I. WHERE SNOW FALLS IN OBLIVION
With a scream, Craig awoke in the darkness of his room flinging his body forward and hurling the disarray of pillows and blankets across his room. He forcefully grabbed the pillow his head laid several minutes ago and flung it to the side, spinning like a boomerang until it hit his dresser which, for some reason, opened and made several articles of clothing and hats fall in a messy pile. Seeing this, he grunted in frustration and slapped his forehead with his palm. He looked at what was vibrating, emitting a loud noise, and upon seeing it, his rage calmed down for a little while. It was a phone and splayed across the screen was: TWEEKERS.
He took it and placed it on his ears, thinking of something cheerful to say amid his apparent anger on waking up.
His two second efforts were thrown away when a booming, high-pitched voice screamed so loud that it seemed to have echoed around the whole neighborhood.
"CRAIG! CRAIG! SEND HELP! THE -NGGH- GNOMES ARE -NGGH- AT IT AGAIN! THEY'VE GONE -GAH!- THROUGH MY LAST PAIR, AH!"
Hearing this, he could practically hear Tweek twitch and shake. He could feel Tweek's lips tremble, looking for the right words to say. And that was weird, seeing as how he was on the phone.
"Damn Gnomes," he sleepily said to himself. "Huagh!" He yawned, "I'll be there in a minute, Tweekers. Just, ah... stay tight. Love ya." He finished, letting his eyes drift left and right, seeing if anyone of those damn Asian girls or whoever in South Park were listing to their conversation.
"NGAH!" Was his response before the light died down.
Craig stood up, extending his arms upwards, pushing back his shoulders in a small rotation, then cracked his head side to side.
He then walked to the pile of clothing that laid before the dresser and practically threw his sweatshirt on because by this time, he was half naked. Everything else was more like a routine to him. The same old boring cycle: drop the chullo on his head, put on some pants, spray himself with some cheap perfume, and throw whatever he needed in his parcel. Several pairs of boxers, a pair of pants, and a tiny Swiss army knife.
And then it came upon him, like a thief in the night. A pang of pain in his chest, as if a bullet had shot through him. He shook his head, trying to ignore it and continued towards the door of his room.
-#-
He walked on the dark, snowy streets of South Park slowly. Not because he wanted to, however not because he was obliged to or forced to either. It seemed like a reflex. Was that the right term? It seemed as if time had slowed down itself, as cliché that sounded. He looked at the snow, his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.
Somewhere here, a little child might've been crying, a little child might've been laughing for something small. Maybe they were pushed? Maybe they've gotten a gift? Maybe they've lost a parent? Or were taken by one? The possibilities were endless, and often times Craig would let his mind wonder about this. It helped none in speeding up time for him. Worsened it, even. It was nostalgic. Happy memories of his childhood would come to him and he'd smile to himself, wondering why it couldn't have stayed the same.
Somewhere along the road, he expected a bench, where old Mr. McCormick often hung out. He was, in the whole town, the poorest father and his oldest son, Kevin McCormick, would often provide for him. He was notorious of being an alcoholic, but in the days where Craig would be alone, walking up this path, he would often stumble upon him and he would sit next to him, and they would begin talking. Sometimes about Craig's apparent ignorance of politics, sometimes about the father's drinking problems and other times, it would be a simple wave and a smile.
But as he passed by it, he noticed the seat empty. By this time, Mr. McCormick would've been here, looking at the stars or whatever. No, but instead, he found a note. He picked it up.
The letter felt warm, as if it had just been made. It was made of parchment, which made it look ancient.
And upon reading it, he threw it away and ran faster.
-#-
He reached Tweek's house and didn't even need to knock. Tweek's parents had lent him a key and, well, all he really needed to do was walk quietly.
He came up the staircase, made of the same old polished wood, where the same old fungi grew just underneath a crack, almost unnoticeable, that was always moist. Craig sighed.
He stood in front of Tweek's room. Softly, he touched the surface, feeling every fiber of wood and gloss, every speck of dust. It just felt so... meaningless, so empty. Slowly, he knocked.
"GAH!" Tweek cringed, "I-Is th-that you, Craig?"
"Yeah." He said, trying to force himself to smile. Fake boyfriends had to treat each other happily, right?
