That Way

It would, all of it, be easier to handle if he were younger. From setting up campsites without proper equipment to the suggestion that he has nightmares, everything could be dismissed with a bit of willpower and some deliberate eye-rolling. Even this bit of ridiculousness right here could be managed with some kind of joke, then the doctor's prescribed two dangerous jumps and a visit to the Boar's Nest to last until morning. (Well, old Doc Petticord might not have ever written a script for those particular activities, but he just shook his head and muttered things about the resiliency of youth whenever one of the Duke boys presented themselves with injuries gained in the pursuit of that brand of fun, and that smacked of approval all the same.)

"I been around the block a few times," Bo is saying to him, eyebrows waggling around in an approximation of flirtation. Too much hair; even now that he wears it shorter, Bo's still a relatively furry guy. Fuzzy eyebrows and sideburns, nothing like the pretty little thing he's pretending to be. Now those thick eyelashes dipping up and down over deep blue eyes might be convincing – if only the man had the first idea how to properly use them. "I know why you got us a room."

A hotel room; just one between them. Hell, they've shared the same space for almost their whole lives. Doesn't seem like anything for Bo to get all excited about now. And yet, there he is, trying to back Luke up to a wall. Fat chance.

It's a game, like wrestling used to be in the days when his kid cousin felt the need to put their strength to the test. Giggling, but deadly serious underneath; Bo would have struggled to the death if Luke hadn't let him win at least half the time. It got to be habit for them both, for Luke to mentally tie one hand behind his back and go at things with an utter lack of commitment. Funny how, when Bo finally began to build some muscles all his own, he squirmed and shoved with full intensity, never considering returning the favor of being gentle when the match called for it.

This here game is not going to be a nostalgic visit to their youth.

Mostly because Luke knows better now. What's going on between them these days is more dangerous than any moonshine run ever got to be, carries greater risk than facing down a disbarred NASCAR driver behind an illegal engine. Bo doesn't quite know the heat of the flame he's playing with.

It's there in the man's eyes, behind the silly attempts at flirtation, under that tight smile that's not anything like a drooling grin anymore. More like the look of determination Bo's always gotten when he can see the finish line, and there's still a car or two to contend with. Bo wants him as bad as any trophy he's ever chased, from national cups to the local derbies they used to dominate.

Same look he fixed on Gabby, and Luke figures Sarah-Beth and Cheryl got it, too. Any woman Bo's considered in the last five years or so has been a party to this kind of desire; not the charming smile of his younger days, but a clear I-want-that all the same. Christmas gift envy all over again.

Jealousy might be the most important ingredient to keeping one Bo Duke from losing interest. Just about every woman his cousin has ever stayed with for longer than it took to warm up a chilly night turned out to have strong ties to someone else – Gabby to Rafael from her brother's gang, Sarah-Beth apparently went back to an old boyfriend when the pre-engagement to Bo didn't work out, and those twins, Cindy and Sandy, were more into each other than anyone else. And then there was Diane Benson – oh, but he doesn't need to be thinking of that. Not when Bo's there in front of him, pouring gasoline onto a fire.

"I got us a room," is his best attempt at sidestepping the white elephant in the room. "Because you slept for half the day. Tomorrow you get to drive; you best be well-rested when the time comes."

Diane had Carl, spinning in endless circles around her, boys and boys after he'd been unceremoniously dumped. Nasty words to Bo's face and ugly deeds behind his back, and it had all made his cousin cling tighter to the girl. As long as someone else wanted what Bo had, he'd never relinquish his hold.

Luke's not going to be able stay at the center of that fleeting attention span. Oh sure, it's not that long ago that his cousin watched Luke walking hand-in-hand with Anita, and there's probably some lingering jealousy about that. It'll last through tonight, maybe next week. But it's not enough intrigue to keep Bo wanting more, and it's not like there's a line of girls waiting in Opportunity for Luke Duke to come home. Bo'll move on when he realizes that there's no one going to fight him for Luke.

And Luke'll be left remembering those first weeks after the Carnival of Thrills left town, when he realized the origin of his own protectiveness. Bo picked his way back to life from where his heart got broken, and Luke watched over him, half thinking he still needed to chase that little lady down and teach her a lesson.

