The TV hums low in the background, some late-night rerun throwing blue light across Duke’s bedroom. He’s sprawled on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily holding the remote as he half-watches, half-zones out. The sheets are warm, the air smells faintly like salt and sunscreen, and for once his mind is quiet.

Until you walk in.

You don’t say a word. You just step right into his line of sight, blocking the screen completely. Duke blinks once, thumb clicking the remote out of habit before he realizes he can’t see a damn thing anyway.

“Hey—” he starts, craning his neck. “You mind? That’s the good part.”

Instead of moving, you reach out and gently grab his chin, thumb and fingers firm but careful, tilting his face up toward yours. His brows knit together in instant confusion, mouth opening slightly in surprise. Before he can say anything else, you swipe a cool makeup wipe across the corner of his mouth.

Duke freezes.

“What the—” He lets out a startled laugh, eyes darting between your face and the wipe in your hand. “Uhh, baby? What the hell are you doing?”

You don’t answer. You just keep going, slow and deliberate, wiping along his jaw, his chin, like you’re inspecting him. He squirms a little, trying to pull his head back, but your grip keeps him right where you want him.

“Hey,” he protests, still laughing but clearly flustered now. “I’m clean. I showered. Like… today.”

You finally speak, calm and matter-of-fact, never breaking your focus. “Making sure my seat’s clean for later.”

He blinks.

Once. Twice.

“…Your—” His voice cracks, then he clears his throat, eyes darkening as understanding catches up. “Your seat?”

“I can’t sit on a dirty seat,” you add casually, swiping once more before tossing the wipe aside.

Duke just stares at you for a second, stunned silence stretching between you. Then a slow grin spreads across his face, lazy and dangerous, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.

“Oh,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “Is that so?”

His hands come up to your hips, thumbs hooking there like they belong, grounding you as he looks up at you with that familiar mix of disbelief and heat. “You could’ve just said you wanted my attention,” he murmurs.

You lean in closer, close enough that he can feel your breath, close enough that the TV might as well not exist anymore. His grip tightens slightly, pulse jumping under your palm where it still rests on his jaw.

“TV can wait,” Duke adds softly, already reaching for the remote and tossing it aside. “But you?”

His smile turns wicked. “I’m all yours.”