Chapter Text
The first time it happens it begins with all the wrong reasons: anger, jealousy. Maybe even a little hate.
Nick doesn't want to go back to Monroe's, not yet. Oh, he really appreciates Monroe taking him in when he just couldn't stand to be in that house with Juliette any longer, knows that Monroe is being a good friend, trying to be kind, supportive, sympathetic. But tonight he doesn't want kindness or sympathy, doesn't want to be handled with care, poor Nick, whose girlfriend forgot his very existence. Tonight he doesn't want to be nice Nick, good Nick, keep trying to do the right thing Nick.
He could go to the trailer of course, but he doesn't want to be alone either. Doesn't want to read the books, think about the world that keeps throwing his life around. He thinks he could enjoy using the weapons, pouring out his frustrations in the release of violence, except that for once there doesn't seem to be anyone to fight. And what he wants, a part of him acknowledges, is a different kind of release. Well, he's single, free, who knows.
He walks aimlessly, downtown Portland in the rain, electricity in the air, the occasional distant rumble of thunder. It matches his mood. The rain gets heavier and he sees the bar sign. He knows the place by name, knows it's not his kind of place, too upmarket, old wood, expensive drinks. As a cop he knows it's also got a slight reputation, an edge of notoriety, not the sort of place he'd have brought Juliette, the woman who might have been his wife. Good. He turns in.
Inside it's busy but not full. Nick walks straight up to the bar, takes a stool, orders a large scotch. When it arrives he holds it in his hands for a second, as though warming them, then takes a gulp. He suspects that with the prices here he should be sipping, but he doesn't care. He rarely drinks spirits and he welcomes the burn as it goes down his throat.
There is a woman on the barstool to his right, dark haired, maybe a few years older than him. She's checking him out discreetly, eyes flickering towards him as she looks round casually. He can tell if he just catches her eye they will talk. He doesn't want to, keeps his head down. On Nick's left is a heavy set blond man, standing tapping the bar impatiently while he waits for his drink. He's well dressed, wearing too much cologne. Nick can see the indentation where his wedding ring would usually sit.
What the hell is he doing here? This isn't his kind of place, surely this isn't what he wants? Perhaps he should just go back to Monroe's, probably be able to buy a bottle of scotch for the price of a couple of drinks here. He could get really, really drunk, see if that helps. Nick lifts his glass, swallows most of what's left. The blond man next to him gets his drink, turns away, and for the first time Nick sees the man on the barstool next to him. Well, actually at first he only sees the hand holding a nearly empty glass like his own, the distinctive ring on the finger. That's enough though. Renard.
For a second he feels a huge rush of something, something he can't quite put a name to, although adrenaline is certainly there in the mix. If he'd had two drinks more he might have just turned around and punched Renard again - for wanting Juliette, for touching Juliette, for being Royal and Wesen and most of all for not telling him. As it is he just raises his eyes to meet the green ones watching his. And suddenly he knows exactly what he wants. Something he hasn't done in a long time, has never even contemplated doing with this edge of danger before.
The bartender is standing nearby. Nick looks at him,
"Another one for me and another of whatever he's drinking."
The bartender looks towards Renard and after a second he inclines his head fractionally in response.
The don't speak until the drinks arrive. Nick takes another healthy mouthful, Renard sips. Nick thinks this isn't Renard's second drink of the night though, he isn't quite as composed as usual, there is a look to his eyes. The top button on the pale blue shirt is undone, discreetly patterned tie loosened very slightly. On most people that would still look like formality, but not Renard. He's certainly not drunk but he's not entirely sober either. Nick asks,
"You come here often?"
"Occasionally."
"For any particular reason?"
Renard holds up the glass,
"A drink?"
His voice makes it a question.
"And anything else?"
There is a pause, a hiatus.
"Sometimes...company."
Nick can see the tension around his mouth, in the way he's holding his glass. There is another pause, Renard takes another drink, speaks again,
"And you? Why are you here?"
"I wanted company too."
Nick turns on his seat, filling the space between them, and they look at each other. Nick stares into Renard's eyes then deliberately drops his gaze to Renard's mouth and slowly down. There are occasional glimpses of what Renard keeps under his expensive suits - at the gym, in the locker room - and Nick lets his eyes roam while his mind imagines. When he lifts his eyes back to meet Renard's the green eyes are dilated and the other man's breathing is slightly faster. He's sure that Renard understands exactly what is in his thoughts. Nick feels alive, as though the whisky and Renard's closeness has heated his blood, made everything clearer.
This is the moment of decision. Up until this point there has only been thought and thought can be denied, forgotten. He should drink up and go back to Monroe's, Renard should get up and walk out of the door and they can both think that on this night all they did was have a drink, sit on neighbouring bar stools. Actions are different.
