You know the kind of night, when the full moon is so bright it overpowers the veil of innocent clouds. It's like that thrilling feeling you get just to know you're alive, being loved, and loving back. Bo and Luke find themselves at this place again, at their place. Just North of Hazzard, a small plot of land hidden by a thick clustered circle of trees, a splash of pond within running distance. Only one narrow opening allows the boys to push the General into the clearing, nearly a half-mile away from the dirt road. For now, the General is more of a security object rather than a vehicle, as they try to remain undetected.

The boys lay stretched atop of individual sleeping bags, green and blue. Their bodies creating a V, their heads nearly bumped together, feet pointed away from one another. A campfire made from a circle of rugged uneven stone sits nearby, untouched. The dead limbs and twigs, tortured into the shape of a crude pyramid, built on top of layers and layers of ash. The humidity is so thick, you can nearly see it, breathing is closer to drowning. The dusty rags supporting their heads, makeshift pillows from the very shirts off their backs. Bodies glazed with a dewey sweat, not quite enough to pool or drip. The burn of Summer, the chill of Winter, even the strongest of tornadoes couldn't drive them from this place. Seeing as the excuses for making these mystery overnight trips are starting to run out, they are being rivaled with the raise of a few questioning eyebrows. But for now, that's all far away, none of that can touch them here, not in this place of flowers and trees. Of secret innocence forever explored, this place of equal sanctuary.

Luke absently twirls a piece of Bo's hair over and under his middle finger, over under, over under. Slowly moves down, to make small lazy circles just above his ear. Bo makes a quiet noise in his throat, staring into the night sky with eyes glazed. A slight shift of body, and Luke's fingers are tracing the veins in Bo's neck, walking along his jawline. Luke, watching Bo watch the sky, crawls through the dirt on hand and knee to him. Placing a dirty palm on either side of Bo's shoulders, he leans over him, blocking his view. Bo's eyes re-focus and stare up into the depthless ocean blue of Luke. Lost in each other, their souls mingling, they could have been like that for a few seconds or a few lifetimes. As a grin tugs at the corner of Bo's mouth, Luke sees this opportunity to take his bottom lip and lightly suck, delicately working into a full, open-mouthed kiss. A kiss that was always natural, always right, and always them. Instincts, matching tongue with tongue, and lips with lips. Every curve of body, circle of embrace, every position, fitting. Cut from the same cloth, they move more swiftly together than apart.

Bo threads his thumbs into Luke's belt loops, and tugs. Running his fingers over his back, just above jeans on either side of his spine, hands following hips as Luke straddles a leg over him, muscles shifting, leaving finger streaks through the sweat and dirt on Luke's body. Their belt buckles clink together as Luke settles over Bo, their kiss never breaking. All around them the trill of cicada, the bellow of frogs, and their own synchronized breathing create a lullaby to match the twinkle of the stars that manage to escape the smokey cloak of cloud. The wispy scent of ashes, cooked meat, and sex from a hundred nights or more fill their senses. This is a perfect night.