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Home. Every person has their own definition of this word. Home can be a place, a house where you live alone or with your family. Home can be a place where you do not necessarily live, but where you feel your heart belongs.
„Home is where your heart is.“ Is what many people would say. So to Sting, Home is red eyes, black hair and warm hugs. The smell of cinnamon and a crackling fire, tender hands and pale skin that had not seen enough sunlight in a long while. Home is bright smiles and sad eyes, full of worry and love. Oh, so much love.
A kind of love that only he could express and Sting was almost ashamed that it had taken him so long to realise that he was all he needed.
There was nothing that offered him as much comfort and safety as his strong arms wrapped around him when they fell asleep together, nothing that made his heart feel warmer and more at Home than those ruby red eyes.
But he would never, ever know how much Sting really loved him. And that was not even the blond‘s fault. If it were he would change it, but he couldn‘t.
So when their eyes meet or their hands touch or he is only so much as breathing the same air as him, his heart feels like bursting and it hurts. It hurts so much not to be able to tell him how much he means to him and it hurts not to express all that love and shower him in it.
There are not enough words in any language to express his feelings and Sting hates it and he hates feeling like his words are not enough for him to feel like he is loved.
Rogue.
Thinking of his sad smiles and disbelieving eyes when Sting tells him how much he means to him and how wonderful of a person he is feels like a stab through his heart.
Why can‘t he see it too? Why must he see a degraded version of himself whenever he looks into a mirror and why, oh why must he be haunted by a shadow telling him he is weak and unworthy of love?
„What are you thinking about?“ Rogue asks. His head is resting on the blond‘s lap and Sting has a hand in those long black strands, gently caressing his boyfriends scalp.
„I‘m thinking of you.“ Sting tells him the truth. Like I so often am. He adds in his head. Rogue looks confused and furrows his brows. Almost out of reflex, Sting used his other hand, that is not currently entangled in the soft black hair, to smooth out the tension between his eyebrows.
„But I am right here.“ Rogue mumbles as he takes his boyfriend‘s hand in both his and just holds it. Sting smiles down at him and wishes he could kiss away the confusion in his head and replace it with nothing but himself.
He knows Rogue is here and he knows that he will be here for at least another couple hours before he will be heading to his own place… or maybe Sting can convince him to stay another night. Just one more, before he has to go back.
He is pretty sure that this will not be as much of a challenge as convincing him to leave both Frosch and Lector with Yukino so they can spend the night together. Without interruption that is.
„I know you are.“ Sting responds after an almost embarrassingly long pause.
„You are very weird, Sting.“ Rogue tells him and the blond cannot help but laugh at that statement.
Rogue had been telling him that since they were kids. Since Sting had started holding Rogue‘s hand when they were in town, telling him that it was a dangerous thing to do when they could both get lost so very easily. They had never lost sight of one another, so now that they are adults, Sting still likes to hold Rogue‘s hand, even though they had not done it during their teenage years.
„Can we go to the bedroom?“ Sting asks instead of responding and Rogue shrugs before sitting up. His hair, thanks to the scalp massage, is a mess and it looks absolutely endearing.
„But you are aware that Yukino will be here shortly, right?“ Sting nods and gets up too, taking Rogue‘s hand to pull him into the bedroom.
They get comfortable on the bed and as soon as the dark haired is lying down, Sting cradles him from the side, resting his head on Rogue‘s chest, to hear the slightly unsteady heartbeat that Rogue always has when they are close.
„Are you okay, Honey?“ Rogue asks, his voice is low and Sting merely nods, smiling to himself at the nickname.
Honey, sweet and golden, according to Rogue that was what Sting resembled the very most. When Rogue had first called him that, Sting had felt cheeky and had asked him whether or not he was delicious too and Rogue had blushed a deep shade of pink before pushing Sting away from him, causing the blond to laugh in delight.
„Sting.“ Rogue speaks up again and the blond lifts his head to lock eyes with the other. „Can you come here?“ the raven haired boy asks almost shyly.
Sting moves up to lie on top of Rogue. He feels both their hearts hammering in their chests and after a short second of eye contact, they both lean in for a kiss, moving their lips together in the perfect rhythm. They do understand each other without words after all.
They break the kiss before it gets too heated, both not in the mood for more. Their foreheads are touching and they both have their eyes closed as they share the same air and then they lean in to kiss again and again until they are both out of breath and not willing to do anything anymore but enjoy each other‘s presence.
Rogue blinks tiredly at Sting, but he smiles a smile that reaches his eyes and makes them glow a vibrant red.
„Je t‘aime.“ Sting tells Rogue and he knows it is nothing that he has not told him yet but it sounds more important now and he hopes that Rogue understands the language of love that french is and that he feels the love that flows with these simple words.
Rogue falls asleep soon after but he has a smile on his lips as he does.