Underoos

by Heath07

Seth needs some clean boxers. slash-ish

Title: Underoos

Rating: PG -slash-ish

Author: Heath07

E-mail: Lame_Trickster@hotmail.com

Summary: Seth needs some clean boxers.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Notes: Jokes about Michael Jackson are made in this fic, so if you're easily offended don't read. :)

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It was a strange odour, that didn't seem to have an origin, that drew Seth out to the pool house at three in the morning wearing Superman Underoos and a child-sized purple Barney shirt. His attire was made possible by too many wet dreams and the week Rosa had off. When he complained to his father that he was running out of clean clothes, those massive eyebrows had wiggled around like two caterpillars involved in a mating dance as he suggested he asked his Mom to do it. His Mother couldn't cook, what made his Dad think she knew how to do laundry? And besides, the last thing he needed was for his Mother to see his underpants. 'Cause, really, that should, like, never happen. He supposed he could have figured it out, but reality was, he was lazy. And it should have really bothered him that he still fit into clothes from when he was six, but he was just grateful for something to wear.

So, it was three in the morning and he looked like jailbait Michael Jackson would be happy to snap up, scurrying across the lawn into the pool house, but hey, he did what he had to. Ryan had clean underwear, he knew that for a fact. Just that afternoon he'd sat around after a rather intense make-out session and watched as Ryan had done his laundry. So yeah, the only reasonable thing to do was take a few pairs of boxers while Ryan slept and no one would be the wiser.

If he had taken the time to think about it, he might have considered that Ryan wouldn't be too keen at having a visitor steal his clothing while he slept. And he might have also figured that it wouldn't take much for Ryan to snap his neck, but hey, those were the chances one had to take when clean underwear was on the line.

Of course, he wasn't going to get caught. Nope, he was a stealth, lean, underwear-stealing machine. Yeah, he'd have to come up with a better name. Maybe the Boxer Burglar or the Boxer Bandit or something. On second thought... No, those were definitely too minty.

He needed to focus, but it was really difficult with Ryan curled up on such a large mattress, clutching onto a pillow when it could be Seth he was clinging too. Seth pulled his eyes away. He had a mission and molesting Ryan in his sleep was not part of it. Hmm...he'd have to store that away for future reference.

Back to the plan. Steal fresh, clean underwear and get out. Don't look at Ryan. And definitely no groping.

All was clear as he eased past Ryan and sank down on his hunches to carefully sort through Ryan's piles of folded clothing. Slipping out one pair of plain blue, one solid black pair and a checked green pair of boxers, Seth stood slowly.

Making his way back to the front entrance of the pool house, he figured he was in the clear. Raising his hands above his head, he did a little victory pump in the air and wiggled around, not even minding so much that his shirt tore at the seems under his armpit and that his balls felt like they were being gripped in a vice. After all, Superman Underoos from when he was six were still cool, just not cool enough for anyone else to know he owned them and now that he had fresh underwear he would be glad to bid adieu to the man in tights, 'cause briefs were just too damn tight ever for a superhero.

In the midst of doing the Running Man, Seth pivoted around to see Ryan sitting up in bed, an amused half-smirk on his face.

"Nice underwear," Ryan mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Seth could feel his face heat up. Embarrassment was not a foreign concept whenever Ryan was around. He had two options: 1) babble some pathetic excuse and relinquish his contraband underwear, nilling and voiding all his efforts, or 2) run like hell. He was not giving up Ryan's boxers without a fight... Well, he wasn't giving them up unless Ryan made him.

Seth bent down and did the only thing he could think of. He peeled the underwear down his thighs and swung them around his index finger. "Here. I'll trade ya," Seth said, throwing the Underoos at Ryan and making a mad dash for his bedroom. The things he did for clean underpants.

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End.