Carwash, with Extra Wax

2 – Kaiba’s House

After school they took the bus to Tristan’s,
dumped their books, changed into shorts and old T-shirts, and jumped
on the motorbike.

“I can’t believe we’re
doing this,” Tristan muttered several times on the way. “It
was an accident anyhow.
It’s not like you meant
to get pudding all over him and his precious
limo.”

Joey was about to protest having to shoulder
the blame, but then thought twice: he had been the one to
throw ‘em. Couldn’t blame Tris for getting outta the way.

“If it was anyone else, it’d be
different. I’d offer to wash all
their cars.” Tristan said with a snarl.
“But he’s so stuck up. Someone ought to take him down a
notch.”

“Kinda hard to do,” Joey said.
“Kaiba never lets himself get in any situation where he doesn’t
have the advantage. This afternoon ain’t
gonna be fun.” Not that Joey actually
minded going to
wash the car: riding behind Tristan gave him a legit excuse to put
his arms around his bud and sit tight behind him, his crotch (and
soon his hard-on) vibrating against Tristan’s ass …
yeah, it was a good time. He noticed with a grin that Tristan was
taking the long way to Kaiba’s house.

As they roared up to Kaiba’s house –
mansion really - he asked, “Ya gonna chain the bike to the
fence?” Tall wrought-iron palings surrounded the grounds.

“Nope.” Tristan rode the bike up
the walk, right to the front door, and parked on the portico.

“Tris, I don’t think this is such
a good idea. Why don’t we park in the driveway, or chain the
bike to the fence or something? Kaiba might get pissed that we parked
by the front door.” Joey nervously pulled his shirt down over
the ridge in his shorts.

“Screw Kaiba.” He rang the
doorbell.

After a long delay, the President of
KaibaCorp opened the door. His icy blue eyes took in their attire and
the bike parked next to the planters without comment.

“Sir,” Tristan said jauntily,
saluting. “Your privates are here, ready and willing to follow
your orders. We’ll rise to the occasion.”

Joey choked back a laugh.

Kaiba looked at them disdainfully. “Where
are your supplies?”

“Supplies?” Tristan repeated,
confused.

“My mistake. I assumed you morons
actually knew how
to wash a car,” Kaiba said elaborately, folding his arms.
“Here, let me explain in short words you can understand: first
you use water to get the car wet, then you soap it up, rinse it, dry
it, and finally polish it.”

“Eat me,” Tristan said,
bristling. “We know how to wash a fucking car.”

“Then you’re aware that running
water, buckets, soap, towels, and car wax are involved?”

Joey could feel the seismic rumble as Tristan
tensed. Figuring that he was getting ready to take a swing at Kaiba –
never a good idea – Joey said placatingly, “C’mon,
Kaiba, we couldn’t carry all that on the bike. And what, we
were supposed to bring our own running water too?”

His attempt at a joke fell flat as Kaiba
ignored him and continued to glare at Tristan. But at least no one
was pounding anyone. Yet.

Tristan said savagely, “Besides, we
figured you’d have plenty of special rich snob car maintenance
supplies shoved up your ass. Along with all the other stuff you’ve
got jammed up there.”

Kaiba blinked, and flushed slightly, but said
only, “The limo’s parked in back. There are supplies
inside the garage.”

He shut the door in their face.

Tristan shook his head. “What an
asshole. Why couldn’t he say that in the first place?”

They walked around to the back of the
mansion. A long concrete apron stretched in front of eight identical
white garage doors: the beige limo was parked in front of the third
garage. Kaiba must have been watching on security cameras, because as
they approached the limo the garage door went up.

The garage was empty except for a utility tub
in the middle of the far wall, next to a door. A shelf next to the
tub held buckets, rags, chamois, sponges, liquid car soaps, glass
cleaners, leather cleaners, and a dozen other specialty products. A
hose was neatly coiled on a hook beneath the shelf. Above the tub was
a laminated sign: “Wash vehicles with warm water only.”

As Joey attached the end of the hose to the
faucet, Tristan took down a large tin of car wax.

“See – here’s what I’m
talking about! For what this one thing of fancy wax cost you could
buy 5 or 10 things of regular car wax.”

“Maybe it’s got special
ingredients,” Joey said as he took the hose from the wall,
uncoiling it as he walked toward the limo.

“Feh. Listen to this: ‘All
natural and biodegradable – beeswax, some kinda oils I never
heard of, lanolin’ – man, you could probably eat
this stuff. Spread it on toast instead of
butter.”

He grabbed a couple of buckets, a handful of
rags and sponges, and followed Joey out into the sunlight.