Title: The Motorcycle
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Slash content.
Note: This story contains Clutchshipping – a 'ship that jokingly came up after fellow author Falsechaos and I had a discussion about the possible attraction of a motorcycle. Clutchshipping is Otogi x Honda x Honda's Bike. I promise it's not meant in a squicky way, and there's no squick in this fiction.
Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. I no own, so you no sue.
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His motorcycle was a giant vibrator on wheels.
At least that's what Mai called it when she'd ridden with Tristan to a concert on the edge of town about a week ago.
Sitting snugged in against his gas tank in front of Duke's game shop, Tristan had to admit...she had a point.
Of course, ever since the leggy, curvy blond whispered her point against his ear, the warmth of her chest pressed against his back and obvious even through the layers of nylon windbreaker and leather jacket that separated their skin...well...
He also had to admit that he couldn't stop thinking about it. It was one of those things that went unnoticed and unfelt, no matter how obvious, until someone else brought it to his attention. And now that it was obvious to him, he couldn't.
Stop.
Thinking about it.
The Honda sportbike idled while he waited for Duke to come outside, and Tristan rolled off the throttle and geared into neutral. The vibration between his thighs eased off some. Where the hell was Duke? It was Sunday morning, and the older boy promised him that hours for the Black Crown game were just afternoons on Sundays – so if the store was closed, and Duke knew he was supposed to be here, then why wasn't he out here yet? It wasn't like he was exactly quietly waiting, here. Even in neutral, the strawberry red Honda snarled like a live thing, and the sound bounced threefold between the buildings in the empty street.
The seat rattled against his crotch. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced as he thrust his left foot down and yanked his rear up away from the bike, and tried not to think about it.
Oh yeah, like that was going to work. Christ, in another day he wasn't going to be able to ride his bike at all. "Yo, DUKE! Get your ass OUT HERE before I have to come in there and drag ya out!"
The upper story window of the Black Crown was open, and suddenly it was filled with the elbows and shoulders and tousled black head of a very irritated owner. Duke glared blearily at whoever was yelling his name in the middle of the street at such an unholy hour. "What the hell?! It's five in the fu—oh shit! Tristan! I forgot!"
"The hell you--!" Tristan bit off as Duke abruptly disappeared inside again, and the window slammed closed. He slumped against the handlebars of his bike with a frustrated groan, and as he had done for at least a quarter of an hour already...he waited.
To Duke's credit, he only took another five minutes to dash outside. Every strand of oilslick black hair was completely pulled back in a low ponytail, the brunette noted with approval, and he had his boots on, rather than tennis shoes. So the grasshopper was learning.
Duke circled the bike, just shrugging on Tristan's old denim jacket over the stark white tee shirt he'd thrown on upstairs. Both knees were blown out of his blue jeans, with the bits of string still clinging and just barely pulling the fabric together. When he threw one leg over the back of the motorcycle and pulled himself flush against the younger boy's back, Tristan wondered if the crotch of those jeans was starting to blow out like his knees, as happened through lots of wear. He hoped not – judging from what the bike was doing to him – and he was planning on telling Duke about it, thank you – the ponytailed duelist was going to need all the cushion between him and that damn seat he could get.
"How could you forget?"
"Oh, come on, like you haven't forgotten things before."
"Yeah, but it's not every day that Tristan Taylor, dirt track professional and extreme sport extraordinaire, offers private motorcycle lessons."
"I swear," Duke smiled, leaning back to unstrap the extra helmet from the pannier below his hip and pull it on over his head, "you're starting to sound like me." He fastened the chin strap and slid forward into a crouch against Tristan's back, hooked his bootheels on the passenger studs the way Tristan taught him, and wrapped his arms snugly around the driver's waist.
Tristan suddenly smelled strawberries. "Dude...do you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
"That." The scent was suddenly stronger for a second or two as the older boy spoke.
"Oh yeah, that, I get it now, thanks for clarifying," Duke snorted.
"It smells like strawberries."
"Oh..."
"Oh?"