But why? – the question began to trickle through his brain, disturbingly imagined in Jesse's voice. Why revenge on the girl, who'd move on to another fairgrounds, another state, another man? The loss of Bo's goofy grin wasn't a good enough reason to – well to do anything stronger than say good riddance to old rubbish.

And for months after, any time Bo seemed cured of the woman's influence, ready to move on and drool over something new, Luke let his gut seethe for all of a minute before he started in on what a fool his cousin was. Never learn, do you? he'd say, head shaking. Come on, we got to get home early. Nine times out of ten it would work, and when it didn't, Luke would find himself some girl willing to make all his sorrows go away.

It might just have been those twins that made him finally admit what never really had been a secret all along. He didn't want anyone else near Bo. And then maybe two months later, after one last-ditch effort, holding Candy's tiny body against his like he used to as a Marine, trying to love her like he had as a hormonal boy, there had been this: he wanted Bo for himself. A year of knowing that, living within inches, living within denial, and Bo wandered off into the abyss that the end of probation provided them. It was a blissful relief, it was a black hole of nothingness. Montana's been eternal summer compared to that one cold year of Hazzard without Bo.

And Bo kissed him first. Three years ago, because of a momentary want. It's back now, but it'll be gone again tomorrow, or the next day. Whichever day it turns out to be that the man recognizes that Luke's not exactly a sought-after commodity, that there's no prestige in having him, no one to emerge victorious over in getting him. For just this moment, until another, bigger and better thought enters his head, Bo wants Luke.

And what the hell. It's not like Luke's ever much resisted giving the boy what he wants, why should he expect anything to change just because Bo's pretending to be all grown up? It's all still a game to him, get Luke in a corner, goading about the deeper meaning of hotel rooms, waggling those eyebrows like they can bring back his virtue. Damn it all, if Bo wants to be a girl, Luke can accommodate him.

Kissing, before the thought is even complete. Shoving, like the crude farm boy he used to be, moonshine-running, skirt-chasing, got-nothing-so-there's-nothing-to-lose teenager all over again, and Bo's the one that's cornered.

Except he's not, not really. Oh, he's in the corner, shoulders stooped by surrounding walls, but he's still Bo. Jumping in with both feet, never bothering to test the water for depth, not even glancing down for boulders on which he might crack his skull. Kissing back as if Luke's that same safety net he spent their childhood being – perfectly reasonable to pull whatever fool stunt enters his turnip brain, because he's got family nearby and none of them will ever let anyone hurt him…

Once, and not that long ago, at least as far as the history of Hazzard and the Duke family goes, they had nothing more than the dirt under their fingernails, and even that was mortgaged. A house that might just get blown to bits by a good, solid spring wind, a mule that would as soon bite a man as pull his plow, some hulks of metal that were roughly car-shaped. They were poor as church mice, as the law liked to remind them, hicks and plowboys, as they got called by any stranger that felt the need to pass through town. They had nothing.

Now it's no real skin off either of their backs to pay more for one night in this room than they used to owe Boss Hogg on a monthly basis for the nothing they owned back then. The simple bags they're unpacking hold more clothes, gear, crap really, than used to fill that entire house. Everything they could ever want is theirs for the asking, just a few slips of useless green-printed paper away.

No reason, really, for Bo to hold back from grabbing whatever he wants, even if it is Luke's hair he's tugging on. Shoot, the man can replace anything that gets lost in these moments just by pulling that credit card out of that fancy leather wallet with all the pockets to hold his treasures. A new shirt for the one that's getting torn at by Luke's gripping fingers, a few extra bucks if the hotel gets snippy about any dents or smudges they might leave in the walls. And if they draw blood on each other, teeth or nails getting overly ambitious, the local emergency room will be glad to fix them up in exchange for the loose change in Bo's pocket.

Nothing to lose, that's got to be what has Bo matching his strength, pushing back from where Luke's shoving him into the wall with hands, hips, tongue, teeth—

And maybe he's even right, Luke reasons, as their mouths come apart, panting for breath. Maybe the Duke boys really don't have anything to lose. Not anymore, not since they lost each other. Not now that Bo sees him in the same way he's ever looked at anything he wants: temporary gratification. His forehead rests against Bo's shoulder at the notion. If that's what Bo wants, Luke's going to give in, just like he always has.

