#They're the most disgustingly sweet and romantic couple I've ever written

[evilfloralfoolery]

Aftermath

Just the cuddly morning aftermath of Grimm's terrible cold/flu after his little exotic dancer mission lol.

Gods, Indigo can't stand himself. Grimm is also a bastard.

________________________

Morning is a dreary affair, a weak sliver of grayed daylight peeking from between the heavy curtains.  Even without rising, Indigo can hear the rain/sleet combination pelting the windows, the whistle of the wind a sonorous continuum in counterpoint with the weather. 

Autumn has begun its descent into winter and Indigo has no complaints.  Much like his mother’s side of the family, he not only enjoys the cold, but thrives in it. 

Grimm, of course, is another story.

Beside him, Grimm stirs and Indigo feigns a peaceful state of slumber. 

For a moment. 

Arms slide around his body, inviting him into an embrace, which is well received. Indigo curls against his chest, one hand upon the warmth of Grimm's naked skin peeking from the V in his nightshirt.

“Mornin’.” Grimm's voice is thick with sleep and congestion, dark and rumbling, like living thunder.

“Good morning,” Indigo says in return. He reaches to run his fingers through the tousled mess of Grimm’s hair.  “How are you feeling?”

“Like ass.”  Grimm muffles a cough into one hand and clears his throat.  “But I’ve had worse.” 

While that may be true, Indigo finds himself impossibly undone by his partner’s admission of vulnerability, small as it may be.  Especially in conjunction with his more than apparent symptoms.  

“I shall make you some tea shortly,” Indigo says. 

“Mmmn, I don’t want tea yet.”  Grimm runs a hand down Indigo’s back and back up again, rubbing the space between his shoulder blades in an absent, complacent manner.  “I want you to keep pettin’ me.” 

Indigo chuckles. “I suppose I can manage that.” 

He shifts higher onto his pillow so that their positions are exchanged and it is now Grimm with his head resting upon Indigo’s chest. Gentle fingers sift through the fine silk of his locks, pausing to unravel the occasional snarl.

Grimm purrs like a contented panther.

For a moment. 

While he is well aware of Grimm’s notorious morning “issues,” it is still, nonetheless, a pulse-speeding event when Grimm’s breath hastens into a sudden, almost gasping hitch. 

“Huuh–huuuuhhiiih!  HhkgUSSCCHHu! –GKSSSCHHssh!”  

“Mmn, sorry,”  Grimm sniffles thickly and Indigo lets out a breath he didn't realize he held within himself so tightly.

“Bless you,” Indigo says. He tucks a handkerchief between Grimm’s fingers.  “And you are most certainly not sorry.”

Grimm chuckles.  “Damn right, I’m not.”

Long moments pass and Indigo has just begun to drift off once more when the slight catch of Grimm's breath alerts him to inevitable. The man is obviously trying to suppress things, including his overly sensitive buildup beforehand.

Indigo's breathing slows, but he does not move, instead presenting the façade of sleep.

Grimm shifts and Indigo cracks his eyelids to the slightest sliver of openness. The other man presses a hand beneath his nose with a flinch of shoulders, barely suppressing a desperate “--Nh’GGKT-shhuh!”  

Gods, he is a positively horrific stifler at times, barely managing to suppress anything at all. 

Which makes Indigo's toes curl in his socks. 

Honestly.

“Bless you,” Indigo says, unable to keep that obnoxious emphasis from the sentiment.

“Thanks,” Grimm says with something between a sigh and sniffle. 

He rolls into his side to face Indigo and even in the dimly lit room, that saucy smile is evident. “Damn, that fucks you up, huh.” 

Indigo rolls his eyes. “Haven't you tired of provoking me?” 

Grimm's smile widens. “Not enough to stop making you wanna fuck me.” 

 And Grimm being Grimm, he must obviously prove this point beyond a reasonable doubt. Fingers cinch into his pajama top as Grimm struggles with a drastically desperate breath.  “--nhhHGGXT-shhuh!” 

Indigo smirks. “Gods, Grimm. Either silence yourself or sneeze properly.”

“Smartasshhhuh! UhhhgSSCHHu! –RIISSSSHHiiiuh! Goddahhhuh-huuuh!”  

Indigo tenses, the fingers upon Grimm's arm curling into themselves in anticipation.

Grimm’s expression wavers into an urgent breakdown . . . and he pinches Indigo's thigh. “Sike.” 

“Oh, you great bastard!” Indigo slaps his shoulder as Grimm finds merciless amusement in his frustration.

“Goddamn, Indy, you're too fucking easy!” Grimm laughs with a deep, rough sound.  “And look at you. Slapping my sick ass around. You should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Indigo feigns complete and total indignation, but not before reaching around to properly deliver a well-placed open handed smack to Grimm's actual backside. “There. I have now officially slapped your sick ass.” 

Grimm would have certainly guffawed, had it not been for the threat of a fit of coughing. Instead, he cocks an eyebrow, expression flattening to something deadpan and serious. “I'm calling the police.” 

“You are the police!” 

“Retired.” Grimm’s smile curves into something nefarious. “Now, smack my ass like I'm your bitch.” 

Indigo cannot help himself. Even his attempt at muffling a laugh into a palm results in complete and total failure.

“Honestly.” He brushes aside a lock of Grimm's sleep-tousled hair. “I will do no such thing.” Fingers tighten in those silken locks and he gives it a sharp, jerking tug that snaps Grimm's head to one side. “But I will do this.” 

“Mmmn, yeah. I bet you will.” Grimm's lips part with sinful decadence, beckoning a kiss from his partner. 

He slides his free palm over Grimm’s cheek and rests it there.  The man is too stunning for words with his ever-darkening stubble and features that appear as if they were carved by the masterful hands of the gods.  

“I love you, Grimm,” he says, voice a low whisper of sound.

Grimm’s mischievous gaze softens and he turns his face into Indigo's hand, kissing his palm with a brief press of lips before pulling him closer. 

The way Grimm begins a kiss is nearly always a sensual affair, a gentle sort of tease, the promise of something deeper and thorough implicated by his touch.

“I love you, too, Indy.” 

Within the confines of his chest, Indigo's heart trips over its own beat. 

“Kiss me,” Grimm murmurs against his mouth.

And so he does. Indigo feels as if his soul is suffused in flames. No one should have the audacity to kiss this well.

Grimm’s fingers splay across his back, drawing him closer still and Indigo cannot suppress the soft moan that escapes him.

“You had best stop before you create something you are unable to finish.” Indigo's words are breathless and heady with desire.

Grimm pins him to the mattress with his superior weight, hair curtaining his face. “Who says I'm not gonna finish?”