"...it's my chapstick. Sorry – it's dry upstairs and it was the only thing I could find."
Mai had on strawberry lip gloss. He could smell it over his shoulder then, just like now. The scent was a little heady, and a little humid, not really like a strawberry at all but what "strawberry" scented things smelled like. Would it taste the same?
This – Tristan noted with a quirked, vaguely panicked smile beneath the chin guard of his helmet – could be a problem.
"Are we going any time soon—whoa! Jumpy much?" The fingers laced together above Tristan's belt buckle tightened suddenly as Duke's voice invaded the strange turn of his thoughts and he jumped. Right. Too much thinking. It was going to get him in trouble.
"Sorry. Let's go."
The other's helmet struck his shoulder by way of a clumsy nod, and Tristan squeezed the clutch and ground up into first. He opened the throttle, and they pulled away from the curb.
Now, not only were hypersensitive parts of him suddenly in contact with the seat, but he had Duke nestled against the curve of his back. With the exception of a little less padding, he could've been Mai. They leaned together to take a curve in the road, moving as one with the machine. Duke's inseam was very warm, and shifted against the brunette's hip in the turn. Tristan felt a shiver building up behind his eyes, crawling around his ears, down his spine and bottoming out where his jeans pressed into the vinyl.
Duke wasn't Mai, Tristan reminded himself, but the inner voice seemed a little weaker than usual. After all, when they'd ridden before, he hadn't been thinking of the low-slungstrawberry redsportbike as anything remotely sexual. The engine purred dangerously a few inches under the machine's spine and his ass, and the fiberglass against his thighs was warming up. If he didn't straighten up, he was going to hit something, and it was going to be all Mai's fault. Until she'd ridden with him, nuzzled in against his cheek and told him how good it felt to ride a motorcycle...
He had never felt like this before.
Now it seemed like everything from the vibration of the engine to the scruff of the pavement under his bootheels was turning him on.
Did the DMV have a special disability code for perverts, the same way they had ones for people with glasses? Because this was seriously impairing his ability to drive.
"Where are we going?" Duke asked once they'd braked for a stoplight that Tristan nearly ran.
"What?" His concentration was so blown that the word escaped before he could stop it.
"Driving lessons," Duke rephrased flatly, "the reason you dragged my ass out of bed at five on a Sunday."
"I thought you wanted to learn to drive," Tristan replied, voice strained, watching the traffic signal nervously. He flexed his hands against the grips and made an abortive attempt to relax.
"I do. But geez, why so early in the frigging morning?"
"Because the park opens at four, and there won't be anybody out there this early in the morning." The light flicked to green and they crossed the intersection with a hollow roar.
The park was close, which was good, as Tristan was already going to need a few minutes to calm down once he'd cut the engine. They rolled off the street down a little curving road inside the park. Two massive cedars marked the beginning of the lane, loose foliage slashing the early morning sun into telegraphed flashes of light in Tristan's peripherals. He turned right down another little avenue, smiling despite himself when he felt Duke lean with him again, and pulled off beside an empty picnic shelterhouse. He cut the motor, breathing deeply with relief as the vibration between his legs blissfully stopped altogether, and leaned the machine to the left, letting Duke get off.
"So – now what?" Duke asked, crossing his arms against the faint chill of the fall morning. He stood in front of the bike, head tilted, green eyes and a little of the bridge of his nose the only thing visible through the visor of his helmet. His tee shirt rode up during the ride. Hastily, he twitched the hem back down over his navel, and started on the buttons of the borrowed jacket he wore.
Tristan looked up at him, blinking stupidly. "Now what?" He echoed, stalling for time until it was safe to get up. Grimacing, he straightened the bike a little, and then thunked down, letting his full weight and then some hit the seat.
And after the pain-sparks slowed their gleeful green dance behind his eyelids, he found he could dismount without embarrassment. Though he might have just lessened his probability of ever having kids.
Gawd, sometimes it sucked to be a guy.
