Rockstar AU

Craig X Tweek

Written by JEL

"You're nothing special

You're nothing new

I've seen it before

Done better than you

You're nothing special

You're nothing to me

And you're nothing to anyone

And never will be"

- Nothing Special- Mechanical Cabaret

Loud, blaring punk music was erupting as a continuous wave of deafening sound. A powerful voice practically screeched the morbid lyrics, singing of blood and necrophilia. The crowd there was yelling and screaming in enjoyment, relishing in the presence of the profanity and getting off on the pure thought of being within sight of their favorite band. A band that was incredibly popular, especially with people insane enough to drown out their emotions in the lake of fantasies and extreme vulgarity as a half assed escape from life. And as for the band's name, it was one that fit the bill in the middle of the exiting fantasy. ADDICTED TO THE BULLET was spelled obnoxiously in all capital letters, and typically displayed in the "I clawed this into a tree with a knife" font. Seemingly, they were just like any other Punk band. To their credit, they had good songs, for the genre. But what fans were attracted to, was the lead vocal, the one screaming bloody murder into the microphone.

His stage name was "Speed", and he was the strangest thing that almost looked normal. He was fairly short, blonde, and wore a N. Lejion green jacket. But he always looked tired, rings around his eyes permanently drawn on his face and a slow presentation of his words. And the way he talked- the way he acted, sent shivers up everybody's spine. It was as if, with a simple glimpse, he knew everything about you, and he used it to manipulate you just because he could.

Craig Tucker shifted his way through the crowd, griping to himself. The place way so small, but it was packed like a stadium. What was such a famous band doing playing in a BAR, anyway? Why not play in an actual fucking stadium, instead of playing here, a tiny bar with only two servers to keep up with all these drunkards?

Craig picked up an empty glass off a table, adding to his tray of plates and such to clean. It was hard to see through all these people, and he was getting fed up with it. He pushed his way to the "stage", and was able to look up and see the asshole that was being so hyped over. Speed, who had the biggest douche-y smirk painted on, seemed to be loving all the attention, or he could sense Craig's torture, and was getting off on it. Craig stood there to observe this crackhead-looking motherfucker. He was messy as all hell, his hair must of never been combed or washed in his whole goddamn life. And he looked drained, but yet, he was shrieking into the mic like he just woke up from hibernation. THIS was the guy these people were here to see? What a fucking joke, dude.

Craig saw Speed start staring at him, and that cocky smirk widened a little. He crouched on the edge of the stage, microphone in hand, and he talked into it.

"You a fan of what ya see, pretty boy?" Speed asked him.

Craig was taken back a little. Was this asshat really talking to him? And did he just call him "pretty boy"?

He flipped him off. "Fuck off and get back to your show, asshole."

The star of the show smiled even wider. "Oh, come on, how'd you like to spend the night with me, yeah?"

"Fuck. Off." Craig pushed back through the people, hearing one last remark from the ATTB lead singer.

"Aw, babe, come back. You know I was just messing around. Ha ha ha."

Craig wiped the tables down with a worn old rag, lost in personal, routine thoughts. The place had finally cleared out after that idiot was finished showing his ass. All that was left to do was clean and lock up, and he could go home. He hated working in this bar, but it's what filled his pocket full of paper. He went back behind the bar, and rang out and washed the rag. While doing so, he felt someone sit down on the other side. Craig looked up, and to his despair, it was Speed, looking as stupid and drugged up as ever. At first he tried to ignore him, but he got too annoyed from that retarded grin that he had to say something.

"What do you WANT?" Craig griped.

Speed hummed. "You know who I am?"

"Yeah, an asshole that sings for a shitty band."

"Funny. But not what I meant, pretty boy." Speed rest his cheek in his hand. "I meant, do you remember who I am? Because, we HAVE met before."

"I highly doubt we have. I think I would of remembered a fucker like you."

"Well, you see… that's the thing. I wasn't a fucker like me the last time we met. I was a whole lot different, actually."

"So you blossomed into the pampered douchebag you are today, congratu-fucking-lations. What do you want, a medal?"

"The last time you saw me, I was pretty crazy. I was really paranoid about everything, chugged caffeine into my garbage body daily, and we once kicked each other's asses because we were tricked into thinking we hated each other."

The gears grinded in Craig's head, slowly loading the answer in his thoughts.

Speed hummed again. "I'll give you a hint. What's my name?"

"Speed. The stupidest name I've ever heard."

"Right, and besides going fast, what does 'speed' mean?"

"I don't know? Drugs?"

"Right, like meth. And if you do meth, what're you called?"

He searched this crazy dude's expression. "A… tweaker?"

"Yep. Now think about it for a second."

There was a long pause before the little lightbulb turned on in his head. "… Tweek..?"

"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner." Tweek rolled his eyes. "Sorry, though, I don't have a prize for you."

"No fucking way, there is not a chance in HELL that YOU, are TWEEK fucking TWEAK."

"Well, I am. I always knew I'd go to hell."

"Dude, you're a fucking asshole now."

"I know, it's fun." Tweek hummed again. "But, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I guess I didn't recognize you at first, but after thinking for a while, I made the connection. Been a while, huh, Craig?"

