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It's hotter than a goat in a pepper patch, noon in the middle of the summer. It's been hot and dry for weeks, the grass around the trailer singed brown, crunching underfoot. Duncs lifts his hat and looks up at the sky.

"Think we'll get any rain this week?"

"Hopefully not before we get this transmission in," Seabs replies. He's under the truck, just his bare feet sticking out. His arm snakes out and he drops a bolt next to a few others on the patch of dirt they call a driveway and goes back to humming along to some song about wagon wheels, since it's his turn to be in charge of the radio and he has it on some godawful country station.

Duncs eyes the jack to make sure Seabs isn't going to get crushed, then he pulls his hat back down and goes back to getting the torque converter into the transmission that they pulled from the junkyard last week. They're lucky they found it when they did, the old one's been slipping for a while. He just wishes they didn't have to do this when it was so damn hot out. He entertains the idea of duct-taping the deer spotlight to the side of the trailer so they could work at night, instead.

Seabs' foot is bouncing along to some song about crashing a party, and it reminds Duncs to grab his can of beer from the ground. It's mostly empty, warm and foamy from the heat. He takes a sip and swallows with a grimace before tossing the can back into the burnt grass.

"Almost time for the race," he says, dropping his wrench.

Seabs wriggles out from under the truck and stands up. He's drenched in sweat, it's dripping from his hair and into his eyes and making him squint. He moves towards Duncs, quickly, and Duncs thinks maybe he's going to kiss him. They don't kiss often, since Duncs usually has a dip in, and they especially don't kiss often outside, where someone might see. Most of the people in the trailer park think they're related, and they prefer to keep it that way. Nobody here cares if you're fucking your cousin, but they definitely care if you're gay.

Seabs moves close and smirks and Duncs is looking around to see if anyone's peeking out their window when Seabs grabs the hem of Duncs' shirt and pulls it up. And wipes his sweaty face on it.

Duncs looks down in horror at the greasy handprints on his shirt. His favorite shirt.

"My Motorhead shirt! Seabs, you fucker!" Seabs darts away and Duncs grabs the hose near his feet and aims the spray trigger at him.

Seabs laughs and Duncs chases him around the truck until he runs out of hose, spraying him from head to toe. Seabs is drenched by the time Duncs drops the hose, and they both stand there catching their breath for a moment. Seabs peels his shirt off and starts wringing it out and Duncs gets distracted, watching the muscles of his arms work, the droplets of water sliding down his stomach and around his navel and under the waistband of his cutoff jeans. His mouth goes dry and it's another minute or two before he remembers why he was chasing Seabs with the hose in the first place. Then he looks back down at his shirt.

"Shit," he mutters. He pulls the shirt off and holds it up, eyeing the stains. He tries to remember what gets grease out. Carb cleaner? No, he ruined his favorite Maiden shirt with that shit. Kerosene?

When he drops his hands and looks back at Seabs, he's smirking again.

"Ready for another beer?" Seabs says, cocking his head towards the trailer, and Duncs shrugs, bumps against his shoulder as he's heading towards the door. He knows from the way Seabs is looking at him that they probably aren't just going inside for a beer.

It's too hot to leave the door closed, but once the screen door bangs shut Seabs shuts the main door, too.

"You owe me a new shirt," Duncs says, dropping it on the floor. Seabs hangs his wet shirt on the doorknob and Duncs heads straight for the kitchen, because even a horny Seabs isn't going to keep him from a cold can of Bud Light right now.

Seabs moves up behind him, presses up against his back, slippery with sweat, and slides an arm around his waist. Duncs takes a few long swallows of his beer and then Seabs takes the can and chugs the rest of it. They stand there in the cool air of the refrigerator for a moment. Seabs kisses the side of his neck, slides his hand down, his fingers brushing just under the waistband of Duncs' Wranglers.

Duncs tilts his head a little, enjoying Seabs' mouth on his neck, but eventually they have to close the fridge. He turns around and Seabs tosses the empty beer can in the direction of the garbage can.

"C'mere," he says, hooking a finger in one of Duncs' belt loops and pulling him closer. Duncs reaches up to tweak his nipple and Seabs hisses. "Asshole."

