Chapter Text
There was no mistaking why they'd ended up where they did.
To those with innocence to spare, the lookout might seem to just be a place with a nice view; a romantic place for a first date, and nothing more.
However, anyone who wasn't a squeaky clean virgin – or conversely had been living under a rock, under the radar and out of the loop for their entire life – knew it was the prime location for life-changing, albeit awkward groping and the fulfilment of all kinds of baseball analogies.
Gord knew it, and he knew that Duncan knew it too.
This wasn't his first rodeo. Gord had had his fair share of sexual experiences in the back-seats of various coloured station wagons, with guys and girls alike. He didn't know much about cars, just that they had all been far beneath his standards and as such weren't models worth learning the names of.
The sex hadn't been all that spectacular either, when he thought about it. He'd even been kicked out by Kirby Olsen before after his teeth on the jock's neck triggered some kind of identity crisis. Being blue-balled by a boy so painfully in denial that he'd pick flight over blowjob didn't really make for the kind of memory you'd archive for later use.
Gord thought he was being incredibly gracious keeping that particular secret, considering how little he cared for having his time wasted. Admittedly, it wasn't much of a secret to keep, considering that anyone who hadn't already figured it out was far too dumb for Gord to even entertain spending time with. Of all his boneheaded brothers-in-arms, Kirby Olsen was the only cute one anyway.
Not that Gord was that picky. His best friend, previous summer fling and future-last-resort-wife Lola had pointed out to him what a double standard it was that she'd had bestowed upon her the reputation of class slut, when he was clearly more deserving of that title than she was. She joked that he should be offended that his hard work wasn't being recognised, and being his usual pompous self he was actually that little bit offended.
His excuse was that he simply went with a better standard of hook-ups, but they both knew that was bullshit. He'd go through the whole damn dollar menu, his standards were practically non-existent. He put it down to being easily bored, and hedonism was his middle name. Figuratively, of course, but he felt the word might have derived from French, so he wouldn't put it past his mother to have considered it.
He presumed that Duncan was even more experienced than he, being two years his senior. Of course, though, he never would have done it up on the lookout – that's where nice boys do it. He probably would have done it at the motel that all the other ruffians hang around – maybe even outside in the parking lot – Gord let his imagination run wild on that one, and he wouldn't admit but he'd spent a lot of time imagining.
Nope, it wasn't his first rodeo, and it certainly wouldn't be his last – but Gord was feeling like it was. He was nervous; unconfident, for the first time in his living memory. He was tense, even.
What was different? Well, perhaps it was because Duncan was different.
The townie boy wasn't a nice, pretty girl with a crush and the misguided belief that Gord's class made him some kind of gentleman. Equally, Duncan didn't approach him shifting from one foot to the other, wringing his hands, eyes darting around and proposing under a hush that perhaps Gord could be the first to introduce him to sex with other guys – as if he were the boatman on the river fucking Styx, guiding confused teenage boys to the other side.
In actual fact, Duncan didn't approach him at all, and maybe that was why Gord was feeling so unsure of himself.
Of course, he'd gotten what he wanted – he was sat, in the prime hook-up spot, with the rugged, menacing punk that he'd wanted to get his hands on since the moment he saw him, and there was a tension between the two of them so hot that the windows could've steamed up already. So why was this so different? Because he'd had to actually work for it. Imagine that, Gord Vendome, working for something for the first time in his life.
He felt that Duncan should've succumbed to his charm by at least the third time they made acquaintance, but he didn't make a single advance. He was sure the guy must have been blind to the fact he was interested, otherwise why wasn't he seizing he opportunity?
So, Gord kept coming around the part of town that nice boys didn’t usually frequent, if for no other reason than to make it clear that he was anything but.
He came up with excuses, like accompanying Jimmy on weed runs to make sure the ginger wasn’t ripping him off, or acting as a chaperone for Lola or Zoe when they wanted to hang around New Coventry – as if they couldn’t look after themselves. All a ploy for the chance to strut around in front of that insufferable pauper that refused to appreciate what a catch our dear Gord was.
Eventually, he took notice on one occasion when Gord joined Jimmy on the outskirts of Blue Skies for a smoke. When Duncan rode past on his bike, Gord’s knee-jerk reaction (to Jimmy’s shock and amusement) was to take the biggest hit from their makeshift bong that his lungs could manage. He immediately regretted the decision, feeling as though all the fluid in his chest had turned to acid and was going to burn a hole in the temple that was his body, but his stubbornness allowed him to prevail in holding the smoke while the townie watched in awe. The feat of super-human strength earned him an “Awesome, dude!” and a smirk, that he later learned meant that Duncan had changed his mind about him. The prissy bitch could hold his smoke, and the townie kids would learn that he did know how to party.
Of course, what Duncan didn’t witness was the prior bickering between Jimmy and his stuck-up preppie friend, where the prep in question was whining that he might get mugged if they hung around Blue Skies too long, and that a plastic bottle with a hole in it was not an acceptable way to smoke. He also didn’t get to see the result of Gord’s showing off, which consisted on the prep gasping for air and retching so hard he nearly brought up his breakfast – which was much less cool and graceful than what Gord was going for, so it was a good thing he didn’t.
