I'm currently in the process of re-editing this entire story, huzzah :D Also, I was just told by w0rmsign that this story is "the longest case of blue balls" they've ever had. Best compliment I've ever received.
Feta-Fingers32: Good, good. Craig and Nicki Minaj are my OTP.
Aontut: I'm honored to got gotten your emotions running (: Here's that next chapter you've been waiting ridiculously long for.
dotdotdanii: Craig's POV is always fun to write (:
Let me pick you up.
I had five text messages lined up and that's what every single one of them said. Craig was adamant about hanging out today, but this day in particular just so happened to be the day that I was out shopping with Thomas—something the niorette wouldn't be very interested in. I'd warned him last night that I wouldn't be available for the next twenty-four hours to which he's said, "Challenge accepted." Currently, we were in the midst of an all out war.
I'm having fun without you. Don't ruin my day, I sent back, just now getting snarky when none of former had worked:
Sorry! I told you last night we couldn't hang out today.
I'm at the mall so that's a pretty far drive and you don't want to waste gas.
I can't just leave Thomas here.
No. I'd rather him not get into a car with you. The wound is still fresh from the last time we all hung out.
I was beginning to think that he was just trying to annoy me into hanging out with him. His offer was tempting, but I really was having fun.
The last time I'd actually hung out with Thomas in a building that hadn't been school or the coffeehouse had been months ago. I felt like a horrible friend for that alone, but it's just that Craig was taking up all my spare time and vice versa. Supposedly, Clyde hated me again because his best friend was no longer around—again. Thomas wasn't as picky as Clyde, but I felt like our separation was beginning to make him anxious, so of course I had to fix that. The last thing I wanted was for him to be suspicious for any reason.
Phone vibrating, I looked down to see that Craig had sent: Then try on some of your gay little outfits that you're looking at and send me some pictures so I won't feel like I'm alone ):
Smiling, I asked him where Clyde and Token were. I returned my phone to my pocket just as Thomas appeared beside me with a couple of shirts thrown across his arm. We were standing in a pit of jeans; they were hanging from the wall, on circular racks, cross racks, stacked on tables, and they all belonged to girls.
"I always hate this part the most," I confessed, idly plucking at the seam of one pair with my fingernails.
Thomas had no shame when shopping for clothes, even in the girl's section whereas I found it incredibly embarrassing and constantly feared that people were going to think I was a transvestite. The fact was that I just liked jeans for girls. In my ever-growing collection of them, there was a mixture for both male and female, but the ones specifically made for chicks just looked nice. That's all there was to it. They were made for my gay little legs and they fit so perfectly and I definitely had the thighs for them where some girls just didn't.
But it was the initial act of shopping and trying them on that always left me an anxious butterball. Having Thomas there certainly helped, but he couldn't take away my fears entirely. As I sifted through the ones stacked on the table, I continuously glanced back at the golden blonde to make sad faces that made him laugh. He found my terror to be the funniest thing, especially when I had to go into the dressing room—obviously made for girls. I would drag him in with me, but I didn't want any of the employees to think we were buttfucking in their store.
Thomas tapped my shoulder mid-search, informing me that he was going to go look at pair of jeans just a few racks over. When my pleading for him not to leave didn't work, I glared and sent him on his way, nervously taking my phone from my pocket to look like I was busy with a ton of friends rather than searching like a lonely gay fuck through girl's jeans.
Craig had sent a simple Call me, to which I quickly did, thankful for the distraction.
"What are you doing?" He asked immediately after picking up.
Rolling my eyes, I placed my phone between my cheek and shoulder and held a pair of pants up at eye-level. Thinking I'd found a winner, I turned them around and saw the sequined butt pockets and put them down forlornly; I didn't want anyone to think I had a golden butthole with those babies.
"Looking at p-pants. It's really scary. Everyone's staring at me even though there's like, no one in the store."
Craig laughed at that, causing me to smile. His tone over the phone was deeper and I found it very attractive.
"So are you going to send me a picture of your butt or something when you finally try something on?" There was an odd chirp hidden beneath his voice and I wondered if he had Stripe running across his chest.
I blushed at his question, not having thought that far ahead. All I knew was that he'd requested a picture. Not of what.
"I-I don't know. Probably not, dude. That's embarrassing!" He laughed again and made light kissing noises that told me I'd been right: Stripe was with him.
Bluntly, he said, "You should find a pair that makes your ass look nice."
My cheeks were burning, I could feel it like a fever in face, and my fingers fumbled as I continued to search the clothing racks. "I-Is my butt not good enough as it is?" Sweet Jesus, that sounds so lewd. Get rid of it! "I-I mean, uhm. Do you w-want it to look bigger or something?" Fuck my life. Groaning, I scratched my head and waited for Craig's reply.