Duncs grins. "You gonna put those cocksucking lips of yours to work, or what?" He presses his thumb into Seabs' lower lip and drags it down a little. Seabs grabs his wrist and bites down on his thumb with a smirk.

"Maybe," he says, reaching for Duncs' fly. He unbuttons and unzips Duncs' jeans and shoves them down past his hips. Duncs is half hard already, fully hard after Seabs wraps a hand around his cock and jacks him a few times. He breathes into Duncs' neck but Duncs pushes on his chest to get him to back off after a minute.

"Fuck, Brent." Duncs is too warm for Seabs' breath on his skin and too hot to wait any longer. He runs a hand through Seabs' hair and tugs at it a little.

Seabs doesn't let his knees hit the yellowing linoleum, he just squats down, leaning forward on the balls of his feet, and Duncs wonders how long he can last like that before his thighs are burning. He thinks about moving them somewhere more comfortable for about half a second, but then Seabs takes his cock into his mouth, rubbing his tongue under the head and looking up at him with a smirk in his eyes. Yeah, they're not going anywhere.

Duncs grabs the back of his head and Seabs sucks hard for a few seconds, hard enough to make Duncs' toes curl, but he stops when Duncs pushes his head and presses his cock deeper into his mouth, slow, waiting for his throat to relax. Seabs runs his hands up Duncs' thighs and Duncs pets his hair while he fucks his mouth.

"So fucking good, Brent," Duncs mumbles. "Like my dick in your throat?"

Seabs looks up at him and hums in an affirmative tone. His eyes are watering and he's digging his fingers into Duncs' thighs and Duncs thinks he'd love to make this last longer, maybe pull Seabs up by the hair and bend him over the kitchen table, but it's too damn hot for any of that today. So he focuses on Seabs' face, on the feeling of him swallowing and choking around him, his dick hitting the back of his throat.

He groans and pulls back a little, so Seabs won't choke on it, and comes on the back of his tongue, twisting his hair in his fingers. Seabs swallows quickly and staggers a little when he stands up. He reaches around Duncs to open the refrigerator again, pulls out a beer and drinks while Duncs is getting his hand into his cutoffs. Once they're unzipped they drop to the floor and Seabs steps out of them, kicking them to the side. Duncs is glad he's not wearing any underwear, either.

But he barely has a hand around Seabs' cock when Seabs looks at the clock.

"Fucking fuck, Duncs. The race!"

"Ah, shit." Duncs zips up his pants. "You still want me to-"

Seabs takes another swig of his beer. "I'll just jerk off on the couch."

He follows Duncs into the living room and flops down next to him, sets his beer on the TV tray. Duncs turns the TV on.

"Fuckin' Kyle's gonna win this one," Seabs grunts, and Duncs watches him wrap a hand around his cock and slides a little closer.

"Bitch is driving a Toyota, Seabs, what is wrong with you?" Duncs puts a hand on Seabs' thigh and turns the volume up. Seabs strokes himself lazily, his eyes drifting over to Duncs every few seconds, and then back to the TV. "You just think he's hot."

Seabs laughs a little at that and moves his hand over his cock a little faster, bites his lip. "Where's the fuckin' lube?"

"Bedroom," Duncs says. He spits on his hand and knocks Seabs' hand out of the way and strokes him a few times and Seabs moans. "You know Junior's going to win."

"Fuck you," Seabs grits out. He wraps his hand around Duncs' hand and tips his head back, presses it into the back of the couch.

"Later," Duncs says, and Seabs rolls his eyes. Duncs hopes there's not going to be a wreck before Seabs comes because he's not sure he could even watch it. He's not really looking at the TV at all, he's watching Seabs' nostrils flare and watching their joined hands pumping his dick.

Seabs drops his head to Duncs' shoulder when he comes, and Duncs lets him stay there for a few minutes, breathing into his neck, then he shoves him off and grabs the beer. "Open the door, fuck."

"Sure," Seabs breathes. He leans over and kisses Duncs' cheek.

And wipes his hand off on his jeans.

"Fucking hell, Seabs!" Duncs is too hot to chase him, though, so he just ogles his ass as he walks to the kitchen to retrieve his shorts and grab them another beer. "Now you owe me a new pair of jeans, too."

Seabs opens the door and hands Duncs the beer, flicks the fan on and flops back down next to him on the couch. "Whatever you say, Duncan."