"Yeah, so now what? You promised you were going to teach me how to drive that thing." The green eyes, Tristan noted, were just a little wider than usual; his voice audibly tighter despite the chin guard muffling it.
"Yeah," Tristan said hoarsely. His knees were still a little rubbery from having just moshed his nether regions. He dismounted and staggered backward a step.
"Dude, are you all right?" Duke hurried over to catch the bike in case his friend went down altogether. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"Me? Nothing. Just happens sometimes after a long ride."
We'll get you back for this, his testicles whispered, payback's a bitch. Next time it'll be in a crowded bookstore, right next to an old lady. Just you wait.
"But it wasn't a very—"
"D'you want to learn to ride or not?" Tristan interrupted, "Get on the damn bike."
For a moment it looked as though a fight was in the works, as Duke's hands started up to rip off his helmet. They stopped halfway, clenched, relaxed, and dropped down again to his sides. He settled for, "Someone's a little testy this morning," instead, and took Tristan's place beside the Honda, gripping both handlebars now.
If you only knew, Tristan glared at his friend's shoulderblades, and then pulled off his helmet, the better to teach the lesson. "Right leg over the seat, but don't sit down yet. If the sidestand was down – you'd have to kick it up."
"Check," Duke replied, then looked up warily at Tristan. "I'm not going to have to ride this thing on my own, am I?"
"Do you want me behind you? Sometimes it's easier on your own, the first time." Now that he was safely away from the motorcycle, Tristan found it easier to slip into 'teacher' mode, and truthfully, he was loathe to try to teach and deal with Mai's 'giant vibrator' all over again.
Duke didn't buy his excuse for a minute. "Why's it easier?" He demanded, "I don't see anything easier about having to control half a ton of steel all by myself."
"Less weight, I guess," He was stalling and they both knew it. "And it doesn't weigh half a ton."
"That's a bunch of crap," Duke tossed his head, "what if I screw up or forget something? And I wreck your bike?"
"You won't wreck my bike."
"But I might," the tone didn't sound right to Tristan, somehow. It sounded silkier...like the purl of a cat. Definitely not like a scared teenage boy. Exchanging glares with Duke now, the biker thought he saw the upturned corners of his student's mouth around the silver and purple stripes on Duke's chin guard. "I might and then you'd have a lot of expensive repairs..."
"Dude, if you wreck my bike, you're paying for the repairs."
"I thought you just said I wouldn't."
"I thought you just said you would."
"It was a hypothetical question," Duke replied lightly, looking completely unconcerned.
"It wasn't a question at all," Tristan corrected.
The other boy's shoulders lifted in a quick shrug, the much larger sleeves of his borrowed denim jacket folding deeply at the seams.
"Call it a hypothetical situation, then. Whatever the case, if I did happen to break your bike—which is hypothetically possible—then you would obviously not be happy with me, and I can't have that. Which translates, roughly..." The pair of green cat's eyes narrowed so fast that Tristan could have sworn he'd heard a snap, "...to 'get on the damn bike.'"
They stared at one another, and then Tristan's mouth quirked into a disgusted frown. Beaten, and he knew it. "You still haven't started it yet."
"Well then, show me," Duke retorted with a note of exasperation.
And so...he did.
In another few minutes – after a kickstart that nearly dislocated Duke's hip, the other boy complained – Tristan found himself crouched over his friend's back, arms around his waist, muttering instructions as Duke navigated the park. The ponytailed boy turned out to be a model student and a fast learner, and, Tristan noted with a little smug satisfaction, he's even got natural balance.
It was easier to deal with the vibrations of the motorcycle on the back – the passenger seat was situated further from the engine, though the ride itself was somewhat rougher. But he still wondered how Duke was dealing with the high-pitched fiberglass hum between his legs. As far as he knew, he was still blissfully unaware of the feeling.
A sadistic smirk curved slowly across Tristan's face. He inched forward, sliding his grip upward. Duke didn't seem to mind, though he did turn his head a little. No...if one thing was for sure, Duke was not Mai. Beneath the ridges of denim stitching, that chest was very flat. He couldn't feel much of it, just the bulk and vague warmth of a body somewhere under the fabric – but it was decidedly male.
