This one, from Dead and Alive, was inspired by an uncharacteristic slip by Luke as he's jumping into the passenger side of the car. In actuality, he caught himself before it would have gotten too painful. For purposes of this vignette, he didn't.
It was also inspired by Luke's obvious appreciation for Bo's skill with the harmonica.
How was a man supposed to concentrate through the remnant refrains of a tuneless version of Camptown Races ricocheting around the inside of his skull? Should have chucked the pillow earlier, and maybe he'd have half a chance of thinking clearly now. Breaking out of the Chickasaw jail wasn't the same as slipping past Rosco. This was mean and halfway competent Sheriff Little they had to get around.
Except it turned out to be exactly the same as slipping past Rosco, right down to the way Little stood in exactly the wrong place with regard to the open cell door, and the convenient suds on the floor outside the squad room.
Which was good, breaking out required neither thought nor real effort, so he managed it just fine, despite the cacophony still rattling through his addled brain. Got as far as the impound lot on autopilot, hurdling the chain link fence and all. Made the mistake of thinking (or trying to) about which side of the General to get into, to drive or not to drive, and wound up painfully straddling the passenger doorframe. That one was going to leave a mark.
Bo, fortunately, was too enamored of the steering wheel to have realized the deep discomfort taking place over in the passenger side, and a few deep breaths later Luke was recovered enough to sit reasonably comfortably and watch the fluid style of his cousin driving them away from danger. It was amazing how a man with no sense of rhythm and a questionable ear for keeping on pitch could be so in-tune with a car. The difference between an A and an A-sharp didn't seem to mean half as much to Bo as the quarter-tone shift in the General's engine. Right here, doing this, Bo was capable of making beautiful music, the kind Luke could appreciate with his ears, eyes, and even the steady vibration of his body against the seat.
"Well?" he said, just to snap himself out of the ridiculous trance. What in hell was he doing admiring his cousin when they had problems? Damn harmonica music playing in his head, making soup where a perfectly good brain used to be.
"Well, what?" Bo parroted, useless as ever (except that he really wasn't and there were some excellent uses to which he could be put, but first—), looking to him to do all the thinking after the brat had used the harmonica to short out the various connections in Luke's mind.
"Well," and it was a really stimulating conversation thus far. Well-this and well-that with all the possibility in the world that they'd never get to the bottom of anything. Which was why Luke found himself listing their problems for Bo: they were wanted for robbery, they needed to catch the real crooks, and they had no idea who those crooks could be, because the star witness had just up and died. Just slightly more convoluted than a normal Hazzard afternoon.
"Tell me something I don't know," Bo halfway squeaked, off-key or off-kilter – either way, the man was about as helpful as a frustrated two-year-old. "Luke, I been sitting here thinking about it and thinking about it, and I can't come up with a dang thing. Ain't you got any ideas?"
Yeah, he had ideas. Just none that were pertinent to the problem. They had more to do with better things Bo could be doing with his lips than fumbling around a harmonica or whining about who did or did not have ideas.
"Of course I've got ideas." Just don't ask me what they are.
"Well, what are they?"
I told you not to ask.
"When I get them sorted out, I'll let you know." And that, friends, neighbors, Uncle Jesse and the Good Lord above, was the truth.
It could happen that he'd wind up with more time to sort through things than he really wanted, if he couldn't get that stupid harmonica refrain out of his head. Alligator-labeled shirts with numbers on the back and ten years of hearing that harmonica wail at him from another cell or even a distant wing just to remind him of how it right it felt sitting this close to Bo, that wasn't what he had in mind.
They had to stay out of prison. Which was why they had to get themselves arrested. He couldn't swear it made sense, but he had no other bright ideas (and of course Bo drew a very loud blank), except that before they headed over to the Hazzard Courthouse, he made Bo hand that stupid harmonica over to Jesse.
But they didn't find themselves behind bars after all, more like escaping through the second courthouse in one day (funny how the cleaning schedule for Hazzard and Chickasaw was the same, funny how Rosco and Boss slipping in suds wasn't all that different from Little doing the same thing) chasing after the non-ghost of a man who wasn't dead. Which made him all the easier to find, what with him still being flesh and blood. Found the witness, found the crooks, found two counties' worth of law in one place, and found their way out of trouble.
