You leaned across the couch, fingers inching toward the controller in Duke's lap. His eyes narrowed, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't do it," he warned, voice low, lazy, and full of heat.

You ignored him.

With a dramatic gasp, you snatched the controller and held it above your head like a trophy. “Maybe if you actually won a match, I’d let you keep it.”

Duke’s eyebrow arched. “Aight. Bet.”

Before you could react, he lunged—not aggressively, but fast enough to make you squeal and nearly fall backwards onto the couch cushions. His hands braced on either side of your shoulders, caging you in. You were still holding the controller, arms raised high, chest heaving just a little from the laughter.

"Give it back," he said softly, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth.