Work Text:
Sabertooth had been reeling with job requests since Fairy Tail had disbanded, and of course Sting was pleased in the surge for his guild, it had meant that he had barely seen his own bed for months; Minerva was forever dragging them out on jobs, and Yukino was not much better. It had been too long since he and Rogue had gotten any time alone together, always being followed by one of the women or an Exceed. Sting did not especially mind, of course, except for the fact that he and Rogue had not had sex in nearly three months and he missed it.
Finally, they were home alone together, and Sting was already getting himself riled up. So many thoughts and images bounced around his mind as he descended the stairs to find his mate, wondering how best to initiate this intimacy. He loved Rogue's voice, loved everything about the man, but there was something special in the way he dragged out Sting's name, moaned and gasped and commanded. That was how he wanted to start this, with Rogue talking to him, exciting him; it would not take much, not now.
Sting stopped in the doorway, allowed himself a moment to breathe. He did not want to come across as desperate as he truly was, so gave himself a second's pause, watching as Rogue tapped quickly away on his mobile phone. He eyed the subtle crease of Rogue’s eye brow with barely-suppressed lust, licking his lips at the positively sinful way Rogue had pinned his hair back that morning.
He crossed the room in three long strides, flopping down onto the seat next to Rogue and throwing his arm around him casually, already rubbing small circles into Rogue’s forearm. Sting leant in, breathed in the coconut scent of Rogue’s shampoo and let his lips brush over the dark, wavy strands.
Into Rogue’s ear, Sting delivered the sultry whisper, “Fancy talkin’ dirty to me, Rogue?”
Rogue hardly reacted, hands still tapping furiously at the touch screen in his palm. Briefly, his gaze travelled to the hazed gleam in Sting’s eyes, before returning to his phone.
“There’s dishes in the sink, the carpet needs hoovering and there’s clothes to be ironed.” Rogue’s voice, calm and monotonous, cut through Sting's resolve. He removed his arm from Rogue and sat back with a juvenile pout.
Before he could move further away, Rogue pressed his lips against the sensitive skin under Sting’s ear. “ Oh, and I love the way your cock feels when it pou-”
“Okay!” Sting rose suddenly, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Rogue raised his eyebrow and smirked, but did not comment.
“I’ll iron the dishes- no- hoover the clothes- I mean-”
“You’re an idiot.” Rogue muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Sting’s hand. Sting breathed in sharply before marching stiffly out of the room, grabbing a pile of washing as he went.