Creek

Tap. Tap. Tap. Craig's fingertips drum annoyingly on the wooden desk, his wet black hair, still warm from the shower, hanging in front of his emotionless eyes. A bluebird tapped at the window outside his room, requesting entrance, only to be returned with a rude gesture of the annoying boy's middle finger. Obviously offended by his uncaring reply, the happy bird flew away in a huff, off to do better and more interesting things with his day.

Something Craig didn't have. Something to do.

Yep, he was bored out of his mind.

RING!

Oh thank god!

He jumps out of his seat, reaches across the table, and grabs the wireless phone. The edges of his mouth turn up in a tiny smirk at the name in the caller ID.

He clicks on, "Are you out of coffee again, or did the gnomes leave another huge shit on your bed?" He grabs a ball of playdough his class had made in science class, turning it over in his fingers, leaning back in his chair.

"Both! Y-You g-got to-GAH!-Come over, C-Craig!" The high-pitched voice screeches over the receiver.

Craig smiles wider, "Tweek, calm down, I'll be over in five minutes."

"H-Hurry!" Dead line.

"Oh, my god," he groans, pulling on his sneakers, still smiling at his twitchy friend's stupidity. He walks out into the snow, pulling on his blue jacket, sticking his glorious middle finger at two women walking down the sidewalk with their seven-year-old kids. He starts down the snow covered street, wondering if Tweek was dressing warm enough. He doesn't even have a jacket; the zippers frustrate him too much. One of these days the blond is going to get an ulcer. Craig couldn't help wondering how his twitchy friend would react to an…an…

An orgasm.

Holy shit. He stops in his tracks, pulling his jacket over the absurd bulge in his jeans. Where did THAT come from? That wasn't normal. That was actually pretty…gay. Craig definitely isn't gay. Sure, all the boys in South Park High act gay, but everyone know they're joking. No one is actually gay. Including Craig. No way is he gay. So what, he was imaging how Tweek would react to an orgasm, who couldn't? The twitchy blond was target for so many attacks; it's only natural for his best friend to rip on him, too.

Yet what is the feeling of excitement building up in the black-haired boy's chest?

Food. It must have been something he ate. That's all. Indigestion.

As soon as the bulge lowers, he continues walking, but he still can't get the disturbing thought off his mind. Stop this, you ass. You're not fucking gay, he thinks. He should be dreaming of boobs and how to score some girl in his class, not mentally undressing Tweek. God. He's so retarded.

Finally he arrives at the coffee colored house and before he can knock on the door, a hand darts out, grabs his elbow, and pulls him in.

"GAH! C-CRAIG!" A voice screeches. Suddenly Craig notices Tweek pulled him in with such force that he landed pressing him into a wall, his own leg between two shaking ones. "W-WHAT ARE Y-YOU D-DOING?!"

Great, that stupid bulge is back. He's frozen.

"C-CRAIG!" The horrified blond shouted, shaking madly underneath the six foot two inched Craig, towering over his wimpy five foot six inches.

iMove, damn it! Just move the fucking leg./i He hesitantly moves away from the freaking teen, looking away so not to show the darkening red on his cheeks.

"Okay, so where's the gnome hiding this time?" He mutters, trying to steer attention away from the embarrassing encounter. Oh yeah, he's such a smooth asshole. Great going, Craig, you fag.