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Title: Sun's Out, Guns Out
Author: [ profile] millionstar
Pairing: Almighty Belldom, Non-AU
Rating: R, mostly for language. This is a dialogue-only drabble.
Summary: Dom's arms DO look damn fine these days.
Beta/Support: [ profile] dolce_piccante <3
Disclaimer: Not mine, not remotely real, no profit is being made.
Author's Note: If you choose to read, thank you.

"Are you ready? Hey...woah. Wow."

"Matt! Shit."

"What. The fuck. Are you doing?"

"Jesus, Matt! You could knock, you know!"

"It's my bathroom too. But seriously, what is that?"


"Oh my god, oh I get it, oh this is fucking beautiful."

"Look, I-"

"This is actually fantastic. This is Christmas and my birthday all rolled up into one blessed event."

"Look, it- ......... will you stop fucking laughing? Come on, we're going to be late."

"No.... no, I will not."

"It's not what-"

"What, Dom? Please, do continue. I insist."

"It's not what you-"

"What? It's not what I think?"

"Christ, you're gonna make a huge deal out of this, aren't you."

"If our roles were reversed, you would never let me live this down, surely you must see that. I fully intend to make note of the date and time that it happened for posterity."

"It's not that big of a deal. I was just...erm checking my deodorant. You know, making sure it wasn't getting stains on my black shirt."

"So that's why your sleeves were pushed up over your shoulders. You were checking your deodorant."

"Yeah. You've probably never done that because you don't fucking know what deodorant is. Seriously, we need to fucking get a move on before we're late!"

"Dom Howard, Deodorant Stain Checker. That's what you were doing?"

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"Yeah, I hear you but, well, here's the thing, Dom, it looked like you were flexing in front of the mirror."

"Why don't you just get fucked, Matt. You're such a child."

"I liked how you were grinning at yourself."


"It was like you really, really liked what you were seeing."


"I'm gonna get you one of those 'Sun's Out, Guns Out' t-shirts."

"Look, it-"

"If you want, we can install a mirror on the ceiling in the bedroom. That way you can admire them while you're having a wank."

"I'm actually going to kill you. Motherfuck, fine! So what if I like the way my arms look? I work fucking hard on them, you tit!"

"I should have stayed hidden for a moment longer, I bet you would have fucking kissed your bicep in the end...or named it, possibly. Something Bicepia, or some shit."

"Bicepia...are you fucking drunk??"

"Sober as hell.

"Matthew, darling, you've got it all wrong."



"Enlighten me."

"I'm not Dom Howard, Deodorant Stain Checker. I'm Dom Howard, Defendant In Your Upcoming Murder Trial. And really, you don't have a lot of room to talk."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I saw you that one time in the back of the tour bus with that tube of red lipstick."


"It looked really good on you, you know."

"Shit, look how late it is, c'mon, Dom. We're gonna be late."
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