiral and he stared. His mouth closed with a snap.

As soon as the laughter started to die down, Nick spoke. "I should go."

He started to get up but then Renard was there, his chair still spinning from the haste in which Renard had stood. A strong hand on the back of his neck forced Nick down into the chair. "No, you shouldn't."

He opened his mouth to protest but there were lips there, covering his and muffling his words. There was a tongue too, sliding into his mouth. He couldn't stop from moaning. Renard's fingers tightened on the back of his neck and then Renard's other hand was on his stomach, sliding lower. Nick squeaked as Renard's hand groped Nick through his pants. His face had to be ridiculously red but he only minimally cared because finally, finally someone was touching him and he'd been waiting all night for that.

Renard pulled away and it was like he'd forgotten how to breathe. Suddenly there was air and not lips and he had no idea what to do.

"On your feet."

Nick jumped to his feet, because he was used to taking Renard's orders and he didn't really have the brain power left to do anything but take orders. He felt a bit lost as Renard moved away, back to his side of the desk, but it was fleeting.

"Hands on the desk."

He wasn't sure where this was going but he complied anyways. Renard pulled a tube from a drawer and then slowly walked around behind Nick. Hands closed on his hips and guided him over to the center of the desk. He kept his hands on Renard's desk blotter. Renard undid Nick's belt, then pushed his pants and underwear down. It felt incredibly strange being half naked in the police captain's office, and incredibly erotic at the same time.

Renard's hand slid up Nick's back to his shoulders and pushed, guiding him down until he was bent over the desk.

"Do you have any idea," Renard's voice went straight to Nick's dick, "how many times I've pictured you like this?"

Was it possible to die of arousal and embarrassment at the same time? "No, I don't."

Renard's hand ghosted over Nick's bare ass and then he was pressing a finger in, wet and firm, straight through him.

"Ah!" Nick's hands curled into fists and he pressed his forehead against his forearms.

"Spread a little wider for me."

It seemed like an impossible request but he complied, shifting his feet as far apart as his pants would let him.

Renard's free hand stroked over Nick's back. His shirt ended up around his armpits. A second finger pushed into him. "Good boy."

Nick moaned. He was pretty sure there were laws against this. If not laws, surely something in the code of conduct. Thou shalt not get fingered by thine boss in his office. Something to that effect. It felt so good, it had to be a sin.

"Open up for me." He had no choice but to do what Renard asked. He could feel his body stretching to accommodate a third finger. It burned, more than it used to, with just a little bit of pain but he knew the pain would be fleeting. "That's a good boy."

He should be offended that Renard was talking down to him, but the words struck a chord in him. He wanted to obey, to be good for Renard.

He had to bite back a whimper when Renard's hand pulled out, but he did because he knew something better was coming. He could hear Renard's pants drop, then the faint slid of flesh on flesh. A wet handkerchief got tossed on the desk and then Renard's hands were on his hips, holding him still as Renard slid in. Nick groaned, far too loud, and he really, really hoped no one was around to come investigate that sound.

"Tell me how it feels," Renard commanded.

"Perfect." There was no other way to describe it, especially once Renard started to move, slow at first, just a faint twitch of his hips and then building, going deeper and harder.

Nick curled in on himself. He bit his wrist to stifle his cries. He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream his pleasure to the world, let them all know that Renard was in him and it was glorious, but that would be unwise.

"God, you're tight." Renard said it like a compliment. "Don't get fucked much, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Pity. We'll have to change that."

Nick moaned at the thought, and then he pictured Monroe added to the mix and he had to grab himself to keep from coming.

Renard chuckled. The sound reverberated through Nick's spine. It didn't help matters. "Don't want to end it yet?"

Nick shook his head.

"Well, then." Renard's hands tightened on Nick's hips. "Let's give you a fitting end."

Renard slammed forward. Nick screamed into his arm, and surely someone had to have heard that. The janitor was going to walk in any minute and catch Renard pounding into Nick's ass. God, they had to make quite a sight. He almost wanted to see if the mirror could play this moment back for him, so he could watch it all over again. It was the kind of masturbation fuel that would keep him going for centuries.

He couldn't hold on. He tried. He really did. It felt too good, and Renard kept talking through it with that voice, deep and commanding. It went right through him.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to sit tomorrow. You'll like that won't you? I could call you in here for a briefing and talk for hours while you squirm in that chair. You want that?"

