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November 9, 2019
His mother had joked about it more than once, sharing with ever growing excitement the experiences she’d picked up over years of working as a midwife, as she was dying to find out how they’d fare on the subject. However, Sting found that the answer to that burning question of hers was no joke. Male nesting was a thing.
He and Rogue, of course, didn’t suffer from raging pregnancy hormones that caused the average mother-to-be to wash, iron, and sort all baby clothes on size, garment, season, and color. That was for Minerva to deal with, though she wasn’t affected in that way. After all, she didn’t have to prepare for anything but the birth of the babies. That being said, it didn’t mean she’d been spared the hormones entirely. The demon she unleashed whenever someone made a comment or stared at her in any way that displeased her was no joke either.
But she had no intention of being a parent. Sting and Rogue were taking on both parenting roles and used this as an excuse for that so-called nesting behavior. There was a lot to be taken care of in preparation for their family expansion, after all. Stuff to be bought, walls to be repainted, a bedroom to be repurposed, and object mechanics to be practiced with.
With the big day expected to arrive any moment now, especially since twins were usually born early, they had just about everything ready. But Sting’s parents were flying in tomorrow, and that may or may not have been another excuse to pick up more chores. When Rogue had finally mastered the art of securing car seats, he was adamant that the car needed to be vacuumed, and while he was taking care of that, Sting had tasked himself with raking the yard. Chances of them getting to that once the twins were born were basically zero.
There were quite a few trees close to their house, so once he had deemed his efforts sufficient, the results were more than rewarding. He’d gathered enough leaves to form a massive pile, as wide as an SUV, and high enough to reach his chest halfway. He dropped the rake so he could get the garden waste bin to dispose of the leaves, but when he returned and looked at the pile again, all he saw was nature’s air mattress.
“Hey, I think we should get the oil changed, and the tire pressure checked as well,” Rogue mused as he approached him, “are you coming wi-“
He cut himself off the second he’d seen both the big pile of leaves and Sting slowly walking backward to create the distance he needed between himself and the pile with a grin on his face.
“Sting, no.”
“Sting, yes !”
And not being able to hold his excitement any longer, Sting sprinted towards his goal. Rogue yelled something at him that he couldn’t quite catch, too focused on the right moment to make the jump. But that moment never came. In his childish glee, he had completely forgotten he had left the rake on the ground, right in the middle of his path. By the time he realized his mistake, it was already too late. He felt the metal underneath his shoe, and then the wooden handle smacked him in the face with such speed he couldn’t see more than a blurry shape rushing towards him.
The surprised high-pitched yelp that he hoped hadn’t just come out of him but knew couldn’t have been anyone else’s wasn’t something he was particularly proud of.
“Idiot! Are you alright?” Rogue hurried to his side half angry, half worried, but one look at Sting’s face had that anger melt away quickly. Given that something warm and sticky was running down the assaulted part of his face, from his forehead down to his cheek, Sting could make an educated guess why
“M’fine,” he scoffed, “fucking rake ruined everything…”
A moment of silence. Rogue looked him dead in the eyes, face blank. But Sting could see it in his eyes before he held his breath and pressed his lips together. And he wasn’t disappointed. His ego might have suffered a bigger blow than his face, but Rogue’s rare unrestrained loud laughter- that Sting affectionately described as the dying seal - was the best medicine to any of his ailments.
“You done laughing?” Sting couldn’t help but chuckle along as he watched Rogue clutch his stomach with one hand and keep himself from literally doubling over by leaning against a tree with the other. Tears streamed down his face as he gasped for air.
“Sorry, that was just the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen you do!” Rogue panted, finally getting a hold on himself again. “We should get you to the ER, it looks like you’ll be needing some stitches, and no, I’m not letting you DIY it.”
He straightened his back, ready to get to the car, but Sting knew that once they got back, the wind would have probably scattered his beautiful pile of leaves again. He couldn’t let that slide. And Rogue was going down with him.
“Just a second-”
“Don’t you dare!”
This time he made sure to steer clear from that stupid rake as he dashed forward for the second time, tackling Rogue on his path into the pile. He was still bleeding, he could feel the skin around his eyebrow starting to throb and swell, but it was all worth it. Rogue was laughing again, and the landing was as satisfying as he could remember from last year.
“Okay, now we can go,” Sting announced cheerfully, pulling himself and Rogue out of the pile of leaves.
They got into the car, and one look at the passenger’s side mirror told Sting that he was going to get one hell of a bruise, and perhaps a permanent scar.
“Don’t tell my mother how this happened,” he whined as they pulled out of the driveway, knowing exactly what answer he was going to get when he spotted the smirk on Rogue’s face.
“I will so tell your mother how this happened.”