Stan and Craig looked at each other, eyes blank. "Are they gone?" Stan asked, moving past Craig.

"Yup."

"Your parents?"

"Gone."

"Do you want to get started?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Okay then."

For a moment, there was silence before you could hear the sound of scuffling, Craig kicking the door closed with his foot. Moans and Groans filled the room, clothing scattered on the stairwell.

"Ow!"

"Shut up, Tucker!"

"Bitch!"

"Will it fit?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Well, it's your…um…your…"

"Aw, is little Stan afraid to say the word?"

"No!"

"Ow, ow, ow! It doesn't fit!"

"I know that now!"

"I hate you, Marsh."

"Does this feel slippery enough?"

"How should I know?"

"Touch it."

"Wait, so I'm just supposed to stroke it or something?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"I don't want to touch it!"

"Don't be a pussy."

"God damn it, fine!"

"Don't make that face either; you look like you're in pain."

"I'll kill you, and I'll make it look like a bloody accident."

"Fuck you."

"Working on it."

"Shut up!"

"…"

"Is it slippery enough?"

"Just a little more lube."

"Don't call it that!"

"What, lube?"

"Yes!"

"Why, did I strike a cord, Stan? Some deep child hood trauma? Come on, tell Therapist Tucker."

"I hate you."

"The feelings mutual."

"…"

"…"

"…Lube."

"God damn it!"

"Lube, lube, lube and finally, my favorite, lube!"

"Shut up and let's do this already!"

"No need to be pushy."

They faced each other, breathing hard. "Ready?" Stan questioned.

"Yup."

"You know once this is over we can never speak of this again."

"I know."

"Just making sure."

Craig closed his eyes and sighed deeply, waiting. The music started and he secured his hat, rolling his shoulders. He began to run and turned, sliding along the polished, soap covered wood floors. He kept his head down and waited, grinning slightly. "Be-ne-ne-ne-ne-ne-ne" He hummed as a breeze brushed past his bare legs, indicating Stan had done the same. They whirled around to face the cleared living room, dancing and bouncing down the steps.

"I like that ol' time rock and roll!" Stan sang, swishing his hips in a way that would have made Kenny proud. Craig rolled his eyes and smiled, humming along with the music. It was good to let go every once and a while, and Stan was perfect to do it with; he hated Craig and Craig hated him, they meant absolutely nothing to each other.

The record skipped and he scowled, wincing slightly when Stan decided it was a good idea to attempt a rocker slide. The boy gave him a thumb up and broke into a running start, dropping to his knees quickly. Marsh let out a yelp and smashed face forward into the Tucker's piano.

"Real graceful, Stan." Craig mumbled, helping him up. He swung drunkenly on his feet, a large, stupid grin spreading across his face.

"Aw, you do care." He crowed, licking his lips.

"No not really." Handing Stan his clothes, Craig turned around and turned off the music. Stan gave him a sad, kicked puppy look and struggled into his jeans, searching for his shoes. "Here." Craig said, tossing one sneaker at his head. "Make do with one. Get out of my house"

Stan's eyes darkened when he caught sight of Craig's wrist, noting the name written in elegant calligraphy. Tweek. He hissed lowly, nose aching from his dive. Feeling awkward, Craig pushed him out.

"Get a life, Marsh, it's just a physical thing." Without a trace of guilt, Craig slammed the door in Stan's face, glad to see him gone. He turned down the hall and began to move the furniture back in place, slipping slightly on the greased floor. Sighing, Craig sat down on the couch and tilted his head back, eyes fluttering closed. Briefly, just before falling asleep, Craig wondered if Tweek could jitterbug.