He nodded. This was such a bad idea.

"Maybe if you're good, I'll let you suck me off after lunch. Do you like having a cock in your mouth?"

He nodded again.

"Come for me. Show me how much you like it."

He couldn't stop himself. His hand eased just a fraction and then he was pumping himself, though he hardly needed it. He came on the side of Renard's desk with Renard's dick still pounding inside of him. It left him a wrecked mess. He collapsed against the top of the desk, boneless. His muffled moans and the harsh slap slap of Renard's hips on his ass were the only sounds in the office. Renard's hands tightened and then he was cumming in Nick's ass.

As soon as Renard's hips stilled, Nick turned his face away from his arm and gasped for air. Renard was staring down at him, looking incredibly smug and far too collected to have just fucked Nick's brains out.

"I have to ask." Renard – the bastard – didn't sound out of breath at all. "What brought this on?"

Nick spoke between huge gulps of air. "You wouldn't. Believe me. If I. Told you."

Renard lifted an eyebrow and rolled his hips. Nick gasped. His eyes squeezed shut and his hands fisted against the blotter. He was definitely going to be feeling that tomorrow. "Try me."

Nick hesitated. Renard rolled his hips again and the words burst out of Nick. "I have a magic mirror."

Surprisingly, Renard didn't laugh.


Nick hated his front steps. They were far too much effort for a man in his condition, namely slightly inebriated and sore from the waist down. Renard's hand on the small of his back only helped a little, since it made him focus on exactly why he was sore. It took much longer than it should to get into his house. He flicked on the lights and hobbled over to stand in front of the mirror.

"There."

Renard frowned slightly and stepped up to the mirror. He brushed his fingers over the metal frame, much like Nick had done, and bent to examine the insignia on the bottom of the frame. Nick very carefully did not check out Renard's ass.

"Huh," Renard said. Nick waited a minute but no other sounds seemed forthcoming.

"Do you recognize it?"

Renard nodded. "The symbol at least. It's Swiss."

"Oh. What's it mean?"

Renard kept staring at the symbol. "Nothing, really."

Nick frowned. He could tell a hedging tone when he heard one. "It has to mean something."

Renard hesitated and Nick could tell that he was about to be lied to. Then something in Renard's face changed and instead he said, "It's a royal crest."

"Oh." Nick stared at the symbol. Renard had shifted to staring at Nick instead. "Swiss royalty?"

"The House of Habsburg, to be specific."

"Oh." He'd have to look it up in Aunt Marie's books later. Maybe that meant something.

"It works?"

Nick glanced over at Renard. If Renard thought he was crazy, he wasn't acting like it. He hadn't even laughed, just taken it all in stride like magic mirrors were a thing and they popped up every day. He nodded.

"Show me."

Nick hesitated. Renard arched an eyebrow at him. His lips pursed in the way that meant he was about to turn a request into an order. Nick sighed. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, show me anything, anything at all." Black smoke swirled and Nick's living room appeared with three occupants. Nick blushed and jumped in front of the mirror. "Not that! Bad mirror! Bad!" A moan came from nowhere, followed by loud grunting.

Renard's eyebrow arched even higher. "Step aside."

Nick shook his head. His face burned. Sounds of sex surrounded them.

The humor drained from Renard's face. "Step. Aside."

He did. The scene was still there, further along than the last time he'd seen it. Monroe's face had shifted towards full wolf.

Renard scrutinized the mirror and then turned to Nick. "A blutbad? Really?"

He blushed. "You-" He wasn't sure he wanted to know how Renard even knew the term, let alone why he was taking it all in stride. He would have noticed if Renard was Wesen. Wouldn't he? "Nevermind. His name is Monroe."

Renard nodded, as he watched himself having sex via magic mirror every day. "I've heard of him. You trust him?"

He didn't hesitate. "Completely?"

"And you want him?"

He did hesitate that time. He crossed his arms and looked away. "I'm sorry."

The mirror faded back to normal. Nick watched Renard approach through the mirror. He couldn't hold back a flinch as Renard's hand landed on his shoulder. "It's not something to be ashamed of."

He turned towards Renard, confused. "But..."

"It's okay."

He didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing at all. Renard did the talking instead, and then they had a plan.


