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"Darnell, we got a problem."
Darnell looked up from the seating chart. Belinda had insisted he make sure there were no conflicts in the making, and he was still trying to figure out how to explain to her that there was no seating arrangement that could prevent the people of Greasepit from using the event as an opportunity to rehash old grudges, debts, or their general love of mayhem. He was, however, considering a way to keep his parents as far away as possible from him.
However, Muncie was their caterer, and that meant her concerns had a chance of involving risks of food poisoning to the entire population of Greasepit.
"What is it?"
"Well, Jacko was down at city hall and found this posted in the records room."
Darnell took the flyer Muncie handed him and scanned it. "What." He read it again, carefully, because this was slightly more incredible than some of the wedding planning nightmares he'd been having recently.
Notice
For official mayoral reasons and not because of a personal grudge or desire to force other people to race them, all marriage licenses are subject to approval by the Mayor of Greasepit.
Belvedere Moneybags, Mayor
The door to the Concho Bolo slammed open to admit a man in a dress jacket, ugly turtleneck, and a ski mask. "Buddy Thunderstruck! I see you have discovered my latest strategem in our ongoing battle of wits!" Belvedere Moneybags, because there was no one else in town with such a perfect combination of arrogant self-importance and an complete absence of coolness, stormed to Darnell's table. "I suppose you wonder how I am here, when I lost our prior wager. But! Our agreement was that I should never again show my face in this town - but! So long as my face remains covered, I may go about my business at will!"
"Why are you like this?"
Moneybags paused, fist raised, and looked down at Darnell; his gaze flicked to the other side of the table, which was empty. "Wait. Where is Buddy Thunderstruck?"
"We're not actually attached at the waist. That was a terrible idea and lasted twelve minutes. But again: why are you like this? What is the actual point of all of this?"
"Vengeance for my humiliating loss and subsequent injuries, and proving I am the greatest-"
Darnell pushed himself up from his chair and put a hand over Moneybags' mouth. "I'm going to save you a lot of time, which you clearly do not value, and tell you this isn't going to happen. Buddy. Does. Not. Care."
There was a glint in Moneybags' eyes as he shoved Darnell's hand away. "Are you saying Buddy Thunderstruck cares so little for your upcoming nuptials so as to let them be ruined for the sake of his pride?"
"His - what? No. He doesn't care about your stupid obsession. Do you know what our wedding is, Moneybags? A party. An awesome party where the two of us promise to have each others' backs for the rest of our lives. Followed by hot wings. If we're desperate for a piece of paper, we can drive an hour to Crankshaft, which is not run by a megalomaniacal sheep in a ski mask. And we don't even need that! Do you know what a 'common law marriage' is?
"But, hey, let's test out this 'Buddy doesn't care about me' theory." Darnell pulled up his phone and tapped 'Good Dog' on his contacts. One ring. Sec-
"Darnell?"
"Help help! I'm being threatened by Belvedere Moneybags!"
Darnell took a step back and began counting in his head.
One, two, thr-
Buddy entered the Concho Bolo with a great deal more force and flair than Moneybags, before descending on the masked mayor with a ferocity Darnell had never seen, even when Buddy was in a smooth jazz-fueled rage.
Darnell grabbed the back of Buddy's jacket as he passed. "Whoa whoa, there, Buddy. Sorry about the call, but I was proving a point to Moneybags, here."
Buddy gave Darnell a narrow, disapproving glare. "It is not cool to make me think you were in mortal danger, Darnell. I was worried about you, and now I do not get punch Moneybags in the face."
"I mean, he is threatening not to let us get married unless you beat him in a race."
Buddy threw up his arms, but didn't struggle against Darnell's hold. "What is wrong with you?"
Moneybags drew himself up to his full height and raised a hand to his chest. "I am denied my opportunity to-"
"Fine."
"What?"
"Fine," Buddy repeated. "I will race you tonight, and the winner can call themselves the greatest racer alive. And after that, you let us get married without any strategems, plots, schemes, or what have you. Deal?"
"You will race without your little sidekick, mano a mano!" To his credit, Moneybags did actually point at Darnell; Buddy, however, was massaging his forehead.
"I...fine." He reached out a hand, which Moneybags took with a triumphant cry. "Race tonight, me versus Moneybags, no stakes whatsoever!"
"Oh my gosh Buddy Thunderstruck is gonna race!"
After Moneybags flounced out, Buddy dropped into Darnell's chair and dropped his head to the table; Darnell took the opposite chair and reached out to pat Buddy's hand.
"I do not like that man."
"Aren't you worried, Buddy?"
"About what?"
"Losing."
Buddy snorted. "You and me together, Darnell, can beat anybody. Can I beat him alone? I do not care. Win or lose, Moneybags is going to stop being an annoying dink about our wedding, so there are no stakes."
"It does undercut my point that we don't need a piece of paper to have a great wedding."
Buddy laughed into the tabletop. "Well maybe I would have been rational about this if you hadn't gotten me all worked up about you being in danger."
"How far away were you when I called?"
"Oh my gosh I left Belinda behind!" Buddy launched upward, grabbing at his phone. "Belinda? What, no! I told you nobody needs that many diamonds." He put a hand over his phone and gave Darnell an apologetic, weak smile. "Can I go? We still need to-"
"Go ahead. I'll be cheering for you at the race."
Buddy's ears twitched, and his face went through a complicated expression. But before Darnell could ask, Buddy leaned in, kissed him carefully, and was back out the door.
The unplanned race whipped Greasepit into a furor. When Darnell arrived at the arena, he found it more crowded than he was used to. He paused just inside the entrance, uncertain how to find a seat to...spectate.
"Hey, Darnell!"
