Word Count: 448

The second and final part, in which Sting wears glasses and Rogue steals them. There's more art by me at the bottom~

Sting sighed, pushing his frames farther up onto the bridge of his nose. Stupid glasses, stupid paperwork, stupid job. The dragon slayer just wanted to leave the guildhall and see Rogue again. Sure, he had only left a little over an hour ago, but Sting was already feeling the withdrawal. Running a hand through his spiked blond hair, he focused back on the form in front of him. Suddenly the black frames were removed from his face in a single, swift motion, his vision of the printed words becoming slightly blurred. Before he had the time to formulate a response, he had turned his head only to do a double-take.

"Wow, you really are blind," another male remarked, tilting his head and widening his eyes as if that would make Sting's prescription any lower.

"They're for reading, not messing around," Sting huffed, annoyed that Rogue had returned only to interrupt his work. With the distraction, the stupid forms would take even longer to finish signing. It was as if he could look but couldn't touch. The blond's frown increased as he thought about how Rogue would be right there but he had to sign papers.

"Never thought you'd be doing paperwork. I always do it for you."

"Well-" Well, Sting wasn't going to admit his real reason for doing his own job for once, but he had to say something.

"Minerva, huh?" Sting sputtered for a second, before getting distracted from even his embarrassment: Has Rogue always looked that hot wearing my glasses?

Crimson eyes gleamed from behind smudged glass, amusement hardly hidden. His tousled onyx fringe covering the corner of the plastic frames and accentuating his pale skin. Man, if I could just get him to wear one of my shirts...

"Sting, stop drooling on the official forms."

"Hm... I don't really feel like it," Sting responded, continuing to gaze at the other dragon, completely ignoring the stack of paper beneath his elbow. Ruby eyes rolled, a small chuckle escaping the object of Sting's affections.

"If you don't finish those," Rogue started, moving closer to the blond, "Minerva will kill you." After whispering the last few words into Sting's ear, he backed away, hiding his laughs in his palm.

"And if I don't get anything out of this, I'm not finishing these papers."

"No." Sting pouted, giving Rogue his best puppy-eyes.

"Just once," he whined.

"I said no, Sting."

"But Rogue-y," Sting pleaded, dragging out the pet name.

A deep, annoyed sigh later, and Sting had the answer he wanted: "Fine."

Sting began skimming the inked writing once more, eager to locate that top. If Rogue promised to wear his shirt, it had to be that one.

And as promised: