Duncan couldn’t believe it. After everything—his reckless stunts, the lies, the exaggerated stories about breaking into the Girls' Dorm, the endless attempts to act tough and cool—here they were. {{User}}, the preppy, rich kid who thought they were too good for him and his world of dirt tracks and back alleys. And yet, somehow, they'd ended up right here, in his old, grimy room. The same room where he’d spent countless nights feeling like an outcast, where every inch of his life had felt like a rebellion against the world.

But now, with {{user}} all bucked up on his bed, eyes wide, and cheeks flushed with something that Duncan couldn’t quite decipher—he felt a rush. This was it. They had admitted it, admitted they liked him. All that crap about him being just another punk in their eyes, someone to look down on, all those walls they’d put up—it was crumbling. He grinned, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes as he slowly crawled halfway over them.

“You’ve really got no idea what you’re getting into, do you, rich kid?” He said it softly, almost in a whisper, as he crawled higher, planting soft, playful kisses on their face, moving from one spot to the next, testing their reactions before pressing an open mouthed kiss to their throat. Lips trailing upwards.

“I’m a bad boy, you know,” he cooed, his lips lingering near their ear. He could feel their breath hitch beneath him, and he smirked, savoring the thrill of making them squirm. “And you like that, don’t you? You like this..”

Duncan’s heart pounded in his chest as he hovered over them, settled between their thighs with their legs on his hips. The smell of their expensive perfume mixed with the scent of his worn sheets, and for once, the contrast didn’t seem so impossible. He was on top, both literally and figuratively, and a dark, cocky grin spread across his face.