Renard's hand is still resting on the bar, fingers around his glass. Nick reaches his own hand forward and touches Renard's wrist with the very tip of his finger, the tiny contact feels like a point of fire. He sees Renard swallow, knows that the other man is every bit as aware as he is that this minute but deliberate touch changes everything.
Renard moves his hand, lifts the glass to his lips and drains it, stands. Reaches into his pocket for his wallet, pulls out some money and puts it on the bar next to the empty glass.
"There's a hotel next door, room 25. Finish your drink."
And he walks out.
Nick feels a wave of anger, this was his game and now Renard has wrested control of it, called what might still have been a bluff. He wants to lash out at him again, fight him, like they did by the old house in the forest. Except that reminds him about the times he's thought about that night and the fantasies it provoked. Nick reaches forward for his drink and suddenly becomes aware again of the people around him - the woman next to him, the bartender, the other customers. Realises he's in a public place and actually what a risk Renard took with that last sentence, one that could probably get him fired in the human world, who knew what in the Wesen world.
Nick sips his drink, counts sixty and sips again. Repeats this. His drink is finished. He pays the bartender without even noticing the amount, walks outside. The hotel is to the left, the route that would take him back to Monroe's is right. He turns left.
The hotel is the small boutique type. Nick walks confidently through the lobby and to the stairs, doesn't pause until he's standing outside room 25. The door is just ajar. Last chance to turn back. He goes in.
The room is dimly lit. Renard is standing, looking towards him. He has taken off his jacket and tie, undone another button on his shirt. As soon as Nick shuts the door and steps forward he closes the distance between them. It isn't soft or tender or gentle. The meeting of their mouths is hard, battling and clothes are pulled and tugged and removed as fast as they can. They suck and bite and wrestle and fight for dominance and they will have bruises tomorrow. And the release, hard hands on hard flesh, is too rushed, too fast, too much.
There is a long moment while they hold, both breathing hard, and Nick feels a strange sense of returning to himself, almost like waking or sobering up instantly. He's aware that Renard is still radiating tension, feels poised to run or fight again. And that's when everything changes, because suddenly Nick doesn't want to fight, doesn't want to be angry, doesn't want this to end now, like this. He shifts slightly,
"Don't move."
Nick heads into the bathroom, his eyes dark-adjusted enough to find washcloths, towels. He washes and dries himself and then takes everything else back into the bedroom to clean up both bed and Renard, who accepts his ministrations without comment. He does however relax a little. Nick takes this as encouragement, lies on the bed, pulls Renard down and to him, wraps himself as close as he can. After a second Renard's arms move around him. It feels very warm, very...safe. Which is stupid.
They lie there for a few minutes without speaking, Nick occasionally turns his head, kisses whichever part of Renard's skin meets his lips. He's sure he should be really thinking 'Sean' after what they've just done but he can't quite bring himself to it, even in his thoughts. Renard's hands are stroking his back, his hair. He does feel he needs to say something though.
"I was angry. I'm sorry."
Renard's hands tighten,
"You had a right to be. I will be ... pleased if we can get past that. Although I hadn't quite anticipated this would be the way to do it."
Nick laughs, kisses again. Starts to kiss with rather more purpose.
"We should do it again, just to make sure."
This, the second time, is different from the start. Renard strokes and kisses and caresses until Nick feels that every nerve ending is awake and desperate for Renard's touch. Nick does his best to return the favor. The feel of firm hands against his body, his own hands stroking hard muscle, the surprisingly soft skin. And when they are done they hold each other, fall asleep in each other's arms. Nick doesn't want to sleep, to lose this time held in Renard's arms in unconsciousness, but he can't resist.
When Nick wakes it's because Renard is moving away from him.
"I'm sorry, I have to go. You stay here as long as you want, no one will disturb you."
Nick pulls him back, kisses him one more time. Has to ask something that has puzzled him,
"How come you had this room? Had you planned something like this?"
He can see Renard smile,
"This was definitely neither planned nor expected. This room is always available for me. Now go back to sleep."
Nick drifts, half asleep but aware of the sound of running water, Renard retrieving clothes, dressing. Renard comes back to the bed, touches his hair, leans down and kisses him gently, says something in French. Nick tries to catch the words but they are too quick, he doesn't know enough of the language. He's left with just the rhythm of the words.
It should make things more difficult between them but somehow it doesn't. Somehow there's an ease between them that hasn't been there before. They work together, particularly while Hank is on holiday and then when he comes back on crutches. Then there's Khloe Sedgwick, the musai, and that gives Nick a whole new appreciation of the power of enforced love and what happened between Juliette and Renard. And somehow from that he and Juliette end up back together. What happened between him and Renard becomes a memory only to be thought about in the quietest moments of the darkest nights. That and the rhythm of Renard's final words.