A/N: okay I started writing this conksuckin story like two years ago and I've got like another 30k written out on my phone. I figured if I don't start posting this now, I'll end up sitting on it for another two years so here you go
Warnings: I actually wrote something with legit sex scenes, yo. Also drugs and underage drinking.
Disclaimer: don't own blah blah
Craig takes a seat on the snowy back porch, a hand digging through his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He can hear the loud bass from Token's stereo system even from outside, and it's making his head pound.
Why he decided that coming to one of Token's huge house parties was a good idea, he has no clue. It isn't like Token begged him to come. He normally isn't one for parties, especially the raucous, floor rattling, cop bait ones Token normally throws. He chalks it up to it being senior year and probably his last chance to see all his drunken classmates in one place.
Craig digs a cigarette out of his pack, jamming it between his lips before tossing the pack out into the yard, only then remembering that his lucky white lighter (so called purely for irony's sake) is still in it.
He mumbles a few curses, taking the cigarette between his fingers again.
"Need a light?"
Craig jumps, nearly dropping his cigarette in the snow in the process, his head swiveling around to the source of the question.
He recognizes the voice already, but he has to make sure because there is no way Clyde fucking Donovan is sneaking out the back door of a party to talk to him.
Yet there he is with his perfect teeth, perfect hair, and the red Letterman's jacket he never seems to be without, the lighter in his hand beckoning Craig like a siren's call.
"Yeah that'd be sweet. Especially since I just tossed Snowball out into the abyss," Craig answers, placing the cigarette back between his lips.
Some puffy snowflakes billow up around them as Clyde drops down on the steps next to Craig, flicking his lighter and holding it up to Craig's level. "You named your lighter Snowball?"
Craig takes a small drag, blowing the smoke out his nose in a slow stream as he nods. "Yeah, why the fuck not? Snowball was my lucky white lighter. He lasted me over a year."
Clyde repockets his lighter, a tiny pink one that Craig suspects he stole from Bebe. "That's what you get for having a white lighter. Haven't you heard the legend?" he asks, folding his arms over his knees, his head cocked to the side as he watches Craig.
Craig rolls his eyes. "More like that's what I get for littering." He takes another drag, blowing some smoke rings, a pretty nifty trick he learned from Kenny McCormick last summer. As Kenny always said 'if you can blow a guy, you can blow a smoke ring.' Craig never understood how the two were remotely connected, but Kenny did always like turning everything into sex.
He can feel Clyde watching him and meets his gaze, an eyebrow raised.
"How do you do that?" Clyde asks, gesturing to the no longer visible smoke rings.
Craig shrugs. "It's not that hard. Kenny taught me how to do it."
Clyde leans in closer, bracing a hand next to Craig's thigh, and Craig bristles. This guy never did learn the importance of personal space. "You should teach me!" he says, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.
Craig can feel his face and neck burn with the implications. He still has vivid memories of the summer he spent with Kenny, learning to suck dick in between learning how to blow smoke rings. 'It's all connected,' he would say, his fingers tangled impossibly in thick black hair. Craig called bullshit (he can't count the number of times Kenny has commented on his "dick sucking lips" on his fingers and toes combined), but it isn't like he wasn't a willing student.
Craig swallows, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and passing it to Clyde. "It's pretty easy," he says, watching Clyde place the cigarette between his lips, watching his chest expand as he inhales it deep. "You just gotta make an o shape with your mouth, then cough a little, like in the back of your throat you know? Don't really cough or you'll just blow all the smoke out at once," Craig explains.
Clyde takes the cigarette out of his mouth, his lips forming the shape, and Craig starts to think he's not the only guy in school with lips that would look nice wrapped around a cock.
Clyde gives a weak little cough, only succeeding in blowing out a big puff of smoke, but he keeps trying. He gets discouraged after his third drag, handing the cigarette back. "Here, I want to watch you do it."
The cigarette is passed back and forth a few times before Clyde finally manages to form a tiny ring, his cheers of success nearly drowning out the noise from inside.
Craig claps him on the shoulder, managing a small smile that Clyde returns, only ten times bigger.
He tosses the nearly burnt out cigarette, huddling in on himself as he remembers that he's only wearing a thin hoodie, having been too annoyed pushing his way through gyrating bodies to try to search for his coat.
Gloves are shoved into his field of vision not a moment later, and he blinks over at Clyde who hasn't stopped grinning at him since his victory moments before. "You looked cold."
