Rogue checked his watch for the third time in the last five minutes. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek and he tried to hide the disappointment on his face.
Sting was late. Like- really late. It'd been more than half an hour since the agreed on 8 o'clock and Rogue was sitting alone at a table for two in the designated Olive Garden on Route 1- which, by the way, was nearly a twenty minute drive for Rogue himself. If he had to make the twenty minutes back with an empty stomach and no progress on his home situation, Gajeel was gonna pay.
His piercing clad friend wasn't exactly always trustworthy when it came to introducing him to people, especially if the time he'd set him up on a blind date with someone he'd found on an "Emo dating site or something" meant anything. But when he'd suggested a friend named Sting as a potential roommate, and then pointed at the single most handsome man in the entire cafeteria, Rogue had had trouble refusing. Meeting the guy and learning that he was about six different kinds of endearing hadn't hurt either.
The late part, though, he was starting to get tired of. As interested as he was in meeting with Sting, he was also really in need of a place to stay. His roommate had kicked him out nearly three days ago, and staying at Gajeel's was a lot worse than it sounded. The man sang in his sleep.
Rogue was finally beginning to consider just leaving altogether when the door to the small Olive Garden flew open. "Rogue!"
The stares that the exclamation drew were lost on the pale blonde man hanging in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a gray button down folded to the elbows, but most evidently, he appeared to have eyes only for Rogue. A nervous looking waitress rose from behind the front desk, but Rogue simply stood and held out a hand. "Please excuse him. He's with me." The lady sat back down, eyes following Sting as he made slowly his way over to the table, seating himself in front of Rogue.
"Um, hey," he began. He winced at his somewhat lame starter. "Sorry about being late. You know, traffic."
"I understand," Rogue said carefully, reaching over to take a sip from a tall glass. Sting reveled in the fact that he didn't actually look angry. Rogue cleared his throat. "I finished the breadsticks, though, so. You're going to have to deal." The genuinely disappointed look on the face of the man across from his made Rogue bite back a smile.
"Did you order yet?" Sting asked, reaching across the table to pick up one of the glossy menus. His eyes skimmed the appetizers, glancing up a few times to check on his date. Companion. Crush. Fuck.
"No, but I always get the chicken parm," Rogue admitted, oblivious to the crashing and burning happening in the head of the man across from him. "I was waiting."
"Right... Right. Sorry about that."
"You already apologized," Rogue reminded him, amused.
"I did, didn't I?" Sting forced a strained sound from his throat, probably meant to be a laugh of some sort. His forehead gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat, and he felt like the flames in his mind were about to make him combust altogether. "Sorry." He cringed at his mistake. "Wait, fuck, no…"
To the Sting's surprise, the man across from him started laughing. It was the first time he'd seen him do so, and he found himself mesmerized with the image. He tried to memorize every detail, from the quirk of his lip and the flaring of his Roman statue nose to the way his chin lowered to meet his chest. Sting's shoulders immediately fell, relaxing. The fire raging in his head simmered.
Rogue rose his gaze to Sting once more, red eyes shining. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh at you, you're just… You're kind of adorable, Sting."
.
.
.
"You're kind of adorable, Sting."
It wouldn't be exaggerating to say Sting's head literally lit ablaze. Rogue's brow rose in concern as the man across from him was suddenly dyed currant red till the tips of his ears. The tips. "Sting?"
"LET'S ORDER," Sting practically shouted, looking anywhere but his date. Companion. Crush. Fuck.
Conversation slowed down a bit, much to Sting's own chagrin. He had already deemed himself completely helpless in the talky-thinky department when it came to Rogue. He couldn't honestly say he understood why. He'd flirted and kept his cool around his fair share of good looking guys, and he knew he wasn't so sore on the eyes either. But when it came to Rogue, it's was like that episode of Spongebob that Natsu always made him rewatch- the one where Spongebob had to empty his head of anything that didn't have to do with being a waiter in order to help Squidward not fuck up. To impress Squilliam or something like that? Although, in his own case, Sting wished he hadn't ended up emptying his head of anything that wasn't looking like an idiot. Repeatedly.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tried to nonchalantly peek at the latest text and failed when its contents nearly make him spit out the lemonade in his mouth.