Instead of the humor I was expecting, he commented simply, "Your butt's fine." Craig thinks my butt's fine. I should not have been so giddy over that. Dear God no. "I'm talking about shape."
Everything died inside of me. "Is it lopsided?" I asked, and never before had I heard myself speak so seriously.
That got him to laugh. "No, dude. Stop freaking out. I'm just suggesting you get a pair that gives your ass a nice shape. That's all."
Yeah, I got that just fine. But why did I need to give my butt a nice shape? He wasn't alluding to his ulterior motive! If my ass was fucking disgusting, he'd tell me, wouldn't he?
"It's shapeless?"
"Dude!" He exclaimed, laughing briefly. "Stop talking in that tone of voice. It's scaring me."
"Answer the question, Craig." I was wholly prepared to do squats if that was what he was trying to tell me. Shapelessness wasn't going to beat me. I was gay—I knew the tricks of the trade.
"Holy shit, man. Your butt's perfectly fine. I wouldn't grab it if it wasn't, alright?" Whatever forsaken alter ego had taken control of me fled with that single reassurance. My figure deflated from its tense, upright posture and I slumped down behind the racks in an attempt to hide myself from the employees.
"O-okay." Folding the pair I currently held of which just weren't quite right, I set them back down and turned around to investigate the jeans on the wall. Usually the wall ones were good, otherwise they wouldn't be given such a direct place to sit. "So w-where's Clyde and Token?"
"I don't know. Being assholes." Craig made the kissing noises again. "Say hi to Stripe. He misses you and really wants you to come over so you can spend some time with him. Here he is—oh, and he's in a bad mood because you're not here, so be gentle with him." There was a distinct shuffling noise before, from farther away, Craig encouraged, "It's Tweek. Say hello... I know, I hate him too for being such a selfish, dickless fucker. Leaving us to die alone like this. What a prick." His voice came closer to ask, "Did you talk to him?"
"Yep," I lied. "He did sound very upset. Thanks for the warning." The niorette hummed as I found a dark washed pair of jeans that, at first glance, came across as promising. When I picked them up, the feel of the fabric—light yet sturdy—encouraged my selection.
"Did you tell him you love him?" I told Craig yes. "Did you tell him that I love him?" I told Craig yes. "Did you hear him crying because that's what guinea pigs do when they're very sad?" I told Craig yes, scouring through identical pairs of the jeans I liked for one in my size. "Did you promise him you'd see him today?" I told Craig yes and then, "God damn it." His coy laughter was echoing through our connection.
Sighing, I asked, "Are you seriously going to come pick me up?" As he told me that that was exactly what was going to happen, I found the right size and picked them out of the bunch. "Can you at least give me some time? We seriously just got here, dude. I thought you wanted me to find some jeans that'll make my butt shapely."
That one seemed to snag him. "You've got ten minutes and then whatever time it takes for me to get down there. I'm naked and need to put some clothes on, so." He left it at that and he was being completely honest. Craig was a half-nudist, I swear to god.
The thought of him naked, although I had no clue what I expected him to look like, made my pulse stunt. "And you're with Stripe?" There was an affirmative noise from his line. Teasingly, I jibed, "That poor animal."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that." The niorette's tone was mocking, smug, and cruel. "I'm surprised Kenny hasn't told you. My penis is fucking godly. You chose the right guy to fuck around with, trust me."
And then he hung up, and I looked down at my jeans, mentally begging them to be the right ones.
"So who was that on the phone?" Thomas called from the other side of the dressing room. Nervous, I recounted our entire conversation trying to remember if there had been any moments where I'd flirted in an obvious manner or called Craig cute or said I wanted to touch his penis or—What if my best friend had planted a listening device next to the ear piece of my phone? Had he heard everything Craig said to me?
Abruptly terrified, I stopped zipping up the jeans I was trying on and scrabbled for my phone in the pocket of my real pair. I didn't even care if the golden blonde had caught the snippet about my ass. It was the last thing Craig had said to me that was absolutely never allowed to reach Thomas. Not even the very last thing—fuck, Thomas could find out the truth for all I cared, but not that Craig supposedly had a phenomenal penis. If that ever happened, then it was all over for me. He'd think he was in love with the niorette or something equally ridiculous!
But then my eye caught the mirror while I stood there, hunkered over my phone.