"NGH!" Tweek opened the door, his head cracking to the side as it always did. "Hey."
Craig looked down, feeling Tweek stare at him. He felt his hands crawl up to his own cheeks, trying to tilt his head.
"Craig..." Tweek started, "H-have you been crying? Ngh..." He did his best to suppress his tic.
He pressed his eyes shut, "N-no..." He tried to say in his usual monotone voice.
"Hey," Craig said, shaking his head, "I've got the underwear." He continued, looking at the small blanket Tweek used as a makeshift skirt. Tweek let him in the room, and pushed him on the bed and sat next to him.
"Dude, what's wrong?"
Craig's shoulders slumped. It was time to surrender. He gladly accepted a cup of brewed coffee that Tweek offered (made from a coffee maker that stood handy in his room), and began sipping.
"Dude... I just... I haven't been feeling well." He said, looking towards Tweek, "You sure you're not gonna put on some boxers?"
"N-not unless you tell me -NGH- wh-what's wrong."
Craig craned and cracked his neck, "I don't know, Tweek, honestly. I just... I feel so empty. Mr. McCormick... he died today. Kenny put a letter on the bench. Said he got overdosed and wouldn't get a funeral." He huffed softly in his breath, "Tweek... it's just... everything we do... what's the point? If it feels good, if it feels bad... what'll be the outcome? What'll come after?"
"D-Dude..." Tweek started, "T-This isn't -NGH- like you."
"I just... I feel so empty. It's like you wanna do something but you don't want to for some reason. Something's happened to everything and something will happen to something. And... I just... I can't stop constantly thinking about it. I don't know if this is depression or something. I don't know."
"Craig," Tweek said, "I-I wanna tell you s-something. It's that... I... I w-wanna be -NGH- r-real with you."
"Real... how?"
"T-This way." Tweek grabbed hold of Craig's cheek and pulled him forward, letting his arms wrap themselves around Craig's shoulders. And for a second, the two separated for a slice of breath, "C-Craig... I-I don't wanna pretend -NGH- anymore. I-I d-don't wanna say that I p-pretend c-care for you because... b-because I really d-do."
"Tweek... I'm not gay."
"Are you sure, Craig?" He said, letting his tongue lick the corner of his neck, "Y-you seem to like that. You seem to -NGH- enjoy my hand when we're alone. D-do you really h-have to be gay to like s-someone of the same gender? Craig, y-you say something's happened to everything... and well... i-it's true. The y-years we've been pretending to k-keep the town happy... t-they've made me realize wh-what a great guy you are. I-I know you're hurting and... I-I think I've said this before, but I just wanna fix whatever's hurting you now."
"Tweek..." He paused, "For real, this time? No pretending?"
"I d-don't want to -NGH- anymore." Tweek pushed Craig down the bed, pressing his lips against his. Craig found himself returning the favor... found himself enjoying it. It was definitely better than any girl he's ever been with. He found his own member beginning to enlarge.
He moaned as Tweek moved to his neck, sucking, hitting him in spots he's never knew. If he never knew them in the first place, why did Tweek? He tried to open one of his eyes, as he saw Tweek passionately doing his thing, pulling the collar of his sweatshirt and moving there.
He groaned, wrapping his hands around Tweek's back, pulling him closer as the blonde made his nerves stand on end, pleasure coursing through his veins.
"Ugh..."
Craig loosened up a bit as Tweek pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed his pants away. And he tensed again as the blond grabbed his gorging phallus. He rubbed the tip of his gland with his thumb and the other's back arched as pleasure came down like bolts of lightning.
"Tweek..." He moaned as the other pulled down his boxers, and cupped his hand around it, moving gently, up and down, each pump sending a jolt of an in-explainable yet enjoyable feeling that reverberated up his system. His breathing became quicker, more heavy. Has he ever felt this way before?
He panted louder, as he felt Tweek's wet, slippery mouth take him in, bobbing slowly but pleasantly. Each push felt like drug, like his nerves were being injected with something addicting and that felt good.
His pants grew faster, and faster, until...
Tweek stopped and took off his head. Craig saw as he looked at him with those delicate, coffee-brown eyes. He watched, his heart pacing faster, as these eyes closed in his own, and their lips meeting again, passionately moving, deepening and loosening, tongues swirling against each other.
