This one's from Double Dukes and hinges on the fact that masks or no masks, Turk and Moody could not have been exact doubles of Bo and Luke. For starts, Turk, who becomes Bo, is shorter than Moody, who becomes Luke.
"I can't believe," Bo says for the six hundredth time, or maybe it's only the sixth. Doesn't matter; one more time and Luke's going to have to tackle him to the ground and sit on his chest until he promises never to bring it up again. "That Uncle Jesse and Daisy really thought they was us." Luke slams his axe into the log in front of him, neatly splitting off fireplace-sized chunk. He stands the remaining section up and gets ready for another go at it. "That guy Turk didn't even—"
Luke slams the axe down again, drowning out the end of Bo's sentence, but he already knows how it goes. Turk is too short. Turk's nose is too big. Turk don't stand right or drive right or know nothing about showing off the fine body that he don't have.
The head of Bo's axe is buried halfway down into the same log it's been stuck in for at least five minutes while the man who is supposed to be wielding it has been carefully examining every reason that Daisy and Jesse are fools. Luke knows better; Jesse and Daisy are the smart ones who went on back to town and left him alone to deal with Bo's repetitive mouth.
"Bo," he warns. He doesn't want to wind up rolling around in the dirt. He's wearing his lightest blue shirt, the one that will pick up red clay stains and never let them go. He's a fool to have ever put it on when it isn't Sunday, and he'd take it off right now if that wouldn't just precipitate the fight he still hopes to avoid. "They was across the square, and those guys was dressed like us, and driving a twin of the General. Jesse and Daisy wasn't studying on their noses or how tall they was; they was too busy looking at the guns." Brings the axe up again, and provides Bo with a good model of how to properly direct one's frustrations by smashing it down into the offending log below it.
"I just don't think they really looked like us, is all," Bo sulks. "I'm taller than you." In case Luke has forgotten.
Luke puts the axe down before it accidentally gets swung horizontally instead of vertically. Takes two steps toward Bo, who conveniently hasn't touched his axe in several long minutes now.
"It's all leg," Luke points out. Gets a slack-jawed look in contrast to the way Bo's body is tensing itself up to its full height. Funny how his cousin can't stand up straight without sticking his chest out like the rooster that he'd like to be. "Your height. It's all leg, and even with all that leg you can't run faster'n me." Yeah, his cousin's closer to a chicken than a rooster; he's actually considering making Luke prove that talk about running faster by hobbling off for the back forty. And that's fine, if that's the way Bo wants to do it. The more momentum they get up and the front end, the harder and more satisfying the tackle will be at the back end. Sadly, Bo stands his ground.
"I ain't built for running," Bo agrees, chin lifting to make Luke tip his head back that much farther to hold his eyes. "I'm built for driving."
"Sitting on your ass, you mean," Luke challenges. "Maybe lifting a foot from time to time, twisting a steering wheel. Yeah, that's what you're built for, all right."
Bo's insulted. Luke can see it in the way that right eye squints down just a little smaller than the left, can see the wheels spinning in Bo's brain as they try to find solid ground to grip on for the counter-attack.
Luke wonders, sometimes, why they waste so much energy with arguing. In the end it's going to come to blows, and they both know it. All Luke needs is for Bo to swing first. Seems like they spend pointless hours fussing at each other before Bo will just go ahead and do what they both know he's going to anyway.
"I'm built," Bo informs him with a flustered puff of air. "For loving."
And this exactly the way in which Bo cheats all the time, goading Luke right up to the edge of a fight and then yanking the rug out from underneath all his meritorious anger. Incapacitated with laughter and holding up his hands in surrender, because it seems his annoyance has transferred itself to Bo now, and Luke's in no position to protect any of his sensitive areas.
Used to be Bo would make a face in response, maybe roll his eyes and call Luke cute. Over the last few years, he's taken to pointing, shouting and generally barking louder than he's capable of biting. Before it can come to that, Luke has to catch his breath.
"How," Luke says as a place marker. Coughs a few times to hide the chuckles that are still finding their way up from his chest. "How exactly does that work? Long legs and loving?"
Luke almost loses control again, watching Bo struggle between anger and pride. Oh, his cousin is dying to explain this; all Luke has to do is behave himself. Which means composing his face into some semblance of curiosity, and he has no idea what that looks like. No matter, Bo seems to be buying it.
"Girls like it when they have to stand on their toes to kiss you," Bo confided.
Well. Bo didn't need those extra five inches between them to learn that. Luke discovered it back when Bo was probably still two years away from his final growth spurt. Then again, Bo has always seemed to have the technique all wrong. In fact, Luke has been meaning to give him some pointers on this.
"Well, yeah. But the way you stoop down for them, you ain't getting the best out of the situation." It's all very collusive, the way he says it, reminding Luke of a few years ago when his powers of discrimination were as lacking as Bo's, and they would double date. "You got to pick them up. Then you got their whole body in contact with yours. Your way, you got to bend yourself away from her."
Bo's head is shaking. "No I don't. Believe me, I get a whole passel of body contact from pretty girls." Bratty know-it-all. Luke has seen the way he kisses.
"You ain't," Luke promises him, "Getting as much as you could." They need Daisy. There's no way Bo's going to believe without seeing a demonstration, and they haven't got anything the right shape and size except for their girl cousin. "I'll show you later," he offers.
"Why don't you just show me right now?" Patience has never been Bo's long suit.
Luke shakes his head. "You're taller than me." And isn't that where this all started? Luke never disputed that part.
"All right," Bo agrees. "Then I guess I'll just have to show you."
"Show me?" Bo's got nothing that Luke hasn't already seen. Long legs and an awkward style, and that's where this all started. "What?"
"That my way works." It's all very matter of fact. I'm a good kisser; here, let me borrow your lips to prove it. "Come on, Luke. You talk a good line about how you get a better way to do things. I say you put up or shut up."
How did a perfectly stupid conversation about how their doubles weren't exactly doubles turn into the ridiculous suggestion that Luke needs to put up his lips for the kissing?
"Come on, Luke," is the goad. It's an interesting notion. Kissing Bo Duke does seem to be a popular means for passing time in Hazzard. Girls—
Thinking time is over now, here comes Bo, who never has bothered to wait for consent when he wants something. Well, damn it, if they're going to do this, it'll be done right. Luke grabs Bo's biceps and holds him off.
"What, you chicken?" Bo asks like it's even a possibility. Luke has never backed away from a damn thing in his life and he's got no plans of doing so now. But talking would only make things worse, so Luke just shakes his head at the foolishness of little boys, and shoves. Keeps on pushing until Bo's where he wants him to be, up against the house. Keeps the pressure on until his whole body is just about flattening Bo into the wall there.
"This way," he instructs, "You get to touch everything you want." Tilts his chin up and looks into Bo's bugged out eyes. "See?" And, just so Bo can't ever say he backed out of the challenge, Luke kisses him.