As I straightened out, my head tipped to the side, and tentatively, slowly, my body turned at an angle. At my reflection, my eyebrows shot up, arching triumphantly. The flicker of a smile fleetingly touched my lips and I called back to Thomas in an idle manner, "It was Craig." My thoughts and vision never left the mirror.
Having gone through numerous quickly-found pairs of jeans and determining only one a mere maybe—but maybe wasn't good enough when I wanted to impress Craig—it seemed to me that this pair, the one I was wearing now, was just what I'd been looking for. My butt didn't look any bigger or smaller, which wasn't what Craig had suggested. It looked...
It looks tight. God, I felt raunchy thinking that.
It was at that point that I realized what I'd just done.
I've been shopping to please Craig.
Suddenly I was airless, weightless, breathless, and I had to lean against the dressing room wall to brace myself. My chest was shakily rising and falling.
Oh, dear God.
But I was trying to keep an insatiable smile from consuming my face by biting down on my bottom lip. These jeans were mine.
Unexplainably excited, so rapid as though shot with adrenaline, I pulled away from the wall and moved to stand before the mirror again, using it this time for a different reason. It was very rare that I ever looked at my body and actually paid attention to it, but I'd force myself to stare this time. I had to.
There were the hickeys on my shoulder, the ones that Craig had described as 'like, five' when in reality it was like the whole goddamn expanse of my skin. Looking at them on me instead of having to look down at my arm made me adore them even more. From there I was just like a plank of wood. I didn't have curves or shape or structure. No matter how much Craig liked to tease me about it, I was't that skinny either. Well—I was. But it wasn't gross. Currently I was in the midst of filling out.
My hip bones and collarbones stuck out and I could easily feel my ribs beneath my skin. Tugging on the belt loops of the jeans, a soft blue shade that went well with the creamy color of my skin, I fortified my knowledge that I did not wear grandpa pants. I could sag my jeans as low as I wanted and never have to worry about encountering pubic hair because I didn't have any—or I did, but I got rid of that shit as soon as it started growing. My torso was long, and accentuated how slender my figure was, but in an agile sort of way. Only I wasn't.
This is unique. I even examined my nose to see whether I could find Noomi Rapace in there anywhere. After staring at the subtle flatness of it, I decided that I did look a little like an Avatar—not Noomi. Faun sounded cuter though, even though I was pretty sure fauns had big round noses like Tumnus from Narnia. I wasn't going to lie, I'd had a crush on him when the movie first came out.
Sending Craig a telepathic You Where Right trophy, I bent down to retrieve my shirt, and just had my head sticking out of it when Thomas's own peeked underneath the cropped door. I screamed, thoughts about listening devices and Craig-sounded-pretty-damn-sure-his-penis-was-the-shit renouncing throughout my mind. Quickly, although they were already covered, I shoved the arm attached to my hickey-doused shoulder through my shirt's armhole to make sure there was no way he'd see them.
"You didn't answer me so I had to check if you'd died standing up or something," he snickered. I had no clue what he was talking about—I had answered him about who was on the phone—and hurriedly started peeling off the jeans that I swore would be mine. Thomas complimented, "Those look nice". I thought, I know. Craig's going to know, too. "So did he or didn't he?"
Oh, holy fucking shit. He knows. He fucking knows. "W-What?"
"Oh my god, dude," the golden blonde heaved an exasperated sigh. "Did Craig have a hickey the other day? You—bitch—saw it, didn't you? It was right there, right on his neck."
I didn't know whether to feel an immense wave of relief or allow myself to be washed away by another unshakable round of fear. He hadn't figured it out but he'd be suspicious. Not of me, because I was his best friend and there was no way I'd abuse his trust, but of someone he thought—No. He wouldn't think of anyone other than who I told him it was.
"Oh. Yeah, t-that was a hickey." Slinging my legs through my original pair of jeans so I wouldn't have to look at him as I betrayed him, I lied, "It could've been Kenny. You know he'll do anything if he gets something in return. B-But I think it might've been Red. She was hanging out with Craig j-just before we did."
Red would understand. I'd give her a heads up. And then what? I'd just screwed myself over with that one. She would know that it was me she was covering for and then it would be the same thing as it always was. Once one person found out, everyone did. No one could know about this, and yet I'd just instigated the revelation process all on my own. Thomas would question Kenny, Kenny would question Red, Red would cover for me but she might've told someone already, and then Kenny would find it in himself to figure out who the real culprit was.
He'd be successful, too. He was good at investigating like that.
Grinning that grin of his that was nothing short of flirtatious, Thomas cooed, "So he lets random people give him hickeys?" I'm not random, I wanted to growl. "He and Red don't have any special connection, do they?" Sometimes I underestimated my best friend. He was probably turned on by the thought of 'random' hickeys appearing on Craig's body, but he wouldn't think as much if he knew they'd come from me.