Craig blows into his hands a bit before pulling on the gifted gloves. "Such a gentleman."
Clyde laughs, still sitting a little close for Craig's comfort, but Craig welcomes any heat he can get at this point, and Clyde is like a walking, football playing furnace.
"So how have you been?"
Craig raises his eyebrow again, an expression all Tucker's young and old have mastered. "That's a pretty broad question. I've been alright."
He feels Clyde shift next to him, their knees knocking against each other. "And that's a broad answer."
"You get what you give, Donovan." Craig wishes he had another cigarette so he would at least have something to do with his hands. He's pleasantly surprised when Clyde pulls a pack out of his pocket, offering one to Craig. "What are you, my cigarette smoking fairy god mother?" Craig takes the proffered cigarette, letting Clyde light it for him.
"Seriously man. How have you been? I heard about your parents. That's rough," Clyde says, the pity in his voice only serving to piss Craig off.
Craig grunts noncommittally, rolling his eyes because of course news of his parents' pending divorce has reached everyone in the fucking school. Nothing ever stays a secret in South Park. "Can we talk about something else?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
He feels Clyde shift again, their knocking knees more of an irritation than anything at this point. He slides further away, hoping Clyde will get the hint and back off. Clyde only follows Craig's movement, ending up nestled against his side again. The guy was always blind to social cues. How he ended up one of the most popular guys in school, Craig would never know.
"How's Stripe?"
Craig feels his irritation go through the roof, shooting a glare at Clyde, who at least has the decency to finally give Craig some space. "He's fine. Buried in my backyard, but you know, fine."
Clyde looks down at his feet. "Oh, I didn't know."
Craig takes another drag, shrugging. "It's fine. I mean, we haven't really spoken much since middle school."
Just like that, Clyde is all up in his business again, looking a little sheepish. "That's actually why I came out here. I miss talking to you."
Craig blows another puff of smoke straight up in the air, his head thrown back and his gaze aimed at the stars. He misses Clyde's stare. "Why?"
Clyde seems a little thrown by the question, like he didn't quite know the answer himself. "I don't know man. We were best friends. You're still the best friend I've ever had. You were like the Starsky to my Hutch, the Ren to my Stimpy, the Beavis to my Butthead."
"Nah you'd be Beavis."
Clyde snorts but continues his rant. "You're the Laverne to my Shirley, the Lassie to my Timmy-"
"What are you trapped in a well now?"
"Shut up Craig, we're having a moment. You're the Kyle to my Stan."
Craig nearly chokes to death on his cigarette, coughing up a cloud of smoke. "What the fuck, Clyde? We're nothing like those queermos. Besides, if we were, you'd be the Kyle to my Stan."
"Why do I have to be Kyle?" Clyde is honest to god pouting, his lip jutting out in a way that Craig shouldn't find arousing but does.
"Because, me and Stan already look alike. And you're the one with the nice ass like Kyle. Plus, you've both been in Bebe's pants," Craig states, grinning like he just made some clever connection.
A mock glare is aimed at Craig as Clyde shoves his shoulder playfully, a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks. "Fuck off Craig. I don't love you anymore."
Craig tosses his cigarette, laughing as he leans over Clyde's lap. "Come on baby. Don't be like that," he coos, pressing his shoulder up against Clyde's.
Raucous laughter fills his ears and before he knows it, he's being dragged into a tight hug. "I really did miss you, dude," Clyde says, his voice muffled a bit by Craig's shoulder.
Craig fights the urge to pull away. He's never been much of a hugger, but he doesn't want to seem like an asshole. He still remembers all the bear hugs Clyde subjected him to as a kid. Clyde had always been touchy and emotional. He expressed all his emotions through some form of platonic physical contact, and boy did he have a lot of them.
Clyde holds on to Craig a little longer than is necessary, only pulling back a tiny bit when he does finally decide to let go. "Do you want to do something next weekend? You could come to our first home game on Friday!"
To be perfectly honest, Craig hates football. He used to play as a kid, but his interest in sports has since tapered off and made way for more obscure pastimes. Clyde, however, stayed in all the sports he could, although Craig suspects that might also have something to do with Clyde's father.
Craig doesn't remember much about Clyde's parents. He only has a vague recollection of Mr. Donovan being a stern father, even more so after the death of his wife. Craig suspects that Clyde was pushed into varsity sports as a means to make it into a decent college, Clyde's grades having always been lackluster.
But Clyde is still looking at him and waiting for an answer. Craig sighs. "Yeah, sure."
