Idle Hands

Author: Ysabet
Rating: None, really; very tame. Threesome guys, but well, what site did you think you were at?
Summary: Spawned by reading too much 'Indecent Rhythm'. Unredeemed fluff with no particular purpose behind it... but I kept thinking about Duke's car and then I got this scene in my head, and then I thought about Duke's last name and…. Meh. Wish I could draw; 'cause then I'd've done it as artwork. Oh well. **shrug, shrug**

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‘The Devil finds work for idle hands.’—English Proverb
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“Wax on… wax off… wax on… wax off… wax on—”

“Joey, swear to God if I hear you say that ONE MORE TIME I’m gonna stuff that rag down your throat and pull it out the other end—”

A snicker, interspersed with splashing. “Deal with it, Tris, you’re just mad you lost the toss. At least waxing’s not as bad as havin’ to detail all that damned leather.” Sploosh; into the bucket went the rag again, washing off the extra. “AND the tires.”

“And since when did you have issues with leather, hm?” The third voice in the conversation came from the steps of Mai Valentine’s boarding house, where Duke sprawled in all his ponytailed non-working glory, water-bottle in hand. “I don’t remember you having any problems when I—” Smirking, the older boy cut the sentence short when the dark-haired boy vacuuming out his vintage Cadillac gestured meaningfully in his direction with the appliance. “—when I wore those leather pants yesterday. Water?” he asked helpfully, holding out two more bottles.

“Jerk,” muttered Joey, but he took a bottle anyway, as did Tristan, rolling his eyes.

The three slumped across the stairs, wiping away sweat with their discarded t-shirts; Duke’s pale green Caddie was a large beast and took a lot of maintenance, and usually he had the thing waxed and detailed professionally. But one lazy afternoon with a dearth of customers at the Black Crown had led to several hours of Chicago High, and that had reinforced Joey and Tristan’s resolve to never, ever again play cards with the black-haired gamer. Never ever. It had also led to one wax-and-detail job, courtesy of people who (according to Duke) ‘couldn’t tell a Straight from a Full House if their asses depended on it.’

The afore-mentioned gamer’s eyebrow quirked up as he watched his companions. And speaking of asses…

Tristan had dropped his water-bottle off the steps.

Duke didn’t even have to say anything; his uncharacteristic if appreciative silence as the other straightened up said it all, and Joey smacked him across his forehead. “Ow! What?”

“Pervert.”

“Pot? Kettle? Black? And where were you looking, Wheeler?”

“…………um………………”

“Uh huh. Not that I blame you—“ A warm hand snaked around his waist and snagged the water-bottle away, and Duke up-ended it to his own mouth. His sweating throat glistened with a fine sheen as he swallowed. “Mine’s empty,” he explained to the blond, who blinked.

“!!” He swatted at the older boy again but it was Tristan who swiped the bottle this time by pulling Duke off-balance, one broad hand sliding around his waist in easy familiarity. “If you haven’t figured it out, we’re the ones doin’ the work here, not you. And it’s YOUR car, Dice Boy. You oughta at least be helpin’ Tris with the tires.”

Duke sighed dramatically, leaning back into the curve of the other’s shirtless body; their skin slid against each other like wet neoprene. “Can’t,” he mourned. “It’d be against ever gambler’s instinct I’ve got—I mean, you two did lose miserably, so I’m doomed to spend this hot—“ (his arm curled up behind the other boy’s shoulder, fingernails tracing a bicep downwards) “—sweltering—“ (Tristan closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the brunet’s shifting did something against his hips that was, possibly, illegal in several states) “—afternoon… watching you two pay off your bet. In the sun, without shirts. Allllll sweaty. Believe me,” he finished sorrowfully, “it hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Regretful piety just didn’t work for Duke.

Joey was watching them both, unconsciously wiping a trickle of sweat from his midriff; his hand paused halfway through before continuing down, and each of the other boys followed it with their eyes. The humid air was full of the almost-green, almost-lemony scent of Turtle Wax. “Oh yeah,” he muttered, distracted, “really hard on ya, watching us sweat and crawl all over your Caddie while you goof off in the shade, real hard…”

“You have no idea,” assured Duke, shifting to lay a hand on a denim-clad thigh (not his). Behind him Tristan made a noise in his throat.

It was hard to say if Joey’s tackle was provoked more by irritation or just a general desire to get his hands on Duke one way or another, but it hardly mattered in the end. The bottles of water went one way, the three bodies went another, and the ensuing tangle of half-laughing-half-swearing mayhem lasted until they had tumbled off the steps onto the scratchy grass below—

“Ow! Dammit, Tris, gedOFFA me! That’s not a good place to squash a guy.“ Flat on his back, the blond wiped away a runnel of sweat and glared half-heartedly up at the larger boy, who only smiled a lazy smile and straddled him just that much harder. “…especially right now,” concluded his victim with a rasp of breath, squirming.

