She didn't smell like the girls back home. At least, not the ones he usually hung out with.

It was a strange thought to cross Duncan's mind at the time, considering the fact that he was currently being kissed, and he realized this. He also realized that someone with his reputation should be thinking of things far higher up on The Badass Scale than the way Courtney smelled. Any self respecting delinquent of his standing would already be tugging at the zipper of her jeans with one hand and pulling up her shirt with the other, already imagining all the ways he'd make her scream his name as she would gaze at him through half-lidded, lust clouded eyes.

But really, the only thing he could possibly think at the moment (aside from the fact that Courtney was surprisingly good at kissing; maybe she wasn't quite the innocent she always made herself out to be) was that she smelled vaguely of vanilla and cinnamon. He'd noticed this before, of course. Like the time she fell asleep in his arms when they were out in the woods. That morning, he'd smelled like vanilla and cinnamon too, and it lingered throughout the day.

Not that he particularly minded much.

But the thought particularly struck him now: there was just something different about the way Courtney was, the way she smelled, something he wasn't used to. He tried to think back to the days when he was still in and out of juvie, away from this head case camp known as Total Drama Island. What made this girl so unfamiliar to him? Well, it probably helped that she didn't smell like an ashtray. Or tequila, the drink of choice in his circles. Not that he was against a shot and a cigarette every now and then, but Courtney was the first girl that didn't reek of booze and smoke, and he had been surprisingly pleased to discover this.

Courtney just smelled…straight-laced. Clean. Nice, even.

And she didn't throw herself at him like all the girls back at home would. Quite the opposite, actually. Until recently, she seemed to find everything about him repulsive, if not entirely vomit-worthy. There was something almost endearing about the way she fought off his advances, the way she didn't fall into his arms and land headfirst in his crotch within twenty seconds. She made it difficult. Duncan was strangely satisfied by that too.

Vanilla and cinnamon. When she pulled away from him, the scent lingered and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Unfortunately, this brought about a case of Moron Face, in which Duncan would stare off into the distance like a slightly retarded five year old, replaying what had just happened in his mind with a stupid smile plastered on his face. Only one other girl had been able to elicit Moron Face from the Island's resident delinquent before; they were eight and she'd given him his first kiss. From then on, he'd sworn to eradicate Moron Face from his range of expressions, and before now he'd done exceedingly well for himself. Leave it to Princess to get his most infuriatingly embarassing look right back on his face and on camera for the world to see.

Courtney was not like the girls back home. And Duncan suddenly realized that maybe that's what he'd liked so much about her all along. Not that he'd ever admit it. To anyone. Ever. Besides, Moron Face had given enough of himself away for one night.

As for the zipper tugging and shirt lifting? Well, there was plenty of time for that later.

--

I love new finding new ships.