The smile blossoming across Clyde's face now is hard not to return with one of his own.
Clyde finally pulls away fully when he hears the back door sliding open, a blonde in an orange hoodie taking up the door frame.
"Hey Tucker, I got a few guys to pitch in some bud. You want in?" Kenny slurs, only then noticing Craig isn't there alone. He blinks at Clyde for a moment as if Clyde's presence temporarily threw him for a loop. Craig thinks it might be the booze's fault though if Kenny's glassy gaze and slight sway are any indication.
Kenny breaks out into a broad grin. "Am I interrupting something?" He's having trouble staying upright already. Craig can't help rolling his eyes. Kenny always liked to party hard. He's always the first one hammered at every booze-fueled get together.
Clyde shakes his head, grinning back at Kenny. "Nope, we were just talking."
Kenny shrugs already making his way back inside. "You can come too. The more the merrier." He briefly stumbles over the threshold, leaving the sliding door hanging open in his wake.
Craig stands, brushing snow off his pants, his gaze flicking to Clyde who is mirroring his actions. "You comin'?"
Clyde nods, following Craig back inside. He makes sure to actually shut the door behind him.
Craig pushes his way through the living room, trying to avoid all the dancing bodies. He knows Kenny and his friends are probably out in the garage. The only rule Token ever has at his house parties is that any weed must be smoked in the garage. He says it's the easiest place to air out, and he doesn't really want a repeat of last year. Craig doesn't know the whole story, but he heard that Token's parents came home to a smoky bedroom complete with some asshole's forgotten bong. Why Token's parents continue to allow him to throw parties, Craig does not know, but he suspects they were quite the partiers in their time too. He has a vague recollection of Token and his eleven year old self finding a collection of hippie relics in the attic, and you can't spell hippie without drugs.
Craig and Clyde finally make it to the garage, a big open space taken up by a circle of people, Kenny in the middle. Craig makes his way over, settling down next to a very drunken Stan Marsh. He gives Stan a little nod of acknowledgement only to be met with a watery stare. So girl troubles. Again.
Clyde takes a seat on Craig's other side, striking up a conversation with the girl sat next to him. Craig doesn't recognize her. He thinks Kenny probably brought her along. She laughs at something funny Clyde said, and Craig scowls, turning his attention on Kenny who is taking his time rolling the biggest blunt Craig's ever seen in his life.
"Was Wendy in there?" Craig looks back at Stan, the latter looking like he is close to vomiting.
Craig scoots a little closer to Clyde not wanting any vomit on him when Marsh inevitably voids his stomach contents. "I think she was talking to Token or something." Craig can tell that was the wrong thing to say by the way Stan's expression darkens, but it's only a split second until he goes back to looking like a kicked puppy.
"She dumped me." Stan sounds so beaten up over it, which Craig doesn't even understand. The two have been dating since the third grade, but they've spent more time broken up than together. He figures Marsh should be used to it by now.
"I figured." Craig turns back to watch Kenny again, hoping their conversation is over and done with. He does not want to end up with a sobbing Marsh draped on his shoulder again. He got his fill of that the last time the two had inadvertently spent some time in each other's presence.
Kenny seems to have finally finished his monster blunt, placing it between his lips and digging out his lighter, an orange one because of course it's orange. He takes a big hit to get the thing started before passing it along, the smoke billowing from his mouth rising above everyone's heads.
The blunt is smoked through quickly. Even Stan takes a couple hits, his quiet sniffling turning into poorly concealed giggles.
Clyde is back to gluing himself to Craig's side, but Craig can't bring himself to care. In his mind, he's a spaceman. That's all that matters right now.
Except now he's realized how hungry he is and how there is a distinct lack of pizza rolls in his general vicinity. Houston, we have a problem. We've touched Mars and there's no pizza rolls in sight.
Craig knocks his elbow against Clyde's in an effort to stand, his new mission clear.
"Where are you going?" Clyde is already standing with him and starts following Craig out of the garage even without an explanation. Craig doesn't give him one.
The pair dodge their way around a very annoyed looking Broflovski, presumably on his way to rescue a certain super best friend, and make a beeline for the kitchen. Craig steps over a passed out Butters, checking the freezer for anything resembling a pizza roll, thanking every god he can think of when he's met with a family pack.
He sets the box on the counter in front of Clyde like the offer of a sacrifice and watches as Clyde breaks out in a big grin. "Holy shit dude. I was just thinking the same thing!"
