Chapter Text
"Ay, Crop Duster!"
Dusty gulped. He froze mid-step, clutching the over-sized jacket tight around his body. A involuntary shiver run up his spine.
Across the pits Ripslinger narrowed his eyes at his rival's back. Despite the shocking evening weather the racer stood in the centre of the pits decked in only his jeans, tank top and checkered bandana. His regular RPX racing jacket was discarded. A sly smirk twitched at the edge of his lips and he took a few steps towards the former-crop duster.
Dusty tried not to cave into himself. He refused to acknowledge the racer's call and continued his journey towards his personal tent. A chilly breeze ruffled his orange locks, a stark contrast against the black jacket sheltering him from the cold. He quickened his pace against the one following him.
"Hey-!"
A sharp tug on the collar of the jacket brought him to a halt. Dusty went to quip a protest when a pair of teasing green eyes locked onto him. Ripslinger stepped from behind and grinned down at the shorter boy.
"I believe this doesn't belong to you." Two fingers tugged on the collar again and Dusty bit his tongue. He didn't look up, instead finding interest in a puddle forming on the tarmac.
"Yes it does." His voice, despite being small, was laced with a undeniable certainty. Ripslinger's expression briefly turned annoyed before his smirk returned. His grip teased the collar once again.
"Oh really? Then why does it say Team RPX all over it?"
Dusty kept his mouth shut and his expression neutral. He wasn't going to give the other the pleasure of making him crack nor openly show his fondness for his temporary new covering. Ripslingers gaze held a sly note.
"Plus," the collar of the jacket was pulled up to revel the stitched inner tag. "How come this is several sizes too big for you?"
It was a valid point. Ripslinger was satisfied to see a pinkish hue spread across the other's cheeks. Gotcha.
Yet Dusty managed to quickly swallow his nerves. He merely ruffled the jacket with no traces of tension.
"Maybe I like my clothes roomy."
Not a complete lie. It was partially the reason why he refused to part with his new covering. That, and the jacket's evasive smell. Fresh and tangy; just like Ripslinger's designer cologne.
The smart answer did nothing to sway Ripslinger's cold stare. He crossed his arms moodily, foot tapping impatiently against the tarmac.
"C'mon farmer, gimme the dumb jacket back. I'm freezing."
"No."
"Farm boy!"
"No."
"It's not my fault you forgot to bring a fucking jacket to Europe."
"You gave it to me out of the goodness of your own heart."
"Because you were gonna to die of hypothermia you idiot."
"Ah, so Ripslinger does care about someone other than himself."
Ripslinger growled in exasperation. By now his own face was flushed both with frustration and a hint of shame. He was glad all the other racers were safely out of earshot, unable to see the two bickering ceaselessly over an article of clothing. He eased back and attempted to reason with the stubborn racer.
"Look, I'm sure one of the other teams have jackets to spare. Go steal their clothing."
"I'd rather not."
"Why?"
"Because I like this one."
"Why?!"
"Because it's yours."
"Ooooh so that's what all this is all about. You know what, fine!" Ripslinger threw his arms up and turned on his heel. He began marching back towards the tent which held the racer's sleeping quarters.
"You can keep the jacket. Sleep in it for all I care! Just don't wear it around the others."
Dusty gave a small smile as Rip disappeared into the shadow of the building. He pulled the jacket's collar around his neck and cheerfully bounced towards his tent.
Farm boy, 1
Ripstinker, 0
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The next morning Dusty awoke bright and early to another chilly European day. He shrugged off his pyjamas (which were white and blue with little wrenches printed all over the pants) and changed swiftly into his flight gear. Without thinking he tossed on Ripslinger's jacket and made his way out into the fresh morning air.
What awaited him in the pits was not something he expected.
"But boss..."
"No buts. You two are happy enough sharing a bed so you can share clothes. Think of it as your 'get along' jacket."
Dusty fought back a giggle at the scene that faced him. In the absence of his own jacket Ripslinger had pinched one off his cronies. Ned and Zed, both pouting profoundly, had been forced to share a small white and green racing jacket with '0' written on the back. Each twin had one arm stuck through a sleeve, leaving them uncomfortably pressed against each other.
Meanwhile Ripslinger stood stiffly modelling his own newest fashion trend. Due to Zed's small height stature in comparison to his leader the jacket's sleeves only just reached his elbows. Even unzipped it clung uncomfortably to his toned figure, the bottom barely brushing his waist.
Ripslinger noticed the bright-eyed racer and let out a strangled huff. He attempted to pull the jacket down, a futile effort to conceal the last strands of his dignity. A sour look that screamed "I hate you" was sent in Dusty's direction.
Dusty could only offer a angelic smile in return.
"I think it suits you."