AN: Oh my God, this took forever to write. I hit a major wall... and then I went off and wrote two one-shots (which you should go read!) I blame the limes. Let me tell you, citrus is not my forte. But enough dillydallying! Read on!

… …

I really like watching Craig. I'm not even sure what made me walk into the bathroom the first time. All I was thinking was that I wasn't sure if he was lying or not when he said that he still wants me. Personally, I don't see my appeal, but whatever. I'm not the one boning me.

And then I walked in, and you know, it wasn't that hard (lies!) to see where he got that chubby from.

And, God, seeing him wet and dripping in more ways than one was just- ngh.

It turns me into a hot mess of goop, moaning right there along with him as he pumps his hand up and down that glorious slab of meat in between his legs.

It took a few days to follow pursuit, though.

But when I did, the heated look Craig gave me nearly made me cum before it was all the way out.

I mean, what else would a guy do if they had a hot fucker like Craig standing in his naked, hot glory in front of them when they hadn't gotten off in months?

… Yes, months. Shut up.

Today I was feeling adventurous. Or maybe I was just bored. Maybe I just felt empty, but I went to kneel on the toilet, leaning on the counter. I lubed up my finger.

"Hey, Craig."

I waited until I felt he was looking before sinking my finger in. It was a strange feeling, but not unpleasant.

What were really not unpleasant were Craig's groans.

"Jesus, Tweek."

Indeed.

… …

"What is this blasphemy?" Craig announced as he enters the front door. He was talking about the music I have blasting from our stereo.

"… Yo Yo Ma? Sonata N?"

"And why are you listening to Yo Yo Ma?"

"Well, it might not me Yo Yo Ma. I may or may not have downloaded it off a not-so-reliable website, so really it could be anyone. I mean, one time I downloaded a song by Bare Jr. that they said was Placebo. Now that is blasphemy. I am also not sure you know what blasphemy is." I see him move towards the stereo, presumably to skip the song, and I throw the orange I was previously planning to eat straight at his head.

It hits his shoulder, but close enough.

"Aye, back away from the music player! This is as far as I've ever gotten through this song, and I want to hear the end of it, damn it!" He gives me a dirty look, but moves to lay on the couch, staring at me.

See? I'm not the only one who likes watching.

I go to grab an apple (the orange is just going to have to rot on the floor until one of us decides to pick it up) and the knife, but then the knife morphs into an albino snake and shimmies up the wall.

Well, not physically. I suppose for you normal-seeing people it's still a knife sitting on the counter. But my brain has perceived it as a snake, and it shall remain a snake until proven otherwise.

We live in a world of perception. Everything is perception. Sparks in your brain is all the world is, really. Anything that isn't physical damage to your body doesn't exist unless you see it, feel it, know it. No amount of compassion can change that fact. They're just numbers and facts unless something crawls itself under your skin, and suddenly you care about that, but even that doesn't pop into existence from nowhere. Energy cannot be created. It comes from somewhere, otherwise it would just fall under the So Sad, Can't Help category.

Anyway. Perception. Bad perception = the crazies.

I wonder for a moment what's making the snake stay at that particular spot, if it's a glare or a stain, or maybe it really is a wall-climbing snake and is just waiting to jump down and attack me head-first.

I stick my hand out, skimming the counter, hoping to make contact with the handle of the knife that I know (in theory) should still be laying there.

I can't find it. For a second I panic (how the hell am I going to get that knife-snake down and kill it? I suppose I could make Craig get it,) before I hear Craig's gruff voice say, "Tweek."

I glance over at him, a twitch of a smile on my lips. He's staring at me with hard, analyzing eyes. That is also called his Crazy Boyfriend Analyzing look. I don't know exactly when he moved, but at least he's here to chase away the knife-snake know. "Yo, Craig. Have you seen a white knife around here?" I ask in my best chill voice.

His eyebrow twitches up at me, and he shakes his fist at me that is holding previously mentioned knife. I glance up to the ceiling to see that the knife-snake is gone.

Now that I think back, the snake had a nose.

"Hey, look at that! Can I have that back now?" He gives me a squinty-eyed glare. "What? Oh, come on, I haven't stabbed anyone is a psychotic fit in years! ... What? No, damn it, Craig, I was joking. Mostly. It was a toothpick. I mean, I'm sure Cindi would bitch about it, but it's really not a shank as she loves to call it-"

"Tweek, go lay down."

"I'm fine-"

"Shutty. Go sitty." I grumble as I go, but I follow directs. He comes back with a cut up and peeled apple.

Yes, I know, pussy move. I just don't like the peels.

"Thank you."

A grunt is my reply. "So… knife-spider?"

"Knife-snake," I correct.

"Damn. I wouldn't fuck with a knife-snake if I were you. I hear those things are, well… imaginary."

"Ha, ha, so funny."

… …

I'm fairly sure I'm at least half deaf by now. Craig and I have been blasting Make it Rain (and other equally loud and bass-tastic songs) for the last twenty minutes. One of my neighbor has already come to complain.

I'm not quite sure what she said- my hearing is very selective- but I heard Craig snort and say, "Oh, go work for your rent. Our landlord can only keep it up for so long, you know, he's getting old."

"Fuck you, you fags!" she screeches.

"Go to hell, you fucking shriveled-up hag!" I yell at my meth-head of a neighbor, who lives a few doors down, as Craig slams the door. She can't be older than twenty-five, but she looks fifty. She's got a real Fergie thing going on.