Craig grins back, ripping the box open. "Maybe that's why we were best friends." He grabs a plate out of the cabinet, loading it up with as many rolls as will fit and shoving it all in the microwave. "How long do I cook this shit for?"
Clyde fumbles with the box, hunting for the instructions for a bit. " How many you got in there?" he asks, holding the box up in front of his face and squinting hard.
"Like thirty maybe?" Craig opens the door again just to check.
"Uh it doesn't give any instructions for that many. Maybe we should cook them a few at a time."
Craig scoffs, pressing some buttons. "Yolo, Clyde. Yolo."
"Did you just yolo me?" Clyde stands, stepping over Butters to place the remaining rolls in the freezer before hopping up on the counter. "Why did I ever think you were cool?"
"You thought I was cool?" Craig sounds genuinely surprised, taking a seat next to Clyde and swinging his feet absently. He keeps his distance still. Even stoned he tends to like his space.
"Of course I did. You were like this enigma when we were kids. You were that kid that didn't say much but everyone still knew," Clyde says, his arms moving about erratically. Clyde gestures a lot when he's stoned. Craig can't stop watching his hands. "You always had the same expression on your face and the same tone of voice. It was hard to get a rise out of you, like you didn't give a fuck about anything. It was kind of cool getting to be your best friend actually. I feel like I got to see things no one else did." Clyde turns his gaze on Craig, who's still watching his hands, and his voice softens. "I got to see you laugh and smile a lot more than everyone else, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's seen you cry in the history of forever." Clyde looks back at his lap, a hint of a laugh in his voice, but Craig keeps looking at him. He can't look away. Not now.
He never thought of himself as an enigma. He never thought of himself as any of the things Clyde described him as. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not an enigma. I'm not some mysterious cool kid."
"What are you then?" Clyde is looking at Craig again, leaning back on his hands.
Craig stares at him for a second before shaking his head, turning his gaze on his own clasped hands. "Just Craig, I guess. I'm not really anything." He shrugs, focusing on Clyde again when he feels a hand on his arm.
Clyde is staring at Craig intently, his gaze making Craig shiver. He squeezes Craig's arm. "You are something. You've always been something," he says, his voice barely a whisper.
Craig stares back, completely at a loss. Clyde's grip loosens, his fingers sliding down Craig's arm but making no effort to retreat. Craig feels goosebumps on his arms. He feels like he's in a romcom right now, the moment right before the big kiss.
But he stops that thought right there because this is Clyde. The same Clyde who has been a ladies man since elementary. The same Clyde who plays football and has had a perfect on again off again relationship with the head cheerleader for years.
The same Clyde who is now gazing very intently in his eyes and leaning in imperceptibly. The same Clyde who is stroking his cheek. The same Clyde who is now kissing him. Interesting.
It only takes a second for Craig's brain to catch up to the event currently transpiring and only another second more for it to completely short circuit.
Maybe it's the weed, but Craig doesn't pull away, doesn't want to pull away, even though he feels like he should. There's no way locking lips with the quarterback, his former best friend, in the middle of Token's kitchen could lead to anything good. But nothing has ever felt more right. What was it he said earlier? Oh yeah, yolo.
Craig doesn't protest when Clyde presses his tongue between his lips, doesn't protest when his fingers find their way under his shirt. He's very far from protesting when Clyde presses him down onto the counter, straddling his hips just so he can kiss him harder.
It's only when Craig remembers that they're in the middle of the fucking kitchen at a giant party where anyone can walk in that he pushes Clyde away. Clyde looks a little hurt, but Craig presses a quick kiss to his lips to cheer him up, leaning in closer so he can breathe into Clyde's ear, making him shiver. "Let's go upstairs."
Craig can see the heat racing up Clyde's neck from this close and smirks to himself when Clyde hurriedly grabs his hand, dragging him out of the kitchen and narrowly avoiding a still passed out Butters.
Before they know it, they're in Token's parents' room, sprawled on the bed and kissing lazily. Clyde hovers over Craig, his lips pressed to Craig's neck, his fingers splayed over Craig's bare stomach. Craig's eyes are closed, his shirt rucked up to his chest. Clyde's found one of his few weakspots, his neck being one, and, as Clyde happily finds a second later after a harsh bite, his collarbone being another. Craig bites back a moan, unbelievably turned on. It's when Clyde smirks at him that he knows he has to turn the tables. He can't let Donovan get too cocky.
Bracing his hands against Clyde's shoulders, he pushes him to the side, rolling himself over so he can take a turn on top. Clyde looks a bit flustered but doesn't protest the new arrangement.
