#freshwrites

It was when Sting had just finished cooking dinner – Rogue couldn’t cook to save a life -  that he decided to test Rogue and once and for all, figure out who was the butch in their relationship. He turned to the spice rack and chose one that he didn’t normally add to this sort of dinner, before throwing caution to the wind and putting a teaspoon in the mixture. Rogue was at the dinner table, playing with his phone when Sting bought out their plates and sat down opposite him.

Rogue placed his phone down and they ate in silence, before Rogue halted his movements, staring down at the spaghetti bolognaise in surprise, “Did you… change something?”

“I added some garlic.” Sting stated before looking up, raising his eyebrow, a silent challenge in his eyes, “Do you like it?”

Rogue placed the fork down slowly, “What was wrong with it before?”

“I thought it could use some flair. Is that a problem?” Sting asked, his tone verging on patronising as he dared his boyfriend to mention anything about his cooking. Rogue’s jaw worked slowly, and Sting watched, before Rogue simply shrugged.

“I’ll get used to it.”

Sting inwardly cheered as he won that small display of dominance, further solidifying his thoughts of being the ‘butch’ in their relationship.

 It was a few days later when Sting decided to test him again, and this time, it was more intense than simply adding another ingredient into the mix. Rogue didn’t necessarily like change. Sting knew this much about his partner, and usually, it proved to be a great source of entertainment when he wanted to annoy or irritate his partner.

He moved the TV unit to the other side of the room, changed the curtains and adjusted the lounges accordingly, smirking sharply at the challenge presented to Rogue. He checked the time, before dashing into the bedroom, to pull out the two topaz coloured pillows he had bought after finishing work, just to further vex Rogue, and see his reaction.

He placed them on the lounge, before frowning, leaning over to fluff and arrange them a little nicer. Then he went into the Kitchen to start making dinner. Thirty minutes later, the door opened and the sound of Rogue’s keys jingling made Sting’s heart race, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips.

He listened to his footsteps, before they stopped suddenly.

Sting bit his bottom lip, drowning an ecstatic chuckle before calming himself and popping his head out the Kitchen walk-way, “Rogue, dinner is half-way done!”

“Sting… Can you come here?”

Sting nearly burst with excitement at the forced patience in his tone, and knew it was show time. No doubt, Rogue wanted to change everything back, but Sting – being the butch – would prevail and intimidate him to silence.

He walked into the lounge-room, eyes easily finding Rogue, who stared at the changes with a blank look on his features. His dark hair was tied back with a hair-tie and he wore his uniform well, shoulders filling out the shirt easily.

“What’s up?” Sting chirped, muffling his mirth with an inquisitive look as Rogue’s eyes wandered over to him slowly.

“Did you change the…?”

Sting nodded a few times, overlooking the room as if he only just noticed the change and didn’t spend a good hour making sure everything was perfect, “I thought it might be nice to mix things up.”

“You mix things up in the Kitchen, not the room where we sit and watch Chicago Fire.” Rogue’s voice was deep, a silent threat but refusing to back down, Sting narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend.

“I worked hard on this Rogue. If there’s a problem, just say it.”

Rogue turned away from the drastic changes to his undoubtedly favourite room, and eyed Sting. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. Sting wondered if he was really going to fight him on this, then felt a little guilty that he was doing this at all.

But Sting had to know, he wasn’t crazy in thinking he was the butch, right?

Rogue’s eyebrows furrowed and he took a deep breath in, before his shoulders relaxed, and he murmured, “It looks… nice. I’ll deal with it.”

Sting’s eyes widened and he glanced around, not exactly feeling triumphant anymore since Rogue wasn’t putting up any fight against his change. Instead, a feeling of happiness settled into him, “Really? You like it?”

“I’ll learn too.” Rogue shrugged, before making his way towards the bedroom, sparing a glance behind him, “Is there anything new in here?”

