How can you write a vignette for The Meeting without acknowledging the kiss of death? The answer is, you can't. Or I couldn't.
It is important to remember that they begin this episode testing the shocks, which Luke claims bruises his kidneys. You'll see that part when it comes by.
"There was six guns on us!" Bo would exaggerate to the only other person who was there and can refute his story.
"It was only four, Bo." Luke wonders why he bothers. Forever more, Bo will remember six guns. Until he decides it's more like a dozen, that is.
"Luke," funny how Bo's facial expressions can be defined by two looks, cute and silly. Angry Bo is a cross between the two: from the nose up is cute in how it all scrunches inward to meet at the middle, and south of there his lips are just silly when they press together and try to stay that way. As if everyone who has ever argued with the man wouldn't know he's going to open his mouth right back up and start arguing again. "It don't matter exactly how many. The point is, we could have died."
Luke just shrugs at that and focuses his eyes on the General Lee. If he went thinking about how many times in his life he could have died, well, there wouldn't be room left over for anything other worries. Like standing here, almost fishing. If Bo can just manage to get over the shock of their near death, they can get the gear out of the back seat and trunk, and be on to more pleasant activities.
"But we didn't," Bo informs him, like he's just discovering it for the first time. Sudden joy over the realization that none of those mobsters had a trigger finger, and Bo's heart is still intact. "Isn't that great?"
Luke can't help but laugh at the simplicity of a mind that would think that way, or maybe he's smiling at Bo's ridiculous glee. Which, as always, has a physical manifestation. Luke should know better than to ever let his attention wander where his cousin is concerned; it's always best to have his weight carefully distributed when Bo lunges at him like this. The kid has never stopped trusting that he can jump on Luke and he'll always be safely caught. True enough, Luke's never let him down, but this time it's sheer luck in form of the General's steel frame. Yeah, Luke gets bruisingly crushed into the car door, but he manages to hold Bo's weight, and as far as his unthinking cousin is concerned, that's all that matters.
Until Bo's feet are settled on the ground again, and Luke's still mashed tight against the hard metal behind him. Bo's arms are locked tight down on either side of Luke's arms and in the same moment he realizes that Bo has grabbed the upper frame of the window and roof for leverage, he feels Bo's breath like sweat on his face, lips on his and pushing him into the door, the rollbar and the roof digging mercilessly into his neck, every bit as roughly as Bo's body is.
There's no space between them for Luke's hands, so he wraps his arms around Bo and gets a strong grip on the back of Bo's shirts. Takes two tries to find the neck of the t-shirt and pull his cousin back.
"What," he asks. There's more to the question, but he's going to need to gulp in some more air to ask it.
"That there was the kiss of death," Bo whispers darkly, followed by a totally incongruous giggle. Well, that answers that, and honestly, there are worse ways to die.
"Oh," Luke manages. Grabs a breath while he can, because here comes another kiss. As long as these kisses live up to their name everything'll be all right; he doesn't want to live long enough to have to think too hard about what they're doing and exactly how little he wants it to stop. Not to mention, if he's going to die anyway, he might as well get the most out of it. So he lets go of Bo's shirts and allows his hands roam up to the backs of his cousin's shoulders, all tensed up in the effort to keep Luke pinned against that car (and that'll be his defense later, which is why Luke doesn't even try to get free), then down across that surprisingly broad back and over to his ribs that funnel down into a strangely feminine waist. If only he didn't have to tip his head back right now, Luke could maybe convince himself that it was a girl he was opening his mouth for.
He tugs on Bo's shirt again when he needs to breathe. Kiss of death or no, a man needs air every now and again.
Their lips come apart and Bo collapses against him, as if there was any space between them for him to fall into. Luke's chin tips up to get some fresh air over the shoulder that seems to want to take over smothering him where Bo's mouth left off. Meanwhile, his hands are still hitching a ride on Bo's waist, which is rocking to the same rhythm as the hips below.
Well, if that other thing was the kiss of death—
"Bo," he says, hears how it comes out the kind deep and intimate he's only ever used on the likes of Amy Creevey. "What's this?" he asks, running his hands up and down Bo's remarkably flexible torso. Not that he's complaining. It's got its merits, even if Luke is losing the feeling in his legs from where the General's door sill is cutting off his circulation.
There's a hot puff of breath from where his cousin's face has burrowed itself down into Luke's left shoulder. Funny how Bo's neck-breakingly tall until he decides to snuggle down into Luke – but Bo has always liked to be the smaller one when he's being held.
"This?" Bo asks, rocking a little more purposefully. Up until now it's been more habit than design.
It takes all of Luke's effort to concentrate long enough to exhale an approximate "Yeah."
"Testing out them shocks," Bo informs him, and Luke wonders how it is that man who can't string along three words on a good day can talk right now when all he can manage is a syllable here and there. "We told Cooter we'd have to test them out before we'd buy them."
Luke nods and pulls on the back of Bo's shirts again, loosening the crushing hold his cousin's got on him. It's about time they went back to what they were doing a minute ago, what with the fact that there's no way he can breathe anyway. Might as well get on with that kiss of death.
"Don't worry," Bo consoles him as he stands up and backs off just far enough to look down on him with a wicked little grin. "I promise not to hurt your kidneys."