Craig settles on his hands and knees, looking in Clyde's eyes, his fingers wasting no time in finding his zipper. "I want to make you feel good," Craig says. Clyde swallows. Craig watches his Adam's apple bob. "There's one more trick I can show you."
Clyde's eyes are dark when he makes eye contact again, and his hips buck up when Craig's hand finds its way into his boxers. He still gazes at Craig intently, and Craig knows this time that it isn't a look of friendly concern. All he finds there is pure desire.
He uses his elbow to nudge Clyde's legs further apart, dragging Clyde's jeans and boxers down until they're past his knees. Clyde for his part doesn't seem at all embarrassed to have his former best friend staring down his dick, so Craig wastes no time, wrapping his fingers around the base. Clyde rolls his hips up once, his back arching, and Craig smirks knowing he now has the upper hand.
He hooks his other arm under Clyde's thigh, leaning forward to swallow him down. He can feel Clyde trying to move his hips and presses them down with his elbows, taking more of him in as he does so. A mess of moans and curses tumble out of Clyde's mouth at random intervals, and it isn't long before Craig feels fingers tangle in his hair. Clyde's feel nicer than Kenny's, shorter and thicker but gentler. Craig hates having his hair pulled, which of course made Kenny want to do it more often.
Craig flicks his gaze up to Clyde's face, a jolt shooting down his spine when they lock eyes. Clyde's eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and his lips are parted, heavy breaths billowing out in a steady rhythm. Craig presses a hand to Clyde's stomach, holding eye contact as he takes Clyde to the back of his throat. He loses Clyde's gaze after that, his head thrown back against the pillows, and for the first time that night, Craig is grateful for the obnoxious music as without it everyone would have heard the obscene moan Clyde just let loose.
Craig closes his eyes, speeding up his movements. He can feel Clyde's stomach tensing beneath his palm, his thigh muscles taut, so he retreats, letting his hand take over. While he doesn't mind sucking dick, he always avoids having any jizz anywhere near his mouth. Kenny used to make fun of him for it. 'What kind of gay man doesn't like the taste of jizz?' he'd say. Then he'd make a show of licking Craig's fingers clean in a way that always made Craig feel more sick than turned on.
Craig is thrown out of his reverie by the sound of his name tearing out of Clyde's throat. He keeps his hand moving all through Clyde's orgasm, amazed at just how much Clyde moves when he's hit his peak. He's never seen a full body orgasm before, but he's sure that's what Clyde's experiencing right now.
Clyde drops back down against the bed, his fingers still moving through Craig's hair in a way that makes Craig think he's forgotten he's even doing it. His gaze locking on Craig's a second later, however, tells him he hasn't forgotten.
The sleepy smile that spreads across his face a few seconds later makes Craig's stomach flip in ways that have never happened before, ways that nearly make him turn tail and run.
"You're really good at that. Did Kenny teach you that too?" he says, his voice is raspy in a way that makes Craig's dick twitch.
"I've just had practice." Craig winces after he says it, but Clyde doesn't say anything. He sits up, pulling Craig into another kiss, not seeming to mind tasting himself in Craig's mouth.
It's not long before their positions are reversed, Clyde kneeling between Craig's spread legs, his hand working a steady rhythm. He leans in to kiss Craig again, and Craig is positive he's never been kissed this much during sex before. Kenny has only ever kissed him twice. Once when he was drunk out of his mind, and once more when he realized he had been too drunk to remember what kissing Craig had felt like. He always insisted kissing was too intimate, that he was saving his first real kiss for his soul mate. For a guy who has as much sex as Kenny, he has always been a bit of a hopeless romantic.
Clyde moves his lips to Craig's neck again, and Craig knows he won't last much longer. He's passed the point of no return already. Clyde seems to sense his impending orgasm and backs off a bit to avoid the line of fire.
Craig is sent over the edge a few moments later, his orgasm rolling over him slowly in a way that makes his toes curl.
Clyde grabs a couple tissues off the night stand, cleaning them both up before helping Craig get his clothes back on. Craig knows he's capable of doing it himself, but his eyelids are drooping, and he's too tired now that his high's worn off to protest. All he wants to do now is curl up in Token's parents' bed and sleep. Clyde seems to have the same idea, tucking the blankets around them as he settles against Craig's side.