Which is why, when Bo's chin comes nudging at his cheek, he tips his head back up. Lets their lips come together again, lets his cousin out of the corner he's been backed into, lets those arms come around him instead of wrestling against the hold. Needs a place to put his own hands, and that's how his arms come to be looped low around Bo's waist. How they get turned around so that Luke's back is against the wall, he has no idea.

Dizzy, like banking too hard around a one-eighty spin on wet Georgia clay. Vertigo of a gully opening up underneath them, simple forward momentum the only means to keep two fools from plummeting into the hard earth below. Nothing underneath to support them, no wires to be suspended from, just him trusting Bo to get them to the other side, like they're no more than boys on an adventure. Seems he should have learned long ago not to let Bo drive. Then again, forgetting danger has been the definition of his life, both inside of Hazzard and outside; it's just easier to do with Bo at his side. Against his chest and in his mouth and—

It all comes to a crash landing the minute Bo's thumb makes a gentle sweep across his cheek. It's the first time he even realizes there's a hand there, warm and soft, cradling just as sweet as any girl's ever has. The kind of thing that claims more than Bo has a right to, not when they're in the middle of a fight.

So Luke turns them around again, reminding his cousin that this all started with a stupid goad, one he initiated three years ago on a patch of dirt in the middle of nowhere, inside the General's protective skin, with Jesse waiting in his yellow house for two fool men to stop acting like boys and come home. The ante's gotten upped a few times over the years by the Gabrielas and Anitas of their lives, but it's the same struggle it's ever been, and gentleness has no place in it.

There's a puff of air out of Bo's nose when his back hits the wall, a grunt into Luke's mouth. That's okay, Luke makes it go away just like he always has, or maybe it's like he's never bothered to before. Complaint gets smothered by direct pressure, hands on biceps, pelvis against pelvis, lips and teeth and—

Bo twists his face away. Pulls his arms out of Luke's grip and uses his chest to shove him back. "If you got to be that way," he says, and pushes past. Doesn't go far, doesn't bother to finish his sentence, just picks a bed and sits.

Luke nods. Even he's not sure whether he's acknowledging a need to be that way, or whether he's agreeing that Bo ought to walk away from him. The bathroom's door, shutting behind him, keeps him from having to make that decision.

Bo's still there when he comes back out with water droplets drying on his face and hands, rummaging through the paper bags of food. The cheese doodles, Luke notes, have already been found, along with the jelly and bread. It's the protein in the form of peanut butter that's gone missing, naturally. He ought to give his cousin credit for continuing to look.

"It's in here," he mumbles, digging for his own backpack. Got put away last, in the only bag still open at the end of the night.

"Luke," comes out in a sigh. It's about to ask for his forgiveness probably. Man's got the same temper the boy ever did, explosive and short-lived. In the end, after fingers have been pointed and fists thrown, Bo needs peace more than he needs to win.

But what the apology would be for, well, that's something Luke's not sure he wants to know. Sorry I started it, maybe, but even that's arbitrary. Because there's tonight and then there's three years ago, and that doesn't even take into consideration all those girls they threw in each other's faces back when they were young enough not to have known any better.

"Luke," frustration, because he still hasn't turned to look at the pouting man behind him. So he gives in with a glance over his shoulder.

Hands on hips, face flushed, lips still swollen, just plain Bo. Pretty as he's ever been. "I'm gonna go get a soda in the machine. You want one?"

That's not what Bo wants to ask, and they both know it. "All right," is all Luke bothers to say.

And a couple of hours later he realizes the futility of it all. He got them a room so Bo would have a comfortable place to sleep, but his cousin's over there in the other bed, trying to be quiet as he fights with the pile of pillows on his too-soft mattress.

"Bo," he calls out into the dark. No answer, he doesn't expect one. A childhood of room-sharing and he knows that Bo listens quietly and ignores loudly. "I might get nightmares from time to time." Stupid offering, means nothing. Just words, because it's been too long since either of them said any. But it's enough, apparently, for Bo, who gives up the battle with his bed and settles down in his first honest attempt to sleep.