Found peace and disharmony, because Jesse gave Bo that stupid harmonica back. Took awhile for the brat to reveal that little fact; he waited until the next day, during a break from taking down an old tree on the back end of the property. Sat his lazy self down one trunk over, yanked the thing out of his too-tight pants pocket (and with the way it barely fit in there, Luke wouldn't be surprised if it had been bent out of tune) and put it right up to his lips.
"Bo." He was being nice. He didn't have to issue a warning. That harmonica was cruel and unusual punishment and killing Bo would be self-defense. "Don't."
And there was that sly little smile Luke had only seen all his life. "Or?" He'd hardly moved the harmonica an inch out of the way of the word.
"Or it's going in the bottom of the creek." Which wasn't very deep, but it was right here within chucking distance.
Bo smiled some more and licked his lips. Pursed them like warming them up and moved to put the harmonica back into his mouth.
Well now. Dukes revenged on property not people, so the only choice he had was to get the thing away from Bo and make sure it paid the price for his cousin's annoying personality. Took himself two giant steps and grabbed hold of Bo's foot just about in time with the first squeal from the instrument in his mouth. Gave a yank to get his cousin's attention, and wound up with a boot in his hand, and Bo's bare and smelly foot up in the air.
"Luke," was the complaint, but he didn't have much sympathy to spare. He was closer to the stink that Bo was.
"Dang it Bo," he chastised. "You need," and he grabbed hold of that naked ankle, dragging his cousin toward him. "To wear socks."
"I ain't – Luke!" That was a protest to how Luke was trying to catch Bo's hand and pry the harmonica loose. "I ain't got any!"
And that was an argument for another day, probably no later than tomorrow. For now, though, Luke was forced to get down there on the ground with Bo and wrestle for supremacy and the right to control how noisy this patch of the Duke farm was going to be.
"Luke!" More protesting, but it wasn't serious. There was a giggle as Bo passed the harmonica from one hand to another in the attempt the keep it from Luke. Dang long arms, and Luke was going to have to get his legs out from between Bo's if he wanted to reach over to where those hands were. Or not, there happened to be a rib cage much closer to him, just begging to be tickled. Didn't take much to make Bo halfway tuck and roll, legs scissoring around Luke's to bring him along for the ride. "No!"
Yes. Bo wasn't doing anything but keeping the harmonica away from him, not really fighting or protecting himself. He deserved what he got, which turned out to be rolled over one more time.
"You got a choice, cuz," Luke panted, from his perch on top again. That bruise on the inside of his thigh ached with every pull, but it was just a tickle in comparison to the pain that wailing harmonica would put into his ears. "Give it up or lose it."
Bo chucked the instrument away, kind of an overhead attempt at a toss, that didn't go more than a couple of feet out of reach. Fine. Luke made to go after it, but Bo caught him in a bear hug, arms tight enough around his ribs that there was risk of Luke's lungs popping out his mouth. Arms and feet thrashed, but his bear of a cousin kept hold, rolling them over a few more times.
Cold, wet, they were in the shallow creek. Luke's knee met a stone on the way in, the uneven way Bo was laying under him left the impression that there was another one under his backside now. Funny how the brat wasn't complaining though. Maybe it was because he had no lips to do it with. He could have, if he wanted to; Luke wasn't pressing hard against him, wasn't even sure where the kiss came from or which of them started it, only the vague memory that it preceded the splash.
There came a shift below him and Luke made to get off his cousin's chest. Bo had to be craning his neck the keep his face above the water. Luke, on top, was in a better position all around, shoulders and head not even wet. So he backed off a bit to let Bo breathe, but a dripping hand made its way up Luke's back, curling around his shoulder to roll him to his side. Not exactly an improvement to Luke's situation, meant he had to give up what few dry patches he had left, shoulder underwater and head propped on his hand. Bo seemed grateful for the reprieve, thanking Luke with his tongue. Thanked him even more with that wet hand exploring how the cotton of Luke's open shirt floated around his chest then sliding up his neck and into his hair, rendering it almost as wet as the rest of him. Cold water, warm bodies, Luke used legs and arms to drag them across sand and stones, tighter together, conserving heat. Nice fit, nice way Bo was letting him give up the kiss to explore other territory, licking creek water off his chin and jaw. Nice uneven breath around the time Luke's tongue found an earlobe, followed by something between a whine and a wheeze, not far off from a squeal.
Beautiful sound, right on key, nothing at all like a harmonica.