Rogue flashed a confused look, but Sting ignored him, reading over the text with misplaced annoyance. "so hows the date w/prince emo goin".
"nOT A DATE" Sting responded, practically punching the keys.
"yeah, yeah whatever. gajeel wants u to know he's super gay, btw"
"i did NOT NEED TO… wait rlly?"
"'not a date' mhmmm'"
"Something wrong?" Rogue asked after a few moments, noticing the newfound irritableness in the man's face.
"Ha, no, just an asshat of a friend."
"The pink-haired guy…?" Rogue asked gently and Sting snorted lightly, not having to nod.
"SHUT UP. why're you even with gajeel? shouldnt you be at my house, stealing my food?"
"nah actually im at his place. thot i should clear out, in case u bring home ur dude home and do like… weird gay stuff"
Sting fought the urge to blush and scream at the same time. He wished he was doing weird gay stuff.
They ordered drinks and food after a while- Sting immediately cringed when he ordered a lemonade from the kids menu and Rogue picked some fancy wine that Sting couldn't pronounce even if he tried.
"So," Sting coughed, steepling his hands awkwardly on the table. "Rent."
"Yes," Rogue, sitting up higher. "It almost slipped my mind. How much?"
"Well, uh, splitting it, you'd have to pay... 540 a month?" Sting finished uncertainly. Because wow, talking money was definitely the way to get a guy to like you.
"Is that a question?" Rogue returned, smirk playing on his lips. Sting gulped.
"No! I mean," Sting reached up to comb back his hair, holding back a groan. "Not a question. 120 a month… Please."
The smirk never left Rogue's face. "Well, since you asked so nicely." A slow curve of the lips filled Sting's face as well, and the pair smiled stupidly at each other for a few seconds before Sting's damned cheeks betrayed him and he had to look away.
His nerves still hadn't quite paused their persistent dancing, but let his hand fall from their tight wind in his hair and worked his way through the double cheese ravioli set in front of him. Rogue was undeniably a nice guy- too nice- and was obviously trying very hard to make the best out of the trainwreck he was having dinner with.
The trainwreck was grateful. As the hour progressed, he felt his stiff back loosen its seams, felt the button holding his brow together break, and most of all, he felt himself falling even further head over heels for Rogue Cheney.
He'd told him his last name a while ago- said he thought it was a pretty essential piece of information for someone he was planning on living with. Sting couldn't fight the stupid grin that broke free at this, and suddenly, the cramped, loud Olive Garden wasn't the least bit confining for his delight. They no longer had the burden of small talk hanging over their heads, instead moving on to talk about Sting's crazy neighbors that you just had to get used to after a while ("That Natsu? You know, he was giving off that pyro kind of vibe,"), about how he was going to have to deal with the shower that liked to randomly spit out ice cold water in the mornings sometimes, and their Gajeel, sharing a laugh at the mutual memory of the time he'd been taken to airport security for refusing to remove all thirty of his piercings. It was a story he told often, apparently.
It had to have stretched longer than the standard hour, and their dinner plates lay forgotten at the edge of the table, drinks long past drained. Rogue leaned forward on the table, long arms folded and and tapping across the table. "You know, I'm actually looking for an apartment because my old roommate pretty much kicked me out of my last one," he confided, attempting to flag down a waitress.
Sting's eyes bugged out. "Seriously? I can't imagine someone not wanting to live with you." Rogue raised a brow and Sting reddened. "I mean- oh, god, you know what I mean," Sting said lamely, covering his eyes. His nearly jumped out of his chair when a cool hand covered his own, peeling it away from his face.