Since then, Duncan paid him time of day, and they actually spoke on the occasions when their worlds met. Gord tried to be suave and sarcastic , all cryptic and enigmatic, internally cursing himself for constantly trying so hard to be impressive, and after weeks of circling each other like junk-yard dogs with nothing to show for it, h e’d already declared to Lola at least fifty times that he was decisively over it , whatever it was.
But when he finally found himself exactly where he’d wanted to be, his heart kept skipping beats like he was a clueless virgin again.
“Can you turn that off? It’s awful.” He complained as he stared out onto the illuminated town. The music really wasn’t helping to set the mood, and for the life of him he couldn’t pretend to enjoy the guttural sounds the singer from whatever punk band he was being subjected to was making. If you could even call them a singer.
Duncan did as he was told, though only to prove a point.
He smirked at Gord, who was looking especially scowl-y, and waited a few moments to let the heavy weight of silence sink in.
“You still sure you don’t want the radio on?” He asked, fully aware that it was a leading question.
Gord only offered him more of a scowl, which he took as an admittance that he was right.
He was smart enough to know to compromise, and
turned the radio down so it was nothing more than background noise, saving them both from two completely different kinds of headache.
“Dude, you’ve gone all moody, what gives?” Duncan kept talking, feeling like it was mostly to himself.
“You asked me out, but you’re yet to prove to me why this is worth my time.” Gord said pointedly, looking at his nails as if he was avoiding eye contact with the townie the same way he might avoid public bathrooms or taking the bus.
“Okay, princess. Just to be clear, I didn’t ask you out, I asked you if you wanted to hang out – and that was only because you’ve been following me around like you want something off me for weeks now.” Duncan retorted, so self-assured and reasonable, like Gord was being absurd.
So maybe he had a point.
Gord scoffed, (mostly) feigning offense.
“Following you around? I assure you, I’ve got better things to be doing than concerning myself with the likes of you.”
“Apparently not, since I swear I must’a seen you twenty times in the last couple of days alone.”
“If you’ve been noticing and keeping count, I think you’re the one with the obsession, not me.” Gord volleyed back, not missing a beat.
“Someone as loud and rude as you are is kinda hard to miss, rich-boy.” Duncan spoke, unusually warmly, with the kind of smile you’d offer as an olive branch.
“I thought ‘loud and rude’ was commonplace around New Coventry.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know anyone that does it like you. I’ve gotta say, the way you put down my buddy Leon the other day was pretty fuckin’ spectacular.” Duncan grinned ear to ear, and it was impossible for Gord not to take that as a compliment.
He’d bumped into Leon outside the liquor store and ended up with a 40oz. worth of beer on his designer shoes. He was not pleased. An argument that started with him berating Leon for not looking where he was going, ended with Gord making the arch comment “Abraham Lincoln had a brighter future ahead of him when he was buying tickets at the box office.” - which, unbeknownst to him, Duncan thought was, well, pretty fucking spectacular.
“Well, any proper chap tends to get quite irate when you ruin his Italian leather...” Gord chuckled with him, knowing that of course Duncan would take it as a joke despite the fact it was anything but. He thought he’d throw him a bone, he was being nice after all, and dammit that boyish grin nearly made up for the fact he’d been so oblivious to him before.
“See, you’re a mystery. You say shit like that but then you hang around my part of town, what’s your angle?” Duncan shook his head, amusement plastered on his face.
Gord shrugged. He could use his typical excuse, something along the lines of “looking out for Zoe” but he knew that wouldn’t fly. What this Duncan lacked in proper education he seemed to make up for in street-smarts and canny perception, so there were two things he was unlikely to believe; that Zoe Taylor needed anyone’s protection, or that Gord was the type of person to look out for anyone but himself.
As his mother always told him: honesty is the best policy, unless you have a lawyer present.
“Looking for a good time, I suppose. You paupers always seem so delightfully uninhibited.”
“Ahhh, there it is.” Duncan smirked, waving a finger thoughtfully like he’d had the answer on the tip of his tongue the whole time and just needed reminding.
“Bored suburban housewife fucks the lowly plumber, I get it.”
Gord just squinted at him, confused for a couple of reasons. Firstly, where did this street urchin’s sudden wit come from? And secondly, what point was he trying to make?
“Well, yes?” Duh.
Duncan leaned back and crossed his broad arms across his chest in disapproval.
“In that case, you should know I’m not easy. You’ve gotta at least take me out for dinner first.”
“What?” Gord didn’t want to come across as entitled. That was a word Lola used to describe guys a lot. No, he wasn’t entitled, it’s just that he wasn’t about to Pretty Woman some guy who didn’t realise that he was never even in Gord’s league to begin with.
“Oh, sorry. Someone tell ya’ that I fucked on the first date? Or did you just assume?” The sarcasm might have come off as annoyance, but the townie was enjoying this far too much.
Okay, Duncan was definitely being a tease. Gord wondered if maybe he’d come out here with the intention of hooking up, but decided it would be more fun to play Gord at his own game.
Part of him thought he should cut his losses, refuse to put up with the sheer disrespect. What was one ungrateful townie boy? Gord could have anyone
else
that he wanted.
But another part of him was only becoming more intrigued with Duncan.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine what kinds of dangerous and exciting things he might get to be a part of if the boy introduced him to
his
world. The fact he was playing hard to get really only made Gord want him more. Gord
always
got what he wanted – and for once he got to appreciate the challenge.
“Alright. How about you show me a good time, and I show you mine?”