monaboyd | It All Comes Out In the Wash

Title: It All Comes Out In the Wash
Part(s): 1
Pairings: Monaboyd
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimers: I don't know them and I'm not affiliated with them.
Feedback: I love feedback of all kinds.

The sound of the dryer door slamming jerked Billy away from his book.

“Billy! What in hell have you done to my favorite shirt?” Dom was wringing said shirt in his hands, and looking distraught, as he came in from the kitchen.

“Washed it, you simpleton, what does it look like? The least you could do is say thank you.”

“Well, I’d thank you if all you had done was wash it, but just look at it!” Billy caught a face full as the shirt was flung in his direction. He brought the shirt to his nose and sniffed delicately and then a little deeper, relieved that the shirt actually did smell clean and April fresh, just like the bottle had said it would.

“I don’t see the problem, Dom. Tell me, what have I done to it?”

“What have you done? Billy, it’s two sizes too small! How many times have I told you: cold water, gentle cycle, fluff dry? It’s all very easy. And you call me a simpleton. That was my favorite shirt and I was going to wear it out tonight. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dom, it’s not that hard. Go into your room, open your closet, close you eyes and pick another. Any of them will do. They’re all covered in the same silly tripe.”

“I’ll have you know that my shirts are not covered in tripe; they’re an expression of my brilliant mind, sparkling wit and smashing personality. None of them expressed my feelings so well as that shirt, there, in your hands. The one you’re holding right now which, I might add, you destroyed.”

“Stop being such a drama queen and go away, so that I can finish this chapter before bed.”

“Fine, you’re going to be that way about it, I’ll just go out and have my fun and you can sit here and read and be old and boring and do old-boring-type things. Fine.”

Billy’s eye-roll was almost audible as Dom turned on his heel and marched indignantly off into the sanctuary of his room. Not two minutes later Billy jumped when Dom returned to snatch his shirt with a huff and then disappeared again.

Dom had been gone for so long that Billy was beginning to wonder if he’d changed his mind about going out. Thirty minutes passed and then an hour. He was almost dozing, warm and snug in his chair, chin dropped down to his chest and pretending to himself that he was still reading, when he heard Dom’s door slam and then the sharp click of his boot heels, making tracks for the door.

“So, you are going out after all. I thought that perhaps you were still pouting and had decided to stay in and mourn your beloved shirt. Did you put it in a shoebox so that we can bury it in the backyard, on the morrow?” All of this was said as he pretended to finish a page, and as he looked up his eyes bulged comically. Dom was standing in the foyer, dressed for his evening on the town. Dom was wearing the shirt.

“Have you lost your bloody mind, Dominic?” Billy’s cackle of glee echoed off the walls of the small room. “You can’t seriously be thinking of wearing that damned shirt out tonight. I know that you love it, but it’s positively ridiculous.”

“And why shouldn’t I wear it? It’s my favorite and there’s nothing wrong with it but that it’s a tad snug. Besides, sleek and form fitting is the style now, you know? And I am wearing a jacket over it. No one will even notice that it’s a bit short.”

Billy took a moment to fully take in Dom’s appearance. Mussed hair, check. Eye liner, check. Blue sport coat. Yes, that’s fine. Tight shirt. Doesn’t show too much under his jacket. Not too bad. Moving right along and down. Oh. Billy’s breath gave an involuntary, little hitch as his line of sight fell on the smooth strip of skin showing between Dom’s shirt and denims. My, he is fit, isn’t he? Billy felt his face flush a bit as his eyes traced the grooves and curves at Dom’s waist. They seemed to absolutely slither down into his low-slung trousers. Billy shook his head.

“Um, ok, I guess that you’re right. No one is really going to notice that you’re wearing a shirt that’s suitable for a 12-year-old. Go on. Out with you!”

Dom blew him a kiss, as he flitted through the doorway and into the night. Billy sat and tried to read but for some reason he could not shake the image of smooth, white skin, stretched taunt over muscle and shadowed by a dusky covering of sable hair.

Billy looked up from his burrow on the couch as Dom breezed by looking very much like a man on a mission.

“And where are you off to, looking so determined?”

“Well, if you must know, I’m going to go have a bit of a shop-around for a new favorite shirt, since someone annihilated the one that I already had, and was very happy with, thank you muchly.” Dom’s grudge-holding abilities apparently knew no bounds.

“Let me tell you what you should do, Dom. When you get to the department store, march yourself right to the little girlies section and get yourself one of those wee cotton shirts that fit snuggly…..”

“What? You mean a baby-t? Why in hell would I want one of those?”

“Well Dom, I’ll tell you why; because you’re a great pouftie girl! And I don’t know what it’s called Dom, but obviously you do, so go on with you. To the store!”

Dom shook his head as he headed out to the sound of Billy’s snorting laughter.