Muncie, waving her hand widely, gave Darnell a destination, so he wove through the crowd to join her by the foot of the stands.
"I snagged us a few seats in the front so we can have the best view for seeing Buddy beat that no-good bureaucrat."
"Thanks." Darnell followed Muncie up to a space next to the Weaselbrats, where he took a seat on an uncomfortable bench. He scowled down at his seat. "What am I supposed to do here?"
"What do you mean? We sit, watch, and cheer on whoever we want to win."
"Ugh, really? And people do this for fun?"
"People doing this is what literally puts food on your table."
"Still," Darnell replied, noncommittal. He stared out at the track, hands itching at the need to be working on something. "Do you have something I can fix? Your watch? carburetor? Hot water heater?"
Muncie grabbed Darnell's shoulder and pushed him down. "Just calm down."
"Am I honestly supposed to sit here and watch? What if Buddy throws a tire, or the Rabble Rouser explodes? I can probably hide in the engine block again-"
"That will not be necessary, Darnell." Darnell glanced up; Buddy was standing next to him, grinning widely at Darnell. Buddy leaned down for a kiss, slightly longer and more...intimate than most of their public kisses. He was grinning slightly wider when he straightened back up.
"Yeah, remember we agreed you're not allowed to do any crazy stunts if I'm not in the Rabble Rouser."
"Exactly."
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to our special exhibition race with literally no stakes, between beloved hometown hero Buddy Thunderstruck and universally loathed Greasepit mayor Belvedere Moneybags, whose most notable legislative act was attempting to transform the entire town of Greasepit to a grim trophy to his overinflated ego!"
"And that is my cue."
"Good luck, Buddy."
Buddy paused mid-turn, his gaze, fixed on Darnell, pausing. He abruptly stepped back in and gave Darnell a brief but emphatic kiss; when he drew back, Buddy's gaze was half-lidded, just a hint of tooth visible from his mouth, and then he was gone. It took Darnell a full minute to place where he'd seen that expression before, because he'd only ever seen flashes and hints of it.
"Holy shit."
"Darnell?"
"It's nothing." No force on earth could press Darnell to tell Buddy's cousin or, worse, Mr. Weaselbrat, he was pretty certain Buddy was aroused by the thought of Darnell sitting on the sidelines cheering for him.
As Buddy and Moneybags took to their vehicles, Darnell watched Buddy prep the truck. It was an unsettling sight, Buddy in the Rabble Rouser alone, reminiscent of too many moments where one or the other of them had been in trouble. But unlike previous times Buddy had been forced to race alone, despondent at the absence of his partner, Buddy was calm, focused. At the start of the race, his body didn't jerk with the force of a stomp on the gas, but accelerated smoothly anyway.
And while Darnell had expected this to be stressful or boring, watching Buddy rather than helping him race, he found himself captivated.
Buddy wasn't driving the way he normally did, casual with the self-confidence that he would win. He was driving hard, focused on his every shift, every turn, keeping ahead of Moneybags for all but a few tense moments. And the few times Moneybags tried to boost, the Rabble Rouser was just enough in the way to make the move a worse idea than the one that landed Moneybags in the hospital the first time. The end result was much the same as it usually was, but Buddy was fighting for it.
Which was odd; Buddy didn't have anything to prove, had repeatedly insisted he didn't care about the outcome of the race.
And yet he was driving like he was trying to impress someone…
Darnell ducked his head to try to hide his flush (and damn his pale coloring) when he realized. He'd wished Buddy luck; Buddy clearly felt that anything less than a win was unacceptable.
On the track, Buddy drifted across Moneybag's path during the last turn, blocking his last chance for a boost, and pulled across the finish line.
"And Buddy Thunderstruck wins! Just like always!"
The crowd was on their feet, cheering, and Darnell was with them; he didn't know who else could see how much more seriously Buddy had been, but he deserved accolades for that drive.
Buddy ignored the winner's podium, instead vaulting out of the Rabble Rouser and clambering up the stands, where he grabbed Darnell and kissed him to continuing applause and excited whoops.
Buddy ended up dragging them out of the victory party early, leaning heavily on Darnell as they walked to the truck, placing occasional kisses along Darnell's neck.
"What's gotten into you?"
Buddy pulled back an inch. "I can stop."
"What? Go ahead. It's just-" Buddy put his cheek on top of Darnell's head, nuzzling him.
"I won."
"I thought you didn't care."
Buddy actually pulled back, holding Darnell at arms' length. He was still grinning, a lopsided smile. "I do not care at all about beating Moneybags. But you wanted me to win."
"So you did. Without me."
Buddy's face melted into a despondent, droopy expression. "Oh my gosh it was so hard! The radio did not cooperate, and the engine kept making strange noises. And driving by myself, everything gets quiet and I can just reflect on my thoughts. It was horrible." Buddy lunged in, hugging Darnell to his chest as he rested his cheek back on the top of Darnell's head. "Please don't make me do that again."
Darnell patted Buddy's back before settling into a more steady embrace. "But you won."
"And I am exhausted. I do not like having to do that much work to win a race on my own when I can just have you in the cab with me."
"Well, if we want to get home, you're going to have to drive or give me your keys."
"In my pocket," Buddy grumbled.
So Darnell retrieved Buddy's keys and drove them home, Buddy's head on his shoulder, apparently drowsing except for rising his head occasionally to Darnell's neck, and, once, nibble on his ear ("We're putting doing that while I'm driving on the Definitely Not bulletin board").
Buddy pulled Darnell down into bed with him, giving only a reflexive protest when Darnell struggled to get his jacket and pants off, before tucking Darnell back against him.
"Ha," Buddy said, muted against the top of Darnell's head. "I won."
Darnell grinned, tucked against Buddy's throat. "Like always."