He turns the lamp off, lying so he's facing Craig in the dark. He pushes a leg in between Craig's, his arm draped over Craig's waist. Lips find lips again, and they kiss lazily for what feels like hours before Clyde finally pulls away, pressing his head under Craig's chin.
Craig knows he should have guessed Clyde would be cuddly after sex. It was almost expected. What wasn't expected at all was for Clyde to breathe an 'I love you' against his throat, the confession feeling like it's been burned into Craig's skin.
Craig squeezes his arm, pressing a kiss to his head. He knows he should say something, but no words will come to him. He's thankful when he hears Clyde's soft snores a moment later, drifting off himself not long after.
Craig wakes the next morning, tangled impossibly in blankets that don't belong to him and in a room he doesn't recognize. It's only when he's sat up and looked around in a daze for a few minutes that he remembers where he is. Memories of the night before come flooding back, the back porch, the alcohol, the weed, Clyde... Clyde!
Craig turns toward where he last saw Clyde, but the bed next to him is empty. The only thing assuring him the whole mess hadn't been a dream is the pair of gloves stowed away in his pocket. He stares at them a moment before shoving them back in his jacket and throwing the blankets off. He has a new goal in mind: finding Clyde… or pancakes.
He trudges down the stairs, stepping over bottles and cans. There are a couple people still passed out in various places, meaning it can't be too late in the day. Craig just hopes Token is awake and moving.
He finds Token in the kitchen, a glass of water in hand, and moves to lean against the counter next to him, giving him a casual greeting.
Token nods at him, draining the glass. "How was the party, man?"
Craig shrugs, taking the glass from Token once it's refilled. "Loud," he responds shortly, sipping at the water.
"Well yeah, it's a party. I'm kinda surprised you're still here actually. You usually either don't show up or only stay an hour." Token raises an eyebrow at him before wiggling them both suggestively. "Let me guess, you got some last night."
Craig wants to deny it, but he can feel the traitorous blush taking over his face already and knows nothing he says now will convince Token otherwise. "I guess you could say that," he concedes, unable to keep the sigh out of his voice.
Token claps him on the shoulder. "Damn dude, congrats! Who was it?"
Craig shakes his head. "I can't tell you that," Craig says, feeling guilty already. He knows he can trust Token. Token has been one of his best friends since elementary school. He was one of the first people he came out to. The only time Token ever disapproved of anything he did was when he hooked up with Kenny, and even then all he got was a stern talking to and a look that he lovingly refers to as 'the disapproving Token.'
"Come on Craig. It can't be so bad that you can't tell me." Token nudges him with his elbow, looking at him expectantly, but Craig knows he can't tell him. Not right now.
"Can I tell you later? I'm still trying to sort shit out for myself. I'm not really ready to talk about it out loud." He avoids Token's gaze, knowing he'll only feel guiltier if he does look at him.
Token sighs. "Alright man. I'm here when you're ready." He nudges Craig again, giving him a smile when Craig finally looks up, a smile Craig returns. "Oh yeah, I was meaning to ask. Did you see anyone messing with any pizza rolls in here? They scorched the microwave with that shit." He gestures to the aforementioned microwave, a mountain of blackened rolls sitting inside.
Craig bites his lip to stop the laughs threatening to break free. "Oh shit."
"Craig." Craig knows without even having to look at Token that he already knows the pizza roll scoundrel is him. The disapproving Token he's met with when he does finally look at him only confirms it.
"What do you want from me? I was baked." Craig lets some laughs slip as he glances at the soiled microwave again.
"What do I want from you? I want you to clean my damn microwave!" Token mock yells, grabbing a towel off the counter and tossing it at Craig's head. He moves to the cabinets under the sink to dig out some cleaner. "My mom will kill me if she sees that. It looks like a damn pizza bomb went off in there."
Craig is still laughing as he takes the cleaner, getting to work on scrubbing off the remains of his forgotten midnight snack with Token's continued ranting about how he could have started a fire serving as background noise.
Craig and Token spend the rest of the day cleaning, taking the occasional break to kick out lingering party guests or play video games. Token never asks about Craig's mystery hook up, even though Craig knows he's noticed him checking his phone more often than usual.
Craig keeps hoping for some speck of contact from Clyde, but is disappointed every time. The night runs through his head in vivid detail, but more and more often he thinks of the words Clyde whispered against his neck. He wants to know if Clyde meant it. He doesn't know if he wants Clyde to have meant it. Nobody has ever told him they loved him. He wouldn't know how to react if someone did.
Craig nearly jumps when his phone buzzes, his eyes refocusing on the screen.
