Chapter 1: Rogue/Sting "Let's Practice"

A/N: This chapter inspired by FlipSideofC's Stingue works and drafts (Ch1) on AO3. Sting's "Let's practice" stuck in my head, and so this happened. :)

Also, I am not neglecting Overcome, I promise! I'm working really hard to get everything right in the fic. Gonna try to get two chapters up tomorrow.

The Twin Dragons of Sabertooth had shared a bed since forever. They did everything together; they'd been roommates since they first found out who the other was; and when an occasion cropped up requiring them to share sleeping space, they did it naturally without saying a word. There was a reason people called them twins.

Of course, that didn't explain how they ended up sharing a bed in their dormitory, not that anyone bothered to wonder.

Sting and Rogue wouldn't have answered anyway. Sometimes, quite understandably, they suffered from nightmares. Each had gotten in the habit of crawling under the other's covers to give tangible comfort when needed.

Eventually, the second bed became extraneous.

Only very occasionally did Rogue wish he had a separate futon to go back to. Like tonight, when he'd awoken curled against Sting's back, a hand draped over Sting's warm ribs.

Groggy, Rogue had actually caressed Sting's side before he realized where he was and what he was doing. When he pulled sharply away (trying not to disturb the Exceeds curled up on their pillows), Sting had snuffled in his sleep, fingers groping mindlessly after him. It was very disconcerting.

Now Rogue lay as far away on the bed as possible, his back to his teammate, trying to calm his breathing. Stupid Dragon Slayer hearing meant if Sting woke up, he'd instantly know something was wrong by the pitch of Rogue's heart.

But even more than his pounding pulse, Rogue was trying to focus on getting his boner to go down.

Generally, Rogue had proud control over his body, but this happened around Sting every now and again. It was a minor, easily-managed weakness, so Rogue didn't mind too much. He'd think about something else until it went away: a mission, or whatever irritating thing Minerva had done recently, or (if it came to it) Skiadrum.

Sometimes, he'd stomp off by himself with Frosch until his mind settled. (Frosch's presence didn't count because Rogue and Frosch both liked silence.)

On very rare occasions—Rogue could count them on his fingers—he had been rash and jerked off to the stiff, eager desire that was brought on by a blonde Dragon Slayer laughing at a joke, grinning at mischief, or stretching his lithe frame after a victory.

It was probably a stupid idea, but the fantasies weren't hurting anyone and they didn't change anything. Rogue was always in control of himself around Sting. Always.

Except, apparently, when he slept.

Rogue curled his hand, still feeling the sensation of Sting's skin under his fingers. Thinking about the six and a half times he'd gotten off to fantasies of his partner was doing nothing for Rogue's cock, either.

Neither was the warm body that suddenly rolled up against his back.

Rogue held his breath as he listened to Sting's familiar sounds. Smelling, feeling, trying to determine without moving whether Sting was still sleeping.

He was. Rogue exhaled in relief.

It took a long time before Rogue was able to relax into the soft touch against his shoulder blades. A few hours before dawn, he finally fell asleep again.

The next morning Rogue had a pounding headache, the usual sign he hadn't gotten enough rest. Sting, always in sync with him, didn't disrupt the quiet.

It wasn't until Rogue finally tumbled out of bed that Sting spoke. Rogue was pulling off the shirt he'd slept in and reaching for a clean one when Sting asked, "Why do you dislike being shirtless?"

With his back to Sting, Rogue was able to hide his blush behind his hair before he faced him.

"It makes me uncomfortable," he said, pulling the garment on.

"But nobody sees you when you're sleeping."

Rogue was about to point out 'nobody' included Sting, but Lector burst out of the closet with a cheerful shout. He wore an unfamiliar green vest, a smug grin on his face.

"See? Much better than the old one," Lector said to Sting, voice much louder than Sting's had been. Rogue closed his eyes as his head throbbed.

"Looks great," String agreed, his smile as bright as sun over the horizon.

Lector and Sting were morning creatures.

Rogue and Frosch were not.

