A/N: Hello! *beams down at world* I'm alive! Regents week is almost over…and summer=more writing time, which is my favorite kind of time *claps*. Anyhoo, this is based off of an argument that I had with my best friend, minus the slash, romance, and NYC parts. But, you know, same difference.

SLASH! Rejoice in the abundant fluffiness!

Disclaimer: If I owned Newsies, RENT, or Adele, the last would be legally banned from songwriting, and I would have constant possession of Roger and a Newsie or two (the fun we'd have together…).

A Typical Sprace Argument

"I was thinking that maybe, you could, like, pull over NOW." Race spat through gritted teeth, bouncing his legs in an obvious manner.

Spot smirked lazily as he glanced at his boyfriend's legs. "Be careful, there," he drawled in a rather snarky manner, "I know you're trying to turn me on, but this is rush hour. Pulling over isn't an option."

Race's face blossomed into an unhealthy shade of magenta. "Fuck you!" he spat, applying pressure to his crotch in an attempt to relieve his urge.

"Gladly, but later. We're going to Blink and Mush's, remember? They don't let us sit on the same couch after what happened Cinco de Mayo... I still can't believe you came into the guacamole and didn't tell them before Blink's parents got there..."

As Race stuttered to scavenge a witty retort, Spot reached over and gave his throbbing crotch a squeeze. "Next time, don't opt for the supersized pop. Italians," he muttered under his breath as an afterthought, "They all have the bladders of kittens."

Race howled and flicked his Irish boyfriend before facing the window to sulk. The bathroom situation was forgotten after the initial rush of blood inflicted by Spot's hand. He was losing the bicker schism and he knew it. Now, it was either risk a potential beating or lose his pride. He decided to risk the beating and make his Italian pop proud.

Race smirked as he pulled the dirtiest card possible. "Well, Adele is just a crotchety old bitch with no talent or foreseeable future!"

Spot audibly gasped at the declaration, his knuckles turning white as he veered into traffic. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!" he screamed, reaching over his seat belt to punch Race repeatedly. Being left-handed SUCKED. "Adele is a brilliant artist full of passion! And she's better than all that show tune shit YOU ruin your hearing with!"

Race's jaw dropped, and this time he was the one to reach across to punch Spot, which was probably not the best idea considering the fact that Spot was attempting to merge in rush-hour traffic.

Spot smirked, knowing that he had surpassed the Adele blow due to the fact that Race was currently unable to do anything other than punch him and mutter, "You JERK. Broadway is my HOME."

"What's up with that stupid show, anyway," Spot was milking it. "Sold or Rented or whatever. It just ain't good. I mean, how have all of those people not been thrown in the funny farm? They're murderers. They murdered a fucking dog. What kind of sick person comes up with this shit?" He cheered inwardly as he pulled over and removed the key from the ignition. His actions could not have been timed more perfectly.

Spot watched bewilderedly as Race's expression changed from angry, to helpless, to shocked, and then to a tender affection. He didn't know the fuck why, considering his still lingering victory and low blows dealt during the course of the argument.

Neither made a move to exit the car.

Finally, Race grinned from ear to ear. "You DO care," he cooed as he climbed from the passenger seat onto Spot's lap. "You listened to my music!" He gaily kissed his way down Spot's throat, lingering at the point where his neck met his shoulder and biting down lovingly. "You learned it all, you listened to Angel, just for me." He ran two hands along Spot's lean chest before sinking to his knees with his head between his counterpart's legs. "I love you, you little bitch," he whispered before reaching to undo the hindrance that was the belt buckle.

And all Spot could think was that he was one lucky bastard to have a guy like Race around to argue with when he really needed some head.