From the table nearby, he saw Tweek take a bottle of lube. Or was it lotion? He didn't know, not like it mattered. It would work either way.
A sloppy, wet finger began to touch his entrance, circling it a little, massaging the area. Craig twitched, his eyes half-closing. A moan escaped his mouth, a smile with it and a suppressed laughter.
"Tickles..." He managed to say. Tweek giggled.
He grunted, as he felt a finger finally coming into him, moving in and out, feeling the edges for that tiny, pleasure-filled bump.
He took in a sharp breath as a second finger came in, stretching him out a little, continuing for the search of said bump. His breathing became thick, but as Tweek touched his prostate, he would moan loudly, trying to keep it in, to not make any noise that would've awoken Tweek's parents or neighbors. What would it do for them anyway? If anyone would've seen them, they would've done nothing but go 'awh' and 'how sweet' on them.
Finally, a third finger came and Craig could not help but grunt. There was a tiny pang of pain just around the rim. However, it slowly faded away as he dropped down his tense shoulders, trying his best to keep relaxed.
"Are you ready?" Softly, he said. "I-I don't w-wanna hurt -NGH- you."
Craig stared at him, at his gorgeous eyes, the way they softly looked upon him, his golden eyebrows furrowed. A look of sincerity. I don't wanna pretend anymore.
He gasped in a heavy breath and relaxed. He was a little reluctant to say yes, but he eventually nodded, pulling Tweek's head towards his, kissing him passionately as the blonde entered him.
"Nghh..." He moaned, as Tweek thrusted in him his shaft, slowly pushing inward and out. Craig felt his body getting weaker, less... together, if that could explain anything. It was like a pleasure-drug was being injected one by one into each of his cells, stimulating his nerves.
He tried to stretch his leg up which was cramping and found it really awkward. The two stopped for a moment, laughing. He placed his hand on the back of Tweek's head and kissed him, urging the other to continue.
Craig felt Tweek shift his position a little bit, just to get a little comfortable on the bed. It was nothing too drastic, but it made him feel much better.
"Tweek..." Craig said, as he felt the tiny spot in his lower region get hit.
"Unf... Craig..." Tweek placed his forehead against his, "Y-you look s-so... so damn handsome."
The two pitched a silent scream as they came. They fell on each other, Craig taking a smug smile.
"I do?" He said.
"W-well yeah." Tweek replied, "W-w-wouldn't you have f-figured it out already?"
"No."
"Well, I guess you're really blind." Tweek said, "Everyone l-loves you, Craig. Everyone. -NGG- The girls are probably wanting to have you suck their puss for a hamburger, the boys want to b-be you. Heck, e-even the teachers... th-they l-like to scold you. Th-they like it when you c-come t-to their office.
"I wouldn't say the same about myself." He continued, placing his hand just beside Craig's side, where he leaned his head on, the other crawling its way to circle Craig's chest, "I don't feel loved. I have friends, sure, and they're g-good ones. Th-they're a-a-always there for me. B-but it feels like it's obligat-tory for them. I don't know. I'd just... I-I'd wanna f-feel loved. B-by you. If w-we're gonna c-continue with our c-confessions then I-I'll start.
"Craig Tucker, I l-l-love you. I love you w-with a-all my heart. I know it sounds cliché but whatever. I've loved you since we began being fake boyfriends. I just... I wish you'd feel the same about me. But what's there to love, I guess?"
Craig was taken aback. He stared at Tweek's eyes, looking at how they tried not to look back, at how those eyelids tried to hide them. He took Tweek by his cheek and kissed him, much longer this time. Longer than the longest one they had, trying to savor every moment, to enjoy everything. How his tongue moved, how his breath felt.
When they parted, Craig whispered, "We should go to sleep, dear. It's really late."
Tweek smiled, and Craig suspected tears down the side of his eyes. But eventually, he fell, his hand draped around Craig's bare chest, snoozing down the sounds of the crickets, the darkness of the unseen shadows from the moonlight's glare.
Craig thought to himself. He laid there, wondering. Maybe he really did like Tweek. Maybe he should've expressed true feelings for his I love you's and kisses. He slowly shook his head, and fell to sleep, his forehead touching Tweek's. This was no time to overthink about things.
After all, they day was still early.