From: rubes
mom wants to kno when ur comin home and that u didnt die of alcohol poisoning
Craig rolls his eyes, ignoring the disappointment he feels knotting his stomach as he types out a reply.
To: rubes
im alive and well tyvm. tell her whenever i feel like it
Craig hits send on the text, turning his attention back to the movie. He knows it's really Ruby who is worried about his well being. His parents generally don't care where he is as long as he checks in every couple of days. His little sister has always worried though. Craig always thought it odd how protective she is of him. He supposes they're both protective of each other. They need to be at times when their parents are too busy arguing to pay attention.
From: rubes
did u have fun
To: rubes
yeah. thanks for the concern btw
From: rubes
moms concern not mine… love u stay safe
To: rubes
sureeeeee. love you too
Craig smiles at his phone before pocketing it again, turning to look at Token when he gets a nudge in the side.
"Texting the guy from last night?" He wiggles his eyebrows again, and Craig rolls his eyes.
"My sister." Craig turns back to the tv, propping his feet up on the coffee table and laughing when Token shoves them off a second later.
"I've never seen you in such a good mood. You sure you're not in love or something?" Token laughs at Craig's near spit take. "Should I take that as a yes?"
Craig shakes his head wildly. "Hell no! You know how I feel about that sappy shit. Besides, it would take more than one night of sucking dick to get me to fall in love with a guy," Craig says, fighting back a laugh at the look on Token's face. "I may be a ho, but I still have standards."
Token does laugh at that. "Oh yeah, that's right. Ho Craig and his impossibly high standards."
"Exactly. I don't just go for anybody. They gotta have class." Craig adjusts himself on the couch, tucking his legs up under himself.
"Yeah, because Kenny McCormick screams class." Token rolls his eyes, pausing the movie and standing up. "You want a pizza or something? I'm starving."
Craig nods. "It's like you read my mind. Quick, what am I thinking now?"
Token makes a show of thinking hard, doing one of those douchey moves the psychics on tv use. "You're thinking I should get cheese sticks."
Craig gasps dramatically, his eyes wide. "You are psychic. Also please get pizza sauce."
Token gives him a mock salute, heading off into the kitchen as Craig pulls his phone out again, checking for any messages from Clyde. Still nothing. He resists the urge to huff and throw his phone like an angsty girl, tossing it on the couch cushion instead. He's already decided he isn't going to contact Clyde first. He doesn't even know what he'd say to the guy as it is.
He's not in love with Clyde. He knows that much. Token is completely wrong about that, but Craig does know it will be awkward the next time they see each other. He's just starting to wonder if Clyde will even remember what he said when Token returns with some sodas, handing one to Craig and propping his feet up on the table.
Craig gives him a look of disbelief, gesturing at his legs. "What the hell, man? You never let me prop my feet on the furniture."
Token shrugs, sinking down on the couch. "My house."
Craig scowls before an idea hits him. He smirks, stretching his legs out and propping them up on Token's. Token raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't protest, turning the movie back on. He doesn't make Craig move his legs until the pizza gets there and even then, Craig just puts his legs right back in Token's lap once they're both settled.
Token rests his plate on Craig's shins, leaning forward so he doesn't drip sauce on himself. He briefly turns his attention on Craig, laughing when he sees the sauce dripping down Craig's shirt. "Dude, you are incapable of eating anything without soiling yourself. Do you need a bib?" He only laughs harder when Craig flips him off.
"At least give me a napkin, you bastard." He snatches it out of Token's hand, wiping the sauce off his shirt and chin.
"Do you need a wet wipe?" Token keeps laughing, dodging the dirty napkin Craig chucks at his head.
"Fuck you, dude." But Craig is laughing now too, holding the plate up by his face next time he takes a bite to avoid anymore mishaps.
Token hands over a few more napkins just in case. "You're staying over tonight, right?"
Craig nods, his mouth still full of food, swallowing before he starts talking. "Yeah, anything to avoid taking the bus." Craig loves staying at Token's on school nights for the simple fact that Token has a car. Half the time they end up missing their first class in favor of an impromptu trip to Denny's.
They stay awake a while longer, finishing the pizza and watching a couple more movies before heading to bed. They share Token's bed, sleeping on opposite sides. Token's bed is huge. Craig remembers childhood sleepovers with their old friend group. His bed could comfortably hold Token, Jimmy, Clyde, Tweek, and him. Tweek always insisted on sleeping at the foot of the bed though. He had a bad habit of flailing his limbs in his sleep. Craig fondly remembers Tweek clocking Clyde in the eye one year when they all had to share a tent. He also remembers how Clyde cried. A lot.