"I'm fairly sure that one of 'em is going to call the cops on us soon. Disrupting the peace or whatever."

"One of our basic rights is the pursuit of happiness. What makes me happy is loud music and not having to listen to our neighbors fuck." His lips twitch a smile at me before flopping down on our ugly-ass couch. In all honesty he probably has a point. It's getting late, and we're probably keeping a fair amount of people up… I don't care.

Craig wasn't kidding when he said that he has neighbors from hell. I have yet to find one I can stand, let alone like. Living here is like living in some war-ridden danger zone- our goal is to kill.

Or at the very least annoy the living hell out of each other. You would not believe the shit we've done to Aunt Moonshine (whose name I know to be Sherry, but I like Craig's name for her more.) She has to be an online member to at least seventeen cults by now. To my knowledge, she has taken up five of them. Every once and awhile we listen to her rants through the wall. She is a constant form of entertainment as long as she isn't in front of you.

Despite the ridiculously loud music, it's a very peaceful night. "I need to start practicing my keyboards skillz again. I haven't played in forever. I'm probably getting rusty," I force out between yawns.

"Hm. So how good are you?" I head-butt his shoulder, but my head somehow doesn't move up from his shoulder. I give a strange half-shrug.

"Pretty good."

"Pretty good?"

"Listen, I don't want to be the self-undermining amazing player, but I don't want to be the douche who is bragging about how astounding I am, so let's just leave it at pretty good."

"Could you, like, make a living off of it?"

"Maybe, if I wanted to. Shut up and let me sleep." I tuck myself under him, burrowed into his side. He goes silent.

When I'm nearly asleep, I feel my blanket move. I nearly topple over before he stops me. I keep my eyes closed, hoping for a free ride upstairs. After a second a hesitant hand comes up and rests on my cheek. His hands are warm.

He picks me up eventually, and carries me upstairs.

… …

I wake up in the middle on the night, warmer than usual. It takes me a minute to realize the pressure running from the back of my head down my back is Craig pressed against me, arms around me.

Instantly I'm completely awake, my whole body tingles with energy. I try to decide if it was panic or something else, but I think it's a good thing. It definitely feels good.

I sigh and try to get even closer. Craig's arms tighten for a second- making me twitch- but he lightens up again. He hear him mutter something in his sleep before dropping his head over mine.

And, God, does it feel amazing.

But, because it's me, I had to go and fuck things up.

Have you ever gotten the feel that there's something outside your window, and if you look they're be some boogey man outside? Yes? Me, too. The difference being, of course, that if there isn't any boogey man outside my brain is perfectly willing to make one up for me.

I know this. I need to stop looking out damn windows in the middle of the night.

But I don't. Because I'm stupid and paranoid.

Sure enough, perched on the windowsill there's a giant viper-centipede thing with a clown mask.

Who wouldn't scream like a girl to get away from that thing?

It's gone the second I start screaming, but the damage is done. Craig's awake and all too aware of me trying to claw myself out of his grasp and away from him. He lets go and I go flying, straight into the wall.

My brain was fried. My nerves were pulled tight in panic. I can't even figure out where I want to be, where I want to go, where the fuck the viper-clown thing went.

And then I see Craig.

Sweet Lord, Craig.

I think I hear him apologizing- for what, I have no fucking idea- before I hurtle myself at him and start clinging for dear life. I wrap myself around him, strattling him, practically sobbing.

Okay, maybe not just practically sobbing.

I feel Craig's hand in my hair, but it's not enough. I press myself closer, pushing my face into his neck, breathing him in. And it's him, too, not some cheap cologne or fancy soap or anything but straight-up Craig. After a second I feel Craig's arms wrap lightly around me. I press my lips his. He presses back, but not as hard. A whine of discouragement squeezed out of my throat. I want more and I want closer and I want him so fucking bad.

"God, please, Craig, please, please," I beg, not even sure what I want. Craig pulls me closer, and I hear myself moan. I try to coax his tongue out, and eventually I feel it pressing against my lips.

My hands leave his shoulders to go for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head before he can really process what's happened, going for his next.

Jesus Christ, he looks amazing.

I feel him hard underneath me, and felt the rush of want that's been gone for so long flood back in.

My brain is gone, any sense I had is out the window, and all that's left is want.

No, it's need, the need to be closer to this guy. My guy.

As soon as my hand starts palming him through his pants he stops me.

"Craig," I whine, high and needy. I think I hear him groan, but I'm not sure. "Please? Please let me…"

"No, sweetie, you don't really mean it."

"Yes, I do," I groan, grinding against him. "Don't tell me you can't feel that."

"Baby, please."

"Yeah, please, please."

"You don't mean it. You were hysterical a few minutes ago."

"But… I want you." I start pressing myself against him as much as I can, like a wanton whore.

"Yeah? Like how?"

Hm. I have hit a wall. I am not what one would call a skilled dirty talker. So I do what I usually do- call upon my musical lyric knowledge.

"I want your fresh young jimmy jamming, slamming, ramming in me-" he kisses me before I can keep going.

"Not today."

"Please."

"No."

And once the crying headache started to kick in, I couldn't complain as much. "You know, sex is an excellent way to get rid of headaches," I argue weakly.

He kisses me again. "Shut up."

… …

AN 2.0: Le done! Again, sorry for taking forevah to upload. Reviews make me just faster! Oh, and the song Tweek was quoting up there was Flower by Liz Phair.