South Park and its characters © Trey Parker and Matt Stone

Rated T for South Park language.

Tyler and I still go to fight club, together.

Pairing: Craig x Tweek

If Tweek Tweak had to explain why he loved fighting Craig Tucker so much, he would not be able to say.

The blond bit back the pain as Craig's fist made contact with his jaw. He lost his footing, tumbled back a few steps, and barely managed to keep himself in a standing position. Before he had time to retaliate, Craig landed a grazing shot at his nose. Tweek cried out at that. He breathed copper and tasted it on his tongue. He gagged at the fluid cruising down his throat. When he spit, his saliva hinted red. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked to Craig. The cruel excitement in Craig's face captivated his attention momentarily before his vision was blurred from a punch to the cheek. Craig spared no time, and Tweek was realizing that he should do the same.

He rolled on the ground until he had gained an opportunistic distance between the two bodies. He scrambled to his knees, just in time to block a dashing kick that was intended for his face. Before he could regain his composure, he had to stop another assault from Craig. He grabbed Craig's wrist, deferring the blow, and took his chance to deliver a punch to Craig's toned abdomen. It wasn't enough to push Craig back, but it did give Tweek enough time to begin a counterattack. In fact, it was a good thing that they were still in close proximity; Tweek didn't want to waste any energy. He fisted his hand and rammed it as hard as he could into Craig's chest. It knocked the air right out of Craig's lungs. Tweek almost grinned – almost, if it wasn't for the knuckle that grinded his cheekbone. His mouth opened. A whisper of a cry sputtered out like a broken engine. He lost his grip on Craig's wrist, and in a matter of seconds, Craig was raining punches down his ear like a horrible Rock Band drummer. Tweek couldn't hear himself think; only the sounds of bones bumping bones drummed.

The fight was one-sided to begin with, anyone could see that. But Tweek didn't mind. Maybe here was a reason why he loved fighting Craig: there was no pressure. He knew he couldn't win going into the fight. With no expectation to win, there was no pressure to have. It was exhilarating, giving him a high that caffeine had failed to provide over the years. In coffee's defense, the brown addiction did not leave his head ringing with pain the next morning. Craig grabbed him by his hair – a cheap move, really – and turned his head so they could see face-to-face. Beautiful and sexy Craig, his torso glistened with perspiration. Tweek licked his bruised lip. He could almost taste the other man. And he did when Craig's fist made contact with his lips. A tooth trembled, like it was trying to duck out of the way. Tweek swallowed blood. Tired eyes gazed upon his angel of destruction. Craig brought his knuckle down. Tweek threw his arms up to block. Like catapults wailing down on a castle wall, Craig landed punches after punches at the radius with the bloody intention of breaking it.

It hurt. It hurt so much. But Tweek didn't call off the fight. He let it go on. He let it happen until his body was raw with aches that would take weeks to heal. His senses twisted and mingled. When Craig punched him in the jaw, he thought he tasted armpits. When Craig uppercut him, he thought he heard Shelley Marsh's voice. When Craig kicked him in the guts, he thought he smelled Mr. Mackey's weed. He spit saliva and blood, but he couldn't taste either. It was a good thing in Tweek's half-conscious mind. The least he was aware of the pain, the better. His arms grew weary of blocking. They fell to his side, allowing Craig to deal the final blow.

Tweek was certain his nose was broken this time. The moment he stepped through the door, his parents would sit him down with a mug of coffee and asked him questions before grounding him for a week. Was he bullied in school again? What was the name of the boy that hit him? Did he tell the teachers? Why didn't he just run away? And Tweek would sip his Latin American house blend, shake his head no, and keep quiet about the incident. Once his wounds were healed, he would be back here in the empty warehouse, starting another duel with Craig. They would slam into each other. They would dance in punches and kicks that would land and miss. And at the end of the fight, if he was lucky, Craig would do exactly what he was doing right now.

Tweek just had enough left in him to lick the blood off his lips. Though, honestly, he did not need to since Craig's tongue was already doing the job. Craig was still rough, but instead of punches and kicks, he was assaulting Tweek with his mouth. Kisses parachuted on Tweek's purpling skin. He fluttered his eyelashes, a desperate gesture to stay awake. He parted his lips – his jaw screaming – and invited Craig in. His hand reached and found the last drop of strength to hold Craig close to him. Not that he needed to, really; Craig was practically slobbering over his face. Maybe here was another reason why he loved fighting Craig: it brought out the primal nature in both of them. It was only during the fights that Tweek had seen the poker-faced Craig smiled and grinned. That smile melted him. That grin shattered him. So he took the pain because if he could make Craig happy somehow, he didn't mind being a sparring partner.

Craig sucked on his bottom lip. Tweek meekly let out a moan. Even in his defeated state, Tweek fought tongue with tongue. Craig's fingers clawed at his scalp, pulling and tugging his strands of hair. Tweek didn't even feel the pain anymore. All he knew was that saliva and blood were mixing again and dripping on his taste buds. He could taste Craig, and if he could do that, he didn't mind the bruises or the broken bones. Nothing was solved when the fight was over, but nothing mattered.

So long as he could taste Craig, nothing mattered.

THE END

Boyue's Note: I actually kind of like this one. :D

07.17.10

10:06 PM