If Craig's honest with himself, he misses his old friends. The only one he's really close to anymore is Token. The rest of their group got involved in their own things and made new friends. He still occasionally goes to Jimmy's stand up nights and Tweek's improv shows, but other than that, none of them talk much. Last night was the first time he had spoken to Clyde in years.
He always thinks about trying to get the old gang back together, but he doesn't know if it would be the same. They're all too different. He's sure none of them have anything in common anymore.
"What are you thinking about?"
The sound of Token's voice startles Craig out of his reverie. He shrugs. "Just our old friends."
"Oh yeah, I saw you talking to Clyde last night. How'd that go?" Token shifts a little, dragging another pillow under his head so he can prop himself up.
Craig knows if he doesn't get Token off this train of thought, he'll figure everything out. He's always been intuitive that way. "It was fine. He said he wanted to be friends again and hangout or something." Craig hopes that was flippant and vague enough to throw Token off the trail.
"Wait." No such luck. "It was Clyde wasn't it." Token sits up fully, looking down at Craig.
Craig sighs heavily, he knows there's no point in lying to Token now. Token always knows when he's lying. "Fine, if you must know, yes it was. I sucked Clyde's dick. Congrats. You solved the mystery." Craig sits up too, crossing his arms over his chest, but not before giving Token a brief and very sarcastic round of applause.
"I knew it! I never saw you talking to anyone else last night. Well, except Kenny, but I wanted to give you some credit at least."
Craig rolls his eyes at that, trying not to pout. "Yep, you just have everything figured out don't you? The Great Token knows everything. Yet again. Now can we go to sleep?"
"One question first. How the hell did that even happen?"
"Well, when two people get drunk and high together, they make babies. The end," he says as sarcastically as possible. Craig can't really see in the dark, but he knows Token is probably rolling his eyes.
"Come on man." Token shifts a little closer, reaching over to switch on the table lamp.
Craig squints against the sudden bright light, feeling even more embarrassed now that he knows Token can see him. "Fine, we were talking, we smoked a blunt with Kenny and his friends, then we tried to make pizza rolls and ended up making out on the kitchen counter instead. Then we went up to your parents' room."
"Sick dude! You better not have gotten anything on my parents' sheets."
Craig rolls his eyes at Token's interruption. "We were careful. I'll wash them tomorrow if it will help you feel better." Craig sinks down against the pillows again, pulling the blanket up around himself.
"Did you initiate it?"
"I thought you said one question," Craig sighs, turning the lamp off and rolling onto his side.
"Well, this one's important." Token is still sitting up. Craig can practically feel his stare.
"No. He kissed me first." Craig avoids Token's gaze, keeping his eyes trained on the bedspread.
Token makes a noise of surprise. "He kissed you first? I always thought he was straight."
Craig shrugs at that. "Me too. But that's not all he did." Craig wasn't sure he wanted to tell Token this part of the story, but he figures if anyone can shed some light on the situation, it would be Token. "He told me he loves me."
"What?" Token switches the light back on, ignoring Craig's protests. "He said he loves you? Did you say it back?" Token is staring him in the face.
Craig shakes his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes again. "No, because I don't. I hadn't talked to him in like five fucking years before last night. Why the fuck would I say it back?" Craig grinds out. He knows he shouldn't be mad at Token, but the more he thinks about the situation, the more irritated he gets.
Token holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Just asking, dude. What are you gonna say to him tomorrow?"
Craig sighs heavily, turning the lamp off again and dropping back down on the bed. "I don't know. Now can we stop talking about this and go to sleep?" Before Token can even answer, Craig rolls over so he's facing away, pulling the blanket up tighter. He knows he's being unfair, but the whole situation is confusing. He'd much rather sleep now and deal with it poorly in the morning.
Token lies down with him, facing the opposite way. "Alright man, I'll quit bugging you. For now." He doesn't say anything else after that, but Craig knows that means he's gonna be pestered again in the morning.
Craig blocks all thoughts of Clyde from his mind, curling up under the covers and drifting into an uneasy rest.
A/N: Like I said before, I have a large chunk of this story written out already so hopefully it doesn't take me too long to update, but I'm also maybe kinda writing a second chapter to a Cryde one shot I wrote years ago because this is what my life has become apparently, so maybe keep an eye out for that too.