“Mental, Boyd, you’re completely mental.”

Billy’s tea sprayed out of his nose, splattered across the table and onto the carpet.

“Like my new shirt, Bills?”

Billy looked on, slacked jawed and astounded, as Dom did a little walk-turn for him in front of the television. The shirt was beyond description: it was white with a bit black piping around the neck and arms and it was extremely tight. To say that it left nothing of Dom’s physique to the imagination would be an understatement. The musculature of his shoulders and chest was almost obscenely outlined and again, there was that expanse of skin above the waist of his cargo pants.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“You told me to get one and I did. Look, it even has a little message on the front. You know that I like my shirts to be meaningful and an expression of my inner-most thoughts and feelings.”

As Dom turned to face him, Billy caught the glint and sparkle of rhinestones and it took a second for him to register what they said. Minx.

“You’re a lunatic, Dominic Monaghan and I won’t be seen in public with you while you’re wearing that shirt. I put up with your sharpies and scarves, your eye liner and rings and I even put up with your bloody lollies but I will not have you prancing around, like some kind of butch queen at a disco, when we’re out to tea!”

“But Bills, I got it just for you. You wanted me to. You said so.”

“Don’t play the fool with me, boy-o. You knew I was taking the piss. You’re doing this just to toy with me and I don’t know why I’m rising to the bait. Ridiculous.”

Billy’s face scrunched into a moue of displeasure as Dom draped himself across the sofa and more than a little bit into Billy’s lap.

“Oi! Can’t a man drink his tea in peace? What do you want of me, Monaghan?”

“I want to watch a movie. Will you watch a movie with me, Billy? Please?”

Dom’s lashes fluttered and his lips curled into an impish smile that was not to be denied. Billy knew this from experience.

With a long-suffering sign, Billy took the remote and began to search the channels for something suitable. No movies presented themselves and after putting up with Dom’s insufferable begging for five minutes, he relented and settled in to watch an endless stream of wildlife documentaries.

“Shove over, Bill. I want to stretch out.”

“You’re already taking up the whole bleeding couch. What, do you want me on the floor, then?”

“No silly, just shove over so that I can put my feet in your lap. Quit whining. My feet do not stink! My feet are, in fact, quite presentable.”

Billy glanced down to the wriggling toes in his lap and had to agree. Dom did have quite lovely feet. For a man! He had quite lovely feet, for a man. Yes. Dom’s long toes curled and dug into Billy’s thigh as he twisted and turned and fought to get comfortable.

“Would you hold still? I’m going to be black and blue from your great bony feet if you don’t let up!”

“Hold your water; I’m just getting settled.”

And with that, he stilled and turned wide blue eyes towards the screen.

Billy watched the program but found his attention drifting, and like a bee to honey, his gaze was pulled inexorably back towards Dom’s midriff. Dom lay with arms flung back and out, over his head and dangling behind the arm of the couch. His position did interesting things to his new shirt and to the body underneath that thin cloth. Billy felt his mouth go dry and his pulse speed up. Well, isn’t that interesting, he thought. This is something new. He worried his lower lip between sharp teeth and forced himself to look back towards the television. Interesting animals, wombats are. Yes, they’re fascinating creatures. Not as fascinating as the mink, mind you. Mink. Minx. Christ.

Suddenly, the world snapped into focus and it was all crystal clear. Billy knew that there was only one thing to be done and it was imperative that he do it immediately. With a shove, he pushed Dom’s feet from his lap and made his way stoically to the back of the house. Dom, drowsing on the sofa, paid him little mind, putting it off to one of Billy’s odd moods. He didn’t notice when Billy walked purposefully back through the room and into the kitchen.

As Dom toweled his hair dry, he pulled open his wardrobe door and blindly reached out to find a shirt. His fingers riffled through cloth, searching for something short-sleeved. Anything would do, really. His searching hand found what felt like dress shirts and sweat shirts and hoodies. It paused and thought, “ oh, there’s that lovely embroidered cotton shirt that feels so nice against my skin, but that’s not what I’m looking for today.” With a grunt, Dom threw the towel aside and stared aghast at his clothes. Where the blazes were all of his t-shirts? A quick glance around the room proved fruitless and so he wandered down the hall, poking his head into the washroom, and the guestroom, Billy’s bedroom and the living room. He passed Billy on the couch, who ignored him, and as he entered the kitchen, he saw piles of hangers scattered on the floor in front of the washer and heard the steady hum of the dryer. Opening the dryer door he pulled out shirt after shirt, all of them newly laundered and two sizes too small.

“Billy!” he stomped into the living room, only to run smack into the owner of the name on his lips.

“Why did you ummmmppph.......uunmmmmmnn.”

His question was silenced by a pair of lips covering his own.