Frosch crawled over and put their head on Rogue's socked foot.

"Yeah, me too," Rogue muttered, picking up the tired Exceed. Still, he smiled as Sting and Lector kept up their cheerful chatter all the way to breakfast.

"So, we're doing that job tonight?" Sting asked as he finished off his plate.

Rogue, only halfway through eating, groaned. The action made his headache worse, and he leaned his face into one hand.

"We don't have to," Sting said quickly.

"I can do it," Rogue said, sullen. "I'll nap this afternoon."

When Rogue turned in after lunch, he was surprised Sting followed him back toward their dormitory. Rogue gave him a look and the blonde shrugged. Shrugging back, Rogue let Sting catch up to him.

That was what Rogue liked best about his partner: they understood each other perfectly.

Curling up automatically facing Sting's side of the bed, Rogue closed his eyes, head already feeling better on the horizontal. The bed jostled as Sting lay down next to him. Then warmth pressed against Rogue's arm.

Rogue jerked.

Sting was on his back, eyes closed, his arm resting loosely against Rogue's. He had to have noticed Rogue's reaction. Rogue swallowed and asked, "Uh…?"

Sting rolled over and stared at him, apparently baffled.

"You liked it last night."

The muscles of Rogue's face froze up. "What?"

Sting shook his head in exasperation and moved—closer.

"You cuddled my back," Sting said, voice slightly muffled in the pillow.

Rogue realized Sting's face had turned pink.

Oh.

Oh!

Rogue felt like a bottle of champagne, bubbles trickling up his insides. He was just figuring out what he wanted to say when Sting shifted away from the physical contact and said, "Sorry."

"What? No. I…uh…I…"

"You like it?" Sting asked, perking up.

Hesitating a just second, Rogue rubbed the back of his hand down Sting's arm. "I like it."

Sting grinned. It was Rogue's turn to flush, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"If you like it, we should practice," Sting said.

Without any further warning, he rolled forward and pressed his lips to Rogue's.

Jolting against him, Rogue sucked a breath, sliding a hand across Sting's face to pull him closer. When Rogue slipped the tip of his tongue into Sting's mouth, Sting became a whirl of kinetic energy, dragging Rogue's body closer, running a hand down his abdomen, biting him lightly and speeding up the frenetic kiss.

All the bubbles inside Rogue burst as warmth spread through his chest. Sting's lips were far better than he had imagined—and yes, he'd imagined it. He'd sincerely wanted it for a long time now.

Rogue still wanted it. The more he kissed Sting, the less he could conceive of ever stopping.

It was Rogue who noticed the change first. A shift to Sting's oh-so-familiar scent made his mind stir with instinct. He'd been hard since Sting first touched him, but now he needed. The smell pouring off of Sting told him: it was reciprocal.

Rogue didn't have to look at what he was doing to place his palm over Sting's hard-on. Sting gasped into his mouth, but just as quickly he was hauling Rogue's hips closer and grinding against him. Rogue tried to restrain the sounds in his throat, but Sting had no such censure: he moaned.

Sting thrust into Rogue's hand, whining in confusion when Rogue pulled away, only to groan louder when Rogue's fingers found their way into his pants.

"Fuck, Rogue," Sting swore. "I want you."

The words shot straight into Rogue's heart. He was touching Sting, holding Sting in his hands, stroking smooth flesh, rubbing his thumb across the head. This was real. Rogue twisted half on top of Sting for a better angle, speeding up his pace while he watched his partner come undone beneath him.

As Sting arched against him, sounds getting more and more desperate, Rogue pushed his free hand up Sting's chest, shoved his shirt up, and began to play with a nipple.

"Rogue… Rogue—!"

That was all the warning Sting gave before jets of warm fluid hit his stomach and covered Rogue's hand. Sting was shaking, nails digging into Rogue's arms, breath ragged.

"We'll definitely keep practicing that," Rogue chuckled as Sting's head leaned up and thunked against his chest. "Teach you to hold out longer."