A familiar shiver started at the base of his neck, this time, and blood rushed to his ears. He couldn't blame it on the motorcycle, this time. "Hey...Duke."
"Yeah?"
How was he going to phrase this? They came to a corner, giving Tristan the opportunity to think about it a little while they leaned.
"Nice corner. Wanna know something funny?"
"What's that?" Duke sounded preoccupied, and that made Tristan re-think his plan. He'd only driven the motorcycle for an hour at the most, and now was not the time to start distracting him.
"You'd better stop first."
"Why?" Duke asked suspiciously.
"Just do it. You need the practice downshifting, anyway."
He did, and they sat.
"So...?"
"Mai Valentine went with me to the Dragons of Caine concert last week, remember?"
"Yeah, and I still don't know what you guys see in that group."
"She was telling me about how it felt for girls to ride motorcycles." Tristan lowered his voice a notch. Like it was some big secret.
Duke didn't seem impressed. "It feels different for girls?" He asked, nonplussed.
"I guess so," the brunette plunged to the point before he lost his nerve, "she called it a giant vibrator."
"A giant—?" The question trailed off, as Duke squirmed to look over his shoulder.
"...yup."
They sat together in silence for a moment, awkwardly, while the motorcycle idled underneath them. The purple and silver stripes dropped, Duke's chinguard tucking against his chest as he looked down. After a minute or two passed, with no further comment, Tristan steeled himself for the inevitable teasing.
"...can I rev the engine if it's in neutral?"
"Yeah. Just roll the throttle toward you, like I showed youuuJESUSCHRIST!" Tristan threw both heels down and clutched Duke's chest for dear life as the engine ripped wide open without warning. "You said rev! What the hell was that?!"
"Sorry, I..." Duke faltered, "...twisted the throttle too hard..."
There was the sound of someone swallowing. Hard.
"Dude...I thought you said you weren't gonna break my bike."
"No...but I..." The syllables were broken and unsteady, without the usual fluid snap. "...how do you turn it off?"
"Let go of the grips, and kill the motor." Tristan gestured over Duke's shoulder at the switch on the righthand handlebar. The engine sounds died, but after the adrenaline rush of being scared nearly shitless, Tristan was still shaking. A black tail of slick hair whipped in his face as the older boy pulled his helmet off and tossed his head. He looked over his shoulder at the brunette snugged up against his back, eyes wide.
"Does it always feels like that?" He seemed to have recovered his breath.
"It didn't until she told me," Tristan admitted honestly, reaching up to unstrap his own helmet.
"How long ago was that?"
"Like I said. Last week."
The pair of green eyes studying Tristan's profile went even wider, then narrowed again, paired with a calculating smile. "I suppose you'll have plenty of steam to blow off, then." He reached back, arrested Tristan's cheek in the cup of his palm and turned his head. Registered the smirk planted on the boy's lips. "You bastard. You knew."
Duke's pupils weren't pinpricks anymore – his eyes had darkened in the few minutes spent considering the purr of the motor almost pressing into his groin.
Tristan's smirk widened in triumph. Little did he know that it was more the lips against his ear and the arms around his chest that had truly done the trick. And before he could answer the accusation, Duke leaned back and yanked him forward at the same time, crushing their lips together.
He did taste like strawberries.
"We've gotta stop doing this..." Tristan panted, when there was room again to talk.
"Why?" Duke demanded, curling his arm behind Tristan's head before the brunette could pull away.
"I dunno...we just..."
"We'll blame it on the bike." The words were hushed, hung warm and soothing in the little space between their mouths. Blame it on the bike. Tristan could deal with that.
"But the bike's not on."
Duke reached forward, set the choke, squeezed the clutch, opened the throttle, stood and kick-started the engine. All on his own, Tristan noted with some pride. Before the arm was wound around his neck again.
This time, he leaned forward into the press of the other's mouth before Duke could force him.
The motorcycle purred idly on between their legs.