Work Text:
'Cause the way that we feel how much sin can it be
Lord, it don't feel like sinnin' to me
Bo thinks it's a good thing that they took the windows out of the General all those years ago, because if they had them now the crispness of the November night air would have clashed with the heat from their bodies and condensation would have marred their view of the stars.
The light from these stars coupled with the amber glow of the General’s instrument panel is all there is to illuminate his and Luke’s figures in the dark interior of the Dodge. Nobody cruises out Wildcat Creek Road, they’ve learned the hard way, unless it's for a friendly tow so they feel secure as the space between them grows slim-slim-and then non-existent.
Luke’s wide hand, calloused and rough from planting season, winds its way to cup Bo’s jaw then twine into the blonde curls at the base of his scalp. Bo’s own hands are restless, though a infamous womanizer Luke lacks many of the features he would otherwise be known to caress. He settles for hooking his arm around Luke’s neck, almost brotherly and casual if not for the devilish tongue shared between them. Still, the General’s console spans between them like a woeful wall. The T-handle of the gearshift digs into Luke’s hip as Bo attempts to pull him closer still.
“Luke,” Bo breathes, pulling away long enough to glare at the partition between them as Luke gingerly rubs his hip, “I think the General is fighting against us here.”
“Only time he’s ever let us down,” Luke agrees, giving his lopsided grin which only serves to make Bo curse the console more. “I have a solution…” Luke trails off, ever the problem solver, but the curl of his lip lets Bo know it’s not ideal. Luke hooks a thumb towards the backseat. Bo doesn’t grace him with a response, instead scrambling up and over the seat, ever eager.
The General Lee is a fast car, had beat just about every car in the county, but its back seat could not be confused even with the cramped quarters of a twin bed. Just Bo’s lanky frame sprawled across the bench is enough to make Luke show care in his acrobatics over the front passenger seat. He settles for half crouching, half kneeling over Bo until he decides it's as uncomfortable as it sounds and shifts to straddle him. Bo gives a laugh as if to say, it was your idea, Cuz. Once situated, Bo runs two wicked hands up Luke’s sinewy thighs and rests them just shy of his back pockets and thumbs little shapes into the faded denim. The light from the dash is even more faint from the backseat and Bo’s eyes are but sapphire chips in an otherwise murky sea of shadow. Still, Luke’s hands find their way to either side of his cousin’s pretty face and their lips resume where they had left off.
Just like with the many girls both boys had taken on similar roadside rendezvous, they stop themselves just short of actually going "there”. All the heavy petting in the world wouldn’t dare cross the magical boundary line of the belt. Perhaps it was part of the fun, the expectant edging or perhaps it was old fashioned Christian fear burned into their bellies by Uncle Jesse’s supper table sermons. Either way, when Bo’s hands wander too achingly close to Luke’s straining zipper, Luke pulls a face despite himself and leans back to catch his breath. Bo braces for a lecture. He even braces for talk of sin, though Luke is no reverend nor saint nor in any condition to condemn the way he’s been kissing back as he holds Bo in his strong arms.
“Bo…” Luke starts, but it’s not his disapproving tone. It’s his contemplative one, the tone he gets when he reads his car magazines and plays for hours in his mind with an idea for a new upgrade to the General. Bo finds himself straightening up, waiting. Luke’s jaw moves and then he swallows, like the words he wants to say get caught in his throat.
Bo watches the way his Adam's apple bobs, thinks about how he’d like to lick a stripe right down it… And then Luke’s moving, suddenly a man of action and all Bo can think, rather thickly as Luke wrestles with his belt buckle and then his zipper, is that maybe he’s rubbing off on Luke after all.
“Shepard to lost sheep, Shepard to lost sheep,” Jesse’s voice cuts through the quiet interior of the General and Luke gives a start from his dozing, rousing Bo with him to the tune of the usual moans and groans.
“Are you out there boys?” This time it’s Daisy, her sing-song voice piercing through the lullaby of crickets.
“Yeah, we hear you,” Luke grouses, scratching at his now well-mused hair and leaning awkwardly on the center console to reach the CB mic.
“Loud and clear,” Bo chimes in, rubbing his eyes.
“We’s just checking on you boys, it's late, you best be heading on home,” Jesse says.
“Yeah, them deer’ll still be out there tomorrow,” Daisy adds, smirk in her voice as if to say she’ll never understand her wild cousins’ ways. Then again, she’s right in ways she might not expect.
Luke’s brows furrow and he turns back to Bo, his face quizzical. Spotlighting, Bo mouths. Luke raises his brow at his cousin’s sudden prowess at making excuses for lost time, makes a mental note to never let him use one of them against him, then turns his attention back to the radio.
“Yes, Sir, yes, Daisy, we’ll be heading back now.” Once the mic is returned to its cradle, Luke returns his attention to the younger Duke.
“Spotlighting?” He asks incredulously, a smothered laugh curling his lip. Bo just grins, smiling with enough wattage to reveal more than a few hidden deer in the woods around them.
“Best we mind Jesse,” Bo says after a minute, reluctant to disentangle his arms from where they hold Luke captive in the cramped heaven of the General’s backseat. Luke nods, looking none too inclined to move either, but offers Bo a tender kiss as terms of release.
Bo cedes and the boys climb dutifully back to their prospective places in the front of the General. Bo hastily fixes the snaps of his shirt while Luke fiddles with the radio. He settles for a staticky AM channel out of Atlanta which is only accessible in the cool hours of the night, and leans back, satisfied, as Jeannie Kendall’s voice rings out over the rumble of the General’s engine, “No, it don't feel like sinnin' to me, Feels like love, feels like love.”