His mouth opened and closed a few times, words clogged in his throat, but Rogue simply shrugged off his bewilderment, turning to speak to the waiter at their tableside. "A water, please." His tone was too relaxed for Sting to handle.
He got over it quickly, though, the way he got over every other single thing the other man had done that evening that made him both confused and reminiscent of a tomato. As they split the bill and waited for desserts, Sting took another moment to stare at Rogue out of the corner of his eye. He was smiling at some giggling baby behind them, eyes crinkled and small dimples showing that made Sting happy just by existing.
There had been a genuine (and most abnormal) shift between when Sting had entered the restaurant and now. Maybe it was the wine Rogue had let him snag from his glass, or the fact that this was the first date he'd been on in months, but for whatever reason, he felt much more certain that Rogue wasn't going anywhere. He'd actually gotten through the meal without scaring him away.
"So I heard you're gay?" Sting froze, his mouth clamping shut. Had he just- did that really come out of his mouth?
Rogue looked a bit taken aback but replied nonetheless. "Yes… who told you that?"
Sting considered being honest, but then that would raise the question of Why would Gajeel tell you that? or, Why would you ask about that? He took the coward's route, forcing out a strangled laughing sound and saying the first thing that came to mind. "I have to pee." FUCK.
He shot up from his seat- probably not the best decision- and promptly knocked straight into an oncoming waitress. The young woman shrieked and fumbled for a hold on her tray, but the damage was done- a pitcher of water flew off of it and… dumped itself directly over Rogue's head. It clattered to the floor beside him.
Sting gawked. At the woman staring angrily at him, at the silence that had swept through the restaurant and the disapproving eyes staring holes through his skin. But mostly, he gawked at the man still sitting at the table across from him, eyes wide and ebony hair soaked to the tips.
"I-" Sting shrunk under the spotlight, feeling his feet taking slow steps away from the table. "I'm-" His eyes darted around the room, but he couldn't look anywhere for more than a few seconds before returning to Rogue, his disheveled appearance making him feel ten different kinds of guilt.
The man in question rose slowly from his chair. "Sting-" Sting mistook the gentle hand placed in the air for something much worse, and flinched, his feet working more rapidly towards the front door. He thought he let an I'm sorry fall off his tongue, and he thought he heard another call of his name before he slipped through the wooden doors, but he really couldn't think straight once he was bombarded with the frigid winter air. He didn't stop there, sprinting along the brick building and making a beeline for his car.
Sting paused at the corner of the building though, head raised to the heavens and nose tickled by the evening breeze. He clenched his eyes shut, unable to keep the events from replaying in his head. Rogue's eyes wide, his mouth dropped, the waitress's shriek, the glares surrounding him, the silence deafening. Rogue's eyes, the waitress's shriek, the glares, the silence. Rogue's eyes, the shriek, the glares, the silence, Rogue's eyes, the shriek, the glares, Rogue's eyes, the shriek, Rogue's eyes, Rogue, Rogue, Rogue.
Sting felt like collapsing against the sidewalk and never getting up. He was such a failure. He couldn't even go on a regular date- he couldn't even act normal enough to get a roommate that didn't think he was some kind of spasmodic freak. He couldn't even impress the one guy he cared about.
"Sting!"
He whirled around, breathe catching. Rogue was jogging down the remainder of the sidewalk, hair askew and eyes widening when they met Sting's.
"Oh, thank god, I thought you'd already be in your car with the speed you ran out of there with," Rogue admitted breathlessly. His fingers skimmed through his damp hair.
Sting was momentarily distracted by the action but his eyes were back on Rogue's in an instant."W-what are you doing here?"
Rogue tried a small grin. "What do you mean, what am I doing here? What're you doing out here?" When Sting couldn't find the words to respond, he pressed on. "Pretty rude way to end a date."
Sting gaped at the last word. "But, I- I dumped a pitcher of water on you!" It came out more as a yell and he gulped, stepping back, his spine jolting when he hit the brick wall.
