Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima
Warnings:
Sexual content. Swearing. Drinking. General bawdiness. The usual culprits from me.
Mature audiences only, please.
We're Used to the Night
Walking next to Sting, I'm close enough that I can feel his body heat through his shirt. I don't think he notices that I try to get close, or if he does, he doesn't think too much on it. I try not to either. I tell myself that it doesn't matter, he's just a friend, we're just partners, and if my skin gets hot when I'm around him, it doesn't mean anything.
Because it shouldn't.
If I go home and jerk off thinking about Minerva, her mean smile, her huge tits and her taste for the cruel, and finish by thinking about Sting… well, I tell myself it's just because I'm always thinking about work. About running Sabretooth, about my next job. We've been together for as long as I can remember, so it's only natural that he's going to invade some of my private thoughts. Only, it's not some, it's all.
From beneath my lashes I shoot a look his way. In the early-summer sun his hair is so blonde it looks white, his eyes are so blue they could burn me up. His smile is fast and wicked and callous, brimming with sarcasm. "See something you like, Rogue?"
Caught, I do the only thing I can think of. Say nothing and face forward. It's super effective.
Sting claps me hard on the back. "Don't worry, buddy, nothing to be ashamed of. I know I'm a fucking fantastic, sexy bitch. If it gets you wet in the pants, you wouldn't be the first and fuck, I hope you're not the last."
"Fuck off," I tell him and walk faster, pulling away from his side. Sabretooth's guild hall is in sight, which means my office, with its four walls and its closing door. Privacy. Really, it's the Master's office, but I always end up doing most of the work for Sting, so I've come to think of the space as mine. I don't mind usually; it keeps me busy. If my mind is occupied with other things, it's not filled up pining over what I can't have.
"Hey!" Sting calls. "I was just fucking around!"
Ahead of us a white haired beauty steps out of the guildhall. There's a sweet smile on her lips and little clothing on her hips. "Hi, Sting!"
Again, I look Sting's way. Why? To torture myself, I guess. Yeah, he's looking, just like I thought. Yukino. Yukino. Yukino. I'm not going to lie, there have been moments in my life that I'm not proud of. They range everywhere from the Rogue I've yet to become arriving at the Grand Magical Games and fucking everything up, to fourteen-year-old me changing how I look and act to get a girl's attention because I thought that's what I should want. That technique isn't going to work here. I can change my smile, I can change my hair, I can change my clothes and the way I act, but I can't change my sex.
"Hi, Rogue!" Yukino calls next. She's jogging towards us now. everything bounces just as it should. Maybe I would have taken more time to appreciate her—I'm not blind—but I'm focused. I barely grunt when she's in hearing range. She only really has eyes for Sting, anyway. I hear her come to a stop, I can smell the increase in pheromones from both her and Sting. To get away from it I walk as fast as my long legs will take me. I can hear Yukino whisper, "What's wrong with him?" seconds before I tear open the guildhall door and find solace inside.
A sharp knock on my office door startles me from my deep thoughts. There are scores of papers strewn on the desk around me, all with red numbers crossed out in black ink as I dole out money from Sabretooth's coffers to pay for things like guild repair, booze and food, and any costs our mages might inflict while working. It seems more and more cities are getting damaged on jobs. Does Sting care? Nope. He doesn't see the money though, to be honest.
The knock sounds again. "Yeah." I know who it is, I can see the leather of his boots from under the door.
Sting comes in. For once there's no smile on his face. "What's up?"
"Working," I reply curtly. I'm in no mood to see him.
Does Sting ever take a hint, though? He grabs the other high backed chair in front of the desk and spins it around so he's straddling it. Then he crosses his arms over the back and rests his chin there. "Yukino thinks you're mad at her."
Yukino. Mad? I could hate that preppy, upbeat, gorgeous girl for no reason. But I don't. Well… not so much, anyway. "I'm not mad. I had stuff to do."
"Yeah, that's what I told her. There is something eating you, though. What is it?"
I imagine opening my mouth and telling him. I imagine getting up from my chair and going to him. I imagine taking his face between my hands and kissing him. I imagine—
"Rogue, holy fuck, you're a space-case."
"Nothing's bugging me," I say.
"Right. Sure." It's always easy for him to bowl over uncomfortable things. I'm envious. "Listen, we're going to need some extra food for tonight."
"Tonight?"
He gives me a duh look. "Yeah, tonight. Summer Solstice, remember?"
No, evidently, I didn't fucking remember, but now I do. Sting takes every chance he can get to party, and with the Summer Solstice upon us, why the hell not? "Yeah, I'll go to the market."
"Good. Get those fried bread thingies—you know the ones."
"Yeah." I know all of Sting's favorite foods. Pathetic.
"Alright." He gets up from the chair and goes to the door but stops with his hand on the doorknob. "Hey, maybe apologize to Yukino, eh? She was pretty upset."
I nod and say sure but I know I won't.
Though I try to sneak off and spend the night alone in my room, Sting sees me slinking through a hoard of people and grabs me by the bicep, keeping me in place. I don't even know where he comes from, which is odd, I usually know where he is.
"Where are you going?"