Sting shook his head, and watched his boyfriend disappear before a smile broke out on his face. Despite Rogue proving that Sting was definitely the butch, Sting couldn’t get over the fact that his partner was trying so hard to make him happy, even though it was way out of his comfort zones.

He gave one of the new couch cushions a soft pat before returning to the Kitchen, where he luckily saved the homemade pizza’s from burning. 

With Sting’s fears of being out-dominated put to rest, he stopped the ‘tests’ that he was subjecting Rogue to after the lounge-room. He decided that two tests were enough and simply enjoyed his time with Rogue.

He had been on his break, and dropping off Rogue’s keys at the precinct – which he had uncharacteristically left at home – when he had overheard a conversation with Rogue and two other offices. He lurked for a little, curious when one laughed.

“Seriously Rogue, there is nothing you’d change about Sting?”

“I don’t like change.” Rogue answered lamely, before adding, “I fell in love with him because of who he is, isn’t it pointless to try and change him from that?”

The guys made equally idiot jokes about being whipped but Sting just smiled, about to announce his presence when the other voice chimed in, “What I’d change about Sarah, is where she shaves. I swear, her legs are always silky smooth but her arms…”

“You are one to talk, you’ve got enough hair on you to make a blanket for the whole precinct!” The other one laughed as Rogue mused, “I don’t mind Sting’s hair. It would be… interesting to see him like that.”

Sting was surprised, Rogue wasn’t usually the one to share details about the pair of them. He also didn’t entirely put down the idea of Sting shaving. Honestly, it hadn’t crossed his mind. Rogue had always known he didn’t grow a beard easily, and his leg hair wasn’t all that noticeable – since he was blonde – but during their time together, neither one had mentioned anything about shaving expect Rogue’s five o’clock shadow that sometimes made an appearance.

Sting turned around abruptly and dropped his keys on the desk, waving to the receptionist at the entrance before dashing out, deciding that the minute he got home, he would change one more thing and see what Rogue’s reaction was.

Turns out shaving your legs was a lot more difficult than Sting first thought. He was propped up on the side of the bath, leg crooked out in front of him, hand holding the plastic handle of the razor whilst the helped him balance on the porcelain edge.

His back hurt from stretching and he had nicked himself on the ankle a fair few times, which made him swear savagely – because ow that hurt – but he was determined to the cause and in a bit of a rush since Rogue would finish in an hour or so and he hadn’t even begun to make dinner yet.

He slid the razor up his skin impatiently, careful to stop just before his knees as another strip of hairless, shaven skin greeted him. He ran his fingers down it and preened proudly to himself, having to agree that it was really smooth.

He only hoped that Rogue would like it.

He began to get the underside of his calf, so absorbed in his task – and humming ‘I Feel Like A Woman’ under his breath – that he didn’t even notice the sounds of the front door closing, keys being shaken and then the footsteps that made their way to the bedroom.

He was focusing his efforts around the curve of his Achilles heel, when the door slid open and Rogue stepped inside. Sting jumped and cursed when the sharp blade sliced into his skin, leaving a small nicked mark. Rogue’s eyes widened at the sight of him, sitting on the bathtub, shirtless, wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs, leg covered in shaving cream.

Sting wanted to explain but the blood began to slide and drip onto the floor and he growled, “Motherfucker, that hurts.” Rogue sighed, shaking his head slowly, as he walked over to the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a hand towel, wetting it a little before crouching down to press it against the wound.

Sting pressed his lips together, as Rogue held the cloth there for a few quiet seconds before asking, “Alright, I give. What is wrong with you lately?”

Sting opened his mouth to explain what he was doing but Rogue cut him off with a sharp look, “And I mean all of it. The dinner, the lounge-room, now this? I thought it was just you being a little shit and trying to make me go insane, but this…”

Sting waited until he pulled the cloth away, having stopped the bleeding, blurting, “All our friends don’t believe me when I say I’m the butch and it’s getting really ridiculous, so I did the dinner thing to see if you would argue with me and-”

“You idiot.” Rogue hissed, reaching over to grab the medicine box from underneath the sink, and pull out a small Band-Aid whilst stating, “This was all about you and your ego? Who cares what other people think?”

