DELINQUENT / PUNK

ABOUT DUNCAN -- GUIDELINES. -- PINTEREST BOARD.

"whatever," he relents, seething as he shifts some weight away his hurt ankle, allowing zoey to take some of the burden from him. "just don't go expecting a THANK YOU."

"something to remember me by," he says as he tosses a loose sock at her, grin on his lips. duncan has his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, boarding pass loaded on his phone, uber on the way. flying out to see gwen every now and then might technically also be a contractual obligation ( they post a photo to social media and the losers still obsessed with them go wild -- keeping buzz returning to the total drama name ); it's good for business, but it's not like they gotta pull his leg to hang out with her. they bitch about the old days, watch scary movies, and hit up a local band or two, and it always kind of sucks having to go back to being a real adult ( with a real job ?? when the fuck did he grow up ?? ). "try not to miss me too much," the smugness in his tone is slick, but playful, and he catches her in a half hug with his free arm, mouth brushing her temple, her cheek. duncan doesn't do affectionate, but all rules were meant to be broken.

he has to go back to the creepy fish cabin, and courtney tastes like vomit but there’s nowhere he would rather be than there on the porch steps with his mouth against hers.  the adrenaline of being bad courses through him just the same, but seeing the way it ignites in her, to see her COME ALIVE like that, duncan’s hooked -- he’s done for; the sound of her giggles suppressed against his tongue has him drunker than that time he and his brothers stole the good scotch out their dad’s liquor cabinet.  whatever punishment comes from this, he’ll take it gladly.  he pulls her up against him, half on his lap with her fingers in the green of his mane, lips swollen from use, and laughter swallowed between them.

their team won, so they got to spend the night in momentary luxury.  after getting stuck in the lumpy bunks in the cabins, living it up like this makes the rest of the horrors almost worth it.  there’s money on the line, at least, and that’s enough, but duncan could get used to mansion living ( even if he couldn’t get used to being a fucking hamster ). everything is out of order, a mess, but zoey has kind of become somewhat of an anchor for him, even if he doesn’t want to fall into the warm welcome, even if he resents everything this show has done to him.  he gets a glass of milk from the kitchen, walks through the darkness, to find zoey having fallen asleep on the couch, blanket hanging half off her.  he doesn’t even think before he moves, fixing the blanket around her and tucking her in -- even the couches here are better than the bunks.  his lips press against her forehead -- a thank you ??  a goodnight kiss ??  tell anyone he was that soft and he’ll deny it, and he’ll pound anyone’s face in who swears they have proof.

“sounds like you’re missing the action there, gwen,” he grins teasingly over at her.  “gotta watch sim versions of us -- maybe you want a new season.” to even suggest it out loud is pushing the boundaries of chris mclean’s power over them, but fuck it.

“i could eat,” he agrees, sitting up a bit more and rolling his shoulders back.  duncan bumps his shoulder into hers, playfully, before going to throw his legs over the side of the bed, eyes searching for his discarded boxers.  “you, uh -- was it, y’know -- for you ??”  he’s never exactly been unconfident in his own performance, but zoey’s nervous energy is still buzzing, and, well, it has to make a guy wonder.

“yeah, and what’s THAT have to do with anything ??” he asks, brow raised, though his eyes fall back to her mouth -- he definitely likes it better when she’s not using it to COMPLAIN AT HIM, but duncan would be lying if he said the complaining didn’t do something for him too.  “just cos you wanna be BORING with the money doesn’t mean you want it any more, sweetheart, and one night of actually enjoying yourself ain’t gonna change anything.”