Nick didn't think Monroe was going to come, but he did, if half an hour late. He looked suspicious as Nick opened the door. Monroe sniffed the air before stepping inside and then shot Nick a confused look.

"Please." Nick hated how close he sounded to begging. "Come in."

Monroe's eyes went straight to where Renard sat on the couch. Then, strangely, he bowed. "Your highness."

Nick's jaw dropped. He stared at Renard who frowned at Monroe. "What?"

"Not now." Renard grit out the words, a clear order, which Monroe chose to ignore.

"Didn't he tell you?" Monroe's expression was a cross between annoyed and betrayed. "Your captain's royalty."

The pieces suddenly fit together in a way Nick hadn't expected. He stared at Renard. "Let me guess. Habsburg?"

Renard nodded grudgingly.

It obviously meant something but Nick wasn't sure what. Why did Monroe recognize Swiss royalty? Why was Renard here at all if he was royalty?

"We have other matters to discuss," Renard reminded him.

Nick blushed. "Right." He sat on the edge of the couch, between Monroe and Renard. How the hell was he supposed to bring this up?

"We?" Monroe asked. Betrayal was winning over annoyed on his face. "As in you and him?" Monroe gestured between Renard and Nick.

Nick nodded and instantly regretted it as Monroe's face crumbled.

"And you and him, if you'd like." They both turned as Renard spoke. Nick blushed again. He wanted to look at Monroe but he couldn't. Not yet.

"You're joking." Monroe said.

Renard's voice was made of steel. "I'm not."

"Nick? Do you honestly want that?"

His stomach clenched but he forced himself to look up, already dreading what he might see. Instead of revulsion he was faced only with curiosity. His voice didn't want to work but he forced it to. "Yes."

Monroe frowned. "It's a bad idea. You know what I am."

"He trusts you." Renard spoke as if Nick wasn't even in the room.

"And I'll hurt him." Monroe turned pleading eyes on Nick. Nick looked away.

"You won't. You have more control than that." There was no doubt in Renard's voice.

Monroe frowned. "You don't know that."

"If you didn't, I would have dealt with you by now."

That caught Nick's attention. He turned. Renard smiled, that smile that said he knew more than Nick.

"Grimm's don't have a monopoly on keeping Wesen in line."

He desperately wanted to ask but the set of Renard's jaw said that Nick wasn't getting any more out of him tonight, at least not on that topic.

"Nick?" Monroe pleaded.

He turned to look up at Monroe and held out his hand. "I trust you. The least you could do is trust me a little."

That was enough to crumble Monroe's resolve. He took a step forward, closing the distance. His hand was warm in Nick's. He pulled Monroe down into a kiss.

The kiss started off sweet and then got heated very quickly. Nick moaned into Monroe's mouth and opened his legs, making room for Monroe to press close. Large hands gripped his ass and squeezed. Nick lost himself into the kiss, Renard's presence temporarily forgotten in the wake of Monroe's lips. His hands wandered over Monroe's muscles and up his shirt to attack the buttons. Monroe's shirt fell away, then Nick's t-shirt, and Monroe's undershirt.

His legs went around Monroe's waist and he nearly fell backwards onto the couch but Monroe caught him, then froze. For a second Nick wondered what was wrong. He followed Monroe's surprised gaze over his head to Renard who still sat in the middle of the couch. His pants were open now and he was stroking himself in slow, even measures.

"Don't let me stop you. You were putting on quite a nice show."

The erection pressing against Nick's ass was proof that Monroe wasn't bothered. Nick caught a glimpse of the mirror out of the corner of his eye. His reflection stared back at him. He knew what he needed to do.

Nick took Monroe by the hand and pulled him around to the opposite side of the coffee table from Renard. He dropped his own pants and kicked them aside, stripping completely while the two men watched him – Renard with a hint of smug pride and Monroe with disbelief and curiosity. Nick knelt at the edge of the coffee table. He had a feeling that being bent over wooden surfaces was becoming a thing for him. Renard reached into his pocket and tossed a plastic tube at Nick. He held the tube up to Monroe.

"I think you can figure out what to do." Then Nick bent over the table. Renard obligingly scooted forward to meet him, his hand falling away in favor of Nick's mouth.

He could feel Monroe hesitate. Then his hands were on Nick's hips and his knees were forcing Nick's legs further apart. A slick finger slid in the same time as Renard carded his fingers in Nick's hair, holding him just the right side of too tight.