Rogue looked vaguely amused. "So?" His tone was too innocent to be true, and Sting must've known he was joking but it barely registered.
"So?!" He exploded. "So, that's a fucked up thing to do on a first da- dinner! First dinner!" He shouted down at the overly calm- smug?-looking man. "Not to mention that I was half an hour late, literally couldn't go two seconds without making a fool of myself and- and look at you!" He pointed violently at Rogue, causing him to raise a brow. "You're soaked to the bone and shivering and somehow that makes you look even more way out of my league!" He gripped at his flaxen hair, talking more to himself now than Rogue. "What was I thinking, inviting you out? How can I live with someone I can't even look at without mentally swooning- and I fucking asked if you were gay who the fuck even does th-"
His next words were cut off as a pair of firm but soft lips covered his own. Sting's made a sort of strangled noise in his throat, eyes popping, but if Rogue noticed it didn't show. His hands fell from where they were pulling at his hair, instead laying stupidly at his sides until the other man's lips pulled away after a moment. His pulse stuttered as Rogue's mouth lingered over his own for a hair's breathe. "There," Rogue said simply.
"You- kiss- what?" Sting stumbled, uncaring that he sounded like a toddler because holy shit had Rogue just kissed him?
"I don't care that you've got about as much finesse as a walrus, Sting," Rogue sighed bluntly. "And I don't care that you prefer lemonade to wine, or that you don't have a filter, or even that you think looking away every few seconds means I can't see you staring at me." Sting let out a small whine and Rogue took a step towards him. "I like all that about you. What I don't like," he began, eyes narrowing a fraction. "Is that you run away every time I think I've got you opening up. You have no idea how long I've waited to do… this," he finished, casting a lingering gaze on Sting's lips. Sting's breathe caught, his eyes glued to the blood red pair in front of him.
Neither knew who moved first, but within a second their lips were molded against each other once more, each pushing with more fervor than the other. Rogue's arm snaked around his waist, the other skimming the hard muscle hidden beneath Sting's dress shirt and pressing him firmly into the wall behind him. The brick was jagged against his back, but Sting let himself be cornered, eager arms moving to curl at the base of Rogue's neck, pulling gently at the loose curls there. The kiss deepened, became wet and hot and absolutely divine as Sting opened his mouth and Rogue's quick tongue darted around his, making Sting's knees suddenly weak beneath him. He pressed into him further, their tongues fighting against each other and the incredible proximity doing wonders to Sting's hormones.
Rogue pulled away a second later, panting. Sting opened his mouth to protest but all that came out was a low moan as a pair of swollen lips latched onto his neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. Sting craned his neck upward, allowing him access, and moved a hand from Rogue's neck to the small of his back, pulling him closer. His breath was ragged, uncontrolled as determined lips works their way across his collar bone and to the lobe of his ear. He groaned when Rogue's teeth scraped at a particularly sensitive area below his jaw. "Fuck."
Sting finally felt him pull away, and his eyes cracked open to find an equally breathless Rogue centimeters away from him. Their nose bumped and foreheads rested against each other. Their quiet gasps filled the wintry night.
"Probably not the best thing to be doing outside an Olive Garden," Sting said after a minute of peaceful nothings. Rogue chuckled, sending vibrations down Sting's spine.
"Probably not."
Sting waited another moment to speak again, afraid of shattering the mood. "Hey… d'you wanna come back to my place?" When Rogue rose a mocking brow, Sting flushed, looking away. "O-only because you're a potential roommate, and you know, you should probably come see the place anyw-" Rogue cut him off once more, pressing his lips against Sting's pink ones in a smooth, swooping gesture. Sting kissed back just as earnestly, and this time it was him who pulled away first.
"I'm gonna take that as a yes," he grinned, and the dark haired man fell against him in an uncontained fit of laughter.
.
.
.
Sting was glad Natsu wasn't in his apartment that night, because they ended up doing a lot of weird gay stuff.