"Home," I reply.
"Come on, Rogue, party with us," he begs. I agree because even though I'm despondent, I can never, ever say no. Sensing he's won he leads me back past Minerva who loans me a flirty smile. She's in something that could really only be considered underwear, but is she abashed? Not at all, she thrives off the attention. Because she's so drunk she probably won't remember in the morning, I give it to her, grinning back and grabbing a handful of her ass on the way by. She squeals. Squeals. Minerva. Probably because no one other than Sting or myself would dare to treat her that way. Maybe it makes my dick a bit hard, but I'm just not that in. When will I get tired of this game?
"There you go, that's how to have fun," Sting praises.
I don't reply.
At the bar he taps the countertop and orders us both whisky. When the shot glasses come he hands me one then clacks his against it hard enough to spill some alcohol over the curved brim. "To being a fucking awesome Master."
I grin tightly.
"I couldn't do it without you, buddy." He wraps his arm around my shoulder in a rare show of affection. I stiffen but hasten to wrap my arm around his middle. I can feel his bare skin. It's warm and smooth. Beneath it is hardened muscle that clenches and moves under my fingers. I want to linger there but Sting is already pulling away, turning to face…
Yukino.
Of course.
I swallow my whisky and order another while Yukino gets herself settled on a barstool next to Sting. "Hey, Rogue," she calls around his body.
"Hi," I reply.
"You know, you're always so broody," she says with a snorting laugh. She's very, very drunk I realize. "You're so…" She wriggles her fingers, searching for the correct adjective and lands upon, "Mysterious. You must have all kinds of women coming after you."
She's not incorrect. There are plenty of women that chase me through the streets, first looking for my autograph then a date. I diligently tell them all no until I'm drinking, then I tell them all yes.
Sting nudges her. "Jealous, Yuki?"
Another whisky comes my way.
Yukino flushes. "Jealous?"
"I'll let you in on a little secret, Rogue never puts out until he's fucking wasted." Maybe Sting was drunk, too.
I shoot him a sideways glance. There's a wicked gleam in his eye. He's thinking something, and I'm sure I'm not going to like what.
"Me, on the other hand, I'm always ready. All you have to do is ask."
Yukino goes several shades of red. She's a hot, stammering mess.
"So?" Sting teases when she still hasn't formed a sentence. Not wanting to hear her reply, I effectively tune them out, going for my fifth drink. I'm not drunk yet, but when it hits, I'm going to make sure it hits hard.
An hour later my heads swimming. Yukino has yet to find her metaphoric balls, but Sting has her butt up on the bar and he's between her legs, teasing her every step of the way, trying to get a confession out of her. I'm sure she'll end up in his bed, which means it's way past the time I find mine. I think Sting is so enthralled now, touching Yukino lightly here and there to tease a reaction from her that he won't notice me leaving. Like always, I'm a shadow, slipping from his side and sliding between bodies. No one talks to me. They're afraid, they don't know what to say, they think I'm a dick for always being so quiet. Take your pick.
Going out the back way, I try to go through the alley back to the main street. Behind me, the back door opens, throwing the alley into dim relief as someone exits the guild.
"Rogue." There's a flick and a sharp inhale. The alley fills with the scent of cigarette smoke. I don't want to turn; I can't help myself. Sting has a dark amber bottle of beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. "Where you going, man?"
"Home," I reply. "I'm done for the night, I think. I have work to do tomorrow."
Sting waves me off. "Maybe you should take a day off. We just got back from a job, we're partying, why the hell not?"
Because being idle means having time to think, and having time to think means having time to pine. "I just got a lot of shit to do." I try to keep walking.
"Hey." Sting comes and grabs my bicep, pulling me to a standstill again. He's so close I can smell him. Cigarettes and alcohol and cologne and Yukino's sweet perfume. "What's going on with you lately? You've always been broody, but holy fuck."
I search his eyes and lie. "It's nothing."
"Come on, I know you better than that."
"Just forget it, Sting." I try to wrench out of his hold. His grip is iron-tight.
"Hang on."
I don't. I try to shake him off. He pushes me back so my back is against the wall and he's standing in front of me. The smoke from his cigarette is in my nose, burning. It smells gross, but it also smells good. It smells like him. I look into his eyes; he's intense, something unreadable is happening there. Between my legs tightens. "What?"
"Just come back in. There's a chick from town that wants to meet you. She's hot as fuck. I bet you won't even have to try—"
"I don't give a fuck about girls." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Sting is silent. "Like, at all?" he asks finally.
My neck is burning hot; my stomach twists unpleasantly. It's okay, it's okay. He'll be too drunk to remember tomorrow. "Excuse me."
"Hang on." He shoots out the hand holding the cigarette, planting it on the wall, and blocks my path. I try to go the other way. He does the same thing, beer bottle clacking loudly against the brick behind my head. He's suddenly closer than he's ever been before, his face inches from mine. He breathes out and I feel it. My mouth is dry.
"So is it guys then?"
"Get the hell out of my way."
"Answer me."
I feel paralyzed. "You're hammered. Move."