Monroe was gentle. He took his time, slowly and carefully working his finger into Nick's ass. It made him groan in frustration.

"He can take more than that," Renard said for him. "Give him more."

A second finger hesitatingly slid into him. He moaned.

"More."

A third and fourth pushed in. He shifted his hips backward, pressing into Monroe's touch eagerly.

"That's it." He could hear the pleasure in Renard's voice. Nick sucked hard in thanks and swallowed Renard down until he could feel Renard pressing against the back of his throat.

"Are you sure it won't hurt him?"

Renard's hand held Nick down to keep him from answering. He was okay with that.

"Fuck him. He wants it." Nick shifted his hips wider to accentuate the point.

Monroe's hands ran up his thighs, his touch soft. It was a delicious counterpoint to the roughness of Renard's hold on his hair. Then there was nothing from Monroe and he thought for a moment that Monroe had changed his mind. He was in the middle of bobbing down on Renard's dick when Monroe pressed into him. Nick moaned, which made Renard's hand clench painfully. It felt delicious. He slid his mouth down while Monroe slid in and then they froze there, with Nick incredibly full at both ends.

He wanted to stay like that forever. Monroe and Renard had different plans. Monroe pulled out and Renard shifted, changing his grip to hold Nick's head still as he pulled out of Nick's mouth at the same speed as Monroe. Nick moaned. His hands gripped Renard's thighs, though he wasn't sure if that was for balance or sanity. Then they were both at the end and pushing back in and Nick was very, very certain that he was going to go insane. At least it would be a pleasant trip.

They increased speed gradually, building up faster and faster, and all Nick could do was hold on and enjoy the ride. Monroe was thick inside of him. Almost too thick. He could feel his insides stretching to make room for him. His mouth was going to be sore tomorrow. His jaw ached already but there was no way in hell he was going to stop, not yet. Each slide of flesh into him drew out a desperate moan.

He felt like he'd been achingly empty his whole life and that void was now being filled, not just by one person but, impossibly, by two and it felt wonderful and incredible and exhilarating all at once. He needed this, more than he needed air or water or sunlight, and they gave it to him. Monroe's hips snapped into him, hard and fast and pounding. So hard that Nick was sure there'd be bruises there, and Renard was matching him, fucking deep into Nick's mouth.

Monroe howled. Claws bit into Nick's skin. Monroe froze, started to pull away, but both Nick and Renard grabbed him, pulling him back in. Renard slipped from Nick's mouth. Nick's jaw ached as he turned to look over his shoulder at Monroe's wolfish face.

"Please." His voice was hoarse and utterly wrecked but it worked. "Please, Monroe. Please."

Monroe groaned and snapped his hips forward again. Nick screamed. He begged again and again, until Renard guided his head back down. His lips locked onto Renard desperately. His voice still carried around Renard's flesh, loud and wanton. He gave up trying to hold himself back once he tasted the beginnings of Renard's release on his tongue.

They came in relatively quick succession – Nick first, then Renard, and then Monroe last, howling his release. Nick collapsed across the table, utterly spent. He felt wrung out and used in the best possible way. Two sets of hands stroked his skin. His shivered every time they touched him.

"Are you alright?" Monroe asked after several minutes. He sounded more human but Nick couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to check.

He moaned in response. Renard chuckled. "That's a yes," Renard supplied for him.

"Oh. Okay."

Nick winced as Monroe pulled out. Maybe he could talk Renard into giving him the day off. He shifted his head on the table. Even that little movement seemed like far too much effort. Renard had put himself back together and slid to the floor, closer to eye level. He grinned at Nick. "Not a chance."

His boss was a dick, and he kind of liked it that way. He was so screwed, in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

"You suck," he said and turned to Monroe, who at least had the grace to look almost as wrecked as Nick. "Worth it?"

Monroe just nodded.

Nick laughed. His entire body ached. "I don't suppose one of you wants to help me up to bed? Otherwise I'm going to fall asleep on the table and that's really not going to help my already impaired mobility tomorrow."

Monroe and Renard shared a glance. Renard moved first. "Yeah. I think we can do that."

They each took one arm and half carried him towards the stairs. He didn't even bother trying to help. He figured he'd earned it.

As they passed the mirror, a smug voice called out, "I told you so."

He really hated that mirror.