Pairing: Stingue

Words: 307

Sting pushed along the shopping cart, head turned towards Rogue as he gloomily walked behind him. "Seriously, Rogue, when are you going to stop sulking? You're 22, for crying out loud!"

Rogue stuck out his tongue at him. "Just because I'm 22 doesn't mean that I can't sulk."

Sting grinned. "Oh, so you admit it, then?" In his opinion, Rogue needed to get out of the apartment more, and Sting didn't give a fuck if Rogue moped about it.

Rogue grimaced at his slip-up, and Sting skittered to a stop when they approached his car. "My baby," he whispered, stroking the roof lovingly.

"Ugh, gross." Rogue made a face at him, and Sting nearly lunged at him. "Don't you talk shit about my baby. You'd be fucked without her." He unlocked the vehicle and sat comfortably inside, hands on the wheel, eyes closed in reverence.

The silence was ruined, however, when Rogue opened the driver's side door and yelled into his ear. "Hey dickwad, who's going to load the groceries inside?"

He is my friend I must not punch my friend he is my friend I must not

Sting jumped out and slammed the door behind him. A second later, he turned around and placed both palms on the window in horror. "Oh no," he breathed.

"Did you say something?" Rogue asked, a bottle of detergent in one hand and the other on the cart.

Sting whirled to face him, eyes wide. "You wouldn't happen to have the spare keys on you, right?"

Rogue narrowed his eyes. "Why would you ask me that, Sting? You wouldn't have, oh say, locked us out of your car for the fucking fourth time?"

Sting grinned sheepishly. "Looks like we're going to be stuck here for a while."

Sting mutedly watched the detergent bottle leave Rogue's hand and fly towards him.