Tristan only smiled a little more and leaned forward, pinning the other’s shoulders with his forearms. His fingers clenched in the grass.

“Awww…” Duke flopped across them both from one side, chin resting on a shoulderblade. One arm slid around a waist, the other pressed a hand into the grass beside the blond’s hip. “Does Ickle Joey need somebody to kissums all better?” The reply he got was half-obscene and half-incoherent as the two’s doubled weight pressed down, and he laughed. “Oh, you wish… but I don’t think we can manage that sort of thing with even three of us--”

“Never know ‘til you try,” muttered Tristan. Beneath him the slighter boy rolled his eyes, breathing hard. “Be nice to see you do some work anyway, Duke, you know what they say about idle hands—“

“Mmmhm. They do Devlin’s work.”

“—that’s the Devil’s work, moron—“ came from below, and Joey squirmed again, reaching up. Tristan jumped, eyes widening as fingers slid between denim and skin.

“I like my version better,” Duke purred, feeling the hand move as well.

“D’you know what I like best about watching you two wax my car?” whispered the ponytailed boy. His fingertips dragged down Tristan’s chest soundlessly as he pressed against his back, making the brunet bite his own lip and sway just a little between them both; Duke hooked onto a beltloop and tugged upwards once, hard, and the breath went out of him in a whoosh.

“….Nngh… Dunno; why don’t you tell us?” murmured Joey from beneath his friend’s body, one slightly soapy hand traveling south inside the denim of Tristan’s left rear regions as Duke’s lips traced down the nape of the dark-haired boy’s neck. He smiled against his friend’s skin without replying and then bit down right where the shoulder angled off, just a little; and Tris tilted his head back with a soundless gasp.

For a moment there was nothing to break the heat but the sound of heavy breathing going heavier, warm air growing hotter, the slick and slide of sweat-damp skin against skin—

**S P L O O S H !!!**

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!”

The tri-part scream tore through the air at near alleycat-level volume. Holding an empty plastic pitcher, Mai Valentine smirked down from her window at the drenched and indignant teenagers below her. “Looked like you three needed a little cooling off,” she said, brandishing the container. “I have to live here, and my landlady wouldn’t take kindly to a three-man orgy on her front lawn; the old bag’d want to charge admission. —oh, and just so you know, Turtle Wax does not make a good lubricant, okay?”

“…and you would know this how?” snarked Duke, irritably wringing out his ponytail. Mai declined to answer, smiling sweetly and closing the window behind her with a whoosh! of escaping A/C.

Mood effectively dampened, the three slumped back onto the grass and attempted to retrieve some small semblance of composure… before the snickers started. They grew until the trio were lying flat on their backs, laughing weakly at the sky. “I’m gonna kill that woman one of these days,” remarked Joey apropos of nothing, head across Tris’ ankles. Duke just snorted and rolled over across them both, dragging soggy hair from out of his eyes as he leaned on Joey’s knees.

“You never said.”

“Huh?” Duke was still wringing his hair out. “What?”

Dripping, Tristan eyed him, a little proprietary smile of appreciation curving his lips. “What do you like best ‘bout us waxing your car. You never said. Well?”

“Oh, that--?”

Looking up at the other two, Joey sat up and shoved dripping bangs out of his eyes as the older boy blinked contemplatively at them both. “What do I like best? Mmmmmwell, it’s mostly…….”

This sounded interesting. “’--mostly--?’” prompted the blond.

“…mostly….” Duke gave them the full benefit of his most charming smile, gathering his feet surreptitiously under him. “…that I’m not the one having to do the work.”

Aaaaaand with that he was off and running full-tilt around the car, laughing like a maniac.

“DAMMIT!” Swearing, both boys scrambled after him in a flurry of droplets and soaked jeans. “Get your ass back here, Devlin, so I can POUND IT INTO THE PAVEMENT!” yelled Joey after the running brunet as he whipped around the corner of the boarding house.

From beyond the slap of running feet came the reply: “Promises, promises…”
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…and from her bedroom on the second floor of the boarding house, Mai Valentine viewed the images she had taken with her digital camera with a critical eye before chuckling to herself and storing the thing safely away. “Devil’s work,” she murmured aloud, idly wondering what kind of blackmail material the shots would net her before she at last gave them up.

Come to think of it, her car could use a wax-job too—

-owari-

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