"They're actually pretty good friends." And they had sex together, lost their virginities to each other. "He treats her like he does Token." But Thomas wouldn't understand that. He didn't see the way Craig cherished Token like I did, and I was positive that I didn't even see a great portion of their friendship.
Having returned to my clothes, I grabbed the jeans and a sweater I liked, tapped Thomas's head—still on the floor—with my shoe and exited the dressing room. He got up from the ground where I pushed him to leave the dressing area first, that way I could hide behind him and nobody would suspect me as being a tranny, although thinking we'd buttfucked was inevitable I was sure.
"Well," Thomas began once he was purchasing my clothes with my money. I just didn't have the balls to do it myself. "Since we're on the topic of Craig and all..." He smiled at me, taking my bagged clothing, but I didn't like the way it was setting on his face. "Do you think maybe you could lay off with the touching? You know, like, I feel like you guys were extra touchy with each other."
Covering his suspicion up hastily was easy, because for once, I could tell him the truth. "That's just how Craig is. He'll be like that with you, t-too." Unfortunately. But then his tone of voice registered in my brain and it occurred to me that he was jealous. Thomas was jealous of me.
My best friend who had always been more successful than me in everything, even medically, because Tourettes was fucking awesome and a collection of tics and medication and paranoia wasn't—he was jealous and it was all thanks to Craig. The niorette could make the most impossible situations happen in my life. I'd been kissed, I had hickies, all of these feelings that I never thought I'd experience, Thomas was jealous. Everything was falling off of Craig and colliding into me and I was trying to catch all of it desperately. I wanted all of it, and Thomas wasn't going to steal anything.
This was mine and I wanted him jealous. "Well, since we're on the topic of Craig and all..." I repeated, smiling skittishly. "He's kind of on his way to pick me up. He uhm—needs help in trigonometry." Which wasn't an absolute lie, but I knew Thomas wouldn't ask to join if math was involved. He'd finished anything and everything that had to do with math his junior year.
"You're really just going to ditch me?" Although he sounded disappointed, I could already tell he was figuring out who he'd call come down to the mall to replace me. It'd probably be Kenny and then I could only guess what would happen. The perverted blonde had a way of sneaking into people's pants and Thomas was one of his favorites to go after because he knew he'd make it. Since finding out how prude I was, he'd given up on me, but my best friend was another case entirely.
The golden blonde liked to say that he wasn't a slut, that he had 'needs'. It was just that all the phone numbers he had on his phone attached to names like Big Dick Seth and Drew In My Pants was a little promiscuous. To think that he wanted Craig to fulfill those needs made me want to stick the niorette into a secluded room with security cameras and only me as a guard because I could only trust myself. "One day you'll have them too, but you're too prude to think they exist right now," Thomas liked to say.
But that wasn't true. I was just waiting, and I could, because I had an iron sense of control over my body. Just not a particularly strong one when it came to Craig.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and announced, "He's here and wants me to get him a smoothie." Glancing around, I took notice that we were headed toward the center of the mall where the food court was located. On the outskirts of the multitude of petite restaurants was a smoothie shack. Thomas and I began heading there in unison.
"Guess I'll just have to invite Kenny over," he sighed, procuring his own phone. "He's not going to be happy having to come all the way down here, Tweek. I want you to know that."
Rolling my eyes, I told him, "Just suck him off. He'll run over here if that's what it takes."
"I do plan on doing that," Thomas snickered.
Good, I thought. You stay with Kenny and just leave Craig to me. He didn't need someone like Thomas who played around with other guys. I wanted him to want me, someone who did nothing with other guys. Craig could trust me. I wanted to trust him, too.
"He's probably one of the sexiest guys in South Park—not gunna lie. Craig, I mean." Did Craig deserve someone who thought he was just a probably? "He doesn't even try, you know? That's probably why. It's an effortless attraction."
"You think?" I idly questioned, pondering the smoothie menu rather than what my best friend was saying. Everything that left his mouth made me want to slam his head against the ground. Thinking that I wanted Craig to try something knew, I decided to get him something with pomegranate.
"Definitely. I could drool over how tall he is. Oh wait, I am right now. It's all over the floor. People are going to drown in it." We moved up a place in line and I didn't think it could go any slower. "His hair looks really good all long and dark," you have me to thank for that, "and his legs never fucking end, my God."
