AN: I changed my pen name, if you didn't notice. And oh my God, high school is kicking my ass and I'm not even all the way in yet. Guess that's what I get for being ambitious, eh? As for the contest- first person to call dibs wins. Craig's mind stars in this little number.
… … Unexpected
You know, I'd never really worried about being hurt by someone. Not physically nor mentally. More dismissive-avoidant attachment instead of fearful-avoidant attachment. I figured that I'd never let anyone in to begin with, and when I did everything would just be fine and dandy.
But then Tweek, fucking bullheaded Tweek, proves me wrong. That little speech in the bathroom the other day had just…
It was unpleasant. I can't say it felt like he'd stabbed me through the heart with a giant double-edged sword, but most definitely with a needle.
And even a prick proves that it's possible that he could, possibly hurt me in way that'd leave me in a sniveling, crying mass on the floor with a shattered, black hole for a heart that I have mocked so many times before.. He could die or dump me or keep acting like his mom's anyone he should give a crap about over me or he could just be a prick and it'd hurt.
It's a little unsettling, to say the least.
It made me want to run for my fucking life.
I mean… shit. I do not deal with emotional pain. Even the saying the words make me feel like a gaping pussy. I do not approve of being emotional. And here I am, still slightly shaken from that days later.
Pathetic.
It's not the first time I've felt bad because of Tweek, but he hadn't been the direct cause before. Jesus.
If someone with congenital analgesia suddenly started feeling pain, they'd probably cry on the floor for hours the first time they stubbed their toe. It's like that.
It's not like I'm actively not feeling emotions. I don't miss them. I never get the feeling that there's something, some emotion, missing in the equation that is me. I feel what I feel, and that's normal for me. I've never particularly worried about feeling other shit.
That is, until Tweek started noticing the missing parts and started pointing them out, driving sticks into it, and pointed them out as a weakness. No one likes having their survival instincts questioned. Now I catch myself wondering about what people are feeling right now, and why they're feeling that way, and what happened made them feel that way, and what is Tweek feeling right now-
I'm asking myself a lot of questions (mainly the last one) I'll never know the answer to, mainly because either I don't really give a fuck or the person (Tweek) doesn't think I give a fuck, and that me asking him is just like me trying to dissect a frog to see how it croaks.
But whatever. It doesn't particularly worry me. It's only Tweek, after all.
… …
When I enter the apartment, a foreign noise entered my ears.
Well, not foreign. Just…
"Are you playing Staind on the piano?" I ask Tweek. He freezes and looks up from his piano. The music stops.
"On the keyboard, technically." I roll my eyes as I fell onto the couch next to him. He glances at me a few times, before returning to playing. He stops every couple of seconds, apparently hearing some flaw, continuing on once he fixed the wrong note. Even with the pauses it was easy to tell what song it was. Bizarrely easy (Outside.)
You know, there's a reason I never did very well in English during high school. I didn't see or understand imagery or metaphors or any other fancy plays on words. I take things at face value. I don't think it's necessary to say anything other than Jack is Sad. I didn't regret not being able to describe things complexly, never worried about how to explain how important or pretty or sad something was until I heard Tweek play.
Because it's beautiful. Powerful. A million other things.
And not just the music, either, watching him is so…
Words. Words words words words words words words.
He's in the middle of a Black Sabbath song (the Black Sabbath song, you know the one,) when he falls over into my lap. "My fingers hurt. I've been playing all day." I kiss his cheek and rearrange us so that I'm laying down, him tucked into my side and half on top of me.
There's something strangely reassuring about Tweek's weight pressing on me. One hand finds itself in his hair and the other under his shirt, scratching and massaging his back.
He purrs, because that's the Tweek way.
"You're really kinda awesome at that," I tell him. He grunts an affirmative, I assume.
He rolls further on top of me and starts rocking. Not humping, because that's a different thing (not that my dick can tell the difference, but my dick's an idiot.) Rocking means he's thinking about something. I remain silent.
He sighs heavily. "Craig?"
"Huh?"
"W-W-when are… I mean, do you, like,… ehhh… never mind," he stuttered out, blush growing stronger as he tried to force out whatever it is that he's trying to say. He dives back into his hiding spot. My hand, which I hadn't removed from his shirt, moved to his front and pinched roughly where I knew his nips were. He squeals and jerks upwards, looking down at me with a so… startled… look. I continue thumbing him.
"What was it you were trying to say?" I ask. He looks down, chewing on his lip.
"So, er, I was thinking about-" I move my other hand up to join the other. "Ah…" He calls silent again, eyes closed and leaning onto my hands. I pinch him again. He grunts and his eyes shoot open. "Doyouwanttofuckme?"
"Ahh." My hands freeze. "You're right, 'fuck' really is a crude word in this circumstance."
"I mean, I get it if you don't-"
"No, don't even start that shit. You know I want to, it's just…" I don't want to fuck this up.
He scoffs. "You make me feel like a bad boyfriend who won't put out."
"It doesn't make you a bad boyfriend."
"But I don't-"
"Can't."
"I could have-"
"But it wouldn't have been a good idea."
"But-"
"Nothing. Listen, we moved kind of fast before, but no one got hurt and golly, was it amazing," I drawl, trying to lessen the rapidly growing tension. "This time, though, you had-slash-have actual problems against quick, thoughtless fucking. Not that that's a bad thing," I add hastily at his flinch. "Just… it could go really, really wrong if you aren't ready or whatever."
"I am ready."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Well, how do you want to do it?"
"Huh?"
"Like doggy, missionary,… I was thinking you should probably ride me for the first time."
"Lazy asshole," he said, not looking directly at me. I could still see his whole face growing red.
"You'd have more control."
"Maybe I don't want to be in control," he says huffily. I remove one hand from his shirt and move his head so I can look into his eyes. There were a million and ten things flowing through them, but the main one I could pin down was insecure. I pull him down for a soft kiss.
"I'm not saying I'll just throw to the sharks and rank you on your performance."
"That is not even funny." I kiss him again in his distress.
"I'll help you. It'll be fine… if we do it right."
He sighs out an almost laugh. "You're acting like I'm some sort of virgin." I feel my hands tighten on his neck and side.
"Because you are."
He scoffs. "I've had a guys prick in me before. Not a virgin." He eyes darken and he gets an uneasy air.
"Getting raped doesn't fucking count."
He grinds his teeth once before saying, "Personally, it kind of fucking counts."
I roll over on him, pressing down, for I have found that he becomes rather relaxed after being smothered and that is not the kind of argument I want to get into. "I will settle with mostly virgin-esque," Tweek says.
"Fine," I sigh.
… …
AN 2.0: Tweek has the awesome piano skillz equivalent to Vika. YouTube her as "vkgoeswild," for she is amazing.
I love me some ellipses and the phrase "or whatever." And there may be… le (kinda) smut next chapter *headdesk* I am not a fan of the writing of the smut (as in I don't like personally writing it because I suck at it- hella awkward) but I feel it is necessary. Anybody want to help me? XP Anyhoo, review, please!