He doesn't. Casually, cockily, he uproots the hand holding the cigarette and takes a big haul off of it. I don't know how he does it, it burns my nose and makes my skin prick. "So," he muses, exhaling to the side. "That's why you're always looking at me, isn't it?" His grin turns fierce.
My cock is harder than it has any right to be. "I'm always looking at you because you're always talking shit," I say roughly and grab his shoulder to push him aside. He's unmovable.
"You do; you want to fuck me." He laughs, teeth flashing. I've imagine this a lot of ways; sometimes he gets mad, sometimes he gets serious, sometimes he laughs just as he is now. I hate that I know Sting too well. Disgusted with myself I push him with purpose, absolutely determined to get away. He pulls me back with just as much force, pushing me against the wall. He's not laughing now. I wonder if this is the point where he freaks out, if I'm going to find out what it's like to honestly be on the receiving end of one of his punches, but when I look into his face it's not anger I see, it's something else entirely. He's too close again.
"Have you ever kissed another guy?"
"No," I say immediately, hoping that it comes out indignantly. It's barely a whisper.
He licks his lips then does the improbable. He closes that hairsbreadth of space between us and kisses me. His lip is rough with stubble.
I can't even think. First I'm sure I'm dreaming. Then I'm sure that he's just fucking around. Then he pushes his body against mine, a strained grunt living in his chest, and I'm undone. I open my mouth when his tongue brushes my lips. Cigarettes and whisky have never tasted so good on someone else. My cock is so hard it hurts, and there's no hiding it.
Over my head Sting passes his cigarette into the hand that's holding the beer. Free, he drops his hand between us and grabs me. My chest feels small, too small to keep breathing. I do, somehow, though it stalls and catches when he starts rubbing me. His teeth find my lip and he bites hard.
"This is what you wanted?"
I can't respond. I don't need to, he knows. Releasing me, he starts messing with his belt. His mouth comes away from mine. His breathing turns erratic. Mine matches his when I realize what he's doing. 'Wait,' is on my tongue, but I don't say it, afraid that if I do I'll break whatever spell we're both under and his interest will turn to disgust. His zipper is loud in the graveyard quiet night. I look down our bodies and watch him pull himself out. He's totally erect, veiny and swollen. My already tight chest gets even smaller. I watch him rub himself for long seconds, then I get brave and grab him. He immediately takes his hand away and finds my shoulder, then he's kissing me again. I take over where he stopped, jerking with uneven movements. I'm too nervous to do well.
When he gets annoyed he takes his mouth away and whispers, "Get on your knees."
I can't. I can't move.
"Do it, Rogue." Sting sounds so confident I'm sure he's done this before. As soon as I think it I know it's true. I thought my secret was the only one between us, but I was wrong.
He pushes me down when I don't do it all on my own so I'm level with his erection. The concrete beneath me digs into my knees, my palms when I stabilize myself. Sting pushes his hips forward so he brushes against my mouth. "This is what you want, isn't it?"
Isn't it? So much I can't think. He hits my lips again and I open my mouth. His girth and length are too much. I do what I can, opening as wide as possible. He settles in deep and breathes out a satisfied sigh. He throbs on my tongue. Looking up, I watch him tip his beer into his mouth and take a huge swig, then he plants his hands on the wall again and starts thrusting. Like I said, I've never done this before, but I know how I like it, so I try to mimic the movements, swirling my tongue, sucking hard, then soft. Sting's eyes close. The cherry on his cigarette burns out. He finishes his beer and throws the bottle away. It breaks loudly on the pavement. I worry about the sound drawing someone out. The thrill of getting caught like this is exhilarating.
"Take your cock out," Sting whispers.
I get harder.
"Rogue, take your cock out," he repeats. I fumble to do what he says and struggle to get it around my restrictive clothing. As soon as I touch myself I know I'm oversensitive and way too hard, a state that's exacerbated when he whispers, "Jerk it off."
I do. Sting cusses and starts thrusting again, faster than before. I match my strokes and know it won't be long for either of us. He grabs the back of my head to keep me in place. I grab his thigh to help, then his ass.
"Fuck," he swears louder. "Almost—almost—"
I'm already there. When I come it's almost on his shoes. There are bright spots behind my eyes. I moan around his cock. He tightens his grip on my hair and holds me still. His body swells in my mouth and throbs, and then he's coming too.
He stays that way for long seconds, pushed deep inside my mouth. Only when he steps back can I draw breath and swallow. Staring at his shoes I wipe my mouth, unsure of what to do next. My fantasies never got much beyond this moment.
"Get up." He grabs my bicep and helps me rise. We're eye-to-eye. He kisses me again, unafraid to taste himself, then he squeezes my softening cock. I let it happen, used to the night and the secrets it keeps.
A/N: I thought long and hard about how to do this. And then, true to form, I threw all of my planning aside and let impulsiveness and blind stumbling take me where they would. Is it sweet? No. I'm no good with that shit, sorry. This is the first time I've ever written anything like this. In terms of man on man, that is. I'm not a guy, just saying, so it's probably terrible. Unfortunately, that is one life experience I cannot impart in my writing. HOWEVER, it was a blast to write and I regret nothing.
Liked it? Cool stuff.
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