“I don’t but I wanted to see if you would-”

“Tell you to stop changing things?” Rogue drawled, pressing the down the Band-Aid to the cut, before shaking his head, “You’re so stupid.”

“I stopped, okay!” Sting’s voice shook, his face heated at Rogue’s words that didn’t match his tender actions at all. “When you said the lounge-room looked nice, I decided I wouldn’t do it anymore. But then I heard you and your friends talking about shaving and wanted to see what would happen if I shaved my legs for you!”

Rogue, who had been cleaning up the blood on the tiled floor with a piece of toilet paper, stilled. Sting huffed angrily, throwing the razor into the bath with a growl and crossed his hands over his chest. He felt his heart pound away in his chest as he imagined kicking his partner in the face and then maybe throwing him out the window, so he could sleep on the street.

Lector who had been cuddling with Frosch on the couch, sauntered in and took one look at the pair of them. Sting twitched, unable to handle such sass from a cat. Lector left the room a second later, giving them both a disdainful look – probably because Sting was causing such a ruckus -  before disappearing once again.

Rogue glanced up at him, straightening his spine so their eyes met more evenly, “You shaved your legs for me?”

Sting refused to answer, instead settling to glare at the wall opposite Rogue’s body.

“Don’t ignore me Sting.” Rogue murmured, his voice deep as Sting continued to do exactly what he wanted to do. Which was ignore him because he felt foolish, and stupid, and he didn’t like either of those feelings – okay?

When Sting didn’t answer, Rogue sighed and the next moment, he felt a warm hand brush against the skin that he had successfully shaved before being interrupted. Sting jumped at the sensitive sensation, head snapping towards Rogue who was clearly trying to hide a smile.

“How many times did you cut yourself?”

“Only twice.” Sting grumbled, watching Rogue’s hand dance over his hairless skin. Rogue tilted his head, and his fingers swept to his ankle, counting the number of cuts there. Sting’s throat tightened and he wheezed, “Those are birthmarks.”

“There’s five of them. Which means you cut yourself five times.” Rogue sounded amused and Sting glared at him heatedly.

“It’s what I get for trying to be a good wife.” Sting snapped back before stilling in surprise, blinking when his lips blurted out the word. Rogue didn’t seem all that surprised and just stood up, a cool smile playing on his lips, dark mirth twinkling in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t mean to say wife-”

Rogue’s chuckle cut his words off, “You are a wife, though. Granted, an annoying, extremely high-maintenance wife that works on my nerves, but you like the role so I don’t say anything. Mostly because I enjoy it as well.”

Sting opened his mouth to deny it, when Rogue gives him a look, “Why else would you fold my underwear?”

“It saves space.” Sting frowned, unable to understand his point before realisation slapped into him. Memories of when Natsu and Lucy visited came flooding back to him, where he would discuss cleaning mixtures with Lucy, share recipes, and even serve them tea with the option of little sugar cubes.

It wasn’t his fault, he liked those little tongs that he was able to serve them with.

Rogue, who had been quiet in his moment of self-realisation, chuckled a little when Sting groaned, leaning forward to press his face into Rogue’s stomach.

“How long?”

Rogue pressed his hand into Sting’s hair to soften the blow, “You started to use the feather duster about two weeks after we moved in together.”

Sting groaned again, the sound truly pitiful as Rogue sighed, running his nails across Sting’s scalp in an odd show of affection.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Yeah, you are.” Rogue agreed before stating, “But luckily, somebody has to put up with your stupidity. And I do so willingly.”

It was a week later, on Valentine’s day when Rogue got an apron with the words ‘the Butch’ on it, and teased him about wearing it when making heart-shaped cookies for the day.