"Not a fair assessment," Sting protested, panting. "Three years of pent-up waiting were behind that. Also, your hands have magic powers."

Rogue leaned back to stare at him. Three years?

Sting filled his vision, kissing him, touching him, soft and gentle and slow. Taking him over.

Then Sting pulled back and Rogue had to cope with yet another swift change as Sting grinned excitedly and begged, "Can I suck you off?"

"What?" Rogue sputtered. "You want to?"

"Please, Rogue?"

Sting's fingers were already running up and down Rogue's erection and gods dammit Rogue couldn't think when he did that.

"Yes," Rogue breathed, overwhelmed by the sensation as Sting crawled down his body. With a questioning glance for permission, the blonde Dragon Slayer pushed up Rogue's shirt, trailing his lips across hard planes that had rarely felt another's touch. Rogue shuddered: it felt so good.

Then Sting yanked his pants down, ran his tongue around Rogue's cock, and pulled him into his mouth.

Rogue grunted, loudly, no longer able to feel shame at the noises. Sting was not a timid lover. Sting used his tongue to press Rogue's cock against the roof of his mouth, taking care with his sharp teeth as he sucked him up and down. But when a fang grazed faintly along the length, Rogue hissed in pleasure.

"When…did you get so good at this?" Rogue groaned.

Sting pulled up long enough to say, "Just now."

"Shit," Rogue panted. "It's better than anything…"

Sting glowed. Rogue was careful with all his words: when he lauded something, he meant it wholeheartedly. Sting had wanted to do this for so long, but doing it right was a victory.

Gripping the base of Rogue's dick, Sting drew him as far into his mouth as he could. While Sting explored the shaft with his tongue, pulling animal noises from Rogue, he gradually increased his speed. He wanted to swallow his partner down and devour him.

"Sting," Rogue whimpered.

Still bobbing up and down on his cock, Sting shifted to look up. Rogue's long black hair had fallen away from his handsome face. Rogue's normally self-controlled countenance had fallen away, abandoned and raw, contorting through expressions of pleasure. Flushed, eyes closed and mouth open, he was perfection in Sting's eyes.

If Sting watched him much longer, his heart just might stop working.

He focused on the warm cock in his mouth, the bitter flavor growing stronger, and hummed happily. Rogue's hands twisted the bedclothes as he moaned.

"S-Sting," Rogue stuttered, possibly the most exquisite thing Sting had ever heard. "Almost… I'm trying…to hold—"

Shaking his head, Sting growled at him and moved faster.

"Oh fuck!" A minute later, Rogue shouted and came. Tart fluid filled Sting's mouth, overwhelming his sharp senses, and he sucked automatically, drawing out every bit he could.

Licking his lips, Sting swallowed. It was sour, but it was Rogue, and he liked it. He glanced up and found his spent, flushed partner watching him.

"You have no idea how sexy you are," Rogue said.

Sting choked. They weren't words he ever expected to hear out of the guarded Dragon Slayer. For once, Sting Eucliffe didn't know what to say.

He crawled up next to his partner and went to hold him, but Rogue said, "Wait a second," and pulled off his shirt. "Better."

"Definitely," Sting said, running his eyes along the smooth lines. Rogue had a body worth showing off.

Sting snuggled up next to him, curling himself around his Shadow Dragon Slayer. Somehow managing to get both arms around Rogue, Sting tipped his forehead against Rogue's chest and closed his eyes, contentedly sleepy.

"This is nice," Sting sighed. "My turn to cuddle you."

"You did last night."

"I did?"

"You followed me across the bed when I pulled away." Anticipating Sting's question, Rogue added, "I had assumed you wouldn't enjoy waking up to find me spooning you. I was, um, confused when you returned the favor."

Sting twisted to grin at him.

"Well, I am good at knowing what you want."

Rogue just snorted and pulled him tighter, burying his nose in Sting's hair.

"How's your headache?" Sting asked.

"Gone," Rogue said, and there was no mistaking the smile in his voice.

Grinning against Rogue's skin, Sting decided he was never, ever letting go.