"Uh, yeah, but… what the fuck happened to you?"

"Aha, there it is. I knew you'd ask." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, putting one in his mouth. He offered one. "You want one, because I know you must still smoke. Young addicts have a harder time quitting while they're ahead."

Craig took a cigarette, and lit it off of Tweek's. "Thanks, I guess, but you didn't answer my question."

"I'm getting to it, don't worry." He blew a puff of smoke as he paused, resting his eyes. "To make a long story short, I had a mental breakdown, went batshit crazy, and finally saw what the answer to my problems were."

"Which was?"

"I'll tell you. It was something I should of realized AGES ago, but better late than never." Pause. "… Remember that time we fought each other? How we were hospitalized, and kinda became friends?"

"Hard to forget, really. What's your point?"

"Well, after that, I decided that I would keep boxing, y'know, to relieve pressure and all that other crazy shit going on in my head. I boxed everyday. I hit the punching bag, worked out, and became pretty comfortable with my physical ability. I fought in a couple tournaments, and I started to feel different. When I caved some kid's face in, I felt… satisfied. I felt strong for once. Then, I had my breakdown, and it kinda broke something up there, you know," Tweek circled his finger around his temple. "In my psyche. My mental process. So, I kinda just stopped caring about whether I was going to die, what was gonna happen in my life, or just life in general. Then I ran away. The rest is history from there. So the answer to my problems? Stop giving a crap."

"That's… heavy." Craig flicked the ashes off the end of his cancer stick.

"I guess." He shrug. "I don't mind it much. Though, I must confess that you draw me in. Not many have had the luxury of knowing all that."

"… So, why me, then? What changed your M.O.?"

"Well… my modus operandi changed because I might like you. I remember what an ass you always were, and I kind of wanted to see how far you'd let me go with you."

"… Are you saying that you're trying to pick me up?"

Tweek put out his cigarette by rubbing it on the bar counter. "Maybe I am. Depends. If you don't like me, or you're just homophobic, then I can get up and leave right now, if you wanna think of 'what might of been' when you lie awake tonight. If you're for it, or just a little bi-curious, then you can kiss me."

Craig made a face. "You're not serious, are you?"

Tweek leaned over the counter. "As a grease filled and funnel cake induced heart attack."

"You're fucking with me, you're not gay."

"If you don't believe me, kiss me. See how much of a liar I am for yourself."

He almost had Craig a bit cornered here. And as crazy as it sounded, he was leaning toward taking up the offer. Whether Tweek was serious here or not, Craig nearly didn't care.

And with a sudden lean, they kissed, and didn't stop kissing for a good couple minutes. Tongues swirled and teeth nipped as lips moved frantically against each other, a metal piercing from the blonde rubbing in the midst of it all. Tweek tasted like vanilla and whiskey, while Craig tasted like Juicyfruit and bourbon.

The make out session was interrupted by a harsh woman's yelling.

"Speed!" The girl approached, very angry looking.

Tweek rolled his eyes and groaned. "I can't get an hour from you, can I?"

"Augh, and you can't go ten minutes without another dick in your mouth!" She looked at Craig. "Uh, no offense to you."

"None taken, I guess."

"Yes, sorry. My name is Wendy Testaburger, THIS piece of work's manager." Wendy returned her attention to her client. "YOU. We need to get your drunk ass to the hotel, you have another show tomorrow."

"I am not DRUNK. I can form full sentences loquaciously and fluently without a fault in any word I say. I'm not a lightweight, Wen, you know that."

"Even so, you need to get back to your room."

"Can I take my new pretty boy with me?"

"No, Speed. The last thing you need right now is to screw another groupie. We're going, NOW."

"Yeah, no. I think I'm gonna stay. Or, at least, I'm wherever this one is." He smile at Craig.

Wendy sighed. "Look, uhm, kid, I don't exactly know why ANYBODY would have sex with this brain dead performer, but if you're looking for money or something, don't waste your breath. This cheapskate doesn't give out money for anything. He wouldn't even pay a prostitute after he screwed her. And speaking of prostitute, he probably has more diseases than any of them. So, just go home."

"Actually, Wen, Craig here knows me. Personally. We went to the same schools together, just as you and me. He just wants a taste of the good times, you see." Speed stood. " And I'll have you know I'm as CLEAN as a whistle. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading off on my own. Craig's welcome to join me, but I'm afraid no girls allowed. You know, cooties, and all. Nothing personal, Wen."

She grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him off. "Oh, no you don't! You have a show tomorrow, and I'm not letting you out of my sight!"

"Ah, okay, fine, just gimme one more second." Tweek ran over to Craig quickly, pulling out a pen and writing on his palm. He began writing a phone number on his hand while whispering something to him. "Meet me out back in ten."As the star and his manger left, Craig looked down at his hand. *888-8888*.

END PROLOGUE

This story is something I thought about really late at night. And since all my previous stories have been erased, I guess I'll post the first chapter here and see if it's worth continuing. ( I say while I have a whole askblog on Tumblr dedicated to this )

So, if you want more let me know, I've written quite a bit of this, so nothing can really be wasted from it.