I listened to him talk like that about Craig through the rest of that torturous line, all through another store he dragged me into because it was new, and all the way down to the parking lot. He never once shut up and I had to hear him verbally rape my goddamn crush as he continued on about all of the things that he liked, and they were all of the things that I liked. His hair, his legs, his height, his lopsided smile, his hands, that random whiff of his vanilla and cigarette conjoined aroma. Thomas yacked my fucking head off and all I could think was, but I like that too.
In the parking lot we found Craig resting with his chair reclined, arms over his face to block out the dimming light. I wanted to ponder on how nice he looked with his torso stretched out like it was, but I couldn't manage to formulate any sensible thoughts because all I could stare at was the elongated expanse of his bare chest. He was wearing a flannel, but it wasn't buttoned, and the way he had his arms raised caused the sides of his shirt to slip away from his flesh.
His ribcage was prominent when he inhaled, and his skin was so pale in the dusty light that his happy trail had collected shadows, standing out stark. Staring enraptured, I couldn't understand how that had been what my own had pressed against the other night. I felt like I'd been cheated because those stupid lights had been off the entire time. This was what my eyes had missed? Fuck.
From behind me came, "Someone's looking fuckable today, aren't they?"
Jolting, a shriek flew from my mouth, cut off unexpectedly as I threw my hand across my lips and elbowed Kenny in the ribs with the other. Even as he keeled over, he was laughing. In his car, Craig spread his elbows to glance through them and out the window. Thomas waved sweetly and I wanted to bite his fingers off.
Sitting up, Craig rolled his window down just a touch and requested his smoothie through the slot. Glaring at his antic, I slid it through and asked Kenny, "How the h-hell did you get down here so fast, dude?"
"I was over at Tyler's house," he explained, collecting me against his chest where he attacked my hair with fingers. "It's literally just down the street." I tried to swat him away but he was vehement, knocking my head around between his hands like it was the most entertaining thing in the world.
"Your drug dealer?" Craig asked, having rolled his window down the rest of the way.
So Kenny was on drugs. That explained everything. "Yes sir," he answered, smiling against the back of my head. "Gunna party soon and you're all invited."
"You might not want to extend that privilege to Tweek," Thomas warned. I rolled my eyes as though he were exaggerating the circumstance, but it was true.
"Why's that?" Craig asked, smirking. I was positive he'd formulated a multitude of reasons in his head. All of them must've been ridiculously enthusing for his eyes were glinting like sparkling, frothy lakes. I wondered if he was pondering the right one.
"Tweek's a belligerent drunk," Kenny answered.
Quickly cutting in I said, "I'm not belligerent."
But Thomas was agreeing, saying, "He drinks until he can't stand and then he starts screaming, wrecks houses, and if your playing beer pong, he kicks you out and takes your spot. He throws up wherever the fuck he feels like it, too."
Craig's smile was a mixture of surprise and disbelief.
The farthest I got in my attempt to redeem my drunken self was, "I don't—"
Kenny cut me off with: "He has an array of emotional responses too. One time he cried all night and passed out holding my bed post. Another time he got so angry we had to lock him in the bathroom where he talked to himself all night and cleaned the shit out of my bathtub. And then the next morning he'll remember absolutely nothing."
"D-Don't forget how fun I am!" They were only mentioning the embarrassing parts. I didn't want Craig to think I couldn't be a belligerently fun drunk. "Like that t-time I got everyone to play that card game where you s-stick it to your forehead. Everyone loved that game!"
Thomas and Kenny told Craig to ignore me and he did just so, slurping his smoothie amusedly. "Okay, then!" Pushing and ducking out of Kenny's embrace, I said, "Looks like it's time to go."
Saying bye to Thomas had been the hardest, because while he was whispering vulgar things about Craig into my ear, I was trying so hard not to let him see the variety of emotions I couldn't manage to rein in on my face. All at the same time I wanted to cover my best friend's eyes, jump that ridiculously good-looking man in his car, punch him for teasing me purposefully, punch him again for unconsciously encouraging Thomas, and I couldn't seem to control myself so I quickly stowed away inside Craig's car, refusing to watch as Thomas made him get out so they could hug.
I returned Craig's smoothie when he got back in, and as he started slurping, he spoke around the straw and a mouthful of purple. "What's going on between you and Thomas?"
If I told you, then I don't know what would happen. You might switch me out for him.
"I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about him." Leaning toward the niorette, I reached out and daintily plucked open the neck of his flannel. As the hickey was revealed, I said, "I might've t-told Thomas that Red gave you that."
"She did," Craig admitted with a wink. "That scandalous whore."
My smile was appreciative. Perhaps the worst wasn't about to happen.
adfa